The next morning, I cooked eggs and bacon
for the group, explaining to them I had seen only one baby chick in all those
dozens of eggs I cracked, so they probably would not notice it at all, as I had
fished it out of the skillet. I'll have to admit that, in the interest of being
interesting, I may have fudged on truthful boundaries on that a little. Funny
thing, though, most all the food we had left was eaten, except for the eggs. I
got to eat all the eggs I wanted, with plenty left over. Even after I announced
I had just been kidding, they would just never touch those eggs.
I knew these mountains had been Johnny
Barksdale's home territory all his life, and if anyone could find them, it
would be Johnny. Unless, possibly, I could find Greg Latsha, who grew into
possibly the finest woodsman I know. However, I could not figure out how to go
about finding Greg Latsha.
Greg is at times a duck hunting guide in
season, calling those ducks in for the city guys flawlessly. At other times, He
is a salt water fishing guide in Florida, and he had also been a professional
wildlife film maker for the Game and Fish Department. In between, he often mows
lawns for his brother in Hot Springs. But where in the world would he be in
March?
Always very athletic, Greg was a very
small, but fast pass receiver, with great hands, on his eighth grade football
team. In the tenth grade, he was in my biology class, though he already knew
more than I could teach him, when it came to wildlife and the wilderness. Once
he brought me a photo he had taken, somewhere around Arkadelphia, of a black
panther, as best we could tell. Although such an animal does not exist in
Arkansas, Greg not only found, but photographed one. It was not unusual for him
to leave a large covered bucket on my front porch. I came to realize the
contents were going to be alive, wild, and very angry by now. It might contain
the largest black snake I had ever seen, or some other exotic wild animal that
always amazed me. I began to get really cautious about taking the cover off one
of Greg's buckets. On our wildlife club trips, he never failed to set a very
wild and uncontrolled example for the other, less woods-savvy guys. But he knew
exactly how far he could push me, how far he could go before I kicked him out
of the club in frustration. Actually, though I never allowed him to know, I
could never have done that. He absolutely MADE the club, and, well, I just
loved Greg Latsha. Headache though he sometimes could be.
Greg started growing. He grew into a tall,
very muscular man, hitting home runs farther for the HSU baseball team than
anybody ever had. His small waist gave way to huge biceps and shoulders. I had
been told that he always mowed lawns for his brother Roger's landscaping
business without a shirt. I had also been told that ladies just fought to get
him to mow their yards, and always peeked out from behind their drapes to watch
him, fanning themselves as their house just seemed to be getting warmer and
warmer. But there just seemed to be no way to find Greg Latsha in March. But I
knew if this turned into a night search, we would need him, as well as Johnny,
badly.
Very excited about their camping trip,
their first father-son adventure of this type, Micky and Jordan attempted to
reach the parking area downriver from the Winding Stairs. However, landowners
had fenced it off. They could not enter by the traditional route from below.
Crossing to the far side of the river, they found another place to park. Mickey
knew that a river crossing was required from this side, but Jordan was a tough
boy who could handle it. They didn't let that dampen their spirits much, on
this cold march day. They soon had to cross a rushing creek. Jordan slipped
down, and got totally soaked, but climbing two mountains soon dried him out
some, and warmed him back up. However, they now faced a river crossing, and It
was much deeper than they expected. Jordan once told me when helping me dig for
diamonds, “Papaw, nothing that's fun is ever this hard.” He may have been
thinking that now, but he kept quiet about it if he did. When they finally
reached the Winding Stairs, they just stood and looked for a very long time –
well worth getting wet for.
They gathered up a lot of firewood. The
night promised to be cold, and the situation was not helped much when Jordan
got wet again, crossing a creek with a load of firewood. But the roaring fire
soon fixed that problem. They set up the tent, and got a good nights sleep.
The next day was great. They hiked,
climbing a high mountain. A ledge near the top proved to be the winter home of
thousands of lady bugs. I had seen that before, at the old fire tower. They
found bats in a cave. They finished out the day fishing. A great day. Seems
Mickey had always planned on two nights, but didn't explain that to Kinley very
well.
The rains moved in that night. It rained,
and rained, and rained some more. Fortunately, Mickey picked a good spot on
high ground, so they were not affected by the rapidly rising river. But the
high winds somewhat blew down their tent. By the time that was fixed, Jordan's
bag was wet. He finished the night out by sharing Mickey's sleeping bag.
By morning, the situation looked bad. The
roaring river was very high now, rising quickly, hemmed in between two very
steep mountains. Mickey knew trying to cross it to get to the car was out of
the question. They would have to find another way out.
They headed down river, but soon came to a
feeder creek that was a trickle yesterday, but was today a roaring torrent. They stopped, managed to build a
fire with the wet wood, and made coffee. Mickey knew these mountain streams
usually came up very fast, but once they passed the crest, they should also go
down fast. Finally, though, Mickey came to realize that if anything, it was
still rising. It had to be crossed, if they were to get out of here. The water
edged up toward waist deep on Mickey. Jordan, with his pack, held on to mickey
in the swift current He slipped, losing his grip on Mickey, and his pack. He
was about to be swept down toward the roaring river. By the time Mickey chased
him down and they recovered the pack, they were both soaked. It was getting
colder by the hour. Jordan was proving to be a tough guy, though. He was
hanging in there.
They ran into a very wet hiker. He said he
had almost been swept away trying to cross the river, and he had decided to try
to get out by going up river, to Albert Pike. Mickey knew that going in that
direction would only take them farther and farther away from their car, and he
worried about being trapped between the cliffs and the still-rising river.
They headed on down river. The water had
overflowed much of the trail, however, pushing
up against steep mountains. It was tough going. After many cold, hard
hours, they reached the fenced off area where they had first planned to park
the car. They knew they were still miles away from the highway, and many miles
more from their car. They could probably get a phone signal now, but their cell
phone was dead. Finally, they reached a dirt road. After they had walked down
it a long time, they heard a noise. A car! Moments later, Johnny Barksdale
pulled up.
Kinley's next call reached me on the
highway. “They're out!” she shouted.
“Call the Pike County Sheriff's office
right now.” I said. She quickly called
me right back.
“They were very glad they are out of
there. They were about to call in many more searchers from surrounding
counties. It's going to be a very cold night. Too cold for wet campers.”
Christian and I headed back to the levee.
Christian is my oldest grandson, and the only grandchild who inherited Grandma
Martha Jane's red hair. He now seems to be getting a lot of mileage out of it.
The girls at school just seem to love their “ginger,” judging from the pics I
see on Facebook. He's a great fishing buddy, and now, at fifteen, he's showing
signs that he could become the tallest Gillum in decades. He may well become
one of the smartest Gillum’s in decades, also, if he makes maximum use of the
tools he was born with. The jury is still out on that. Caylie, my oldest grandchild, was the first
driver that son Corey trained. She's very cautious. She was constantly told by
Corey that she “must drive faster.” Now he's training Christian, and he now yells,
with fear edging into his voice, “Christian, slow this thing down! You just
clipped that sign back there!”
We still had time to catch a lot of
catfish. And we did. We headed home two days later, with sixty pounds of
catfish fillets. (There is no legal limit on catfish inside the main levees of
the Mississippi River) And Mickey and Jordan headed home, still wet, but now
for the first time all day, warm and no longer hungry. And, they have a great
story to tell.
No comments:
Post a Comment