Wakes and Ripples

sky otter wrote:

Hi Jim

thanks for the pics of your primitive fish...i think there is more under the water we don't know about than anywhwere...

we have locks and dams on the allegheny river here..and while i don't fish myself..the male relatives do and the size of the cat fish is mind blowing..to me anyway..they are huge...

and are you saying you have had a bigfoot moment..??..if so..please share...i've never seen one but i think i may have heard one..

ain't it great in the woods..lol

Oh shit.


I can't recall just how many times I've told that story, often forgetting parts and at other times remembering them. Ahhh, the stewpot of oral tradition.


It occured almost 16 years ago and like the others of my party I was tanked up on some of the finest homemade Whiskey in all of the Shenandoah Valley and Blue Ridge Beyond, along with passing the Pipe

many times.



We had traveled to the Uplands for our Spring Celebration. Sometimes it's held at Sherando, other times we Go to Elkhorn Lake. But this time our choice was the 'High'- Country near
Lake Moomaw and Jackson River for 3 or 4 days of Fishing, Camping and attempting to catch up with the altitude.

We settled on the State CampGround at Morris Hill, a good, high level rise above the Lake, not as crowded as down below. A nice place for a Heathen Celebration..

We arrived at Morris Hill geared-up and well supplied, and in no time registered with the
un-manned 'Stick your fee in the yellow envelope and drop it down the slot Station' and set about making camp at a fine open-wooded site. Several stunted Pines offered a soft natural mat to pitch our huge dome tent and provided tie-offs for the big blue plastic tarp shielding our stained and scarred rough-hewn picnic along with mess gear and various supplies.

Our initial Tasks accomplished we grabbed Tackle and Rods then raced down to below the dam for a go at the Jackson before Dusk settled in.

The fishing below the dam is great, never a disappointment as the fantastic scenery makes up for any slow to bite periods. Stocked Brown and Rainbow Trout along with hard fighting little native Brookies can be taken.


We got in at the right time and caught a good few apiece , before they stopped biting. I remember looking under rocks for Crawl-Dads and found a baby Timber Rattler. Needless to say I carefully put the roof back over his den and moved away.

Time to load up the Truck and head back to camp as stomachs were growling while throats became dry..

After entering Morris Hill it was decided to drive around the whole campground loop as a means of seeing who or what we had to contend with if any situation arose and whirled forth out of controll.

Two old Fishing Campers with a pop-up on the other side of Morris Hill, cooking supper and sipping beer.

We exanged once overs and waves while slowy passing then headed to 'Camp Recovery'.

The Upland weather can change with a drop of a hat and mist was falling as we pulled in.

Not so bad as we managed to get a good fire going with the help of some lighter fluid and a couple of Pine Knots. Soon pieces of seasoned RedOak we brought along was ablaze despite the damp. Under the big blue tarp coals were lit in our grill as our feast was being prepared.

Camptaters
Beans
and steaks, I really can't remember if they were ribeyes or T-bones, but we wolfed it all down with great relish, finger-licking and lip-smacking. Washed down with ice-cold Ale..

Our company was made up of two others and myself. One, a lanky fellow with dark hair and features, sporting an odd colored bandana tied around his head above a bird-like visage.
"We called him 'Flip' and he was a builder of cabinets and has decent WoodCraft in the wilds.

The other, a giant of a man, with a mass of brass hued hair falling down upon his shoulders and a golden beard growing to his chest. A person of old stem Teutonic origins, he worked hard, guzzled ale and roared out drunken prattle liken to some early Goth or Saxon Chief. As a joke I crafted a drinking-cup out of a Bull's horn. To my surprise he took to it and was soon pouring ale down his gullet, beard and blue denim shirt, awashed in some dim distant gusto. He was the Golden Bear.

With this greasy feast coating our stomach linings we cleaned up, stored foodstuffs in the Bronco as this was Bear Country.


With Fire Blazing and casting a weird reflection in the Mist, Flip lit his Coleman Lanterns as to have table light. Our Pipe was removed from it's Doe skin pouch and after an offering was made to the Four Winds, Flip and I passed the Steatite Pipe back and forth. The Bear refused to indulge as he works for the city and has to endure random urine testing. Once a heavy duty head, he had given it up now for close to 8 years.

Upland High during Spring's Friday Night. Nature all around us.

Yet I noticed a strange glimmer in his eyes as a whispy Smoke Sprite whirled upwards from our pipe and into his hairy nostrils.


It was time for abit of table sport, so we shuffled the deck and pulled out our Jug..

Oh don't run off now after you ask.


Anyway..


We kept the 'Wonder' in one of those big ceramic HillBilly Jugs that was purchased at some rural roadside indoor and outdoor shop which the like are strung out along our Upland ways. I took it a step further and painted the traditional XXX on our Jug.

The Wonder was something to behold..

It first came to our attention while hunting artifacts along the Shenandoah in freshly plowed field near Luray. The old Dutch Farmer who had gave us premission to walk his land called us in during our first visit, then offered us abit of cold Homemade spirits.

Smooth, yet with a kick and unlike 'Shine' or WhiteLighting was a rich amber colored having been aged in a Oaken cask.

In a polite manner and without much effort we talked him into a sale, and until his death did business with the old Dutch Farmer after a usually productive walk through his fields in the shadow of Massanutten.


The Great Bear stuck to his ale, but Flip and I quaffed our Shenandoah Wonder during several highly entertaining rounds of 'Drunken Camp Poker'. The Mist had stopped, but shrill notes still issued forth from damp branches as a few different species of Hylidae shared their lovesick Spring Songs..

Oh don't run off now after you ask.

ME ?????

i was wondering if you were going to come back and finish or just let us hanging

oh yeah..and where's the bigfoot part????

Always having at least some luck at cards, I cleaned up. A plastic cup filled with coins and nice little stack of one dollar bills. With that my compainions both stated they were through even after my offer of giving their money back so to continue the rounds.

They had enough and at this point wanted only to get snockered. Fine by me.

We tossed a few more chunks of Oak into the Fire Ring..

Jim,
It's 3:15am here in Ireland..., and I ain't going to bed 'til I hear the rest of this yarn.
So put the jug down., take a quick puff of the pipe & get back typing!

Only once the Ranger passed by our camp, slow enough to extend us a wave and Hallo. We had seen his headlights and put out of longsight anything that may of led to closer inspection.

After his passing we pulled out our Pipe thus abit of smoking and story telling. But the smoking went so well,
our stories went to hell
Our talk, out of mid-stream twirled about in a eddy of clicks, grunts, laughter and other such happy gibberish..

Ma!.......Ma! Pass the whiskey bottle.................he's gone again.

you know it's ususally women who get called T_E_A_S_E

"Pack another Jim" Flip demanded in a way that struck a nearly numb nerve.

"Pack one yourself Bogart, you've been holding out all Night, what's the fucking deal man ?"

He went on to explain that his shit was top-grade and didn't feel like wasting it upon just any sitting which caused even the Bear to snarl out.

"Somethings never change , load one up Bogart !"

Needless to say Flip complied while reminding both of us "This ain't no regular shit "

"I'll be the judge of that, lets have a looksee at this Super Dooper Shit "

From his gear-bag he removed a small, clear plastic zip-lock bag then gingerly pulled out a large semi-dried bud of some very curious looking purple and green hued pipeweed. While asking him to hand it over I picked up it's pungent scent and knew we had something abit different here before us to enjoy.


Flip went on to tell us of the great expense and endeavor he put out in attaining this stuff while breaking apart this beautiful dried flower into bowl-sized bits. This task accomplished I made a grab for the Pipe as he fumbled for a lighter..

Drawing deeply, my lungs expanded to the point of bursting and after only the first one, I knew. The Pipe passed between us three times then had to placed aside for awhile..

Laced-Wing Insects waltzed above the Coleman Camp Lantern, yet their spell broke when Flip broke out in a fit of uncontrollable laughter. I shifted my attention from beautiful illuminated flying bugs to the Bird-Man cackling at the looming Golden Bear who had left his folding campchair throne and was now gazing at our stone pipe.


It looked as if some type of battle was going on from behind his eyes..

"Just go ahead and hit it man" I said. "Don't worry I can hook you up with something that will clear the fear of any piss testing goon"

He pulled upon his beard and picked up the carved stone bowl,

then put it down.

But then picked it up again and put butane fire to our Pipe. I thought he was gonna hack out his lungs after the first hit.

Once he found breath a wild sparkling gleam lit his eyes and took up the Pipe again






and again.

Even after it had burned down he demanded that Flip refill it another time. I had enough of it and looked for the insects, but they left a short while before.

One would think that after 8 years without the weed... But the Bear smoked like a fiend and when that 2nd bowl burned down he strode over to our Fire, lifted his head upward, then issued forth a savage call.



And after a swift amount of time it was answered from the neighboring ridge.

Flip's gaping smile left his face, while he asked "What the Fuck was that ?" Knowing full well it was no echo, nape hairs rose above the chill down my spine..

With a strange twisted grin upon his face, and head bobbing slowly he cast us a weird look before wandering off into the down hill woods behind camp.

Just as I was in the process of pouring a nerve pounder another such call boomed down from the next ridge.

"Mountain Devil" Flip whispered. The sounds of Bear's downhill progress grew faint so I advised Flip to build up our fire as a beacon. "So he can find his way back"..

Hopefully the Great Bear was on a safe Journey and no more weird calls were coming off Oliver Mountain, so we decided alittle music may be in order. Not much in the way of waves could be picked up on this cloudy upland night, but Flip had managed to locate a half decent classic rock station, but right in the middle of a good song - static, followed by the crazed ramblings from some religious broadcast out of West Virginia. Flip popped a tape in.


Lake Moomaw in fact is located only a few miles from the West Virginia border. A place of rolling Blue Ridges, rarely visited hollows, wild upland meadows and swift moving streams.

Hill rolling into hill, vista rolling into vista. Some of the oldest mountains in the world, now smooth with time and thickly wooded. An old place judging from the from the black Hematite bannerstone spear thrower weight I found at this very campground only 2 years before. One can feel the Elder Spirits who roam about these hills..

pilgrim wrote:

Jim,
It's 3:15am here in Ireland..., and I ain't going to bed 'til I hear the rest of this yarn.
So put the jug down., take a quick puff of the pipe & get back typing!

Well then to wrap this weird tale up,

After a a few more quaffs I corked our jug and placed it in the truck. Being somewhat of a lightweight Flip had put away his cup and picked up the Pipe for a Night Nod, which I declined, being abit further upridge than the Tree tops.

Having our gear put up and bedrolls layed out The Bear ambled into camp from a different route from which he left. With so many words he told us of skirting around the hill and talked about hearing something moving about.

BlackBear Country, and they would no doubt be moving around this Spring Night.


He stumbled into the tent rolled out his bed, and swiftly fell into slumber.

We did likewise as Morning down at the River could not be missed..

Just when I was about to fall into a dark sodden sleep The Bear started snorring. The sound could wake one out of a coma or death. Flip's flashlight beam hit the Great Bear's sleeping face and I came up with a substance addled plan. Asking for Flip's pack of Winston Lights, I removed 2 cigarettes, crawled over to where the Great Bear lay and stuck each one in his nostrils. In the Flashlight's glow he looked like some large mutated Walrus, tranqed out of his mind and far from the Northern Sea. It muffled the snorring down to a tolerable buzz-saw hum.

I drifted into Saphire hued Dreams..



Don't rightly know exactly what time in early Morning's darkness I was shaken out of sleep by Flip - "Man there's something out there, something big"

And indeed there was..

I could now hear our pots, pans and drinking cups being moved about over the picnic table. Then a pot hitting the bench followed by a dull thud upon the ground.

Quiet, but not for long as we now heard heavy footsteps outside the tent and weapons were drawn. Eyes getting use to the dark we made out a shadow over the tent, then something was fumbling with the dew cover.

Now Flip had his Flashlight beaming, nervous hands attempting to light up a smoke.

Then we heard our grill crash to the ground, which brought the Great Bear away from slumber, one cigarette still hanging out of his nose.

"What the Fuck was that?" he bellowed

"Probaly your girlfriend you called off the ridge"

We then heard a sniffing sound, and at that point somebody said something like 'I'm sick of being scared !' and with our tent door/flap unzipped we peered out into the Night which was now lit by a Full Spring Moon as the clouds had passed.

Our heads poking out we caught the direction of sound just long enough to see a huge dark upright shape lumber off into the Mountain Laurel and Wooded Beyond.

It was no BlackBear..

Wow. So, it was a bigfoot....amazing.

There was no more sleeping that morning. We pulled on shoes and coats, then crawled outside just as Dawn's first dim light awoke as the Moon slowly departed before another new day.

A certain stench had settled about our camp. It smelled of a tinging between really bad BO and rotten cabbage. Much to our dismay The Bear took morning coffee brewing upon himself so Flip and I decided to look for signs of this Critter's visit.

We found no spoor upon the patches of leaf and needle-littered covering or areas of hard packed rock strewn soil.

Some of the Mountain Laurel branches had been snapped over, but the most curious thing was that a couple of the dew cover fastners had been released, this would of taken more dexterity than a bear-paw could manage.


We resigned our gullets to The Bear's coffee that morning and had our early start down at the River. The rest of the time spent went without a hitch or howl, but we kept more sober heads about us our following two Nights atop Morris Hill.


Besides catching a whiff of that same foul scent on a wooded trail along the upper York River some years past, I've never encounterd such a creature again.

The experience sparked an interest. I await to read similar encounters here.

Linda wrote:

Wow. So, it was a bigfoot....amazing.

Well it wasn't Don Rickles or Mary Tyler Moore.

Maybe one of those old cross-camp geezers bombed out of his mind and in a Gorilla suit. A good way to get shot or a belly full of knife.

I don't know, it could of been a Were-Creature or a Mountain Devil. It wrecked the grill, we had to drive 20 miles into town for another.

There have been other sightings in the area

The Blue Ridge Area


http://www.virginiabigfootresearch.org/view_sightings.asp?section=6

LOL....how exciting for you. People wait their whole lives for an outstanding experience like that.
Love your style of storytelling.

Linda wrote:

LOL....how exciting for you. People wait their whole lives for an outstanding experience like that.
Love your style of storytelling.

Yeah those 'What the F was that moments ?' come when we least expect them, but it's the being off of well traveled paths which puts us before such unknowns.

When looking along the ridge for such a creature afterward we are surprised by a weird Salamander. Who knows what else is up there ?