#french river fishing lodges

[keyharbourlodgeca]

Top French River Fishing Lodges for Anglers!

Stay at the best fishing lodges on the French River for a memorable angling adventure. Enjoy excellent fishing, comfortable lodgings, and stunning scenery. Perfect for solo trips, families, and fishing groups. Website: https://www.keyharbourlodge.com/

[sizzlinghideoutalpaca]

How Many Tourists Visit the Amazon Rainforest Each Year?

Introduction

The Amazon Rainforest, often dubbed the "lungs of the Earth," https://discover-northern-brazil-safarisw989.hpage.com/post1.html is one of the most biodiverse places on our planet. Stretching across multiple countries, it serves as a vital ecosystem that supports countless species of flora and fauna. With its vast rivers, towering trees, and rich indigenous cultures, it’s no wonder that tourists flock to experience this natural wonder. But just how many tourists visit the Amazon Rainforest each year? This article dives deep into tourist statistics, travel considerations, and the overall impact of tourism on this unique environment.

How Many Tourists Visit the Amazon Rainforest Each Year?

The Amazon Rainforest attracts millions of visitors annually. Recent estimates suggest that approximately 2 million tourists visit various parts of the Amazon each year. This number can fluctuate based on factors such as seasonality, economic conditions, and global events like pandemics. The most popular entry point into the rainforest is through Manaus in Brazil, where visitors can access guided tours, cruises, and eco-lodges.

Understanding Tourist Trends

Tourism in the Amazon often peaks during specific months due to favorable weather conditions and various festivals celebrated by local communities. For instance:

Peak Season: Typically runs from June to December when rainfall is lower. Off-Peak Season: January to May sees heavier rains but can also attract adventurous travelers looking for a more authentic experience. Why Do Tourists Visit?

People are drawn to the Amazon for numerous reasons:

Ecotourism: Many are interested in sustainable travel practices that benefit local communities while preserving biodiversity. Adventure Activities: From hiking to canoeing, there’s plenty for thrill-seekers. Cultural Experiences: Interacting with indigenous tribes offers a glimpse into different ways of life. Can You Visit Amazon Rainforest in Brazil?

Absolutely! Brazil is home to the largest portion of the Amazon Rainforest. Visitors can book tours ranging from day trips to multi-day excursions that cover various aspects of this incredible ecosystem. Not only does Brazil offer lush landscapes and diverse wildlife, but it also presents opportunities for cultural immersion through local tribes.

What Is the Best Month to Visit the Amazon Rainforest?

Choosing the right time for your trip can make all the difference in your experience. While visiting any time has its perks, here’s a breakdown:

June to September (Dry Season): Ideal for hiking and exploring trails. Less rain means easier navigation through forests. October to March (Wet Season): Perfect for river activities like canoeing or fishing. Wildlife tends to be more active as they search for food.

Ultimately, your choice depends on what you want out of your adventure!

Which Country Is Best to Visit the Amazon Rainforest?

The Amazon spans several countries including Brazil, Peru, Colombia, Venezuela, Ecuador, Bolivia, Guyana, Suriname, and French Guiana. Each country offers unique experien

[camellasstory]

Exploring the Natural Beauty of Starved Rock State Park: Your Ultimate Guide

Nestled in the heart of Illinois, Starved Rock State Park is a natural haven that offers breathtaking scenery, diverse wildlife, and endless outdoor activities. Whether you're an adventurer seeking thrilling experiences or someone who enjoys the tranquility of nature, Starved Rock State Park has something for everyone. In this guide, we'll explore what makes this park so special and why it should be on your must-visit list.

The Rich History of Starved Rock State Park

Starved Rock State Park is more than just a stunning natural landscape; it's a place steeped in history. The park gets its name from a tragic tale involving a group of Illiniwek Native Americans who were said to have starved to death atop a rocky bluff while besieged by rival tribes. Today, the park is a symbol of resilience and a tribute to the area's indigenous history.

Exploring the Trails and Waterfalls

One of the main attractions of Starved Rock State Park is its extensive network of trails that weave through lush forests, towering canyons, and along the Illinois River. With over 13 miles of well-maintained trails, there's a path for every skill level.

Discover the Canyons

The park is home to 18 canyons, each with its own unique charm. Some of the most popular include French Canyon, Wildcat Canyon, and St. Louis Canyon. These natural formations are especially beautiful after a rainstorm when waterfalls cascade down the canyon walls, creating a magical atmosphere.

Hiking Tips

Wear sturdy shoes: The terrain can be uneven, so good footwear is essential.

Bring water: Staying hydrated is crucial, especially during longer hikes.

Plan ahead: Some trails can be challenging, so it's important to choose one that matches your fitness level.

Wildlife Watching at Starved Rock State Park

Starved Rock State Park is a sanctuary for wildlife enthusiasts. The park's diverse habitats are home to a variety of animals, including deer, foxes, and over 200 species of birds. Birdwatchers will particularly enjoy spotting bald eagles, which are a common sight in the winter months.

Best Times for Wildlife Viewing

Early Morning: Many animals are most active at dawn, making this the best time for wildlife viewing.

Winter: Bald eagles migrate to the park during the colder months, offering a unique viewing opportunity.

Outdoor Activities Beyond Hiking

While hiking is one of the most popular activities at Starved Rock State Park, there's much more to do. The Illinois River provides opportunities for boating, fishing, and kayaking. In fact, if you're looking to explore the waterways, renting a kayak from Kayak Starved Rock is a fantastic way to see the park from a different perspective.

Kayaking Adventures

Kayaking on the Illinois River offers a peaceful way to take in the park's beauty. Paddling through the calm waters allows you to get up close to the scenic cliffs and spot wildlife that you might miss from the trails.

Guided Tours: If you're new to kayaking, consider joining a guided tour. Expert guides will ensure you have a safe and enjoyable experience.

Equipment Rentals: Kayak Starved Rock provides all the gear you need, so you can focus on enjoying your adventure.

Planning Your Visit to Starved Rock State Park

Whether you're planning a day trip or a weekend getaway, Starved Rock State Park offers a variety of amenities to make your stay comfortable. The park features a visitor center, picnic areas, and even a lodge with cozy accommodations.

When to Visit

Spring and Fall: These seasons offer mild temperatures and vibrant scenery, making them ideal times to visit.

Winter: Although colder, winter at Starved Rock has its own charm, with frozen waterfalls and the opportunity to see bald eagles.

What to Bring

Camera: The park's natural beauty makes it a photographer's paradise.

Binoculars: Perfect for birdwatching and spotting distant wildlife.

Snacks: There are picnic areas where you can enjoy a meal surrounded by nature.

Conclusion

Starved Rock State Park is a true gem of Illinois, offering a perfect blend of natural beauty, history, and outdoor adventure. Whether you're hiking through its canyons, kayaking along the Illinois River, or simply soaking in the serene atmosphere, this park provides an unforgettable experience. Start planning your visit today and discover why Starved Rock State Park is one of the Midwest's premier outdoor destinations.

[shayanapraia]

Week 8 (Amazon) Recap

Holy moly, what a trip. The Amazon was insane. I won’t be able to put it all in one post but I’ll summarize and leave it to the readers to ask further questions

So basically I flew to Manaus, which is a big, modern, 2 million person city in the center of the rainforest. I have a friend Lucas who is born and raised there (we met while he was on vacation in Salvador) so I spent the first day and a half with him. It was really cool to hear from a local person about how the Amazon region plays a part in their culture there. I assumed that people living in the city would be completely modernized and detached from indigenous roots, but actually they have very elegant bits of native culture within their city lives and they are very proud of amazonas. For example, Lucas said a typical Sunday for his family (like many families) is fishing in the river and then grilling their fish for a big family meal. He also knows a TON of fish species and plants, and I think that’s just a naturally ingrained part of their life there.

So Lucas convinced me to go on this day trip tour thing with him that takes you near the city and you visit a native tribe, go fishing, swim with the pink river dolphins, etc. I took one look and was like wtf this looks so touristy and cringe, but since I literally had an indigenous local friend wanting to go for his own personal interest, I thought ok well it must be legit. Well I thought it was super cringe and touristy. But Lucas said it made him emotional because he’s connecting to his “nature roots” LMAO so I really don’t know what to think

Lucas saying he’s “bored” after we literally saw a SLOTH because he’s “used to” seeing sloths all the time lmao

River dolphin, not in captivity but lowkey being exploited in my opinion

The native dance thing seemed really performative and kind of fake and commercialized, but Lucas said it’s real, so I really don’t know if I’m just being racist

Okay and THEN I went on a 4-day jungle trip. From Manaus it was a car, boat, longer car, longer boat to get there. The guide, Liel, has a little lodge that he has built on his family’s property that he runs with his wife and kids. There were also French and Spanish travelers there.

We spent the days doing different activities: rainforest walks for wildlife, lots of canoe rides, fishing, and visiting the community. We saw beautiful nature and wildlife but for me, the coolest part was seeing the lifestyle of the locals.

We were in a super rural 20-family community on the river where all of the people are native by blood but they are culturally Brazilian (aka they only speak Portuguese, they’re all Christian, don’t actively have any indigenous culture). There are zero streets, zero cars, bikes, or any land travel whatsoever. Only boats. Below are Liel’s kids getting on their “school bus” in the morning

Which raised soooo many questions for me…police, firefighters, postal service, population, education, food supply chains, etc??? Well, I got them all answered so if you are curious too, we can discuss

My favorite night was spent staying with another local native family, liel’s cousins. We helped them cook dinner and hung out with the kids. I learned to scale (?) and clean (?) fish for cooking, and we also harvested cassava root and herbs and sugar cane from their garden. Everything you plant just GROWS crazy there. We all became friends by the end and it was a sweet little goodbye

My other favorite part was spending a night living ~survival mode~ in the rainforest. The only food we brought was rice and eggs basically, so we had to hunt/fish if we wanted a substantial meal. We ate piranhas and I slayed fishing

Beauty all around all the time

Some of the wildlife we saw included: many many many birds that looked like they could come out of a David Attenborough movie, lots of butterflies, a monkey, some alligators, little frogs, a lot of river dolphins, spiders, tarantula piranhas obviously, giant ants, etc

Well, that concludes my Amazon time. It was very special for me but I’m so happy to be back in moderate temperatures, away from mosquitos, and in clean clothes. Eating non-fish related food. Back with my host fam. In 48 hours I’ll be on a flight back to the city of angels 👼 baby!

Amazon thorns

The most mosquitos I’ve ever seen in my life, relentless

So so so hot and sticky

I had this smell on me that was like a combo of my filth, sweat, mosquito repellant, and fish guts that I couldn’t get off until today

The French guy with me on the tour was annoying af

I missed my flight on the way home

[trans-africa-2024]

Yesterday we were not able to write our blog due to an extreme slow internet in the Canyon Lodge our destination for the day.

We left Springbok around 8:00 and drove 100 km to the Namibian border. Proceedings were inflated but since we arrived early with hardly any line up we got through in about 45 minutes.

When entering the Namibian immigration office we were quite surprised to find that condoms were dispensed for free with the instructions „for single use only“!

On the Namibian side we bought a local simcard and continued on to the Fish River Canyon. The scenery was quite surprising! Desert on one side and endless huge vineyards on the other side of the road! We wondered where all the water required would come from? The area was dry as a bone.

Soon enough the road conditions changed from tarmac to gravel and in no time the dust was all over and in the car. Again this brought back memories of the Mongolian deserts we crossed on P2P. The roads were nevertheless quite different: wide and almost no corrugation!

Shortly before coming to the end we had the option to visit „Ais-Ai“ a National Park with hot springs up to 65 celsius. We took this detour and encountered huge indoor pools and a big hotel but all in all we decided to have lunch at the Canyon Lodge.

On driving to the lodge from the main road one would never guess what a paradise awaited us 2 km down a dusty entrance.

We were allocated a lovely hut built into the boulders. Half our small hut consisted of a huge rock (see the pictures)!

After a light lunch with a couple of beers we then signed up for a tour to Fish River Canyon supposedly the second largest after the Grand Canyon. The drive was rough but worth it. We watched the sundown at the rim while they served us all sorts of drinks and snacks. They really know how to pamper us. This trip is set up as „advanced day care for grownups“ as Len likes to call it.

Later we had a buffet dinner at the Lodge and then to our surprise Bruno showed us a video of a snake falling out of a tree with a bird in its mouth. They provided us with strong flashlights for the trails to our hut!

We sat with the „Bentley Boys“ that evening: Jeremy and Michael who we met on the „Road to Mandalay“ in 2015. They are very nice chaps and we enjoy their company very much! There are three groups on this rally: Belgians, Dutch and the rest. The Belgians and the Dutch mostly keep to themselves and the French only talk to French speaking cohorts. So we mainly stick with the rest.

[trapperscottage]

fishing lodge french river

Whether you crave adventure or relaxation, Tappers Cottage is the ideal base for your French River Ontario trip. Named Canada's first Heritage waterway in 1986, the French River and later as an Ontario Waterway Provincial Park, the river spans 110km from its origin in Lake Nippissing to Georgian Bay in Lake Huron. Find top rated lower French river lodges at Atwoodislandtrappers.

[roomchailimited]

Manaus’ Amazon Adventures: Exploring the Brazilian Rainforest Gateway

Manaus, the capital of the Brazilian state of Amazonas, is a city like no other—a vibrant metropolis nestled within the vast, lush Amazon rainforest. Known as the “Gateway to the Amazon,” Manaus offers a unique starting point for adventurers eager to explore the world’s largest and most diverse rainforest. From stunning riverfront views to immersive wildlife experiences, here’s how to make the most of your journey into the heart of the Amazon.

Exploring the Meeting of the Waters

One of the most remarkable natural phenomena in Manaus is the Meeting of the Waters, where the dark, slow-moving Rio Negro converges with the sandy-colored, faster-flowing Amazon River (Rio Solimões). For miles, these two rivers flow side by side without mixing, creating a striking line of contrast across the water.

Highlights: Boat tours take you close to the dividing line, where you can see firsthand the unique contrast between the two rivers.

Scientific Significance: The phenomenon is caused by differences in temperature, speed, and sediment levels between the two rivers.

Local Tip: Opt for a morning boat tour to experience the Meeting of the Waters in cooler weather and better lighting for photos.

Jungle Lodges and Overnight Stays

To truly immerse yourself in the Amazon, consider staying overnight in a jungle lodge. These eco-lodges offer a base for exploring the forest, with comfortable accommodations, guided tours, and opportunities to connect with indigenous communities.

Activities: Jungle walks, canoe trips, wildlife spotting, and survival training with local guides.

Wildlife Encounters: Spot monkeys, sloths, caimans, and exotic birds right outside your lodge.

Local Tip: Book with a reputable eco-lodge that supports sustainable tourism and indigenous rights for an enriching experience.

Anavilhanas Archipelago: A Maze of Islands

Just a few hours from Manaus lies the Anavilhanas Archipelago, one of the world’s largest river archipelagos with over 400 islands. This protected area offers visitors a serene experience of the Amazon, with dense forest landscapes and opportunities for wildlife sightings.

Top Activities: Kayaking, bird-watching, and exploring the intricate waterways by boat.

Unique Sightings: Pink river dolphins (botos), toucans, and giant river otters are often spotted here.

Local Tip: Visit Anavilhanas during the dry season (August to December) when the islands are more accessible and hiking trails are open.

Manaus’ Historic Opera House: Teatro Amazonas

Back in the city, Manaus offers a slice of European-style grandeur at the Teatro Amazonas (Amazon Theatre). Built during the rubber boom in the late 19th century, this opera house stands as a symbol of the city’s once-prosperous history.

Architectural Highlights: The opulent interior includes Italian marble floors, French glass chandeliers, and a painted dome inspired by the Brazilian rainforest.

Event Opportunities: Check the schedule for performances, including concerts, ballets, and local Amazonian cultural showcases.

Local Tip: Join a guided tour to learn about the building’s fascinating history and the people who helped build it.

Indigenous Cultural Experiences

Manaus is surrounded by indigenous communities that offer visitors the chance to learn about Amazonian traditions, crafts, and way of life. Many tours include visits to these communities, providing insight into their customs and sustainable practices.

Activities: Participate in traditional dances, sample local foods, and learn about medicinal plants and their uses.

Artisan Crafts: Handmade items such as jewelry, baskets, and textiles make for unique and meaningful souvenirs.

Local Tip: Show respect by learning about local customs before your visit, and always ask before taking photos.

Wildlife and Piranha Fishing on the Rio Negro

A day spent on the Rio Negro offers an exciting mix of activities for wildlife lovers and thrill-seekers alike. Guided tours lead visitors on wildlife-watching excursions and provide the chance to try traditional piranha fishing.

Wildlife Highlights: Look out for caimans, capybaras, colorful birds, and more.

Fishing Experience: Guides provide rods and bait, along with tips on how to safely catch (and release) these iconic Amazon fish.

Local Tip: Many tours operate with sustainable practices, focusing on catch-and-release to protect local species.

Nighttime Wildlife Safari

For a completely different perspective, consider embarking on a nighttime safari. Guided night tours allow you to see the Amazon come alive in a whole new way, revealing the rainforest’s nocturnal creatures.

Creatures of the Night: Spot snakes, frogs, caimans, and even glowing eyes in the dark!

Nature Sounds: Experience the symphony of the Amazon at night, with frogs, insects, and birds filling the air with sounds.

Local Tip: Wear insect repellent and comfortable clothing, as nighttime humidity and bugs can be intense.

Local Markets and Amazonian Flavors

To wrap up your adventure, a visit to Mercado Municipal Adolpho Lisboa introduces you to the flavors and crafts of Manaus. This lively market, inspired by Paris’s Les Halles market, features stalls selling Amazonian fruits, spices, herbs, and handicrafts.

Culinary Highlights: Sample exotic fruits like cupuaçu and açaí, along with regional dishes such as tacacá, an Amazonian soup.

Unique Finds: Look for locally made items like feather jewelry, woven baskets, and wooden carvings.

Local Tip: Try a bowl of caldeirada de tambaqui (fish stew) for an authentic taste of the Amazon region.

Conclusion

Manaus serves as a thrilling gateway to the Amazon, offering unforgettable experiences in both the vibrant cityscape and the untamed jungle. As you embark on this journey, consider enlisting a trusted agency such as Roomchai Limited for a seamless adventure into Brazil’s rainforest heart. With its perfect blend of nature, culture, and adventure, Manaus promises an immersive Amazonian experience that will leave you with memories to cherish for a lifetime.

[goth-metal-and-burtonfreak]

“At Auxonne, his second garrison, the young Bonaparte escaped death three times. The first, during a drowning, in 1789, at the age of twenty. (He was swimming in the Saone.) Seized by a cramp, he lost consciousness, felt life escaping from him, heard his comrades fidgeting, running on the bank, shouting that he was lost, asking for boats to fish him out. Finally, he sank to the bottom of the river. But his chest struck against a sandbank, his head emerged, he regained consciousness and, thanks to the current, he regained consciousness, got out of the water, not without vomiting a lot, he got dressed and returned to his lodgings.

The following year, he was involved in two duel cases. For the beautiful eyes of a pretty girl, Manesca Pillet, he fights with a sword with a rival, Denis Grosey, who slightly wounds him. Then he quarrels with a comrade, Lieutenant Belly de Bussy, who annoys him by playing the horn, very badly moreover, in the room above his and prevents him from working. Passing him on the stairs, Bonaparte calls out to him:

"My dear, you must get tired with your accursed instrument." "But no not at all." "Well, you are tiring the others." "I'm sorry about that." “But you better go give your horn away.” "I am the master in my room." "You could be given some doubt on that." "I don't think anyone was bold enough."

An appointment is made to fight. But the previous year, Napoleon himself drawn up the rules which obliged them to submit their disputes or differences. It was decided by the jury that in the future Bussy would be allowed to continue playing the horn and that Bonaparte would have to show himself more enduring.

Chance would have it that Napoleon met Bussy much later, on March 6, 1814, during the Battle of Craonne, in the Aisne. On that day, to find out about the enemy's positions and the topography of the surroundings, the emperor sent two aides-de-camp to seek out the mayor of Beaurieux, a neighboring village. Napoleon recognizes him: It's Bussy. 

After emigrating during the Revolution, he returned to take care of his land, where he lived alone.  "Well! Bussy, Napoleon says, do you still play the horn?" "Yes sire, and still so false." Bussy will guide him and follow him throughout the rest of the French countryside, still in hunting costume, for lack of being able to obtain a uniform. The soldiers call it " the emperor's pekin.”

- From the book: Napoléon face à la mort by Alain Frèrejean.   

The first image shows Napoleon studying at Auxonne by François Flameng and the second is a meme I quickly made that fits the second story perfectly. 

[carnegiemuseumnaturalhistory]

Follow Your Dreams, My 70 Years as an Archaeologist

Archaeology usually conjures up Indiana Jones as an example of the thrills and dangers of archaeological research. Archaeology is a relatively safe occupation, although there are exceptions, such as the archaeologist who stood on top of a Mayan pyramid who was struck by lightning. There are many fields of archaeology that focus on geographic areas and time periods, from hunters and gatherers over hundreds of thousands of years to the last 10,000 years of the rise of civilizations around the world. There are many cultural specialties in archaeology such as Egyptology, Classical archaeology, focusing on the Mediterranean Greek and Roman, Mayan, Inca, U.S. Southwest and so forth. A field represented in Pittsburgh is Biblical archaeology at the Pittsburgh Theological Seminary with its Kelso Museum of Near Eastern Archaeology. At the University of Pittsburgh in the Department of Anthropology there is a focus on Mexico, Central and South America, Eastern Europe, China, and Central Asia with currently over 30 graduate students and faculty conducting research in these regions.

The Section of Anthropology of the Carnegie Museum of Natural History, for over 100 years, has conducted archaeological research in Egypt, Israel, Central Asia, Caribbean, Costa Rica, Peru, the Upper Ohio Valley and holds collections from other areas of the Americas and the world though donations or purchase. The richness of the Section’s collections can be seen in Walton Hall of Ancient Egypt, Polar World: Wyckoff Hall of Arctic Life, and Alcoa Foundation Hall of American Indians.

From an early age I wanted to be an archaeologist. My father was worried that archaeology wouldn’t provide much of a livelihood, so he arranged a visit with the director of the Peabody Museum at Harvard when I was a teenager. My father asked the director J. O Brew if one could make a living as an archaeologist and he answered, “it’s better if you’re independently wealthy.” This didn’t deter me from following my dream of becoming an archaeologist. My archaeological career is filled with luck and serendipity where seizing an offered archaeological opportunity or discovery of a significant artifact, not only guided my research, but where I worked. I have a parallel career in historic colonial sites and in prehistoric maritime adaptations. I became intrigued with archaeology at an early age visiting the Springfield Science Museum and joining a chapter of the Massachusetts Archaeological Society based at the museum. I went out on their excavations at sites in the Connecticut River Valley, one which was in 1957 in South Hadley where I learned how to uncover burials. From summering in the Lake George area of New York State I became interested in historic archaeology due to all the French and Indian War (1754-1763) forts in the region. In 1952 at age 16, I was a crew member for two summers at the excavations of Fort William Henry, made famous by James Fenimore Cooper’s novel The Last of the Mohicans.

Excavation of Fort William Henry at the Head of Lake George, New York 1952. (Photo Credit Dr. Richardson)

Fort William Henry was destroyed by French and Indian forces in 1757. In 1952, excavations and reconstruction of the fort began on what became a major tourist attraction. Photos show Dr. Richardson pointing to a photo of his 16-year-old self-excavating the site. (Photo Credit: Dr. David Watters)

I also summered on Martha’s Vineyard where in 1954 I dug at a coastal site with an associate of the Martha’s Vineyard Museum which stimulated my desire to become a maritime archaeologist. At St. Lawrence University I majored in Sociology and Anthropology and in 1957 I wrote a letter to the Smithsonian Institution asking to go on one of their expeditions and was accepted on a crew that set up a tent camp on the Big Bend of the Missouri River in South Dakota excavating at the Black Partisan village site. While at SLU I also was a crew member in 1959 at the excavations of Johnson Hall in Johnstown, NY, the home of Sir William Johnson, the British Superintendent of Indian Affairs during the French and Indian War.

Smithsonian Institution camp on the Lower Brule Sioux (Lakota) Indian Reservation in South Dakota, 1957. (Photo Credit: Dr. Richardson)

Dr. Richardson in the Smithsonian Camp 1957. (Photo Credit: Warren Caldwell)

Dr. Richardson lounging at the Black Partisan Site, an excavation of an earth lodge at Lower Brule Reservation. (Photo Credit: Warren Caldwell)

Dr. Richardson excavating a food storage pit at the Black Partisan Site. (Photo Credit: Warren Caldwell)

At Syracuse University for my master’s, I crewed in 1962-63 on 3 sites in up-state New York directed by William A. Ritchie, the State Archaeologist from the New York State Museum. I mentioned to him my interest in maritime archaeology and urged him to develop a research project on Martha’s Vineyard, which he did, excavating 6 sites from 1962-1966 on which I of course I participated. After Syracuse in 1963, I with my wife Judy went to the University of Illinois for my Ph.D. in northeastern U.S. archaeology, focusing on the maritime Vineyard. Here one of my advisors came out of his office and shouted down the hall to me “Jim, do you want to go to Peru?” To which I replied, “of course if you’re paying.” An excellent case of seizing the moment that fit well with my career goal of becoming a maritime specialist. In 1965 my wife Judy and I went to Talara, the second oldest operating oil field in the world after Drake well in western PA. Talara is 100 miles south of the Ecuadorian border and here I located an 8,000-year-old shell midden called Siches, which held evidence from warm and cold ocean fish and shellfish species. Based on the evidence at this coastal fishing and shellfish gathering society and other sites on the coast of Peru I and my colleague Dan Sandweiss, a Research Associate of the Section, developed the theory that this was evidence of a major shift in the change from a warm water to a cold water current washing the Peruvian north coast and the origins of El Niño around 5,800 years ago, the worldwide drought and flood disasters. My doctorate in 1969 was on the changing climate and coastal sites in the Talara region. I also dug in southern Peru at the Ring Site, an 10,500-year-old massive shell midden with cold water fish and shellfish. In addition, my students and I surveyed pyramid centers in the Talara area as well. I did return to Martha’s Vineyard in the early 80’s excavating 2 shell middens and a Colonial house site of missionaries to the Wampanoag. In western Pennsylvania in 1970 I directed a field school for the University of Pittsburgh at the Revolutionary War site of Hanna’s Town in Westmoreland County, the first County Seat west of the Alleghenies. This town of 30 log cabins and a fort was destroyed by an Iroquois and British attack in 1782. Here we excavated Charles Foreman’s tavern.

Dr. Richardson excavating Jackie Onassis’s property on Martha’s Vineyard in 1982. This site is called the Hornblower II Site. (Photo Credit: Jim Peterson)

Dr. Richardson in the cellar hole of the John and Experience Mayhew House Site c.1672-1658 on Martha’s Vineyard in 1985. (Phot Credit: Jim Peterson)

The Ring Site Ilo, Peru 1983 a 10,500-year-old Shell Midden. (Photo Credit: Dr. Richardson)

Dr. Richardson in the shell midden profile of the Ring Site, Peru. (Photo Credit: Daniel Sandweiss)

I came to the University of Pittsburgh in 1967, retiring in 2009. While at Pitt serving as chairman, I was approached by then director Dr. Craig Black to take over the chair of the Section of Anthropology in 1978 and accepted a half-time position as chief curator until my retirement in 2006. The only thing that has changed in my retirements was receiving a salary! I am currently writing up some sites from my Peruvian and Martha’s Vineyard research and have a book in press on a colonial site on Martha’s Vineyard where I am a board member of the museum. I am also still involved with Pitt graduate students and in programs at the Carnegie Museum of Natural History, so little has changed in my archaeological career since I first put a shovel in the ground in 1952.

Dr. James B. Richardson III is Curator Emeritus in the Section of Anthropology at Carnegie Museum of Natural History and University of Pittsburgh Anthropology Professor Emeritus. Museum employees are encouraged to blog about their unique experiences and knowledge gained from working at the museum.

[keyharbourlodgeca]

Discover Serenity on a Kayak Through Georgian Bay's Stunning Waters!

Escape the crowds. Experience the serenity of Georgian Bay with a personalized kayaking adventure. Website: https://www.keyharbourlodge.com/kayaking/

[north-texas-madhatter]

Uncertain: That’s no deer my wife whispered…

As I listened intently peering off into the dark forest I told my wife, “It’s out there, it hasn’t left” She and the kids got up as we heard a twig snap. “Get the kids and get in the cabin”, I quietly whispered as I grabbed the shotgun from the trunk. I knew it was watching us, in the dark, maybe just as scared as I was – or maybe not.

Our family loves to travel and the more unusual the place the better. We love cabins and nature and beautiful back roads, lakes and forest. It was a cool crisp morning and we were loading up the car for another adventure. Don’t forget to put on some deodorant my wife reminds me, my daughter had complained that Papa David was kinda stinky. Which is true, I am a stinky smelly man and unfortunately for her she sits behind me in the backseat when we travel. “I will smell like roses”, I replied as I loaded the cooler of snacks with an assortment of drinks careful to put it equally in reach of all family members.

I was rummaging around in the garage trying to find all the items I had put on my trip list. The smell of moldy tarps, dust and an old bike tube hanging off a rack as I shuffled things back and forth. “I really need to organize this better” I thought to myself. Finally laying on the garage floor before me were, flashlights, medical kits, an assortment of fire starters, lanterns, two way radios, and an old box of shotgun shells that I had brought out from the house. I did a quick review of the list I had made the night before and checked off all the items but one. The shotgun. I didn’t like leaving anything like that just laying around.

The kids packed their backpacks with who knows what, some Go Fish and Old Maid card games were stuffed in the side pockets and the iPad’s fully charged for those moments where my wife and I would like to have a conversation without interruption. You parents know what I mean.

“What about Stella?” the kids asked. I had made sure to find lodgings that allowed pets so I said she is going with us. Stella had been sitting on her carpet anxiously watching us pack the car and, as if to know what I had said, began wagging her tail gleefully running back and forth to the door.

All packed up, everyone in the car, doors checked, thermo nuclear alarm system set, we began to back out of the driveway. “Oh wait!” I forgot something. Everyone letting out a sigh. Just like my parents when we would leave for our trans America trips, my dad would pull in and out of the driveway six times before we could finally depart. Turning off the alarm and unlocking all the doors I retrieved a large shotgun from the safe and walked back to the car checking it before placing it carefully in the trunk.

Off we go! And the kids yelled yay! immediately asking for their iPads. Our destination this time is a little town on the Caddo Lake called Uncertain. But we were in no hurry to get there as plenty of back wood roads were ahead of us.

Leaving the Dallas city limits always brings a sigh of relief, like escaping some kind of urban restraints. There is a Buccee’s ahead but I turn the car onto highway 80 heading through Terrell and then after a quick driving tour of a few historical neighborhoods we are headed out into the countryside.

“Look a tank!” the kids yelled. Small towns often have war relics as a showpiece for their local VFW’s (Veteran’s of Foreign Wars) which are like a club house for military service men and women to get together and have a drink, socialize or even hold events such as weddings or parties. We pulled into the parking lot and the kids ran toward the tank and a large caliber cannon. “Watch for snakes!” was the usual call out we made but it was cold enough that there were probably none around.

I hobbled over to the edge of a tank putting my hand on the corner to hold myself up. A car wreck and later a fall off an H post on our ranch years ago had left my back in a mess and driving takes its toll if I don’t stop and move around. As I stood there the kids climbed all over the tank turret and I could smell engine grease that must have been in this machine since WW2. Our mini-dachshund bounced over the grass fighting the leash my wife held tightly. An elderly couple emerged from one of the doors in the VFW and waved. I could see USS something written on the old man’s hat with a silhouette of a battleship. He reminded me of my grandfather who fought in the war. His white wavy hair, reading a newspaper. As a child I would sneak up and thump it and he would pretend to get up for a chase. After a brief break we yelled for the kids to get down and dust off as we all piled back in the car and headed on down the road.

My favorite thing to do is put in a destination on Google Maps and then pick all the different routes that will prevent me from merging onto a highway because highways are the enemy when it comes to adventure. You miss so much when you fly down a road at 70 plus mph. The orange, yellow and red leaves become a blur, the smell of the sweet pine needle lost in the soot of the diesel trucks. Give me the backroads, the curve of her body, the gentle sway of her hair. The dips, the hills, the smooth mirror like surface of the lake meeting the sky. Lazy fishing boats, their lines cast toward the setting sun.

It’s getting dark now as we roll into Jefferson, the sun’s rays beam through the magnolia trees and New Orleans styled patios. Porch lights dot the neighborhoods and a train can be heard rumbling on the tracks just outside of town, as we catch glimpses of the red blinking of the sentries through the dirty glass windows of vacant row houses.

For those of you unfamiliar with Jefferson. It is a unique Texas, town sitting in the shadow of Caddo Lake it was once a Texas port for steamboats arriving by way of the Mississippi and Red Rivers. The town is steeped in New Orleans styled architecture. Many goods and services were brought by paddleboat to the town from the coastal city and as with many towns of those times they had stories of hauntings. In fact Jefferson is home to one of the most haunted hotels in America, the towns namesake, The Jefferson Hotel. You can imagine the gas lamps flickering as a ghostly figure stands in the doorway. There is an old train car permanently stationed across the street and we release the kids to stretch their legs as we take a peak at the old hotel and adjacent coach car.

No offense to the paranormal enthusiasts but I have never been much of a believer in the other worldly but I do try to keep an open mind. Nevertheless, the whole town had a kind of creepy vibe at this time of day and there was this almost damp deathly smell as a light mist encroached on the lattice worked streets from the nearby swamps.

It was at this moment that I heard something. It was distant, like a low howl almost just outside of human hearing. I can’t quite explain it but though barely discernable it was not of the norm I would expect from the usual town and surrounding forest noises, but it demanded to be noticed if only subconsciously. “Did you hear that?” I asked my wife “Hear what?” she replied and I as quickly dismissed it to have been just some slight synaptic misunderstanding.

We drove around town for another half hour looking at all the beautiful old homes, brick streets and the docking area where paddleboats once delivered handlebar mustached men and parasol carrying ladies to horse drawn carriages idly standing by while French perfume fragrances purchased in the Big Easy filled the air.

Leaving Jefferson, Polk Street took us through the Big Cypress Bayou. Our surroundings were changing, Spanish moss was hanging from the trees now and I knew our cabin was not much farther away. We decided to take a slight detour and drive through Caddo Lake State Park. We giggled at the sign, Learn How to Survive Like a Sasquatch. And we noted all the wildlife, deer, birds and though we probably would not see any, alligator that live in this eco-system we had arrived to. The road then became darker, swamp waters came right up to the edge on both sides, the lake was up and we had entered a watery world that was quite foreign to us. In fact, we heard that the town was called Uncertain because when the lake floods no one is certain the town is still there.

It is small and looks like something out of a Stephen King novel. There is a short main street with a sundry of cabins anywhere from a mere shack to homes on stilts. There it is! Caddo Lake Cabins, just on the corner of Bois D Arc and Cypress Drive. There were two cabins side by side and ours was the larger with a screened in porch with the back of it to the forest and swamps. A stone throw away was Taylor Island which you would never know it was an island since the road extended to a dead end there. Fishing camps lined the edge and the smell of fish and beer filled the air.

“There’s a golf cart!”, the kids yelled. “Can we drive it!” Not tonight, it’s too dark and we need to get everything inside.

What we didn’t know is how ready we would be to leave…

The cabin was beautiful! It was very clean and had everything we needed. The screened porch overlooking the forest was a favorite for our dog Stella who incessantly sniffed the air. The cabin had a fresh cut wood and coffee smell to it as my wife opened the bag of black coffee grounds left by the owners for us to enjoy during our morning cup of joe. Outside we could hear owls hooting to one another and frogs serenading the cool crisp night as we brought in all our items for the stay. Blankies, stuffed animals, backpacks spilling open onto the bed as our kids claimed their living quarters. We couldn’t believe we had found such a wonderful place for such a reasonable price.

After unloading our gear and goodies we took a quick drive around town. It was eerily quiet, “They roll up the carpet early around these parts”, I said aloud. We could see yellow bulbs glowing behind closed curtains in the small cabins and homes up and down Cypress Drive, the main street of town. We caught glimpses of the moonlight reflecting off the bayou just beyond the cottages at the waters edge. “I hear they filmed parts of Universal Soldier and some swamp monster movie near here”, I said as the occupants of the car peered out the window. A few bumps in the road and we stopped short of a boat ramp leading into the lake. We sat there for a moment, next to us was a covered marina with little Jon Boats bobbing up and down, we could hear a dog barking off in the distance. “Well that’s it for this town”, I said. “Let’s head back and get some rest so we can get an early start tomorrow.” We had plans for the next day to drive into Louisiana and see where Bonnie and Clyde met their end at the hands of Frank Hamer and local law enforcement and to possibly explore a very unusual area that I had found while researching our trip on Google Maps.

My wife and I laid in bed, it was close to 11pm and after talking about the trip and our plans for the next day we began to drift off to sleep. Suddenly the night was split open as an extremely loud air horn blasted. “What the Hell is that!” I jumped up out of bed and ran to the window. It sounded as if a train might drive right through the cabin! Looking out the window I could only see night. There were no headlights, no trains or trucks – nothing. Just the echo of the loud piercing horn fading into the forest. My wife walking back to bed after checking on the kids asked, “What do you think that was all about?” “I don’t know but I didn’t see any train tracks that close to us.” “It was almost like it was to scare something away or sounded as a warning.” The odd thing was no one was coming out of their dwellings to check out the mysterious sound. It was accepted as a normal occurrence it seemed. It set me on edge but I finally fell into an uneasy sleep.

The next morning we opened the bag of coffee grounds and my wife walked out onto the porch handing me a fresh mug with steam rising from it. I never really liked coffee until I married my wife and now it is so nice when we can just sit and talk between sips of the black stuff. The kids were still asleep and Stella sniffed around the edges of the porch. “Something must have come close last night, she seems really curious”, my wife pointed out. Stella was really picking up on a scent near the screen door. “Maybe she needs a restroom break” as my wife went off to retrieve the harness and leash.

Stella pulled hard at the leash. She is never like this, usually just sniffing and stopping and then sniffing some more before finally answering to the call of nature but this time she strained at the end of the leash. My wife looked back at me as Stella pulled her across the lawn toward the woods behind the cabin. She is onto something. Maybe a deer? She growled but then after a moment retreated back to the cabin managing a tinkle on the way. We didn’t think much of it and knew that being surrounded by nature and forest there was bound to be some curious creatures lurking about.

After breakfast we all jumped in the car and headed out. Fishermen were already making their way into the bayou, wisps of smoke from their engines lazily floating across the water. There was a slight mist to the morning air and everything was damp from the night fog that the sun now began to burn through. The smell of eggs and bacon filled our noses as the town began its slow start to the day. After a bumpy drive through town, we turned onto a smooth black top road heading toward Louisiana. Shortly down the road we arrived to a small town named Karnack, it looked very run down but “This is where Lady Bird Johnson grew up” I exclaimed, no one in the car knew who that was so I explained that she was the First Lady and wife of President Lyndon B. Johnson. She is responsible for the beautification of our Texas Highways and for the seeding of the wildflowers and bluebonnets we see along the roadsides in the Spring. Her husband, LBJ, is responsible for The Grasslands we enjoy having our campfires at, not far from our hometown of Denton.

The air had an acrid smell to it and we could see large gates that led into the vast forested area I had seen on Google Maps. It looked like there had been a large town there once with roads crisscrossing one another in an organized grid with streets called 4th Street, Avenue C, 59th and Starr Ranch Road. Structures could still be seen peeking out behind the forest.

“Hey guys!” that is where we will explore later if we have time on our way back. We were very excited and off we went!

It didn’t seem long before we pulled under the overhang of the Horseshoe Casino. My wife and son walked in just to take a look while my daughter stayed behind with me. From the car I could see the beautiful chandelier that hung over the lobby. Many times, I had walked underneath it with my dad as we arrived for games of Black Jack while sitting on the banks of The Red River in Bossier City. There is some obscure law that I still don’t quite understand, where as long as the casino is on or over the Red River it is allowed to operate. The hotel, restaurants and parking areas can be on land but the games of chance themselves had to be over the rivers muddy red water. This is accomplished by river boat or barge permanently docked and anchored with vast poles that allow the casino to move up or down depending on the rivers height and water flow.

Shreveport was on the West side of the river and Bossier City on the East side. I had to laugh when I saw a Pipes Emporium on “Stoner” Avenue. Though I do not partake in the herbage myself I have been in my share of head shops, they sell the best incense, and the irony was not lost on me by the name of the street. By the way they don’t like it when you ask for a bong, they want you to call it by its legal name, a water pipe. Though they are technically the same thing and no difference to those visiting Pipes Emporium on Stoner for all their smoke shop needs.

Barksdale Air Force Base was to our left now and we could see war planes sitting idly on the tarmac. We headed back into the forested roads of Louisiana. An hour later and a vacant road would find us in front of one of America’s most notorious landmarks. The location where the famous outlaw couple, Bonnie & Clyde, were dispatched. One could almost smell the gun powder as Frank Hamer and his posse laid in wait raining down a wall of bullets onto the unsuspecting duo. An informant had tipped off Frank and his group of law men that they would be travelling on that road and a trap was set. The friend turned snitch pretended to be broken down on the side of the road and as Bonnie and Clyde slowed their car to assist, they were gunned down leaving their car peppered with holes and their limp bodies slumped in the car.

There are several cars claiming to be the famous death wagon. One is at Whiskey Pete’s Hotel and Casino in Primm, Nevada and another, not far from Dallas, owned by a little known body shop in Gunter, Texas. My son and I have seen it and it looks as real as any car shot full of holes would look sans the blood and other gore.

After finishing our visit to the markers that commemorated the death of the outlaws while praising the men who made it happen, we turned back out onto the road. A rusty colored pickup whizzed by startling me as I had grown accustomed to the lack of vehicular traffic in this area of backwoods LA. With the tires throwing some gravel behind us we were back on the blacktop making a circle around to the highway that would take us toward our temporary home back in the town of Uncertain but not before at least one last adventure to end the day with…

We passed through the gates, they weren’t like the gates at the State Parks we were accustomed to visiting. These looked a bit more foreboding. A small building was on our right that I imagine served as a visitor’s center. There was not a soul around. The town of Karnack was just behind us as we drove on down the road. I could hear the tires passing through bits of loose asphalt. The whole place seemed to be a maze of roads separated by tall pine trees. Here and there we could catch a glimpse of concrete structures long fallen out of use. It gave me an uneasy feeling like we were not supposed to be there. But what was eerie was that it was so quiet. I heard few if any birds. No other persons or wildlife was in the park. The streets were named as if it were a bustling downtown metropolis but nothing much was to be seen except for the stately conifers that surrounded us. It reminded me of that scene out of The Shining where the boy is being chased through a labyrinth. Except there was no snow and no deranged lunatic chasing us, at least none that we saw.

Driving on we were amazed at how large this place was, it was more than a Nature Preserve and we would run into road after road that would have barriers or warning signs that the road was off limits. We finally found the Starr Ranch Road that led us to the edge of Rag Island and a lonely boat launch. Here there was another structure, more welcoming. It looked like something that might be used for family gatherings and was screened in to protect guests from the swarms of mosquitoes that I am sure inhabited these areas in the summertime. We jumped out and the kids threw rocks into the water nearby. The Cypress Trees were beautiful, one of my favorite trees. My wife found an internet connection and we looked up the area that we were in. It was the Caddo Lake National Wildlife Refuge. Once home to the Longhorn Army Ammunition Plant. That explains all those little buildings. It was part of an 8,493 acre facility that once produced dynamite, 393,000,000 pounds of it during World War II. It was also a super fund site for all the chemicals that were still present in the soil. “Uh, kids put down those rocks and don’t stir up the dust” I quickly told them. Lead and mercury was still being found in some of the areas and a large compound fence ran along the perimeter of the entire plant. It was sprawling to say the least and with good reason, two in fact. One to help prevent an enemy bombing run from destroying the entire operation and to prevent an errant accident from killing everyone in sight. A rail system helped connect the different parts of the plant delivering the product as it was developed to other areas for assembly. Things like this fascinate me. It is a dark part of history, the entire location was set aside for one purpose and one purpose only, to kill as many people as possible and at that time to kill Nazi Germans. But National Wildlife Refuge makes it sound much more appealing for today’s visitors, just don’t drink the water – or play in the sand or expect to see much wildlife.

It took a while to get back to the main road. The GPS was on the blink because we were pretty remote but after a few wrong turns we made a right and we were headed back out the gates, which made much more sense now.

Everyone’s stomach was beginning to grumble, and it wasn’t long before we arrived back in Uncertain. My wife asked what we should do for dinner and I told her that I had heard of a good fish place that wasn’t too far from the cabin. I could really use a Fried Shrimp Po Boy right now and the kids really wanted some Calamari, if it were available. It was evening and it would be dark soon. A few people were stirring about while we drove back through town but things looked like they were beginning to button up. “Can I go with you Papa David?” my daughter asked. I said sure. My wife and son decided that they would stay behind and get a fire going in the fire ring just outside the cabin. So I left them the axe as my daughter and I jumped in the car.

We arrived at The RiverBend Restaurant which was up on stilts and I slowly climbed the stairs as my daughter ran up the ramp ahead of me. The drive had done a number on my back and I was paying for it now. Holding the door for me I gave my girl a hug and told her to, “stay close”. We ordered take out and it wasn’t long before two bags of great smelling seafood were sitting on the counter for the taking. It was hard not to help ourselves to the appetizers but out of politeness, on my daughters’ part, we managed to get back to the cabin only eating a few fries.

Pulling up into the gravel drive we opened the car doors to the sweet smell of pine wood smoke. The sun was going down quickly behind the swampy forest and rays of light were playfully dancing between the trees. My wife took the food inside for plating as I sat down next to the warm fire. “Did you start this?” I asked my son. “Yes and I cut most of the wood too!” My wife soon came out with all the food and handed each of us a plate. I stuck a hush puppie in one of the small tubs of butter and swirled it around, the pickled tomatoes were next in line for a tasting. Finally finishing the Po Boy and everyone filled on some of the best calamari we have had, either because it was really that good or we were just that hungry.

Filled and happy we sat listening to the fire crackle with pops here and there as the small pockets of resin would catch to the fire. Stella was in my arms and quite content as she had sneaked a few pieces of scraps from the meal.

Then it happened.

Stella’s hair bristled and stood straight up on the back of her neck. She had this low treacherous growl that I had never heard her make before. I quickly held her tight as not to allow her to launch herself into the inky night. She was staring down the road toward Taylor Island. Something was moving slowly off to the left of the road. I could just barely see a dark figure. I thought it might be a fisherman or someone who had a few drinks but the left of the road was swamp, so it didn’t make much sense why someone would be walking through the muck. I could barely make out the silhouette but could see it was larger than your normal average man. It was gone in an instant, disappearing into the darkness.

“Shhhhh…” “Listen” my wife quietly spoke.

Not less that 50 feet from us was the edge of the woods. The closest trees illuminated by the orange flames of our fire. I could hear it. “What is it?”, my wife asked in a voice so quiet I could barely hear her question. We both knew this was not a typical woodland creature or bunny rabbit. It sounded huge! And this was not a forest that one could easily navigate. It was filled with briars, an old barbed wire fence, swamps and decaying logs laying all around ready to trip the ill prepared.

“It’s, its… yes. It’s definitely on two feet” my wife said. We both tried to imagine the size and dimensions of this unwelcome visitor that was coming way to close for our comfort. “Are you sure?” Could it be a deer, I quietly mouthed as both our children, our dog and each of us squinting our eyes as if that could give us super human vision. My son was mid swing with the axe frozen in his stance. “Put the axe down behind the tree” I told him. I didn’t want a mishap. He laid it down out of the way and moved over toward his sister and momma. It had stopped for a moment but now to my horror it was closer, we could hear it walking through a small creek not that far off into the woods. It stopped just short of walking into our field of vision. We sat there for what felt like an eternity not quite certain what to do.

That’s no deer my wife whisperered…

As I listened intently peering off into the dark forest I told my wife, “It’s out there, it hasn’t left” She and the kids got up as we heard a twig snap. “Get the kids and get in the cabin”, I quietly whispered as I grabbed the shotgun from the trunk.

“Lock the door” I quietly shouted as I raised the butt of the gun up to my shoulder. I positioned myself just beyond the fire leaning up against the back of a tree. “Who’s out there?”, I shouted. “Who are you and what do you want?” I spoke as the frost of my breath spilled out onto the night.

Silence… we stood there for maybe 10 or 15 minutes. I listened straining to hear anything, breathing, footsteps, a voice, even a heart beating but the only one I could hear was mine.

Oh my God. It sounded like a thousand trumpeters accompanied by a chorus of a thousand more angry elephants. But it wasn’t coming from in front of me. It was coming from beyond where our dog Stella had first been ready to attack. A twig snapped and then the large beast ran through the woods at a speed so fast it was inhuman, I am not saying that it seemed inhuman – I am telling you it was not human. And it was not like anything else I had ever heard. Running full sprint it ran toward the sound, splashing through the swamp. PEOPLE CANNOT POSSIBLY RUN THIS WAY! I thought to myself. I followed it with my gun, my finger feathering the trigger. I hurt, I hurt all over. The blood was ripping through my veins at lightning speed. I knew whatever this thing was if it were to get to me it was big enough to rip me to pieces and the only thing between me and it was a shotgun slug and my poor aim.

But then it was gone. I could hear it splashing off through the swamps until it was no more.

I threw open the door, my eyes wide, letting out a few expletives that I had to explain to our children not to repeat.

“Did you see it, did you SEE it!!!” my wife exclaimed. “No but I heard it” we all did. And then came the realization.

“Honey – there is only one way out for those things”, I said. “The direction they headed - it’s a dead end.”

A bead of sweat began to slide down the ice-cold beer glass I had sitting in front of me. My friend by the same name placed it there enticing me to continue with my story. David was an old friend I had recently reconnected with. We met when I first started riding motorcycles years back. He has a quick smile with a thin but muscular frame and the kind of rugged weathered look of a man who had done real work and become wise during hard times. I would often drop by his house and watch him tinker with different motorcycle parts on his work bench in the evenings.

David now leaned back in his chair, one hand casually on the arm of a steel wire patio chair while taking a sip of beer with the other. He and I both had given up sport bikes but found we shared an enjoyment in kayaking. He was an avid fisherman and a relatively new but informed convert to the world of cryptozoology due to more than one experience that he had in the North Texas area. One of the events not far from where we sat now.

“So then what happened?” David said with a spark of interest in his eye…

Well we wanted to leave, I will tell you that! My wife said load the car but I said “Hell no! I’m not going back out there with those things running about.” I believe I had a convincing argument that we were better inside with a gun than running back and forth to the car in the dark. But I still wasn’t sure what it was. I was still in the mindset that it might be a common animal to the area, possibly a black bear? I had heard that there had been a bear sighting north of the area but much farther north than would allow for the excuse of a chance encounter. I grabbed my phone, connected to the WiFi and started searching Google for bear sightings in the area. As I scrolled through the listings the word Sasquatch caught my eye. I found nothing that convinced me that there were bears near us but finding an article of two young ladies sighting a beast run in front of their car headlights caused me to let out an audible gasp. “What, what did you find?” my wife asked. I looked at the location of the sighting and then pulled up Google Maps. “Oh Holy Hell!” I blurted out. My wife was becoming a little annoyed now. “What did you find!” – There have been apparently Big Foot sightings less than a quarter mile from our cabin, several of them. Also, whatever it was seemed to have an intelligence that a bear doesn’t exhibit to my knowledge. We both would normally laugh at anyone mentioning Big Foot encounters, waiving it off as a few beers too many or a highly imaginative mind. But it was looking more and more like we had just joined the Yeti Club ourselves. But why were they behind our cabin we wondered. There had to be a reason they were venturing so close.

I pulled up Google Maps. I am not a hunter myself, but I understand success is greater when one knows where the animal is coming from and where it is going and finding the trail it travels. I would think even Big Foot would move with a purpose and be a creature of habit. Just up the road, between our cabin and the location where the young women had their sighting, was a trail that ended at the asphalt. Tracing it back it went deep into an old growth forest. I can understand why Sasquatch would want to avoid walking down the side of a road but why would they be cutting behind our cabin?

Just then, we could see some lights from a car moving slowly down the road. It pulled off to the side, and as if it sighted something, sped off and left town! “Well that’s not good.” I said aloud. “They are making their way through the woods back to the trail” I guessed. Looking at Taylor Island it suddenly became clear to me. “Honey, I got it!” “They were going out for dinner” Look here… There were a row of cabins dotting the shore along the bayou, all of them fishing cabins. And what do fisherman do at the end of the day? Clean the fish and throw the scraps in the garbage. Our furry friends were cutting behind our cabins hoping to quietly make their way to their meals, undetected through the woods and swamp. The smell of our fish dinner earlier may have given one of them pause to investigate. The other calling out when their dinner date fell behind. “I wonder if there is a dating app for Yeti’s”, we laughed.

But it was still a reach. I am a skeptic and a person of science. I must see it to believe it and so far, I really had not seen anything. I had a hypothesis but no hard evidence, as is the case with many of these encounters.

David was now leaning in closer. A slightly buzzed college girl bumped our table as she and her friends passed by. The beers sloshed and she put her hand on David apologizing “I am soooo sorry”. We smiled, we were two older guys hanging out at a college bar, mainly because the beer was cheap but David had become a favorite of the establishment. The bartenders knew his drink, girls and guys would walk over and say hello and introduce their friends saying, “This is David” as if he was the Godfather of Fry Street. I was amongst royalty, I laughed. But he does have this charm about him that makes you feel, important and it seemed we had much in common besides just our name.

That night would be our last night in Uncertain, my wife and I laid with one eye open. The kids were tucked away and sleeping soundly but I kept the gun close and double checked all the window and door locks, as if a Yeti is going to bother with a doorknob or window latch. The names are interchangeable, Sasquatch, Yeti, Big Foot, Big Fluffy Fur Ball. One in the same to me. I would call it a friend if it shared its beer. But it appeared that they really didn’t want anything more to do with us than we did with them. They moved quietly through the forest, even in the moonlight they were still too camouflaged to be seen. Anything moving through those woods would have to have thick fur or hair and as it was, we could only see a few feet into the abyss. Miles and miles of forest and swamp only interrupted by an occasional thin dark ribbon of road. I wanted to see them, I wanted to know if they were real but did I really? It would possibly drive me mad.

Looking at David he asked, “So do you believe?” “Well”, I said “I am still a little skeptical but I am more of a believer now than I was before” He looked at me excitedly as if he wanted to tell me something that had been on his chest. “I don’t tell too many people this anymore but…” David leaned back in his chair, took a drink of his beer and his expression changed to one of seriousness as he said, “I had an experience myself not far from here, where Clear Creek meets the Trinity River on the edge of town”

David and I met years ago when I first started riding sport bikes. I had started on a small Ninja 250 and on my first evening in the parking lot of Mack Park Apartments had thrown the bike in the air by popping the clutch too soon. I held on for dear life and rode that bike like it was a bucking bronco. It was three days before I worked up enough courage to get back on it. Then one evening I managed to drive it to Fry Street. I pulled up in front of a local bar and grill called Cool Beans. David was there and asked me how I liked the bike, possibly sensing that I was still a greenhorn and having chicken strips on my tires, a sport bike term meaning that I had not leaned enough into turns to scuff the sides. Some seasoned riders would not even ride with you if you had chicken strips because you were likely to panic and cause an accident. But David is one of the coolest, most laid-back guys I know and always willing to help someone out.

After a burger and finishing off his drink David said, “Come on – Let’s go, I am going to teach you a few things” We jumped on our bikes and I followed him to a parking lot on the north edge of town called Stonehill Center. I followed him around the parking lot and imitated his moves. Cutting too sharp would cause me almost to fall and I soon learned by giving it a little more gas and leaning into the turn I had much more control of the bike. David slowed his bike and I pulled up beside him, his bike sounded like a beast and he now yelled over it saying, “I think you are ready for something a little more fun!” I followed him out of the parking lot and turned to the right. We then launched into what he called the twisties. The sharp turns that go up and over and then down and around the 288 overpass at I35. He would be two twisties ahead of me and have to slow his ride for me to catch up but I was getting the hang of it. I learned the art of counter steering and leaning low while giving the bike more gas so that it would do all the work while navigating the turns with more speed.

David now leaned toward me, the beer nearly knocking over as he grabbed it with an almost unnatural speed. “Listen, people don’t take me that seriously when I tell them about my encounter, but you seem to understand better than most” David said, now with a slightly wilder look in his eyes. He went on to tell me his story. He had been scoping out a fishing spot not far from the Clear Creek Natural Heritage Center just outside of Denton. It had rained the night before, a light cloud of fog still hung over the valley as he trudged through the mud with his fishing gear in tow. Then he noticed something strange, footprints. These were larger than your average human footprint and did not have the defining indention of the arch. They were more blocked and wider, almost padded looking. Like my experience, seeing a Sasquatch was really not on his mind as he walked along with the tracks. What was curious was why would anyone be barefoot this far out in a creek that might have an errant piece of glass or sharp stone. The tracks looked fresh and then suddenly veered off to the left up an embankment and into the woods. Standing there wondering how anyone would want to venture into a remote area and barefoot off a path was beyond him. Then he realized he was not alone. A noise in the distance caught his attention. He heard a thud, then another, then a loud crack as if a large branch had been snapped in half. Whatever was in the woods with him was now striking the side of a tree with the branch obviously trying to scare him off. I asked him, “How close were you to the Trinity?” “Not far at all” he replied. “What did you do?” I excitedly said. I could see he was still somewhat shaken just discussing the event. “Well, honestly, I was terrified being alone in the woods with something that could snap large branches, I left as fast as I could!” he said nervously.

As with many encounters, it happens quickly and is an assault on the senses as you become very aware that you may be in danger. Your sight, hearing, reasoning all seems heightened but so is your fear, as adrenaline courses through your body. Psychologists call this a fight or flight response as your brain tries to figure out whether you are in immediate danger and should fight off your attacker or whether you can escape your assailant and run to safety. Police Officers know this as “adrenaline dump” that they try to fight off so that it does not impair their judgement leading to success or tragedy when dealing with dangerous situations. In this case, David made the right decision by leaving the area but, much like my own event, he had an overwhelming curiosity. We would return to look for more footprints after a rain but finding nothing but baby wild pig hoof prints, we decided the mother hog was more a threat than any Yeti. Funny how he picked me, a slow, broken backed friend over others. Maybe it is true – you don’t have to run fast just faster than the slowest guy.

I would later read about a possible sighting called the pecan creek monster that was spotted by some kids in Denton near a wooded area. It upset the town so much that they launched a search team that found nothing. There have been other events along the greenbelt near Denton where kayakers hauling their kayaks around a raft of river logs would stumble across large tracks, much like what David had described. But no story was more convincing than the one I would hear from a water treatment worker while researching Clear Creek for kayaking. And his story helps put together some of the pieces as why these things are so often encountered near bodies of water and their clever methods for obtaining a free meal.

I poured over the maps following the long slivers of silver that were the creeks and water ways of Denton County. The two kayaks hanging in our garage longed to be sitting in water. I also love taking our kids creek walking. But before touching the water I want to know where it comes from. In some cases, we have found beautiful streams of clear water to be outflows from local sewage plants. It is treated but who wants to swim, wade or kayak in that! Clear Creek is no exception.

The headwaters of Clear Creek start in Montague County not far from St, Jo Texas once called Head of Elm. There is a lot of history here. Not far away Outlaw Nancy Hill was hung on Denton Creek. Belle Starr, Sam Bass, Jesse James and The Younger Gang all roamed these hills and a town of frontier men and women were scalped alive and killed by Indians where remnants of the ghost town still stand to this day. The Chisholm and Butterfield Stagecoach Trails also crisscross in the fields now occupied by barbed wire and grazing cattle.

Now I looked for all the water crossings, bridges, natural outcroppings. I squinted to see strainers where trees had fallen across the creek becoming a hazard to the lone kayaker. Much like the author of a favorite book of mine, Goodbye to a River, I wanted to know the history of the land my river would take me through. The souls that had walked here before me that had caressed her hills and valleys and lived off her fertile soil.

In my quest to know more I spoke with Fish and Game Wardens and eventually a man who oversaw the a nearby Waste Water Treatment Plant. I had been told that there were a couple of instances where sewage had flowed into Clear Creek but that millions of dollars had been spent updating the facilities. I asked him if he was concerned at all about the water quality. He told me that he lived on Clear Creek and he fishes the creek all the time, in fact he has trotlines that he tends, and his family frequently eats the fish they catch. It was convincing but finding where the inflow was at Ranger Branch, a creek that dumped into Clear Creek, I decided that anything farther up was safe as safe can be and this is where I would find the most enjoyment in water activities free from pee water.

We were just about to hang up when I asked him, “Doesn’t Clear Creek run into the Trinity?” He replied, “Yes it does, it runs through the Nature Center and connects just on the other side, we used to fish there”. With this I could not help but to gleefully ask him, “So, have you ever experienced anything unusual there?” This question was met with a long pause from an otherwise vocal man. “What exactly do you mean by unusual?” he finally replied.

The tone of the conversation changed as he told me that he hadn’t made a lot of talk about it in a long time. “We fished that area a lot when we were younger and before the greenbelt trail was cut through for joggers and cyclists.” He went on to explain how he and two other friends had gone as far as they could by pickup bouncing over fields and through washes to where they would disembark grabbing fishing poles and a cooler to hopefully keep the catch of the night. Still rubbing their eyes from the dust, they set off toward their destination. It was there a whirlpool would form during spring floods that would carve out a large hole where many fish would congregate. This is the place my friend David had been in search of when he had his encounter.

“It was late, maybe two in the morning, maybe three…” His voice becoming more ominous. “We had a pretty good haul and were just about to call it a night when suddenly we heard a crashing noise coming through the woods on the other side of the river.” he said as I held the receiver closer to my ear and adjusted the volume to high. “It was loud and it sounded big but it wasn’t a deer or a pig, it sounded taller, like it was running full sprint -- on two feet” I was almost incredulous at how similar his description was to my families own encounter and the one that my friend David had described. “It was running straight towards us but then suddenly, as if it knew we were there, veered off to the right and went upriver.”

“What did you do?”, I excitedly asked.

“We sat there, we didn’t even talk to each other we were so quiet listening for it” “It was scary but at least it was on the other side of the river” his voice said through some slight static on the phone. “Then we heard a splash and to our terror it swam across the river and that is when we knew we were really up shit creek!” (pun intended; cause well you know)

“We were terrified, whatever it was, it made it’s way down toward us through the woods and then just stopped.” He paused for a moment as if the memory of the event was almost too much for him. Me, on the other hand, I was on pins and needles. “What then?” I asked. “It was watching us, we couldn’t see it but we knew it was just standing there in the woods and it was larger than any of us – we got the Hell out of there, we even left the cooler behind full of fish.” “Whatever that SOB thing was got a belly full that night on our dime, that’s for sure!”

“People think I am crazy when I tell this story, so I just stopped telling it” His voice, a traitor, as it gave up his shaken nerves. “They are smart, and they are out there… you just won’t see them.”

About once every week or two after the kids go to sleep and my wife settles on the couch to watch a favorite show I go for a drive. It’s 30 minutes to the bend in the road that brings me closest to where our furry friend might be. I sit quietly listening, the familiar click click click as I load my .45 Single Action Colt, setting it beside me just in case a possible encounter becomes more than a fishing trip. Greeted by fireflies and the usual chilled mist the river bottoms bring, I drive slowly to the dead end where I always wonder whose land it might be. Then on back to home… I want to believe because it is so intriguing but other than a few hogs moving close to the road to give me a quick doubletake I am left with more questions than answers. But then, as it happens with everything you search for, I saw something I can’t take back. A glimpse but it was just enough.

I was still interested in finding a location for an easy put-in for kayaking the upper Clear Creek. Pouring over online maps I realized just how few places there are to access and enjoy our waterways. Most of the creeks and rivers pass through private land. Many may be navigable legally but getting to them without trespassing is another thing. One must then find and visit the few bridges that may pass over the waterway and a lot are difficult to get a kayak to, either because they are high cliffs or covered in poison ivy, trees, thickets and briar or the access is blocked by barbed wire or no trespassing signs that are debatable since it is a roadway easement.

I found several bridges I wanted to check out and I asked my son if he wanted to go. He had been on his technology and a drive with his dad would be a good break from the screen time that had consumed all his Saturday morning. So, we jumped in the car and I punched in the coordinates on the digital map.

I had not driven these backroads before and was glad to find a new place to explore. Texas is amazing for the change of scenery that can be found with just a few turns and twists in the road. Coming over a hill we looked out over the vast rolling plains of North Texas. A slight haze was settled over the prairies and I could see for miles and miles. Traveling the one lane roads were my favorite way to get away from the hustle and bustle of town. Except for an old dusty pickup squeaking by us, we seemed to be the only ones in the area. We arrived at the first bridge and we peered over the edges looking down on the pristine waters of Clear Creek. Being native to Texas, I have become accustomed to muddy creek waters and lakes, a mystery to what laid beneath. But this creek in many areas had a white sandy bottom that helped filter the water as it ran through its valleys. Little wavy sand dune looking structures could be seen just beneath the shimmering waters and fish darted here and there somehow aware of our presence, looking for a place to hide. I was excited to see a USGS water flow measuring device, which meant I could look it up online to find the best time to kayak based on the current flow rate. But I was disheartened to see a raft of debris on either side of a steep slope which would make it difficult to traverse with a kayak. It could be done but I was looking to find that one sweet spot to easily slide my kayak in across the sands and a safe place off road to park.

After throwing a few rocks and a few yells to check for an echo, my son and I loaded back into the car driving off the blacktop onto the gravel road. Around a corner we saw an old abandoned frontier looking home that must have been there for over one hundred years. Very little was back in this area but the gravel road looked to be used by a few ranchers tending to their cattle. We were looking for the end of the road where we thought there might be access to a bend in the creek. On the map we could see the road narrow and looking overgrown but ending at the waters edge. With the gravel clicking beneath our tires and the sound of cicadas all around we could smell the creek and the vegetation in the valley. Fresh cut grass filled the air and the sound of a lawn mower could be heard just ahead. We rolled to a stop at a gate with a big red sign that said No Trespassing. To the right of us was a log home and an older man who now cut the gas to his mower as he walked our way. He had a curious look in his eye and his skin had a leathered appearance from all the sun that he had seen while bailing hay in the fields above. “What ya’ll looking for?”, he said as he spat on the ground. “Well we are just taking a country drive and trying to find an easy way to Clear Creek”, I said with a kind of questioning nod towards the gate ahead. He spat again and said that was once a way to Clear Creek but the bridge washed out many years ago and the land was now owned and private. I told him I understood but before I could say anything else, he started coming closer to the car. I could see the butt of a gun sticking out of his pocket and as I smiled I slowly and quietly placed my hand on the 10mm Springfield that was tucked away just inside my door, but my son was between us and it was not an ideal situation for a shootout if things went raw.

He put his hand on the top of the car and squatted down a little looking at me with a squint in his eye. “We don’t get many people this far back” “In fact I haven’t seen a stranger in quite a while” he said as I now imagined this was going to end somewhere between The Texas Chainsaw Massacre and Deliverance. “Well God finds angels amongst the forgotten” I replied, which caught him off guard a bit. He stood up and smiled as he turned back toward his mower. Waving us off as he walked, he said something peculiar “Ya’ll be careful on that creek” and then he pulled the cord and the mower turned over on the first try. I was impressed with his stature for a man his age, obviously hard work had left him in better shape than most who retire in those golden years.

We turned the car around and went on back down the road that we came. The frontier home made sense, as it stood on land that had probably been in the old man’s family for years, possibly at or before the formation of Texas. We were now back on the black top when I noticed a small trail that I had not seen on our first passing. Just before the bridge I could see where the grass had been laid down. It was getting close to dark and the suns cap was just now resting at the edge of the fields. The cicadas had quieted, and I thought I would take one more look before we headed back home. “Stay in the car, I won’t be but just a minute” I told my son as I stepped out.

Walking up to the concrete railing I put my hand on the dusty side. The fish had not seen me this time and I could just barely make out their outlines in the water. But something felt different. There was a slight smell beyond the usual humid vegetation and earthy aromas. It didn’t quite stink but it was rather unpleasant. Suddenly the wind picked up just as it does before a front comes through. The dust from the bridge was swept into my left eye and I yelled back at my son to roll up the car windows as I poured some water from my water bottle to nurse it. Before he could get his window up we could hear a noise in the woods. It sounded like something cracking. I was thinking possibly a tree limb was about to come down from the sudden high winds. But as I wiped the water from my eyes, I could see the smaller trees that grow along the banks parting. “Papa David, what was that?” my son yelled. “Nothing son, don’t get out of the car --- stay in the car!” I looked further down the bank and could see something moving quickly through the bushes and trees, throwing them aside. It was dark now, but I thought I could see patches of brown hair but then it stopped and quickly turned. I saw an eye, just the eye through a mass of vegetation and shadows. It looked at me and for that moment, I understood. This was a creature with intelligence. It stood there and then as quickly turned away melting into the forest and then the all too familiar splashing of a creature with two feet running. The memory of our encounter at Uncertain came back to me but this time I was more curious than scared. But my son was with me and I could not take any risks. Driving slowly by the fresh trail I felt more like I had interrupted someone’s fishing rather than having an actual encounter with a terrifying beast, in fact, maybe the beast that was so terrifying was actual me.

I heard the phone vibrate on the nightstand, I grabbed it and thumbed in the pass code after the facial recognition failed, probably because it wasn’t used to my face without a beard.

It was my friend David; I had texted him and asked him how his trip to Colorado had been. He was now in town drinking with some local cowboys and I could just imagine his easy laugh as he listened to their stories and shared a few of his own. The subject would come around to fishing, which is one of the great American pass times, especially in the mountain towns. Jokingly, I wrote him “Any squatches?” and now I stared at the screen as the text popped up “Got surrounded…”

David had gone to Colorado in search of the Golden Trout but had lucked out on the six lakes he had visited. However, one of the lakes was quite remote. He had driven off-road as far as his 4x4 could take him and parked it. Then throwing his gear on his back and securing his Sig he headed out on foot toward a destination with no trail. Hiking several miles through the forest he could see through the trees, the waters of Golden Lake. After setting his gear down where he would spend the night, he decided to wet a hook as he cast his line. To David fishing is not just an excuse for a beer and a bobber but an art form. He is a true fisherman, a hunter, willing to go further to find his prey. There is something primordial about catching and eating a fish. It is what sustained the earliest humans and allowed us to travel over large distances by creeks and rivers that are the veins of this great land. A good fishing spot is coveted by the fisherman and is often a carefully guarded secret to maintain one’s connection of self with nature, absent of interruption.

Now, as David explained, in digital format, he had just gotten back to camp and started a fire when he heard a knock in the woods, the same as before during his encounter on Clear Creek. He listened, everything in the forest that far out is crisp and clear. There is no other noise pollution such as highway sounds and the constant buzz of city life. It is just you, the wind and whatever that stirs in the darkness.

He sat there crouching; his ear cocked to one side as he stoked the fire prepping for an evening’s meal. And then another one! Closer this time but too the East of camp, where the other one had been across the lake to the North. This was not just a coincidental limb falling, it was intentional. He sat motionless, alone and miles from any civilization. I asked him what he did then? He wrote back, “I was terrified!” “There was no trail to this lake, I should have known better”, he admitted. I asked him if there was any way it could have been a bear, but he said that there was a third knock to the West of camp and it appeared that they were either communicating or trying to scare him. He decided that there was nothing he could do and was resolved to make dinner, build the fire higher and keep his Sig close but out of sight. His lacking in aggressive posturing is what he believes may have saved him. “So will you go back?” I asked him. “Not alone” I took this as a possible invitation to a Sasquatch hunt to be considered for later.

Now, I sit in my car with the windows down, a thud from a small branch landing on the roof of my SUV startles me as I listen to the night sound of distant howls trumpeting. If you ask me if I believe in Sasquatch I will flash you a slight smile and tell you that I am Uncertain. But what I am certain of, is that at the end of this road that I am parked, sits one of the scariest abandoned houses I have ever seen. And that might be the making of a story for another time… [The End]

Uncertain Video: https://youtu.be/Toi4b6zzbkA

All Rights Reserved dfw.adventures@gmail.com

[anne-lister-adventures]

Wednesday, 12 March 1840

5 35/’’

11 50/’’

Reaumur 10º on my table (our breakfast and washing and writing table – Our only one) at 6 1/4 a.m. Quite ready – Washed and at breakfast at 5 55/’’ – Not bit here tho’ abundance of the sort of beetle and another sort of little insect likish a small beetley (hard back) ant? Do these larger insects that the people never seem to disturb and that swarm on the walls, keep them free from insects of worse kind, bugs &c.? 

Just after breakfast Gross came in flippantly saying ‘a great misfortune’ – Beginning to enlarge upon breaking my St. P-[Petersburg] thermometer – This too bad – The loss too great – I never uttered ∴[therefore] his talking useless, and he wisely went away – A-[Ann] never uttered about it then or afterwards – Nor I – 

Gave a blue note (= 5/-) to the old woman of the house (the old mother?) – She very well satisfied – One of my old thin leather gloves missing – Must have fallen out of my fur glove in the Prince’s Kibitka last night – Seeking it (the glove) detained us a few minutes – The only thing I have lost since Norway – Domna lost her little sac with p.[pocket] handkerchief scissors pins and needles &c. &c. = 4/-? She said, on Sunday night at Kopanowskaya (vide bottom of p.[page] 70) – off from Soroglazinskaya at two minutes before 7 – Ha Волга, on the Volga – 

(станица Замиянооскя) at Zamianowskaya at 9 1/4, a poor and picturesque little fishing village – Unpainted board, little, cottage-like Station House but the best house in the village? We might have slept there – Neat little church – Had slept most of the way to here – Much snow in the river latterly – Fine morning – Not much wind – Have written all the above (in pencil in my note book) without glove on without my warm hand getting starved or even cold – Proof how much warmer it is today than yesterday – 

Wattled farm yards – Hay stacked on the tops of the sheds, but little to be seen now – 2 Calmuc tents in farm yards – Large iron cauldrons lying about – Using for boiling fish grease – An undulating desert of fine red sand all immediately around the village – On rising ground at a little distance there seems a roughness as if of some low shrubby vegetation – 

Off at 9 3/4 down again upon the Volga – The village lies along the sand bank close above the river – The right bank has sometime since lost its boldness (from Tzaritzine) – It is now little different from the sandy bank on the left side – Wherever a stick will grow, there is willow which fringes both banks more or less – Read Russian Grammar and sleep – Right bank low bare sand as last station – Left bank low but a line of wood – 

At 12 1/4 Lebajinskaya (the village and good church at some distance) – Station House – Lone house – Large unpainted-board Government Station House, the Imperial Eagle as usual in the pediment of the front end – Forlorn – Getting out of repair – A sort of fosse all round the house, to clear it of the surrounding sand, now 3 or 4 ft.[feet] higher than the bottom step of the 5 or 6 up to the ground floor – As if the sand avait envie de l’engloutir – Sauntered about on the bare sand hillocks while we changed horses – The very desert of the great Zahara – Fine red sand that must blow about terribly – Picked up some of the white prickly low stuff that every where covers the sand where and as much as anything does cover it hereabouts – They say there is pasturage at some distance – 

Off at 12 40/’’ at 1 25/’’ pass near under little village left bank – Is it not on an island? Our route yesterday and today has seemed very much au milieu du fleuve – At 1 50/’’ the Courier called attention to a man and boy going at a good rate on a huge camel – The 1st we had seen – The Prince’s (Prince Cerdebjab de Tumen) people, from near his garden – The large wooded island alongside us (left – a little distance) all belongs to him – In fact, he is Sovereign Prince of the Calmucks all along from here to Astrakhan – 

The camel female – À double bosse – When fat, each boss stands upright – Now that the animal is poor, and hard-worked, and has just had a young one, these bosses hang down like 2 thick flaps (perhaps 8 in.[inches] broad and 9 or 10 in.[inches] long?) when they stand upright said George the animal is four archines high – Now she is only 3 – I should guess her to stand now (to the top point of the shoulder) 6 ft.[feet] 6 in.[inches] English that is 19 1/2 hands high! I asked if she was one of their tallest – Yes! And certainly the one we saw a little while afterwards stood 2 or 3 hands lower – This man has 2 camels – Some have 20 – The laine George called it woolly hair, is cast every Spring and is worth 16 Rubles per pood – She herself is worth 100/- all this took us 12 minutes the long line of wood near (left) is an island belonging to the Prince – Gave the man a 20 Silver Kopek piece – He well pleased – The nose of the animal pierced thro’ the ligament above the nostrils and a smooth hair cord run thro’ to which the cord (rein) is tied, and by pulling this the animal lies down for the people to mount or dismount – She chewed her cud all the while – 

A Kalmyk and his camel. (Image Source)

We had been about 7 or 8 minutes in our Kibitka again when Nikolai (the Courier) called our attention to a fishing party – We alighted again, and stood from 2 10/’’ to 3 5/’’ over the square hole in the ice intently watching the outdrag of the net – The draught of fishes – It reminded me of the N.[New] T.[Testament] the manner of this being probably much the same as in the time of our Saviour – The net seemed never ending – They had got some little of it hauled out when we arrived, and it certainly took 3/4 the time we were there before we came to the end – 

The mesh seemed about 1 1/2 in.[inch] square yet 2 moderate sized frogs and good sized prawn had not escaped – The net was a good deal torn yet there was a tolerable draught – Some hundreds of fish – Perhaps a tank of 2 cube yards would have held them  

2 yards x 1 yard and 1 yard deep – There was one Poisson Blanc = 20 lbs.[pounds] at -/80 per lb.[pound] at Moscow might be had perhaps for 2/- here on the spot – This the most valuable because they salt this kind – There were 2 or 3 Sadocs nearly as large as the Poisson Blanc, or perhaps that would weigh said George 15 lbs.[pounds] and the Courier bought one (Sadoc) for us = 10 lbs.[pounds] and another sort of fish that George seemed to call something like Lyash – All the fish taken were of these 3 kinds – The latter not much valued – Our Sadok = 10 lbs.[pounds]) -/15 and the other fish was given? – There were about 30 men – Pay 25,000/- per annum for the right of fishing here – A certain extent of river – Could not learn how great – Water here about 2 archines deep and ice (said George) 1 a.[archino] thick – 

Fishing on the Volga, near Astrakhan. (Image Source)

Off again at 3 5/’’ – At 3 50/60 at Dowinowskaya – Neat red-yellow painted board Station House at this end of village on our left – We had never stopped before having our Station on our left – It seemed as if we had got to the other side of the river – How is this – Neat white green roofed church – Village apparently small and not good – Merely a fishing village – 

Off again at 4 1/4 – At 5 1/4, left, near, island of willows and a few Calmuck tents among them – By and by pass close left a line of Calmucks sitting on their hams on the ice, each (5 or 6 yards apart) at a little round hole not a foot in diameter (perhaps 8 in.[inches] diameter) fishing – Great breadth of river – Perfectly flat, sandy banks – The Cathedral seen at some distance and a church or 2 far in the distance ahead as if the Town or another Town extended far down the river – 

We seemed to come within the precincts as it were of Astrakhan at 5 3/4 and at 6 1/4 we stopped at the address given us by our Postmaster at Jenotaiewsk – Full! Drove on and inquired at 2 or 3 places – No Inn – Not a lodging to be had – What to be done – Sent to the Chef de Police – Very civil – Came and offered us his house for the night – Accepted with reconnaissance – He spoke a little French – Thankful – 

Astrakhan seen from the Volga in the late 19th century.

At 7 1/4, having waited an hour in the street and fallen 1/2 asleep, chez lui – A good salon and large anteroom – In clover – But long in getting tea – I lay on the sofa – Our fish (non Sadok) was to be boiled – But as it turned out the Cuisinier was out – There was no fire, no anything – And I had completely finished tea and lay some time on the bedstead they had brought before the fish came after 10 – A-[Ann] had waited for it – I tasted and then went on eating – Excellent – Never tasted such fish – Fresh – Fat – Full of roe – Well boiled – It was A-‘s[Ann’s] thought to keep it for breakfast – Had Domna at 10 50/’’ – Fine day –

[in the side of the page:]      thermometer broken

[in the side of the page:]      on the Volga all today –

[in the side of the page:]      Camel

[in the side of the page:]      Fishing on the Volga

[in the side of the page:]      Station on our left

Page References: SH:7/ML/E/24/0043 and SH:7/ML/E/24/0044

[crazy-bi-btch]

Heathers : The Musical                     ( Riverdale Fic ) Part l

Summary: (Part l) Vanessa is trying to get over a boy that seems she can’t escape. Auditioning for Veronica Sawyer was probably a bittersweet move.

Pairing: Sweet Pea x Lodge! OC

Warning: angst, musical scenes, smut (future parts), cursing, drug use ( future parts)

A/N: SOOO I’ve had this plot in my head for so long ever since the musical episode. I hope y’all like it show some love to my other works also :) YES I PUT IN MUSICAL SCENES DON’T KILL ME OK BYEEE

~  

   I ran into school my leather jacket clinging to my wet body from the rain. I sighed as I pushed through the moody students of Riverdale high. I hate my life.

“ Get away serpent slut!” A River Vixen screeched as I bumped into her. She looked at me in disgust. I flipped her off, I would cuss her out but I was already late, missing 1st period again. 

 “ Watch it!” A football player yelled as I accidentally stepped on him. 

“ Fuck off.” I mumbled and made my way to the end of the hallway.

As I got closer towards the end of the hall I was faced with the school news and clubs bulletin board. My friends were lined up, they seemed to be signing something. Betty pries at Jugs arm almost pleading for him to sign it. Once I got closer they started chatting on the side.

“ Hey guys.” I commented just for courtesy but mostly just wanting to find out what this sign up was for.

“ Hey- woah, you’re really wet!” Veronica cried as she made her way towards me my wet hair instantly her hands. “ I’m fine.” I sighed, she shook her head in disapproval. It took her a minute to realize why I was staring at the bulletin board. 

“ You’re gonna audition?” She asked a hint of excitement in her tone. Then my eyes landed on the bold red letters

Heathers : The Musical

Holy shit

The pen that was once  hanging on the yarn was instantly in my hand, and writing my name next to the 2pm audition slot. Right blow me was none other than of course for, my luck, Sweet pea. 

“ Who would’ve known Vanessa, a theater kid?’” Jug and Veronica laughed, I rolled my eyes at them.

“ Give me a break guys, I need to do something fun, you know after-” Jug coughed as he realized where my response was going. You were going through a rough time. You were told by your sister Ronnie to “loosen up” and that there were more fish in the sea or whatever. So that’s what you were trying to do. Hopefully this musical will distract me.

“ Yeah, you’ll do great!” Betty cheered with a big smile. I smiled back at her, and sighed.” Well I hope I don’t embarrass myself instead of getting the part.”

“ Well I do know someone that could help you out if you really want to ace this.” Both V and B looked at each other. Jug and me were so lost, but then they were leading me towards the one and only Cheryl blossom. The mythic bitch.

 She was already in character, Heather Chandler of course.

“ Well Cheryl, I see your all set and ready for this musical.” Veronica teased as we startled her. She narrowed her eyes at us.

“ Cousin. Ronnie. Newbie Serpents.” I scoffed at my nickname. Cheryl was a cold bitch when she wanted but also she could be the sweetest person on planet earth. She could kill for someone that she loved. As also kill someone that hurts her in any way or shape possible. That’s just a Blossom thing I guess. “ What brings you to ruin my peaceful moment.”

“ Cheryl you were admiring yourself in a small locker mirror in a school full of dickwads. Opposite of peaceful.” I explained sarcastically, she glared at me, she fixed her bow before stepping closer to me. I gulped.

“ Don’t try me Ronnie 2.0” 

“ Cheryl!” Ronnie and Betty growled in annoyance. I got up to her level and stared back into her hazel cold eyes.

“ Cheryl I’m not here to fight. I’m here for help. The musical.” She smiled her white pearly whites practically blinding me  from the contrast from her cherry red lipstick. “ Please.” I spoke softly.

“ Well you’ve come to the right person, I mean I am Heather, I made myself Heather Chandler because who else,” She spoke delighted, “ I made Kevin agree, and your auditioning for?”

I sighed, blinking a couple times, I felt Betty’s eyes on me  also my sisters Ronnie . My cheeks flushed slightly. “ The role...of Veronica…” I mumbled, she rolled her eyes.

“ Clearly I should’ve seen it coming, See me after 2nd period in the music room we can practice their, now if you excuse me I’m going to look for my Titi.” Cheryl flashed one more bright smile before she spun around and pranced to look for her girlfriend. I groaned, mentally face palming myself for having Cheryl as my mentor. How did I agree to this?

“ Hey you’ll do great. Cheryl is good remember Carrie! You’re in good hands!” Ronnie held me in a hug trying to comfort me. Betty joined in on the hug also. Yeah I remember Carrie, who doesn’t a girl ended up dead on stage!

“ Just remember to not get on her ugly side you know how she gets.” The 3 of us laughed and slowly made our way to our second period class. 

-

I sat on the bench in the music room watching as Cheryl paced.

“ Beautiful? Out of all the songs; the opener?!” She hysterically cries, I knew she was being dramatic but it was putting me on edge. I had exactly 3 hours to practice. Yes I am skipping my classes I would much rather focus on this than anything else. ( stay in school kids and don’t ditch!!) 

She took a deep breath and exhaled and handed me a sheet of lyrics.

“ Show me what you got.” I stood up straight and began singing, some of the words off key. I was freaking scared. My voice shook , and my knees weak.

Cheryl closed her eyes and put her hands up. “ Stop.” She held my shoulders and looked into my insecure ones.

“ Vanessa, you know what screw it- Your Veronica. Feel it! Embrace it! Get in the Veronica mindset.” She cheered, I look a deep breath and remembered back to my favorite movie. “ Now Veronica let’s give you some inspiration shall we?” She taunted with a playful grin. I shot a confused look at her, when she started to pull me out into the empty hallway.

“ Now what do you see Veronica?” She asked her arms crossed, I stared at the empty hallways, the clock on the ends of the hallways ticking away, the blue lockers. 

“ A high school hallway, which is empty and it stinks.” I complained. She smirked.

“ Exactly, but empty? Try again.” Just on cue the bell rang to signal class was over. “ Now let's try this again.” She strutted towards the crowd signaling for me to start. 

“We were so tiny, happy and shiny

Playing tag and getting chased” I sang rubbing my elbow as tried following Cheryl.

“Freak! Slut! Loser! Short bus!” The kids in the crowd yelled at me, making me flinch.

“ Singing and clapping, laughing and napping

Baking cookies, eating paste

Then we got bigger, that was the trigger

Like the Huns invading Rome.” I sang back at the angry kids, Cheryl closely watching as she leaned against the lockers.

“ Welcome to my school, this ain't no high school

This is the Thunder-dome

Hold your breath and count the days, we're graduating soon 

 College will be paradise, if I'm not dead by June!

But I know, I know, life can be beautiful, “ I was shoved by a group of hippies and their I was looking right at Sweet pea making his way my way as he talked with Fangs. I gulped, and glanced at Cheryl who motioned me to keep going. So I sang louder,

“ I pray, I pray for a better way

If we changed back then, we could change again

We can be beautiful… “ Suddenly everyone was staring but I kept going

“ Things will get better soon as my letter

Comes from Harvard, Duke, or Brown

Wake from this coma, take my diploma

Then I can blow this town

Dream of ivy-covered walls and smoky French cafés

Fight the urge to strike a match and set this dump ablaze!” Ronnie my sister came from the crowd and sang with me swaying softly.

“ Dear diary:” I started and then some miserable kids joined in 

Why....

Why do they hate me?

Why don’t I fight back?

Why do I act like such a creep?

Why…

Why won’t he date me?

Why did I hit him?

Why do I cry myself to sleep?

Why…

Somebody hug me!

Somebody fix me!

Somebody save me!” We all chanted, a huge smile on my face as I saw the reactions from my peers.

“ I love Heather, Heather, and Heather.” Betty and Ronnie and Cheryl leaned on the lockers singing softly.

“ And ya know, ya know, ya know?

This could be beautiful “ Cheryl sang as she touched my face as if examining it

“ Mascara, maybe some lip gloss

And we're on our way

Get this girl some blush;

And Heather, I need your brush

Let's make her beautiful” Cheryl pulled me into the girls restroom with the girls.

“ Here you go I had taken the liberty to ask Titi for her audition custom to be donated to you since she did plan to be Veronica but you have shown potential.” She complimented handing me some clothing.

“ Now hurry!” I scurried to put the white plaid short shirt, the black long sleeve crop top and shiny black heels.

“Let's make her beautiful...

Let's make her beautiful...

Make her beautiful…” Betty and Ronnie sang softly as they fixed my hair out of a ponytail and into my  natural soft curls.

“Okay!” I sang as we made our way out and towards the auditorium.

Just as they walked out Sweet Pea and Fangs where trying to see what was going on with the whole crowd when they were also being shoved around

“Out of my way, geek!” Sweet pea sang as some nerd got in his way.

“You're gonna die at 3pm! “ Fangs sang angrily at some random dude

“Don't you dare touch me! Get away, pervert!” A River Vixen spat at Fangs as he tried flirting with her.

“What did I ever do to her?” Fangs scoffed at Sweet pea in annoyance

We walked into the auditorium where Kevin had just finished a group of people for ensemble, along with some people of the gang sat on the chair waiting for their turn to audition.

“Who's that with Heather?” Toni sang making everyone turn around.

“ Heather, Heather, Heather...And someone!

Heather, Heather, Heather...

Veronica? Veronica? Veronica!” Reggie and Archie sang as they practically dropped their music sheets.

I ran straight up the stairs to face them as the lights from above beamed around me hugging me perfectly as I sang. Narrowing my eyes as I saw Kevin smile up at me.

“And you know, you know, you know

Life can be beautiful

You hope, you dream, you pray

And you get your way!” I pointed dramatically at the sky as I held my chest. And once again my eyes found Sweet pea’s. He sat at the last row of the auditorium. A smug look on his face as his fingers held his chin as he watched me sing

“Ask me how it feels

Lookin' like hell on wheels...

My God, it's beautiful!

I might be beautiful...

And when you're beautiful...

It's a beautiful frickin' day!” I belted out the last note, tears on the brim of my eyes in exhaustion and lack of oxygen. Next thing I heard beside the music ending, was clapping and yelling. I heaved softly and smiled at Kevin who could not stop smiling.

“ So..how did I do?” I asked shyly, Kevin shook his head in awe.

“ Your just who we were looking for Vanessa. WE FOUND OUR VERONICA!” He cheered, making me squeal in delight. I made my to my Heathers (Betty, Ronnie and Cheryl).

“ See, I told you!” Ronnie hugged me tightly as she spoke. Cheryl nodded along.

“ I underestimated you V you are talented, but you’ll grow on me.” She teased,” But I will enjoy degrading you up on stage.” She glared and sat towards the other side where Toni sat. I chuckled softly ignoring her comment, I was too excited to let her bring me down.

 Betty held my hand in hers “ I’m so glad your in! Not to ruin your moment but you had an admirer.” She glanced towards the back of us where Sweet pea and Fangs sat. He caught my not so slick stare and waved teasingly his rings shining slightly as he moved them. The disgustingly handsome smirk on his face. Fangs whispering and laughing to him about us. I groaned and sat down in the chair.

“ Hey don’t let him get to you! Remember?” Ronnie reminded me. I nodded rubbing my temples in frustration.

“ Your stronger than him.”

“ Sweet Pea?” Kevin read out loud making me physically cringe. He walked up stage his flannel wrapped around his torso, his ripped jeans hanging low as his tight leather jacket fit him like a glove.

Sweet Pea in this audition confused me. He never seems to be a musical kid or an actor at all. He told me the theater kids were geeks and lame, so him being up on the stage seemed almost like a big fat lie to my face. Another reason why he never to our relationship serious.

“ Sweet Pea what song will you sing for us today?”

“ I was thinking about Dream on by Aerosmith. Of course with the help of my friend Fangs if that’s okay?” He stated twisting his rings, and fangs shortly ran up next to him, both of them exchanging some cliche handshake.

“ Okay show us what you got guys.” Kevin hesitantly stated. My head pounded in angry watching him be up their on the stage. If he nails this song, I will be stuck with him for the remainder of this musical.

God please end this.

      to be continued.........

[wolfofansbach]

highlights from the history of Riverdale

Riverdale is founded in 1680, after the Viscount Lord Alfred Blossom is run out of Tarrytown for blasphemy, usury, and “general mischief”. He manages to sweet talk about fifteen families into striking out west with him. 65% of his band dies that first winter. Among those who survive  (such as the carpentr William Kellermann, notary Richard Lodge, and farmer Harold Andrews, and their families) are the sires of many families that still dwell in Riverdale today.

The next year, there is a truly bountiful harvest, the river is clogged with fish, the woods with game, and every child born in perfect health. This leads to the persistent legend that Lord Blossom struck a deal with a devil in return for the town’s prosperity 

In 1714, the aging Alfred Blossom strikes a deal with the local Iroquois granting him sole logging rights in the section of forest past the west bank of Sweetwater River. He begins to harvest and sell the sap of the maple trees therein.

The town is briefly occupied by French troops in 1756. Captain de Pelltier writes several letters from this post directly to the Marquis de Montcalm (when appeals to intermediate authorities fail) complaining that “the people of this town are a deeply troublesome, irascible sort who love nothing more than contention, and have proven a deeply deleterious influence upon the men under my command”, and requesting immediate transfer. 

In 1763, the aging Jonathan Blossom dies. The funeral services are disrupted by Franklin Lodge, who demands to know “if Blossom was so great, then why is he dead?” and then stomps on the ground and asks aloud: “how’s the temperature down there?” 

In 1775, the Viscount Lord Lawrence Blossom ostentatiously renounces his title and noble airs as a show of support for the burgeoning Patriot cause. He is appointed a delegate to the Second Continental Congress, but wakes up with a headache. He instead pays an impoverished, recently immigrated Welshman named Gareth Jones one pound and a new fur hat to go in his stead.

Jones gets halfway to Philadelphia when he is attacked by a pack of wolves, and spends a day hiding in a tree. For his failure to complete the journey, Blossom repossesses the fur hat. 

In 1779, the three-day Battle of Riverdale blackens the reputation of the Patriots and provides much fodder for the loyalist propaganda mill after three captured British regulars and one Hessian mercenary are boiled alive in maple syrup. Colonel Blossom disclaims responsibility for the outrage. Said poor souls are said to haunt the region to this day.

in 1818, author Washington Irving happens upon record of the incident and the resultant ghost stories while researching the folktales of Upstate New York in the interest of his ‘Legend of Sleepy Hollow’. He ultimately decides ‘the Boiled Maple Man” is less frightening a specter than “the Headless Horseman.”

In 1792, young Henry Jones strikes out east, begging and bartering his way across the sea towards France in the throes of revolution, animated by a fit of youthful Republican fervor. He reaches Paris and narrowly avoids the guillotine in 1793, after an impromptu recitation of Rousseau’s ‘Emil’ backwards convinces the revolutionary tribunal he is not of sound mind.

In 1808 Jones returns to Riverdale, having spent the better part of the past 15 years traipsing around Europe with Napoleon’s armies. He writes a moderately successful account of his adventures, and promptly squanders the proceeds in a failed business venture involving a poultry farm

In the early 1820s, Abner Lodge protests the construction of the Eerie Canal on aesthetic grounds, justifying this opposition by appeal to the crackpot ‘eggshell earth’ theory invented and propagated by himself, Abner Lodge

When in 1842, a survey brings to attention the fact that Riverdale’s crime rate is ten times the national average, it is decided some manner of law enforcement is in order. Thomas Keller returns from a hunting trip to learn he has been elected constable in an election he was unaware of. Since no one else wants the job, it becomes something of a hereditary position.

In 1848, Captain Richard Blossom storms Chapultapec Castle and returns home with a looted idol he claims to be cursed by the heathen gods of old Mexico. It is blamed for a rash of accidents and illnesses that winter, and the town council authorizes Constable Keller to confiscate it as a threat to the public welfare.

In 1861, in the midst of the secession crisis and a few weeks ahead of First Manassas, Julian Blossom, youngest son of Richard, gets himself and ten of his friends severely drunk. They collect their revolvers and shotguns, storm town hall, take Riverdale’s modest legislature prisoner, and draft an ordinance of secession along with a letter to Richmond requesting Riverdale’s admission into the Confederacy. Town postman Hermann Andrews telegraphs Greendale, which sends its 15 man strong militia to put down the rising (less six militiamen who manage to come up with excuses). The insurrection is quashed by the next morning, when the rebels sober up. Blossom spends one day in jail and is fined $2