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.

OLD TREE

How long you been there old fellow? If you could only talk! How often have you seen your breathern rise and fall about you. Why is it that only you stand alone in defiance, against the survival odds, here on this grassy noll? I'll bet there have been countless camp fires flicker beneath your protective canopy of green. It would be interesting to know how many families have called your enormous branches home over the years. I can see damage to your flesh caused by hatchet, gun and fire. A lesser tree would have succumed ages ago. Yet you stand proud and defiant. I respect your tenacity for life. You are free out here, old tree There is an aura about you that carries the scent of freedom and power and resilience. Isn't that something?! You remind me of my country. Only thing is, old tree; My country already has adopted an animal as her national symbol. The Bald Eagle. But fear not old tree. Without your protective branches, the Bald Eagle would not be at all. So stand proud old one. You provide the lofty perch for the symbol of our nation. You and the Bald Eagle united together are necessary. One can not exhist without the other. United we stand, divided we fall. Hummm; heard that somewhere else I think.

SANDHILL CRAIN HUNTING PROPOSAL

I was made aware today by a friend who is a birder that there is a referendum to create a hunting season on Sandhill Cranes. This idea is being publicised by a Columnist who writes for the Knoxville Sentinel named Bob Hodge. I do not know Bob Hodge's credentials and I haven't seen the actual article yet. I will delve into this shortly. I have seen a couple emails with quotes from his articles stating his justification for a hunting season. He states "the freakin things are everywhere." If this is indeed a statement from an educated columnist, I feel it speaks volume's about the mentality behind the hunting movement here in Tennessee. I know that hunting provides the money that funds habitat development and tax dollars fund many agencies that provide stewardship for our wildlife. I have been a hunter up until I was about 45 years old. I have used, archery, shot gun, black powder, rifles and even pistols of several calibers to harvest game. A change occurred in my life when I asked myself why? What am I doing this for? Maybe it's an age thing. I don't know. I am not advocating the elimination of hunting here. Everyone exercises his or her legal rights as they see fit. I can justify my tolerance of it through revenue collection. There are better ways of controlling wildlife populations but this is not the forum for explanations. That all being said; I am deeply disturbed at the idea of opening up a hunting season on these birds. No, they are not nor have ever been close to extinction. The Whooping Crane was and is near extinction. Birds of a feather flock together. The Whoopers and the Sandhill's do share habitat on the ground and in flight. The destruction of a single Whooping Crane is unthinkable and the ramifications of a single death are many. Mr. Hodge's article mentions training. Hunters may be trained to discern the difference between a Whooper and a Sandhill. Education is the answer. Listen to me and listen good. I use the trail just off the Tellico Parkway near Route 95. You've seen my articles about it here on this blog. Trained and educated hunters! The beautiful sign on the trail pointing out a boat landing was destroyed the second day after it's construction. It was donated. It was laboriously dragged over that trail and installed next to the neat, clean little boat landing. It has been perforated by buck shot. Holes all through it. Senseless. I take my dogs on that trail frequently. I have found deer hides and piles of guts right on the trail. Not once, but frequently. I have had to leave the area because of my dogs inability to ignore the refuse. In these cases hunters intentionally blasted the sign and were too lazy and put out to remove entrails from their deer kills back in the woods. In the openness of the trail, they could actually skin the deer. Then just leave the offal IN THE MIDDLE OF THE TRAIL. Now, this mentality is going to be trained? Those are just a couple of examples. I have more, but you get the idea. If a season is opened on the Sandhills, I guarantee the Whooping Cranes will suffer the consequences. And what joy or pride could possibly be obtained by ending the life of such a beautiful, graceful bird? Explain that to me. What is it that is so honorable about getting a picture taken holding a dead Sandhill by the neck out to the side and smiling into the camera? Please, someone explain that. There is no habitat destruction that will be prevented by harvesting them. I guess the statement by Mr Hodge says it all----"The freekin things are everywhere." I will be printing an article concerning this issue in the Knoxville Sentinal. I must read Mr Hodge's article and find out a bit about his background first. This idea of slaughtering Sandhills is uncontionable and for an outdoor writer to promote the idea is next to sacrilige. Furthermore, anyone who considers himself a friend of the wilderness and an outdoor columnist who refers to a Sandhill Crane as a freeking thing is a detriment to his newspaper and hunters alike. He certainly is no friend to nature.

GHEENOE

No, its not some kind of animal. Below this post you can find some pictures of a River Hawk boat. I have been investigating these boats for weeks now and discovered that the River Hawk is a spin off from another canoe called a Gheenoe. The Gheenoe was invented and later manufactured by a man named Gheene from here in Tennessee. To make a long story short; he got tired of upsetting canoes and decided enough is enough and designed his own boats. All kidding aside; these boats are the best of the best for their size. Below is some shots of Gheenoe's. Some are Custom Gheenoe's. Custom Gheenoe is a company founded by the original family to create personalized boats for customers. Some are quite elegant as you can see. By the way; Gheenoe is pronounced like canoe with a "g". Directly below is a standard boat. All that follow are custom boats based on a standard boat.