For my Lady Beth. A story just for her is all she asked of me.
They were four friends on a weekend camp along what they thought was an ordinary river in the Appalachian foothills of South Carolina. The weather was cold and they had almost canceled the trip because of it. Night time temperatures were expected to drop into the upper twenties. Dave, the most experienced of the group figured that along the riverbanks the number could go lower. Maybe much lower.
But, the other couple were really stoked about going, as was Annie, (Dave’s girlfriend), and everyone was indeed outfitted with the most modern of clothing and equipment. After all, they fully expected to do this very chance they could for years to come and in every exotic location possible. There was actually three couples in this little camping club, but one had backed out this weekend due to a nasty cold the male partner had picked up from his job at the hospital in nearby Greenville. So at the appointed hour on Friday afternoon the two remaining couples, Dave & Annie and Mike & Donna met at the parking lot next to the Chattooga River Trout hatchery, checked their gear, hitched up their heavy packs and with colorful aluminum hiking staffs they set off down the trail.
A two hour hike at a slow pace would put them where they wanted to be. An old established campsite right on the river surrounded on both sides of the flow by old growth forest. Minimal undergrowth made for a spectacular view of the mountainsides and deer often fed on the mast of these old forest giants. The river itself formed a large, seemingly deep pool here before continuing its way down the borders of Georgia and South Carolina. Eventually it would grow to the best whitewater rafting in the Southeast, but here it was relatively small and cold, well known for fine trout fishing. The group very much expected to see a fly fisherman or two before the weekend ended.
They made excellent time and camp was set well before dark, even on this winter night. The guys took the opportunity to lay in as large a pile of deadfall as they could for the night was already looking to be a bitter one. The girls helped for a while, then decided to break out the stoves and boil up some water for the dehydrated foods they planned to dine upon for the next four meals. With energy bars for lunch. Minimal weight, minimal wrappers to pack out. Soon the scent of re-hydrate beef stew drifted through the forest drawing the guys back from their rather successful forage.
The original intent had been to have no fire at all. This group intended to leave no trace and that meant no fire. They would cook on the micro-stoves and had the latest LED flashlights and micro-lanterns for lighting the tents and grounds as needed. But as they had descended into the river valley the temperature had begun to plummet By the time they had reached the campsite their breath was visible and all were reaching for gloves. Dave had offered the choice of a warm cheery fire to warm them before slipping into their sleeping bags and the other three members had gladly accepted the change in plan. But now a problem arose for none in the group was a smoker nor habitually carried a lighter or matches. There were a number of matches in the emergency kit Dave carried in his pack, but despite all efforts no fire could be made. And now, slightly damp with sweat in their clothing from the exertions of the day there was nothing for it but to go to bed and hope for quick sleep and an early dawn. Perhaps the sun would make for a warmer day. Quietly Dave feared that those wispy clouds he saw before sunset did not bode well for a sunny Saturday
Morning arrived at last. But with it did not come the sun but rather a gloomy overcast that offered no warmth no matter how much it looked like a fluffy quilt. Still, all four were out early, looking somewhat ratty and worn. Extra clothes had been brought out and added on above the clothes from yesterday. Still, little warmth was to be had. Annie had brought two chemical handwarmers with her and broke them out to share. The group passed them back and forth as they chatted in the frosty morning air and waited on the tiny stoves to boil water to re-hydrate breakfast. At one point the guys stepped away from camp to relieve themselves behind a huge beech tree and shivered with the sudden loss of warm fluids from their bodies. It was here that Mike asked Dave if he had heard what sounded sort of like a shot just after dawn. “Yeah,” replied Dave. “I heard that too. I know it is hunting season, but deer hunters seldom come down here. Too much foot traffic for them. Did Donna hear it?” Mike said “Yeah, she did. But she wasn’t concerned. Come on. Breakfast is ready.” They ate and talked as a group about their equipment, their plans for the future. They took pictures of their camp and the river and forest and laughed of their complete inability to build a fire. And as they spoke the temperature steadily dropped.
As often happens when you’re having fun and in good company time slipped away. By the time they realized that the weather was steadily getting colder, it was too late to break camp and make the long climb back to their cars before dark. Walking that trail by the light of a flashlight was asking for sprained or broken ankle. As real troopers they decided to make the best of it and stay for their second and last night. Only Annie seemed to have any reservation. “It’s odd,” she said, “but I’ve had the feeling all morning we’re being watched.” This brought on a hail of laughter from the others as they jokingly accused Annie of starting to sound like a cheap fright-flick at the local cinema. Annie’s final words on the subject were “I’m serious. But perhaps it is just a deer, or maybe the birds.” They had heard many bird calls that morning.
Dave recalled seeing fire being made before with striking a steel with a flint and catching the sparks in something light. So with nothing else planned but trying to stay warm the entire group moved down the trail towards the end of the pool in hopes of finding a flint stone in the shallows. For a steel they planned to used the blade of the only belt knife among them, Mike’s 4 inch Buck knife he had insisted on carrying. Having endured much harassment about his choice of a fixed blade knife, Mike was now spreading it on thick of how his “big blade” was to save them from a frozen death. It really was a good show and everyone needed the laugh. One more problem cropped up when they realized that none of them knew what a “flint” looked like or whether another stone would work.
As they discussed the “flint” situation the group of four suddenly realized they were now a group of five! Both women let out little yelps but neither compared to the scream that came from Dave’s mouth.To make things worse, this new person on the trail was, apparently, armed to the teeth! Armed he was, but strangely. He stood before them, slightly over six feet tall, with what appeared to be an ancient flintlock rifle in the crook of his arm. About his waist was a wide sash and in it was a leather sheath containing a long knife with locks of blond hair hanging from tin cones on the butt end of the handle. About his neck and under the left arm was the sheath of a second long knife. A dark leather bag hung under his right arm, tucked up tight against his body and with it a powderhorn of a yellowed color and scrimshawed with some pattern – perhaps a map. On his back was a tight and very small canvas pack of some sort with a gray woolen blanket rolled tightly and tied to the pack. His clothing was as odd as his arms. Everything he wore blended well into the forest backdrop. No matter what the base color or pattern, everything seemed to have been soaked in a solution to turn it a rich brown. The effect was rather pleasing to the eye and better camouflage than anything seen in stores if he had managed to walk up on them unseen in the middle of a wide trail. On his bald head he wore a tam; the only bit un-dyed, it was an odd green with a dark red prom on top. Two shirts were on his back and at least the top one was long, hanging to his knees and ripped down the front to make it wrap around. The shirts were held tight about his waist by the sash that also held the long blade. Below this was a pair of leggings of sorts. A large number of small pewter buttons closed them about his strong looking legs. On his feet were leather moccasins made of supple leather and made something like booties. And to finish off his outfit, this specter carried an ax at his back with a wicked spike opposite the crescent blade.
“Don’t be frightened,” he said. His voice was level and quiet, with a bit of a Scottish, or Irish in it. “My name is Omar. And despite the gun, I mean you no harm. Please, be at ease.” His blue-gray eyes held no malice that any of them could see. Indeed, he seemed a “comfortable” person to talk to. Though he had been the one to scream loudest, Dave was the first to regain his tongue.
“Where in Hell did you come from?“, he asked.
“Well“, replied Omar, “from right over there.”
He pointed to a tree at the side of the trail that all four of them had walked within three feet of to get to this spot. It seemed impossible that they could have been so close to such a big man, no matter the color of his clothes, and not notice. It simply didn’t make sense. They were are thinking the same thing, but it Mike that gave it voice at last.
“You’re trying to tell me that we walked within three feet of a man with a rifle and full pack and didn’t notice?“, he asked.
Omar replied, “No. You walked past seven men with rifles and full packs without noticing.”
An amused gleam was in his eye as he spoke these words. The group immediately started looking about, searching for these ghost-men that no one could see. Omar made out with a whistle that sounded much like the birds they had heard all morning. As the looks on the faces of the four campers grew more and more astonished Omar was answered by six other “birds”. Some close, some further away. Then this man raised his right fist and made a quick pumping motion and six other men in dress similar to Omar, and each armed with flintlocks and a collection of other edged weapons, stepped out onto the open trail. Not one had been more than a yard off the trail they had all walked down only minutes before.
Omar again broke the silence. “Let me introduce you to our Company of Rangers. Then let’s have a fire and a some meat, shall we? You look half-frozen!“
Soon I’ll continue the story. Hope you like it.
Omar out.
