CRANE HUNTING SEASON REVISITED

A representative from TWRA gave a bird presentation at the Knoxville Ornithological Association this week. The questions came up about a crane hunting season. He told them that it was well under way and the plans were submitted to the commissioners; Whoever they are. He further said to them that TWRA is a "hook and bullet" organization by necessity meaning the only revenue they have is through hunting and fishing license. No tax money is directed to the organization from what I can understand. So that's that. It seems there's a lot of stuff out there to shoot at and kill already. I guess the reasoning is that there they are; might as well put a season on them. In Tennessee the hunters can lobby for changes to the hunting and game laws. A season on cranes is not going to cause more licenses to be sold. So there won't be increased revenue unless there's a crane stamp sold. So why do they need to be shot at? And there isn't any glory in shooting one of them as they just fly over like B29 bombers, slow and easy. Can't miss em. Terrible tasting. Not good to eat. They seem to run a gauntlet already flying North. They're shot in Minnesota and Wyoming, Montana and on up in British Colombia. Guess they'll have to run it back through Tennessee now. Wonder what if the Bald Eagle ever succeeded in a population explosion where they were common as crows if they would have a hunting season attached to them. There would be lots of em. Why not? Wonder what it is about this hunting thing. I used to do it a lot. Lived for it. Till one day, hunting on top a tall mountain in Central Pa. I shot a small doe with a black powder rifle at about a hundred yards. Broke her left hip. Remember seeing it flop around as she tried to run. I quickly poured powder and punched a slug down the barrel. Pushed the ram rod home. It split and wedged beside the slug the inside of the gun barrel. I had to take off running after that doe that now lay in the brush. Got real close. 25 feet. She up and ran. I ran after her. I stopped; she did too. She was all in. I took off the wool rich coat and took off after her with just my shirt on. Was 25 degrees that day in Central Pa. I got to ten feet of her and she went strait down the mountain and so did I. I was right on her. Could have touched her. I pulled out my knife and lunged onto her back. We both tumbled, but not before I dragged the knife across her throat. We rolled and rolled and finally stopped. She stood watching me. Then down on front knees and lay down. She assumed a sleeping pose as a cow would lay on a pasture. She stared at me. The blood pushed out the slit in her throat with each heart beat. She stared at me the whole time. I remember thinking she seems to be asking me "why did you do this to me?" Why? Her eyes slowly closed and she bent her head around and tucked her muzzle under the inside of her back leg and fell asleep. I felt terrible; misrable. And I asked myself why. All I accomplished was to put terror into that gentle animal. I did it because it was hunting season and that's what I was to do. That was the last animal I ever killed while hunting. I remember every second of that day. I remember the beautiful face that stared into mine pleading for an answer to her question; "Why did you do this to me?" There is no glory in it. None!

STONE RIVER BATTLEFIELD

http://www.civilwar.org/historyclassroom/hc_stonesriverhist.htm It is a sad place. It is a place of death. It is a place where men laid down their lives willingly for all that they believed; right or wrong. It is a place of terrible suffering. It is a place that represents our countries struggles to find itself. It represents misery and pain; agony and defeat; pride and embarrassment; heroism and fear. But it is one of many battles fought that contributed to the foundation that this great country is built upon and helped sculpture our destiny.

GHEENOE PROGRESS

I drove over to the Boat Locker in Franklin, Tennessee this afternoon to check on the new magic carpet. The guys over there were diligently working on rigging my boat. It's getting close. Hooray! Here are a few preliminary pictures of the new adventure machine. Click on photo to enlarge.

THE COMMANDER AND CHIEF--OH BOY!

I need to say here that the verbiage in this piece could be described as graphic. There is nothing in this life of mine that makes my blood run hot like patriotism and love of country. I could have done a better job with this if I were on an island with Douglas sitting on a blanket in front of my tent. But alas, I do it here. I prefer long hand. He watched as they slowly came out of the dark foliage and each stepped into the slow moving river. The water was fifty yards wide. Slowly, they carefully felt the bottom of the stream as they moved forward, turning their heads side to side. One man turned fully around and raised his hand and signalled the "come on" motion. One by one the Viet Cong stepped out of the darkness of the forest and onto the river bank. There were eleven of them. They moved carefully. They moved quietly. Each stepped into the water behind each other. Single file. The eyes on the opposite river bank watched unblinking. He was high on a rock outcrop. He lay prone, watching, waiting, carefully judging the distance. There was no wind. The temperature was stifling. A drop of perspiration slowly rolled into the corner of his eye, slowed, and continued on down his cheek. He was tense and made an effort to calm himself by controlling the pace of his breaths. There were no more on the river bank. They were all in the water. The American aligned the sights of the Unertal scope on the head of the lead Viet Cong soldier. He squeezed gently on the trigger. The rifle sounded and the 308 Winchester recoiled. Before the rifle fell again to its rest, he had chambered another 308 caliber round into the chamber and instantly put the cross in the scope on the second soldiers head and squeezed until the second round was fired. He repeated this four more times. Six men were floating down the Yin Tung River. The other five were struggling for purchase on the river bottom for footing that would allow them to escape the rivers hold. A rapid reload was accomplished and the rifle sling was wrapped around his left forearm and a sitting position was taken. The cross hairs were placed between the shoulder blades of the man closest to the safety of the shoreline and the jungle's edge. The explosion, the recoil and another Viet Cong was made a good citizen. The bolt chambered round after round and the rifle recoiled and sounded four more times. All of the enemy were floating down the stream. They reminded him of little sticks floating haphazardly in the water. He waited for thirty minutes after his last shot and slowly moved away from his court room and disappeared into the jungle behind him. There is a point to this story. Our soldiers are facing situations much like the one above every day. They are looking the enemy in the eye. Survival depends upon how well they listened during training. In many cases they are fighting for their lives one on one. They see the man drop after they fire at him. They know they have taken a life. It's alright though because they are there to do that. It is sanctioned in the name of war. And that is as it should be. And they are proud to serve their country in this manner. But imagine if you will what it must feel like to point a rifle at another human being and purposefully pull the trigger with all intention of taking his life. He probably has a young wife at home. Maybe children. But he does his job for his country. This brings me to the crux of the issue I make. We seem to have three candidates for president of the United States, the most powerful, politically influential, economically wealthy country in the world. The United States is the greatest piece of civilization that ever existed. Our choices to head up this great country are Senator Clinton, Senator Obama and Senator McCain. Senator McCain has fought his battles. They have been from an air plane and he had the misfortune of being captured. Senator Obama; I'm not even sure where he came from. All I can gleen from the news is that he doesn't want to wear a lapel pin of the American flag and that his wife has made some less than gentle comments about the United States of America. Senator Clinton. Now there is a great military leader. And a military leader is what we are going to need, and not too long in the future. Two of these candidates want to bring all the troops home within six months. McCain is not as vocal about his intentions. But the point is here that if the troops are brought home in six months; they are denied their victory. Each soldier who has taken life will return with the question "why did we go there?" "What was all the death about?" "Why did I take those lives?" "What good did it do?" The absence of troops in Irac after the six month window will result in a blood letting to rival that of South Vietnam and the Cambodian slaughter of Poe Pot's regime shortly after the U.S. pulled out her troops. Do these candidates for President of this country realize that? Of course they do. They are going to do the popular thing right or wrong. Can Mrs Clinton imagine what it's like to put the cross hairs on the face of an enemy? How about Senator Obama? He seems really experienced. Was he ever in a military service? Don't know. Then there's Senator McCain. He's a patriot for sure. He wants to get along and join hands across the "aisle" as I have heard. With any one of these three in the oval office; there will be many returning trooper's with a bundle of social problems. They were once soldiers. They were once soldier's with a mission. They were once soldier's who did what was required, some gave it all up, some were lucky, and then they were told it's over. Have you ever had the hot water shut off while you were in the shower? It's gonna be something like that for our sons and daughter's when any one of these three "leaders" take the helm of this country's military. I don't know why I even wrote this. Really!

TWO CAMPGROUND, SUCHES, GEORGIA

T.W.O. stands for two wheels only. It is a campground located near Suches, Georgia where routes 180 and 60 meet. The campgrounds are exquisite for tent camping. A clean, neat shower house is on the grounds as well as a lodge with a dining and TV area. The dining area walls are proliferated with motorcycle and rural memorabilia that lend a flavor of old home, country style hospitality. In short; the place is wonderful. The motorcycle riding in the area can only be explained as fantastic! Route 180 North toward Blood Mountain is a smooth asphalt two lane curvy piece of perfection. From there, pick any road. They are all fabulous. Meals are served at the TWO lodge but for the folks who want to sample restaurant food in the area; Dahlonega is about 17 miles South of the campground. Buell motorcycle owners held a rally here at TWO this weekend. The camp ground was full of these fast little motorcycles of all colors. Tents were erected in haphazard fashion on any piece of ground they could be fit upon. Buell owners congregated in clusters to share stories, compare bikes and enjoy camaraderie. It was a fun time. I stayed two nights and left. The Georgia mountain roads were calling and I missed my room mates at home. My dog friends. I owe them a day out in the woods. That will be tomorrow. But now I see hard rain clinging to the mountain. Oh Boy! North Georgia has some of the most gorgeous, rugged, and beautiful mountains in this entire country. The Chattahoochee National Forest This is my friend Ed. He is a gracious gentleman who would do anything for a guy or gal. He is road savvy and a wonderful travelling companion, and the best friend a guy ever had. The second morning at TWO revealed that a lot of bikes came during the night. The field in the picture was practically empty when we arrived the previous day. It would appear the woodpeckers have discovered a Spring smorgasbord of termites in this tree. Our friend Dave pitched his tent between Ed and I. Mine is the light blue tent. That old girl has been home to me on a lot of outings. This is the first picture of Ed's tent. Note the welcome mat. As if anyone would want to come in. ha. This is Ed's home for the next couple days. If I have to listen how great that tent is again I'm going to brain him. It is pretty though. Home sweet home. The Bug is packed up and ready to leave. 4:30AM Saturday Morning

GHEENOE SNEAK PEEK

Below are pictures of the new adventure machine. It is a custom Gheenoe. She has been in the making for over a month now. It awaits a windshield, the addition of console cushions and installation of a jack plate. When it is received in Franklin, TN it will receive the rest of the rigging. Just a sneak peek. I doubt there's one like it on a Tennessee lake. The center console. The cushions are not installed yet. Seems there is a change in the design and the new ones will be installed tomorrow.

TENSE MOMENTS

He stood with his back to the door, pealing an orange with his pen knife. His clothes were camo fatigue's and his weapon a Colt 45 model 1911 A1, tucked in the waste band of his pants under the belt at the small of his back with his shirt hanging loose around his waist. Sudden heavy footsteps hammered hard on the stair steps that lead to the third story room that the American occupied. There was no exit accept the door at his back. The footsteps halted outside and the door was kicked open. A Viet Cong boldly strutted into the room with a look of dignity surrounding him. Two other companions entered, bent at the waste, one on each side of him. They knelt down one knee on the floor at each side of the door entrance and scanned the room. They carried AK 47 rifles. These were cowboy's. They were friendly South Vietnamese troops by day and thieves and Viet Cong sympathizers by night. 

The man standing slowly swaggered across the room toward the American and stopped directly in front of him. The two stared directly into the other's eyes. No fear could be reflected in the eyes of either. The look of fear could start something that could not be stopped. The Vietnamese's eyes were glazed and he squinted as if he were looking into bright light. He was obviously smoking opium that night and was under it's influence. Without moving his eyes from the American's, he reached out with his left hand and tapped the hip pocket area on the Americans pant. He wanted the money that he knew was kept there as today was pay day. The American did not flinch or move. He maintained the stare. Again, the Vietnamese reached out and tapped the pocket. The American shook his head from side to side transmitting a "no" answer. The Vietnamese's eye's opened wide in fury and he withdrew a long knife from his belt. He brought it up in front of his chest with the sharpened edge turned up and drew his thumb down along the side of the blade slowly. His eyes never left the Americans. Again he reached toward the Americans pocket. The American suddenly smiled, held his hand up palm out and reached down toward his pocket. He felt the grip of the 45 Colt, grasped it and yanked it out and leveled it between the eyes of the Vietnamese. The Americans eyes changed from docile to intense fire. The Congs by the door brought their rifles to bear on the two. The American, without moving his eyes from the Vietnamese, shook his head from side to side slowly and pressed the muzzle of the weapon to the forehead in front of him. Hard! With his other hand he pointed to the door and said "now". A smile appeared on the face of the Vietnamese and the knife was reinserted into his belt. He made some gibberish and the two at the door suddenly disappeared. The American followed his hostage to the door and closed it after all had exited. He instantly dropped to the floor to the right side of the room. Automatic rifle fire erupted and ten holes appeared in the door from the outside. He waited. Fear finally overtook him. He shook uncontrollably. He lay there for over thirty minutes on the floor until he had the courage to stand and carefully exit the room. He thought "no one would ever believe this." But I guarantee you. It really did happen. Life takes many turns. Enjoy it. You never know what's ahead.