4rum
11-01-2007, 12:43 AM
Bleakers Island
…permits for Bleakers island…huntin’ this year on Bleakers Island…Wildlife issuein’ permits…Bleakers Island…Bleakers Island…GOOD GOD THEY WUZ GONNA’ BE HUNTIN’ ON BLEAKERS ISLAND!!!!!!!!
This was big. REAL big! There had never been huntin’ on Bleakers Island. Why they wuz deer over there, two men couldn’t drag…downhill. Bleakers Island had been used for as long as Uncle Burley could remember, by Soil Conservation to grow test crops on. Clover, alfalfa, corn and most recently soy beans, all of which growed fine bucks with big horns.
Well a battle had been brewin’ fer several years now between the deer and Soil Conservation. Seems big deer have big appetites. All the suggested methods for keeping the deer off the island had been tried, dogs, lights, even an electric fence but when the river got up, it kinda took dogs an’ fences an’ such on down to Perryville, (usually left ‘em on the cannon at the courthouse). The Ladies Auxiliary raised a right smart stink about them dead dogs…almost as much stink as the dead dogs raised themselves.
Well now, at long last, 20 people were going to get permits to enter "the Promised Land"…for the first time in a long time… Uncle Burley prayed. "Lord iffin’ you’ll let ‘em pick my name, I’ll slip the ol’ lady two dollars extry fer the plate Sunday". Now folks, the Good Lord ain’t bad about bargainin’ with folks, but he DOES have a sense of humor… Uncle Burley got picked.
The bustle the permits created in Posey was enormous. It would be a three day hunt and camping would be allowed. The lucky hunters that drew permits were going all out. Tents, sleeping bags, pots, pans… Piggly Wiggly even put on a temporary, bagger. The fever sort of fed on itself, as the folks that didn’t get permits figured that 20 hunters on Bleakers Island would move a lot of deer. Good spots along Reemy’s Race, that separated Posey from Bleakers Island would be at a premium. Tumble Creek that led into the Westvaco was gonna be a might crowded too.
Uncle Burley was in a dither, all this had come on him kinda sudden. Finances were going to be stretched pretty thin. Uncle Burley was going to have to actually buy a license! He was going to need a new box of "thutty-thutty" cat’ridges too. The green was getting’ harder each year to scrape off the few rounds he had…an’ just last month one had failed to fire when Uncle Burley was "skeerin’ up a little table meat". It was just as well though, he had forgot to roll the window down on that side and with winter comin’ on…
Probably be a good time to get Dolly out from behind the bedroom door too... give ‘er a good rub down with WD-40.... he called the venerable old thutty-thutty Dolly "‘cause she had a big crack in ‘er butt, but was still slim in the middle an’ up front… well little ol’ Dolly was alllllll business ….
Finally everything was ready. Uncle Burley was countin’ down the days…
4 to go…
"Good morning viewers, Mel Carver with the Channel 33 morning weather. Well last nights unexpected downpour up in Coalville will really be causing some problems for those folks along the river"
Uncle Burley drove like a madman down to where the little bridge crossed Reemy’s Race to Bleakers Island. The fer end was already under. The swift muddy water was raising fast. Uncle Burley knew that by the time he loaded the truck, the bridge would be impassable. Nineteen other hunters were soon standing with Uncle Burley, all looked at the raising water in disbelief.
"The river floods in the spring, never in the fall".
"Trash is already startin’ to run, you won’t even be able to get a boat over".
…"how we gonna’ hunt?"
The buzz of disappointment grew until Perk Redden said "mebe she’ll run down by Monday". They all left in a blinding spray of mud to check the Weather Channel.
"...not expected to crest at Molton until sometime Tuesday."
"*^#*%$#&" this caint be happenin’! Uncle Burley couldn’t believe it, twenty yards of muddy water stood between him and the hunt of a lifetime….twenty yards…twenty yards…hmmm… couldn’t chance it with his pick up… might tear somthin’ loose ! but if he could get the ol’ ladies Pinto to start …it would only have to haul him and his gear to the top of the Mill’s log shoot…plenty long an’ steep…the truck ramp at the bottom was about the right angle, he figgered. Only a little wider here, an’ there had always been talk in the town of someday somebody would try it. By Jacks he’d do it, he’d jump ‘er!!! Besides the Pinto had airbags!!!
Leetle leetle leetle leetle…couple more pumps on the gas…leetle, leetle, leetle,…she was turnin’ over…c’mon baby hit!...leelte, leetle, leetle
Pop… "air ye go baby, one more time", leetle, leetle, pip,pop, putt….leetle putt, leetle pop, leetle, leetle, putt, putt, putta putty…POW…udden, udden, udden… Uncle Burley worked the pedal like a Bluetick kikkin’ fleas….udden, udden…uuuuuuddddddddddden…Goll Dang! he was gonna make ‘er.
Sunday night Uncle Burley couldn’t sleep. He had told no one of his plan... they might want to come along. He loaded everything into the hatchback of the Pinto…he checked and double checked, gear, food, beer... everything was ready.
Four a.m....
Red eyed and shaking with anticipation Uncle Burley fired up the Pinto. He eased ‘er up Whitners’ Mtn. in low gear. The lights were bad an’ the fog was worse. He finally reached the top and turned down on to the log road that led to the skidway.
Now a skidway is a steep incline where logs can be turned loose and expected to find their way to the bottom of the hill without human intervention. There is a term for this…it is called ballhootin’. There is also a term for clearing the skidway of workers…it’s called yellin’… "get the hell outa the waaaaaaaaaaay"!!!!!! … real loud…………….
Uncle Burley, with shaking hands, untangled the long unused ends of the seat belt, hitched ‘er up real tight and took a deep breath. He put the Pinto into gear and inched ahead slowly, the dim lights only run up against the wall of fog. Burley knew he was gettin’ close to the edge…then the front of the Pinto suddenly dropped…pothole? Nope still movin’…pickin’ up speed…it caint be this steep!!! Good Lord!!! Couldn’t have traveled more than 30 yards and already the speedometer was on 80!!!
Uncle Burley heard someone screaming…
"jump…JUMP…JUUUUMMMMPPPPPPP"
…it was him! Like all good ideas, some times they just don’t work…the $%@%@%# seat belt had him, won’t release!!!!!.... "no slack…no wait there’s a little slack…BUMP…slacks’ around my NEEECCCKKKK!"
DANGER…DANGER Will Robinson, beep beep beep, Woooop Wooop…
Somewhere just past warp 9, the noise in the little car became deafening…and the smell was getting’ worse by the second. Suddenly Uncle Burley broke through the fog, ahead of him he could barely make out the loading ramp. Every thing was becoming a blur from the blinding speed…was that his life that just passed in front of his eyes?...
Nope just the hood.
Uncle Burley barely remembered hearing the pistons in the little motor swapping holes briefly before she let go. It was about this same time that he reached the ramp…and escape velocity.
"Aye canna hold ‘er Captain, she’s gonna’ blow!!!
"SWWWEEEEEETT JESUS, Scotty…beam me up!!!!!!!!
Quiet, just the faint whistle of wind, EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE…no, no…that was Uncle Burley…
just before he hit.
The one thing that still worked on the Pinto was the air bag…POW…BUWUUUMP…
"free at last" !!!!!!!... knocked Uncle Burley plumb out of the tangle of seatbelts, only to become more smoking debris scattered around the landing site.
………Uncle Burley began to hear things …….. maybe he was alive… maybe.
"I’m blind!!!..."
No wait, my head is up the leg of my coveralls…OH,NOOO…whar’s my laaaiiiiggg…Uh…Whew there it is, stuffed neatly down the back of my coveralls.
Got to take stock, legs, arms…yeah "the boys" are still hangin’. Every thing must still be here, couldn’t hurt this bad if anything was missin’.
Well things might not be too bad. If he could manage to shinny up that tree and untangle the tent, By Golly…he was on Bleakers Island, he’d have it all to hisself. By the time the water went down he would have the biggest buck on the island. Man o’ man, gather up the gear… "there’s the stove,... over yonder is the case of Bud. Where’s my extry socks?...oh there they are." On a buckeye bush…. sleepin’ bag? Dang…in the crick, all my groceries…oh well.....
Dolly !!!…
………behind the bedroom door back at the house… "my thutty-thutty.... $#%$%&^%@%@%^ of a lop eared ^%#^$#%@%$^#$^$ an’ bleepin’ *&*&!$$%^&**^&*(&^&^&O()(^@ !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!".
No animals were actually harmed at any point during, or for at least three days after this event.
…permits for Bleakers island…huntin’ this year on Bleakers Island…Wildlife issuein’ permits…Bleakers Island…Bleakers Island…GOOD GOD THEY WUZ GONNA’ BE HUNTIN’ ON BLEAKERS ISLAND!!!!!!!!
This was big. REAL big! There had never been huntin’ on Bleakers Island. Why they wuz deer over there, two men couldn’t drag…downhill. Bleakers Island had been used for as long as Uncle Burley could remember, by Soil Conservation to grow test crops on. Clover, alfalfa, corn and most recently soy beans, all of which growed fine bucks with big horns.
Well a battle had been brewin’ fer several years now between the deer and Soil Conservation. Seems big deer have big appetites. All the suggested methods for keeping the deer off the island had been tried, dogs, lights, even an electric fence but when the river got up, it kinda took dogs an’ fences an’ such on down to Perryville, (usually left ‘em on the cannon at the courthouse). The Ladies Auxiliary raised a right smart stink about them dead dogs…almost as much stink as the dead dogs raised themselves.
Well now, at long last, 20 people were going to get permits to enter "the Promised Land"…for the first time in a long time… Uncle Burley prayed. "Lord iffin’ you’ll let ‘em pick my name, I’ll slip the ol’ lady two dollars extry fer the plate Sunday". Now folks, the Good Lord ain’t bad about bargainin’ with folks, but he DOES have a sense of humor… Uncle Burley got picked.
The bustle the permits created in Posey was enormous. It would be a three day hunt and camping would be allowed. The lucky hunters that drew permits were going all out. Tents, sleeping bags, pots, pans… Piggly Wiggly even put on a temporary, bagger. The fever sort of fed on itself, as the folks that didn’t get permits figured that 20 hunters on Bleakers Island would move a lot of deer. Good spots along Reemy’s Race, that separated Posey from Bleakers Island would be at a premium. Tumble Creek that led into the Westvaco was gonna be a might crowded too.
Uncle Burley was in a dither, all this had come on him kinda sudden. Finances were going to be stretched pretty thin. Uncle Burley was going to have to actually buy a license! He was going to need a new box of "thutty-thutty" cat’ridges too. The green was getting’ harder each year to scrape off the few rounds he had…an’ just last month one had failed to fire when Uncle Burley was "skeerin’ up a little table meat". It was just as well though, he had forgot to roll the window down on that side and with winter comin’ on…
Probably be a good time to get Dolly out from behind the bedroom door too... give ‘er a good rub down with WD-40.... he called the venerable old thutty-thutty Dolly "‘cause she had a big crack in ‘er butt, but was still slim in the middle an’ up front… well little ol’ Dolly was alllllll business ….
Finally everything was ready. Uncle Burley was countin’ down the days…
4 to go…
"Good morning viewers, Mel Carver with the Channel 33 morning weather. Well last nights unexpected downpour up in Coalville will really be causing some problems for those folks along the river"
Uncle Burley drove like a madman down to where the little bridge crossed Reemy’s Race to Bleakers Island. The fer end was already under. The swift muddy water was raising fast. Uncle Burley knew that by the time he loaded the truck, the bridge would be impassable. Nineteen other hunters were soon standing with Uncle Burley, all looked at the raising water in disbelief.
"The river floods in the spring, never in the fall".
"Trash is already startin’ to run, you won’t even be able to get a boat over".
…"how we gonna’ hunt?"
The buzz of disappointment grew until Perk Redden said "mebe she’ll run down by Monday". They all left in a blinding spray of mud to check the Weather Channel.
"...not expected to crest at Molton until sometime Tuesday."
"*^#*%$#&" this caint be happenin’! Uncle Burley couldn’t believe it, twenty yards of muddy water stood between him and the hunt of a lifetime….twenty yards…twenty yards…hmmm… couldn’t chance it with his pick up… might tear somthin’ loose ! but if he could get the ol’ ladies Pinto to start …it would only have to haul him and his gear to the top of the Mill’s log shoot…plenty long an’ steep…the truck ramp at the bottom was about the right angle, he figgered. Only a little wider here, an’ there had always been talk in the town of someday somebody would try it. By Jacks he’d do it, he’d jump ‘er!!! Besides the Pinto had airbags!!!
Leetle leetle leetle leetle…couple more pumps on the gas…leetle, leetle, leetle,…she was turnin’ over…c’mon baby hit!...leelte, leetle, leetle
Pop… "air ye go baby, one more time", leetle, leetle, pip,pop, putt….leetle putt, leetle pop, leetle, leetle, putt, putt, putta putty…POW…udden, udden, udden… Uncle Burley worked the pedal like a Bluetick kikkin’ fleas….udden, udden…uuuuuuddddddddddden…Goll Dang! he was gonna make ‘er.
Sunday night Uncle Burley couldn’t sleep. He had told no one of his plan... they might want to come along. He loaded everything into the hatchback of the Pinto…he checked and double checked, gear, food, beer... everything was ready.
Four a.m....
Red eyed and shaking with anticipation Uncle Burley fired up the Pinto. He eased ‘er up Whitners’ Mtn. in low gear. The lights were bad an’ the fog was worse. He finally reached the top and turned down on to the log road that led to the skidway.
Now a skidway is a steep incline where logs can be turned loose and expected to find their way to the bottom of the hill without human intervention. There is a term for this…it is called ballhootin’. There is also a term for clearing the skidway of workers…it’s called yellin’… "get the hell outa the waaaaaaaaaaay"!!!!!! … real loud…………….
Uncle Burley, with shaking hands, untangled the long unused ends of the seat belt, hitched ‘er up real tight and took a deep breath. He put the Pinto into gear and inched ahead slowly, the dim lights only run up against the wall of fog. Burley knew he was gettin’ close to the edge…then the front of the Pinto suddenly dropped…pothole? Nope still movin’…pickin’ up speed…it caint be this steep!!! Good Lord!!! Couldn’t have traveled more than 30 yards and already the speedometer was on 80!!!
Uncle Burley heard someone screaming…
"jump…JUMP…JUUUUMMMMPPPPPPP"
…it was him! Like all good ideas, some times they just don’t work…the $%@%@%# seat belt had him, won’t release!!!!!.... "no slack…no wait there’s a little slack…BUMP…slacks’ around my NEEECCCKKKK!"
DANGER…DANGER Will Robinson, beep beep beep, Woooop Wooop…
Somewhere just past warp 9, the noise in the little car became deafening…and the smell was getting’ worse by the second. Suddenly Uncle Burley broke through the fog, ahead of him he could barely make out the loading ramp. Every thing was becoming a blur from the blinding speed…was that his life that just passed in front of his eyes?...
Nope just the hood.
Uncle Burley barely remembered hearing the pistons in the little motor swapping holes briefly before she let go. It was about this same time that he reached the ramp…and escape velocity.
"Aye canna hold ‘er Captain, she’s gonna’ blow!!!
"SWWWEEEEEETT JESUS, Scotty…beam me up!!!!!!!!
Quiet, just the faint whistle of wind, EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE…no, no…that was Uncle Burley…
just before he hit.
The one thing that still worked on the Pinto was the air bag…POW…BUWUUUMP…
"free at last" !!!!!!!... knocked Uncle Burley plumb out of the tangle of seatbelts, only to become more smoking debris scattered around the landing site.
………Uncle Burley began to hear things …….. maybe he was alive… maybe.
"I’m blind!!!..."
No wait, my head is up the leg of my coveralls…OH,NOOO…whar’s my laaaiiiiggg…Uh…Whew there it is, stuffed neatly down the back of my coveralls.
Got to take stock, legs, arms…yeah "the boys" are still hangin’. Every thing must still be here, couldn’t hurt this bad if anything was missin’.
Well things might not be too bad. If he could manage to shinny up that tree and untangle the tent, By Golly…he was on Bleakers Island, he’d have it all to hisself. By the time the water went down he would have the biggest buck on the island. Man o’ man, gather up the gear… "there’s the stove,... over yonder is the case of Bud. Where’s my extry socks?...oh there they are." On a buckeye bush…. sleepin’ bag? Dang…in the crick, all my groceries…oh well.....
Dolly !!!…
………behind the bedroom door back at the house… "my thutty-thutty.... $#%$%&^%@%@%^ of a lop eared ^%#^$#%@%$^#$^$ an’ bleepin’ *&*&!$$%^&**^&*(&^&^&O()(^@ !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!".
No animals were actually harmed at any point during, or for at least three days after this event.