to reminisce

[RVAH-7]

                                                             " TOO SOON "

Turning left and leaving the pavement, the dirt lane guided my pickup past the classic white farm house, the deer-fenced garden, between barn and outbuildings to the narrow farm lane which suddenly veered steeply down a timbered slope, sidehilling to the flat bench bordering the East bank of the Flathead River.

Among the towering Engelman spruce, Douglas fir, western larch and scattered paper birch, the camp fire was burning well and I could see the huge, soot smudged coffee pot already started for a monthly club shoot.  The second Saturday of each month.

Everything seemed the same as before.  I had returned to Montana from a position in Alaska to support my terminally ill father and to help both Dad and Mom.

I had missed the blackpowder activities and scenic locations with friends.  Striding from my truck toward the fire and faces I immediately recognized, a man turned from the group and met me halfway, extending a big bony hand in front of an old wool coat enclosing a bewhiskered gent with graying hair but warm eyes and smile, along with a simple "I'm Jack Sims."

Dave, Ric and Dan all smiled as they rolled their eyes, shook their heads "no" in unison as a humorous warning, tipping me off look out for this guy!  Thus began a true friendship with a special buckskinner.

Now, that day remains etched in my memory as though only a few Saturdays ago.  But here I am out in my shop putting a few things together in my bag for a personal walk, a solemn hike no longer interrupted by work, the winter's wood supply, family trips in search of huckleberries and Oregon grapes, or serious hunting.  In fact the meat is cut, wrapped, frozen and I have time to go out in the woods, uninterrupted or rushed.  The same woods Jack often frequented with his "smoothie" and old wool coat.  Before his sudden and unexpected passing.  Much too soon.

Six miles from the village, I walk beyond my driveway, cross the narrow gravel road and immediately enter State Forest lands.  As I begin to skirt a logged area, numerous clumps of Christmas tree sized balsam and birch hint that I should load the trade gun 'yust in case a snowshoe hare should materialize as a snowy ghost.

Reminiscing of memories, fine times with 'old Jack', I walk, casually, slowly, not hunting but as if sharing the trail.  I can almost talk out loud to him: Only a few inches of snow now, after hunting season...sure doesn't seem like much of a winter, eh?...guess everyone from coast to coast is on easy street unless we get a charge of white stuff and some real cold.  At least no mosquitoes or yellowjackets, for sure!

I suddenly stop, looking down at four sets of elk tracks wandering abreast of each other.  Not single file in deep snow but browsing randomly like they might bed.  One set looks to be a calf.  Thirty yards or so further I cut a larger, blockier track of a bull, by itself, taking longer strides.  Instinctively I quickly glance up and scan the surroundings as though it's hunting season and I better "wake up and pay attention!"

With no particular spot in mind, I fall in behind the bull just to see where he picks to walk (like I could learn from this old boy).  Then I'm thinking..Jack...you cut his track first...he's your bull if you want to follow him up.  I'll ease up the hill, Kinda' keep you in sight most of the time and parallel the two of ya...If you bump him out of his bed and he heads uphill, maybe I'll get a slice at him...

Strangely, the tracks take me to a small open area.  Glancing around, I can even see up on the main mountain...Breezy Point as the old timers used to call that corner on the sidehill trail where the horses would turn to enter the rocky canyon, swallowed up in rugged mountain scenery and the valley down here would melt out of sight.  Plumb rocky up there!  Back to reality, I glance at the afternoon sky all the while realizing these short winter days can end in darkness.

Peeling some loose paper tinder off a birch, I also break off a big handful of super dry, dead twigs from beneath a spruce and methodically scrape a clear spot in the shallow snow with my boot toe. Next I walk among nearby trees breaking off an armload of dead, dry limbs, a couple chunks of sloughing bark from a dead Doug fir trunk and from under the same log grab a handful of dry, brown grass.  Pulling the poke out of my bag, I withdraw a couple pieces of charred tinder fungus, flint and a steel.  Soon a spark is caught on the black surface and begins forming a whitish cocoon of ash as it spreads and burns down in.  With a nested handful of dry grass and birch paper surrounding the ball, fire is soon coaxed into a bright blaze and the darkening afternoon is confirmed.

The blaze is comforting and warm as it snaps and crackles, but this fire is not cheery.  I glance over at the surpentine sideplate as the fire begins to flicker reflections off the brass and I know I'll be walking into my backyard as darkness settles in.

More memories...

Jack, I better get going now...

With deepening shadows I fumble to dribble some powder into the dry pan.  Poor light...Probably more than I needed, eh Jack?...

Thumbing the frizzen closed, taking careful, deliberate aim at the rock outcropping above Breezy Point, the flintlock erupted showering sparks of farewell, friend.


Mike Jorgenson



 

[Old Salt]

Mike Jorgenson you can spend a fine tale. I truly enjoyed it.

Old Salt

[WKevinD]

Sad but with a smile. Thanks.
Kevin

[OldMtnMan]

Good old days were never what we remember but nobody will convince us of that.

[mountainman70]

Touched this ol hivernan's soul,too, my brother. Got heaps of similar memories.
Keep yer powder dry,pilgrim ! RedBear, Dave f

[StevenV]

Nice Mike thanks for sharing

[Huntschool]

Ah...…  such memories.....

[Dave Marsh]

Touched me and brought back memories of two friends gone.  Thanks.

Dave

[Percy]

Takes me back a few years......  Thanks Mike

Percy

[Matthew1969]

Excellent. I could feel it.
Matthew

[Bob Roller]

Ah...…  such memories.....

Memories. We all have them and after reading that fine story I started thinking back
to the day in 1947* we moved to where we now live. My Mother and I came to WV from
a German neighborhood in Chicago so she could help her parents who were not doing
well.She was a trainer for Bell Atlantic telephone company and I was looked after by
my grand parents while she worked. NONE of the guys I grew up with are still alive.
Five brothers from the Ray family and other,individuals are now gone forever.
At first I was NOT liked by any of them because I was able to speak German**, and that
was a sin in the Appalachian Culture.At that point in time,most of these boys had ONE
ambition and that was to become 16,get a clunker of a car and a job in a gas station.
Some pathetic goal in life.At 12 I started earning money by cutting grass and other odd jobs
like painting a fence or porch or even fixing a bicycle sprocket chain.I became interested
in cars at 16 and met two men who had an influence in my life.They were Raydon R.(Don)Thompson
and Shelby B.(Jack) Irwin.They had two Model "J"Duesenberg cars in a garage in the Harveytown section
of Huntington and it was there I found out I did have some mechanical talent and they sort of adopted
me.By the time I was 17 I was able to rebuild the head of that big dual overhead cam engine and
get it right including the valve clearances of 32 valves.These two men got a franchise to sell English
cars,MG-Morris-Riley and Jaguar plus others from franchiser Max Hoffman in New York City.
They took me on as helper/mechanic.That was a priceless experience. I then became interested
in muzzle loaders as an activity. I had one already,a Tower/Enfield 25"carbine in 58 caliber
that I had with me when I met those two men. Bob Wilson and I had been out South of the city and
were hunting wild dogs that had killed several pets and attacked a small child.I think we got two of them.
I met Bill Large in 1953 and that began a friendship,teacher/student relationship that lasted until Bill passed away
on 26 September 1985.All that I do today is because of Don Thompson,Jack Irwin and Jack Irwin and the
encouragement from E.M.Farris  and Wes Kindig who got me interested in making locks and triggers.
I have also worked in several garages and machine shops and one local one that was owned by Bob Null
and his father used to call me when they were needing help. They sub contracted for the coal mining
industry.Bob Null said I had three good things going for me. One was,I knew what I was doing,I had a fine
assortment of precision tools,micrometers and other items and last but not least,I did NOT have the
Sheriff in there with a non support warrant for evasion of child support orders.
There is more but I will leave it for another time. Thanks for the reminder to reminisce.
Bob Roller
*We came to WV in 1946 and my mother bought the house we now own in 1947
**I am no longer fluent in German.Second languages are hard to keep if not used

[Craig Wilcox]

Mike - and Bob Roller - thanks for sharing those wonderful memories.
Growing up travelling around the world, and then continuing that in my varied careers, I never learned to make or to keep long term relationships.  As soon as I started getting to know people around me, I would be off again.  About the only thing my year in Vietnam taught me was to avoid "getting to know" people.  Either they or me would be quickly gone.
Having said that, the one constant in my life has been firearms.  When I was 11, living in the Philippines, my Dad introduced me to the Gunny Sergeant of the Marine company also stationed at the base.  He taught me, over he next year and a half, how to shoot and care for all the weaponry that was available.
My Dad was Navy, not a Marine, and our next duty station was Washington, D.C.  I was searching for a place to shoot when I found that the Marine HQ at 8th and "Eye" had a rifle range in the basement of one of the buildings, and until I discovered the NSSA in 1960, you could find me there most Saturday morning.
One of my Dad's friends was a History professor at U. Maryland - and he had tons of Civil War equipment, from A to Z.  He outfitted me with an original 1861 Springfield, and a Civil War Naval uniform - THEN you could find me at various target shoots and reenactments.
I was fortunate in choosing the firearms line, in that when it came time that my body wouldn't let me work 10-12 hours a day, I had my hobby to fall back on.
Now, recovering from various surgeries over the past few years, I am sidelined for a wee bit.  Still TRY to be at the workbench for brief periods each day - and that keeps me sane.  Thank Heaven for the Brotherhood of Black Powder!  I may not have the many friendships that some of you have made and cultivated, but I do share the spirit of the smoke!

[RVAH-7]

Thanks to all for the positive replies. The piece served it's purpose if it was enjoyed in any way.

[Lobo]

Mike, thank you... you are a wonderful story teller, I was right there with you (and Jack)

I'm in my 83rd winter and so many of my old friends have gone on. I miss them and often reminisce of the times we had sharing our love of the outdoors. Some of those times were many years ago but the memories are as fresh as if it was yesterday.

[Martin S.]

Mike, Bob, and Craig, I enjoyed all of the reminiscing.

Thank you for posting your memories.

[Phil Neal]

Reminds me of many hunts with my brother before Vietnam.

[old george]

Mike, I enjoyed your story. Your handle also brings back memories, was the squadron flying the vigilantes or the sky warriors?

geo
USN 63-78

[RVAH-7]

Mike, I enjoyed your story. Your handle also brings back memories, was the squadron flying the vigilantes or the sky warriors?

geo
USN 63-78

Thank you, Old George. We were running RA-5C Vigilantes. I guess I should be Old Mike, looking back at reconnaissance at 40,000 feet supersonic and now they use satellites! USN 67-71.