Category: Snowbird

Blame It On Youth

A bunch of us were sitting around the fire at Snowbird, in the mountains of North Carolina, talking, when Brother Dave walked up, stopped about 20 yards away, and just looked at me. He didn’t say anything. But I noticed that his shirt was torn and he was bleeding a little.

Cap'n Dave
Cap’n Dave: Older and wiser.

Those were clues: In a flash I knew something had happened to my four-wheeler, which he was no longer riding.

Turns out it was in a creek a mile, mile and a half from our cabin, broken up a little, but nothing Dave couldn’t, and didn’t, fix.

He had been coming back up the hill from Little Snowbird Creek, going, shall we just say, too fast. He had my Polaris running nearly wide open. And then the road curved and he couldn’t.

The Polaris Dave wrecked.
The Polaris Dave wrecked.

The ATV went airborne, over a 10 or 12-foot embankment, though a mess of rhododendron, landing on its nose in Juanite Creek. After getting a look at the situation I think the rhododendron may have saved my brother’s life, scraping him off the Polaris before it came to a sudden stop below.

Hopefully, this won’t happen again. Dave is older now, wiser. He has much better judgment.

He was only 71 then.

Coming Friday: “Are You Boys Armed?”

 

The Germ Inspector

The original skunkhouse.
The original skunk house.

For years we camped in the mountains of North Carolina, at Snowbird, in a three-sided shed, with a potbelly stove in the back and three racks on each side. On cold nights we hung a tarp across the front.

The skunk house, after Pop closed in the front and added a kitchen.
The skunk house, after Pop closed in the front and added a kitchen.

After a while Brother Pop and his friend, Dag Grady, and some others closed in the front, built an annex to the shed — a kitchen — and lugged a cast iron stove up there, a little over half a mile. Pop became the camp cook, a job he held for years.

“Eat it or wear it,” he would say.

We took turns doing dishes in a creek not far off. We did the best we could to keep stuff clean, but with no running water in the shed, that won’t easy.

If you came to Snowbird in those days most people understood that you had to lower your standards a little. If you didn’t think a fork or a plate was clean enough you just wiped it on your shirt and went on about your business.

But everybody didn’t always get the message. On one trip to the mountain there was this guy who was constantly on the lookout for germs, and Pop got a little tired of it.

Pop: "Eat it or wear it."
Pop: “Eat it or wear it.”

My brother often bought venison to the mountain which he mixed with anything and everything, trying to get rid of it, I guess. One morning he made biscuits from scratch and he mixed tiny bits of venison into the dough.

A few minutes later the Germ Inspector came into his kitchen and stood there, watching. Pop took a spatula, picked a small piece of venison out of the dough, and flicked it onto the dirt floor. And then another one. And another, and then, almost under his breath, he said, “Damn rats!”

The Germ Inspector heard him, and the rest of us got to share a couple of extra biscuits that morning.

Coming Friday: What’s That Thing We Used To Do?