“We are now faced with the fact that tomorrow is today. We are confronted with the fierce urgency of now. In this unfolding conundrum of life and history, there is such a thing as being too late. Procrastination is still the thief of time. Life often leaves us standing bare, naked, and dejected with lost opportunity. The tide in the affairs of men does not remain at the flood; it ebbs. We may cry out desperately for time to pause our passage, but time is deaf to every plea and rushes on. Over the bleached bones and jumbled residue of numerous civilizations are written the pathetic words; ‘Too late.’ There is an invisible book of life that faithfully records our vigilance, or our neglect.” - Dr. Martin Luther King (1967)
Every now and again I manage to hit the note with a few faithful readers. Their response is a pretty good thing as far as I’m concerned. Maybe it’s really some sort of megalomania on my part, but it’s good to know that somebody is actually reading this stuff other than me and the beleaguered staff of hard pressed, unpaid, proofreaders.
A recent rendering titled, ‘Armed Hiking,’ resulted in the following response from a long time reader who refers to himself as, “Tom from Hooterville.” I hope Mr. Tom doesn’t mind, but I thought you might enjoy his comments as much as I did. His two tales are as follows;
“This article called to mind a couple of stories you might enjoy that I have taken the liberty of titling; ‘Armed Trout Fishing’ and ‘A Turkey of a Hunt.’
Tom says; “Both of these stories were related to me by the individuals who were actually involved in the story.”
ARMED TROUT FISHING
“Like many of us who spend any time in the great outdoors, we learn early to be prepared. Some people carry a sharp knife or a good walking stick. I prefer a 357 loaded mostly with “snake shot” and maybe a couple of “just in case” 155 grains.
Story number one was related to me by an old friend who often took his dad trout fishing over in North Georgia.
They had a good day and were walking out, which was about a 5-6 mile walk back to the parking area. As they round the bend they encounter a few small wild hogs rooting around near the path.
Now, both this guy and his dad were experienced hunters and knew that whenever there were ‘piglets’, Momma couldn’t be far away. Sure enough, here comes a particularly nasty looking adult hog with prominent tushes. They take off running for their lives headed back to their vehicle.
At some point, my friend realizes that his dad is falling back, in fact had stumbled a couple of times, and although he was in pretty good shape for 75 years old, the old momma hog wasn’t quitting, so a decision had to be made.
They had just enough time for him to boost his dad up on a sturdy tree limb and find a good tree trunk were he could steady himself for a shot.
Although he had a full load of 155 grain in a speed load in his vest, he knew he did not have the luxury of that time needed. Time only for a quick couple of shots.
He had the presence of mind to click the cylinder off of the snake shot and onto a more lethal round. By this time, momma hog was less than 10 yards and closing. The first shot caused the charging hog to “flinch” or stagger just a bit. This gave my friend just enough time to empty the Dan Wesson 357 (5-1/2 inch barrel) into the big hog.
Fortunately, Momma hog was slowed to a near stop (down but not out), and there was enough time for my old friend to quickly reload with the full 155 grain loads and administer the kill shot. So, the happy ending to this story is they were no worse for the wear and had a limit of trout and hog sausage to boot!”
‘Tom from Hooterville’ continues: ‘A TURKEY of a HUNT’ — “This friend was an avid turkey hunter. He had scouted out an area a couple of times that had several turkeys. Now, this area involved a bit of a climb to the most advantageous shooting stand.
So, the day arrived and my friend was up at “Zero Dark One Hundred” headed to the mountain about a 30 minute drive.
It was cold and the wind was howling as he began his climb. He had been making steady progress, pulling himself up by tree trunks and low hanging branches, roots or anything he could grab to pull him up the steep slope.
After a few minutes, he was startled by what sounded like a ‘scream’. He stopped, turned his head lamp off and listened. Only thing he could hear was his heart pounding and his labored breathing. After a few minutes he resumed his climb.
Another scream, this time closer.
He stops, shines his head lamp all around the darkness. Nothing. Was he imagining things? Probably just the wind?
He resumes his climb. Another scream, even closer!
His long gun is slung over his back so he feels down to his sidearm, which is his dad’s trusty old model 1911 brought back from Korea.
This time he clicks on his lithium mag lite (always carry an extra light source), shines the light above and, ‘Lo’ and behold, in a branch just above him is a young wild cat in no mood to be disturbed.
My old friend moved over 4 or 5 trees and kept climbing”.
Thanks to Mr. ‘Tom from Hooterville.’ Your hunting and fishing comrades definitely meet the definition being prepared.
A Senior Leatherneck from somewhere deep in North Georgia, who just happens to be one of my best critics, commented on a recent article about ‘Time Travel in Old Ooltewah’:
“Ooltewah…had some kinfolk that lived up there. He had trained some really good bird dogs. It was on the way from our house to the Smokies before the Interstate came along. Seems like ‘Time Travel’ happens a lot more frequently the older I get.”
How many of us actually long for the days before somebody thought this country needed an Interstate? How many of us recall really good bird dogs? Count me as one! Travel on, my brother!
And, another long time reader, a pretty fine critic, who happens to be more of a devotee to casting ballots than casting top water plugs, responded to the ‘Old Ooltewah-Time Travel’ story; “I’m surprised J. Edgar Hoover wasn’t on your door 5 minutes after publication.”
Thanks to all who take the time and effort to respond. Your response and encouragement is invaluable.
By now, we procrastinators, should all be searching the closets and gun safes for the rapidly rusting muzzleloader again. Where are the primers, the caps, the loaders, the bullets? What did I do with that orange vest and hat and the bullet puller? Why haven’t you sighted the front stuffer in by now? Why have you waited until the last minute one more time? How does this happen every year? How could you have let this sneak up on you? What were you thinking?
I know you think that because muzzleloaders are so nasty and hard to clean, that it shot so true a year ago, that it’s not really necessary to at least sight it in again, but what if you’re wrong? What can go wrong with a Muzzleloader that hasn’t been shot in over a year?
I also know that the moon isn’t right yet. The weather is still a little funny and the copperheads are still hiding in the leaves. I’m pretty sure that the trees are still about three quarters full of dropping, noisy leaves. It just feels a little early to me somehow. But, let’s face it, It’s time for a good single shot and the anticipation that comes waiting for the smoke to clear.
Go get ‘em! Good shooting Saturday!
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WOMR Note: Send comments to whiteoakmtnranger@gmail.com