We walked down a ramp which took us to the floor of the canyon. Not having any real clue where we were going, we figured one way was as good as the next and headed north. We tried our best to keep out of the creek, but in spots we had to step in once quickly to get around a bend in the rocks. After about ten minutes, both Charlie and I were soaked up to our thighs.
We stepped up onto a flat rock which the creek flowed over and saw some fifty gallon drums in the water. They had been cut in half and filled with concrete, making stepping stones across the busy creek. I looked on both sides and saw evidence of the original trails, with rotting stairways leading to old paths.
At the top of the rocky shelf, we could hear the low roar of a small waterfall and stepping cautiously over the wet rocks, we rounded another bend and could see the spray of the cascading creek. The water fell a good thirty feet before it hit the pool at the bottom and even from where I stood, I could see it was clear and probably cold. I stepped up to the next rock and Charlie held up his hand. Ducking low and bringing up my rifle, I covered the area to the left as Charlie brought up his rifle and aimed at something up ahead.
Charlie tapped me on the shoulder and I swung back to the right, finally seeing what caused him to stop. A man was sitting on a rock on the right side of the waterfall, filling bottles and washing some clothing. He was tall, easily over six feet. His dark hair hung loosely about his shoulders, his thin arms looked wiry, but strong.. He looked competent, as anyone travelling alone would have to be and he had that wary look about him that the Upheaval had given most of us.