HORSEMAN'S SPECIAL EDITION October 2009
It is 3am, You Are 100 miles From the Nearest Logging Road and The Boss of The Woods Comes Stomping Through CampWe moved on after sunrise the next morning, either setting up camp in Alberta or British Columbia. We are crossing back and forth at the border due to rivers and passes so I am never sure in retrospect. Camp was set up within a hundred miles of the Parsnip, Fraser or Smokey Rivers. I remember that because we were trying to decide which river to hit and when over the next 5 days. The campfire was working on a 15 pounder caught during the ride in, and we were working on this fifth of Jack Daniels that made it 4,000 miles; halfway by train and semi-truck to Seattle, then the rest by Mule train into our lost corner of the Wilderness. It's amazing how a glass bottle can make you forget about a very bad meal just two nights before, but it did. I loaded up the fire with about 10 extra logs so it would burn until someone else woke up since I'm dead to the world. They're passed out, one in his tent and the other on the ground half in his lean-to next to the fire. I have a tent set up but my lean-to tarp facing the fire is better since it is down to 45 degrees already before Midnight. I keep a pile of firewood near my spot so I can feed it through the night. I don't remember how I fell asleep but I will never forget what woke me up that night. Screaming Banshees riding out of Hell on the Devil's Donkey is the best way to describe the sounds waking us up at 3am. My eyes opened to the sound of an inhuman bellowing as I tried to focus on a cloud of sparks shooting into the air from the firepit. I was watching the backsides of our Mules running into the woods from the glow of the fire they just stirred up in a stampede. My horse was standing next to me, almost over me to give his actions proper credit. From the glow of the fire I could see Joshua pulling something from his saddle that I didn't know he had with him. Upon removing this device a bright orange and white light, in strobe style repetition, began to appear from the end of it. The device made the most unbearable, heavy industrial jack hammer type noise to wake up to after drinking Jack Daniel's all night. Yes Ladies and Gentleman I am describing what you see and hear at 3am in the pitch black wilderness when a man starts to pull the trigger of an AK-47. |
The mules were gone, my head was spinning and Joshua was crouched down at the edge of the camp with his AK pointing into the woods. He is a Vietnam Vet and I have never seen him scared of anything before now. I have been with him during Black, Grizzly and Retarded Brown Bear incidents so I didn't know what to think of this. I kept asking his brother what happened and he kept telling me to listen. I heard nothing and then more of nothing. Then I realized the noise level was below nothing, not even an Owl hootin'. There is usually some far off background noise in the Wilderness at night, not like a noisy equatorial jungle at midnight but this is quiet beyond belief. Respectfully quiet, like for the dead. Finally his brother leans over and says- "The Boss of the Woods Just Walked Through Our Camp". I knew he didn't mean the Royal Canadian Mounted Police this far out so I said shut up and he said "The Boss....." again. It was then that I knew what he meant since the woods went DEAD quiet as far as we could hear. Camp was being torn down at first light, there was no staying here another night. The mules were nowhere to be found, Joshua said they will wander back to the ranch someday even though it's hundreds of miles away across the border. I started out by following the direction our visitor to the camp seemed to take last night. There was quite a disturbance in the underbrush leading away from our camp to the east. I wandered down by a creek while they started off another way. Then I found what beckoned me to take the pictures you see below. I don't know what this means or what it looks like to you. I am just showing you the pictures I took that day. I don't know what led me to that spot or what exactly made the ground look the way it did when I took the picture. I am just publishing a picture, the rest is up to you my friends. Do you love or hate THE LAST COLUMNIST? Why does he exist? Did he at least give you something to talk about with your family or friends? Email THE LAST COLUMNIST at-- b52@thelastcolumnist.com. |