Frozen Toes - Part 2

Well, here I be ta finnish dis yarn dat I begun...

~

Day 3 (Friday, November 13) - After slitherin' grudgingly outa our warm bedrolls, and gettin' a bite ta eat, we three mountaineers got down ta business. I straightened up camp a bit, and did some checkin' up on de gun bags ta make shur nothin' were missin'. Meanwhile, Dad an' Little Big Man - ferget it, he be LBM from now on - trudged up to tha shootin' range to make shur de latter's smokepole was flingin' lead where it was s'pposed to. We figurd it would be a mytie unfortunate thing fer LBM ta 'ncounter injuns an' find his sights wuz off.

When dey returned, Dad an' I disided ta have a go at de pistol trail walk. We didn't shoot squat started off jest dandy, but stopped because we knew we were jest wastin' powder figurd it'd be nice ta let de other shooters have a chance.

~

De big event of dat day wuz the de "One-Tie-All-Tie" shoot. It were scheduled 'bout 1:30 in de afternoon, so as that time rolled around, LBM, Dad, and I slung our gun bags over our shuldurs, grabbed our smokepoles, and joined the others assembling at de range. De shoot ran dis way: the target - an 8x12 inch plate of solid steel - was set up on de hillside in front of us. Then all de shooters, about eighteen in all, retired about eighty yards away, and de fun began as everybody had a go at makin' the steel target ring an' swing. Now, what makes dis shoot so fun is de yuneek rools dat ackumpny it: if, during a round, two people in the group both hit de target and tie, den the entire groop ties, and everybody moves farther back ta shoot anudder round. However, if only one person hits de steel during the course o' a round, den dat person be de winner, an' it be he dat walks away with de loot. Usually, a shoot o' dis kind only lasts an hour er so. But dis time, it continued fer three hours! And durin' de final round, all of us shooters wuz flingin' lead from close to three hundred yards away! Waugh!

LBM an' yer's truly with Dad before de "One-Tie-All-Tie"

Some o' de other shooters in de "One-Tie-All-Tie"

~

Day 4 (Saturday, November 14) - Well, havin' pretty much done all de shootin' dere wuz ta do, de three of us turned our attention to our belts . Er, rather what wuz ahangin' on de belts. Yesiree, we decided it wer time to pay de logs our respects. Therefore, with rezaloot hearts steel'd ta peril, we faced 'em, an' got down ta business. An' it got ugly, reel fast. Boy, doze devil's must o' had hearts of... oak. It were tough ta get anything ta stick in 'em at first. But, as we warmed to de fight, things began ta look up, and de ornery varmintz acknowledged our prowess with sharp things. But dat were jest de beginning. We had jest been practicin', doin' a bit o' warm up throwing. Now came de serious task. We had to face de logs once more, only this time, dere were other mountain men to compete with. (Drumroll, if'n ye please)

~

If de first battle with de logs wuz ugly, de second battle wuz uglier. Take my wurd fer it, dere be some good - an' I mean extreemly good - throwers ta compete with. Ta make things e'en more bizarre, we didn't jest do de regular shabang of throwin' from five paces away. We did distance throws, card throws, threw between rubber bands stretched across de face of de log, an' even threw standin' inside a small coil of rope on de ground (it's tougher den it sounds, trust me). It wuz certainly a challengin' ordeal, but then again it's usually doze kinda ordeals dat are de best. In de end, all three of us placed within de top four of our divisions, which be perty good after all, considerin' de talent we wuz up against.

   

LBM to Log: "Ready... set... draw!"

 

"Ha! Got ya! Now we'll see how knotheads bleed! Waugh!"

Keepin' score durin' de throw

Some o' our competetors

Ready ta stick it

~

Day 5 (Sunday, November 15) - Well, that be about all dere is to tell 'bout our adventures at de "Frozen Toes" rondy-voo. On the fifth day, we got up earlier dan usual, had a nice hot breakfast, an' then began takin' down camp and loadin' de mules. After dat wuz done, an' we had made absolutely, positively, undeniably shur dat we weren't leavin' anythin' behind, we said good-bye to our fellow mountaineers, shook hands all round, exchanged a joke er two, and den began de trek back home. By dat time, we wuz champin' at de bit ta to be reunited with de rest o' de family... an' get showers! Waugh!

~Scribe

Frozen Toes - Part 1

There be some fella's who like one wurd diskripshuns; fella's who'll give it to you a nutshell - a really small nutshell. Fer example, one o' dese fellas might jest have survived bein' scalped by savages, and all he'll say is, "Ouch!". Dat's rather borin', ain't it? Setch a deskripshun jest don't make fer a very rip-roarin' tale. No, siree, not a bit of it. It jest don't give you enuff facts and lies to make anythin' out of. And I can't stand dat. So, I do 'ere swear to do no setch nutshellin' with this 'ere yarn. I'll be agiving it to yer da way it oughta be gave - plain and simple with maybe a lie er two thrown in ta give it flavor...

~

Day 1 (Wednesday, Nov. 11) - Little Big Man, Mountain Man, and yer's truly loaded our gear onto our mules and headed off to da wilderness kountry around Fort Stanton, where we pitched camp to rendezvous with other trappers fer 'bout five days.

When we'd finished settin' up camp about late afternoon, I started rustling up some grub. Yep, I were nominated ta be camp cook again (which means dey either like my vittles or don't want to do da cookin' themselves). It be a job o' great responsibility and it can get tirin' sometimes. However, every job usually has a benefit er two in it. If yer camp cook, ya get ta plan what sorta grub to take, get a big say in how it's prepared, and (usually) you don't have to do no dishes. Yer pals also tend ta treat you with a bit o' respect, too. After all, it usually ain't wise ta mess around with the fella dat handles yer dinner, considerin' he jest might decide to get even by doin' somethin' weird to it .

But to get on with the story, we finally did get around to scarfing down eatin' a fine meal, washed down with some kinda funny tastin' beverage da flat-landers call gatorade (what it be, I'll never know). Afterwards, we sat 'round da fire, talkin' and exchanging lies true yarns with friends. When we finally went ta crawl inter our bedrolls, it were probbly 'bout 8:30 (a rather early bedtime, but we always hit the hay earlier than usual on rendezvous). And yep, it got cold. Big surprise.

Our Tent

~

Day 2 (Wednesday, Nov. 12) - Da followin' mornin', after going through da frigid routine of donning our outfits (cold buckskins are extremely unpleasant to put on), we had a quick breakfast, and den began assemblin' our shootin' gear. It were lucky we did so, cuz... a minute later, a dozen blood-curdlin' yells split the air and injuns leapt from da bushes! In no time at all, we wuz engaged in a hand ta hand battle with doze murderous - ah, never mind (de Editor's acomin' this way with his bull whip... an' he ain't lookin' very pleasant).

What I mean ta say is, after we'd gotten our gun stuff together, we ambled on over to da shootin' range where we encountered the deadly... steel targets (man, I liked the injun fightin' idea better). We loaded our smokepoles, and began takin' down deze opponents in short order. In all, dere were 'bout thirty of 'em, rangin' from thirty to one hundred-forty yards away. Dere were basic ones (like plates and squares), animal shaped ones, bizarre ones (which looked like nuthin' in particlur), and plain difficult ones (like a thin steel pipe hangin' in a tree at ninety-yards). They wuz great ta shoot at, but as far as makin' good meat goes, methinks they'd be a bit hard on da teeth.

Dad shootin'...

Yer's truly shootin'...

Little Big Man, contemplatin' the seriousness o' the task at hand...

~

And we wuzn't the only mountain men campaignin' agin' the might of the steel thingies...

* * *

Persevero,

Scribe

Frozen Toes...

Sounds quite pleasant don't you think? Well, I guess that depends on whether you mean frozen toes or "Frozen Toes". Allow me to explain: 

~

The former is an extremely unpleasant condition often proceeding frostbite and the subsequent amputation of appendages.  

The latter is a rendezvous in the mountains east of Capitan and Fort Stanton. And yes, it is of this Frozen Toes that I mainly speak.

~

Nevertheless, this is not to say that when I speak of "Frozen Toes", I do not also speak of frozen toes. After all, names are usually given for a reason (at least, they should be). The rendezvous "Frozen Toes" is so called because attenders thereof inevitably experience that "extremely unpleasant condition proceeding frostbite and the subsequent amputation of appendages" - to put it more bluntly, they run the risk of having to take a hatchet and lop off frozen body parts. And toes, if not given proper protection from the elements, are often the first to go.

~

As you might well deduce after reading that bit of information, it does get rather - shall we say - frosty up at this rendezvous, especially after the sun begins to set. Warmth is highly coveted, and hard to hold on to once you've got it. At nights, if you expect to get anything like sleep, you'd better be bundled up good - real good. Even so, it is often necessary to undergo a sort of thaw in the morning after you wake up by finding a nice little patch of sunlight, claiming it, and then doing a bit of a dance until you notice your fingers begin to turn their natural color again. 

~

So, to conclude this rigmarole, I'd like to ask for prayer that (1) the weather would be obliging, and not too extreme, (2) that we would return uninjured and with all body parts working properly, and (3) that we would be worthy witnesses for Our Lord Jesus Christ to everyone we encounter.

~

Soli Deo Gloria!

* * *

Persevero,

Scribe

Return of the Mountain Men - Part 2

Well, folks, in dis post, I'll chronicle what we mountain men (Mountain Man, Little Big Man, and yours truly) did on Friday, Saturday, and Sunday!

On Friday mornin', the camp cook (guess who?) shot a couple o' praerie chickens, skinned 'em, chopped 'em up, and threw 'em in a skillet along with a slab o' wild boar sausage I had jest killed at dawn. I also added some wild herbs I found, and- hey, watch it! Ouch! Oooh! quit hittin' me with that horse whip! Yow! Ow, ow, ow...

(Editor's note: Scribe is currently undergoing a well deserved thrashing in the coal shed for that outlandish lie he just told. The truth is that Scribe used eight eggs from a carton bought at the local supermarket and a package of sausage meat he procured from a friend to make breakfast. The "herbs" he used were simply bits of parsley, garlic, and salt which he had brought along from home. I trust that Scribe will have learned his lesson from here on out, and that the reader will no longer be bothered by such nonsense.)

..Oookay, folks... just let me sit down real slow like... phew, am I sore...(sigh)... well, I best get on with da story...

After breakfast, which were perty good, if I may say so myself, we got together our powder, balls, and da like, and set off to go ta war with da injuns - okay, okay! Don't hit me again! I'll tell da truth! Truth is, we jest went off ta shoot the last fifteen targets o' da rifle walk... don't think I much like the thought o' bringin' home dead steel fer supper... (sigh)...

The shootin' was fun but challengin' (the targets ranged from 'bout 30 ta 150 yards away), and when all was done, I had twenty-three out o' thirty, Mountain man had twenty five, and Little Big Man had fifteen. Over all we brought home 'bout sixty steel figures fer supper. However, when we started ta think about things, them steelthangs didn't look to appetizin'... nooo sirr, we decided we would have something, ah, less crunchy fer lunch: meat and cheese... again. :)

Along 'bout 2:30 PM, we gathered fer da hawk an' knife contest, run by Many Scars. Little Big Man wowed everybody (what's new :)) and all but ate out ter heart o' da log. Ha! That day we did two of the contests, cuz Many Scars planned ta do da third on Saturday.

Later (afore it was dark), I went to camp, grabbed my gun, went inter da woods, found me a nice buck, aimed, and - ahh, never mind. If da editor finds I colored da facts a little, me hide won't be very comfy... Fer dinner I cooked up steaks with garlic salt an' italian seasoning (da camp cook never forgets his herbs an' seasonins). Boy, was they good! Wouldn't mind makin' dat a meal to eat at every rondy-voo.

Later dat night, we curled up in our warm wraps, made us some warm drinks, and sat 'round da fire listenin' to a friend tell stories and songs and jokes and all. Along about 8:30, we hit da sack. Only dis time, both Little Big Man and I crawled inter da same bed roll so as ta keep each other warm. It worked, but near mornin', Little Big Man scooted about an' managed to get da bag all ter himself, leavin' me with only a pile o' blankets on me head and da rest o' me body as frigid as da waters of Alaska...

Saturday mornin', we woke up an' got a fire goin'. Our friends Many Scars, Longtongue, and Pack Mule whipped up burritoes again and invited us over. We accepted (of course), and also cooked up a slab o'f bacon and brought it over as a contribution to da meal. Needless ta say, breakfast was good! The only problem was that the burritos contained a significent amount of green peppers. As a result, our sinuses were, ah, cleared (to say da least).

After dat wonderful meal, Mountain Man went off with some old timers to shoot a fusil, or flintlock fer da first time. Little Big Man and I followed along with our rifles to shoot da targets again jest fer fun.

At noon, we ate a brief lunch, and had a rest, before hurrying off to compete in the last stage of the hawk an' knife contest. In this contest, we had ta throw double turn, (which be about twice da usual distance you throw from). It was challenging, but we pulled through all right. However, it ended with a throw off between Little Big Man and the reigning state hawk and knife champion, Lazy Horse, for first place over all da camp. In da end, Little Big Man beat Lazy horse by two points! Dis was da first time at dat rondy-voo dat someone that age (Little Big Man be 11) had whopped all da camp! Huzzah!

After that, we participated in an archery contest. That were great fun! The only drawback was this: you know, the bows Little Big Man and I have ain't nearly as powerful as doze toted by da men. Sooo... the target ended up bein' a rather long distance away, and thus, to allow for distance and lack of shootin' power, Little Big Man and I had ta aim way above da target to have any hopes o' hittin' it! Ha!

Later, at de awards ceremony, da prizes were handed out. Little Big Man were awarded a brand new Bomboy throwin' knife (he done got three already), and boy was he ever happy! Hee-haw, ye should a seen his face! Huzzah!

Fer supper dat night, Pack Mule, Longtongue, Many Scars, an old timer named Hookeye, and us done got together and made a big feast! There was beans, corn bread, potatoes w/ onions, pepers and seasonin's, venison, and pheasant! Boy was it a big meal! Da only thing was that every now and then, as I ate a bit o' pheasant, I'd come across small, hard little balls in da meat. I thought nothin' o' it, thinkin' they was bones. So it was to my chagrin that I later learned those "small, hard balls" was shotgun pellets from when da bird was killed! Later that night we drank hot cider around da fire, listened ta stories and songs (again), and then, tired from da long day, went ter bed.

Next mornin' (Sunday), we commenced ter packin' up once more. It were kinda sad that the rondy-voo was over, but we were glad to be goin' home. So, after all was packed, we fired up that metel wagon we rode up in, and started fer Edgewood.

About three hours later, we got home, and after a lovin' hello to Reaches Up and da women folk, we got showers! Ha! Wasn't it good to get cleaned up! Then we sat around and talked about what we did up thar in the Capitan Mountains, and learned what had gone on while we was gone. Ahhh, it was good to be back.

Next thing we knew, we was climbin' inter our nice, comfy beds, pullin' da covers up, and.... ZzZzZzZzZzZzZzZzZzZzZz...And so ends da chronicle o' our doin's at da "Frozen Toes" rondy-voo! Until next time, dis be Scribe sayin', so long!

~Scribe

Slicin' & Dicin'

Shootin' da bow

Da Council Fire

A Mountain Man Feast!

Little Big Man grinnin' as he receives his new throwin' knife

The Return of the Mountain Men - Part 1

Well, folks, the mountain men (me, Mountain Man, and Little Big Man) have returned! Yeehaw, boy did we have a rarin' good time up thar in the south... the frozen south, or at least it seemed that way to us while we been up thar! An' on top o' that, Mountain Man done got mauled by a bear, Little Big Man got wounded in a hand ta hand fight with a Souix warrior, and I done got myself shot durin' a gun battle with some renegade trappers... oh, alright, maybe I were exageratin' a mite... (sigh)... guess I'll get on with the real story...

Well, in this post, I'll record what we mountain men did on Wednesday and Thursday...

Soooooo, on Wed. mornin', Mountain Man, Little Big Man (boy, that's one looong name ta write out), and yers truly packed and loaded our belongings (in da freezin' wind), and then, after makin' shure dat Reaches Up had enuff powder and round balls to protek de woman folk, we was asayin' goodbye to all o' dem, and den we fired up the metel buggy and drove off. By da way, it be perty funny how dem newfangled travelin' devices choke an' sputter afore dey decide to move... ol' Bill (de mule) never made dem noizes ... hee hee hee...

After drivin' in dat thang fer about two an' a half hours, we arrived at our destination: Frozen Toes rondy -voo 1838... okay, okay, 2008...

Now, unfortunately fer us, we didn't get on da road real early at all, and this, with the time change, resulted in our gettin' ter the camp site at dusk... when de sun were settin'... and the wind were blowin'... and the cold was gnawin'...

Anyhoo, we scrambled ter set up da tent, and after dat were accomplished, we decided to get in the bed, feelin' too tired and cold to care about anythin' save our bed rolls. It was dark, anway, and as da mountain men usually retired when da sun set, we crawled in our beds. Mountain Man happened to look at the strange long distance talkin' device modern folks call a cell phone, and saw it were only 6:30 PM... hmmm... we ain't really used ter goin' to bed so early... so we lay in our beds fer a time watchin' the walls o' the tent flap in da wind... listenin' to the howl o' da wind... gettin' our toes froze off by the cold drafts o' da wind... (sigh)...

That were a miserable night... couldn't get warm... couldn't get ter sleep... (sigh)... o boy, it was a long night, an' no mistake (jest in case yer curious, the tempreture each night dropped to 'bout 16 degrees F.). And when the sun did come up on Thursday mornin', it weren't much better, cuz the tempreture only rose a couple degrees. Well, we got up anyhoo (one can't stay in bed ferever), wrapped up in gloves, coats, scarves, and hats (we still never got totally warm), and got a fire goin'. We was so miserable that first mornin' (seein' as how we hadn't quite gotten used to dis frigid weather), that we was about to fall into dat pit dey call sheer desperation, and were goin' ter break out somethin' people nowadays call instant oatmeal (instead o' fresh oatmeal, it came inter someone's head ter dry de oats an' stick 'em in tiny baggies... humph, dem puny thangs don't hold enough oatmeal to fill a chipmunk, much less starvin' trappers o' de ol' times...

However, we was saved from dis abominable act by our friends Longtongue and Many Scars (who I mentioned in the Cashe Le Plew posts). They invited us over ter have burritos with them, and boy were we glad to accept! :)

After breakfast, we sat around awhile, listenin' to the old timers swap tales, and den, when that were over, we got our smoke poles an' gear, an' after a long and drawn out spell when we were checkin' our shootin' bags to make sure we had da right stuff, we went off an' shot the first 15 targets o' da Rifle Walk...

30 minutes and a pound an' a powder or more later (we burn lots o' that stuff when there are three shooters in da family), we went to camp to have meat an' cheese fer lunch. After lunch, and a brief respite (all that shootin' makes ya kinda tired), we jest mosied about the camp, sittin around in da sun, listenin' ta stories an' mountain man songs... some o' the stories were true ta life, but then there was a percentage o' 'em that were, well, concocted, you might say, fer amusement - not that any o' us really believed 'em! Ha! But it were fun, anyway.

Fer dinner on Thursday, it semed that everybody in camp had brought some kind o' chili! QueenMom done whipped up a container o' homemade meat chili with corn, an' beans, an' a whole mess o' other good tastin' stuff. That night at least, we didn't eat our own cookin'! Ha! But anyway, there is one thing that goes in our favor when we do cook fer ourselves an' it jest happens to be awful: usually we eat in da dark, an' ya know dat in the dark, ye can't hardly see things as well as ye can in da light (boy, dat tookn a genius to come ter that conclusion). Usually, we can't even see what we're eatin', either! So if, as is often the case, bits of ash an' dirt find there way inter our vittles, we won't know it. And most o' the time, we don't taste it, cuz we be so monstrous hungry after a day o' fightin' injuns an' cougars dat we really don't mind what we be eatin'. On da other hand, a mite o' dirt an' ash never hurt nobody... leastways, I ain't died as yet from the sideeffects o' eatin' 'em in me food every once an' a while!

After dinner, we sat about toastin' our feet near da fire. Then Longtongue called us over ta his fire, an' we sat around with him awhile afore we retired to rest. All in all, I'll say dat da first day went perty well!

~Scribe

Burnin' Up the Trails at "Frozen Toes"

Yes, Little Big Man and Scribe, the only two young men at this rendezvous, are giving the adults quite the challenge, burning up the hawk and knife trails and the shooting range with their scores. Currently, Little Big Man, who is 11, is in first place over the entire camp in the hawk and knife competition. Scribe, 13, is tied with another adult for 2nd place and also did amazingly well at the black powder shoot, hitting 23 of 30 targets.

More importantly, Mountain Man is just so proud of them, he can't even put it into words. To God be the glory! Little Big Man and Scribe are being such a witness for the name of Christ, standing out in their behavior and speech. They truly are light shining in the darkness, and we're praying God will use them to bring some of these "old timers' to know Him.

They must be getting used to the cold, too, as they've actually been getting some sleep at night. So, they're having a great time and will return by tomorrow evening. And Queen Mom and the Littles simply can't wait!

Here we come, "Frozen Toes!"

Okay, guys, before I go on, let me switch into my Mountain Man dialect... hmmm... (cough)... alrighty, folks, thanks fer waitin'. Now I can get ter the point.

~~~

Now, from my title, ya may be thinkin' that I just took decided to set a Guiness World Record for Stupidity by walkin' out in the snow in me bare tootsies and gettin' the most horrendous frostbite that ever was heared of... nah, nah, I ain't that cracked, yet. "Frozen Toes" be the name of a rondy-voo that me, Dad, and Little Big Man is goin' to.

~~~

This time though, we be aheadin' out inter an honest a goodness wilderness... well, sorta. Anyhow, de aforesaid "Frozen Toes" is 'bout three hours drive from here (what's that? Yeah, we done decided to try out one of them metal buggies this time - not that I trust 'em...). It's up south o' here, too, in the Capitan Mountains, and the camp itsef is kinda set in a little wooded valley - right down perty, ye understand.

~~~

Now this'll be my second time goin' to this rondy-voo, cuz last year, me an' Dad went up thar together to check it out. This time Little Big Man will come along, too, and in the process wow everybody which his knife flingin' skills... again.

~~~

Yessiree, we's headin' out now for the trail, ready to brave the rugged mountains, fight off the savages, battle wild cats and bears... well, maybe I was exageratin' a little bit... (sigh)...

~~~

Oh, yeah, and in case yer wonderin' how this rondy-voo got it's name, jest look at the night-time tempretures. They ain't perty. Why, last time I went with Dad, there was a guy who done covered his head with blankets to keep warm. In da middle o' the night, he woke up screamin' sayin' he couldn't see. Turns out, his breath was trapped under da blankets, and this, combined with cold tempretures, became ice, freezin' his eyleashes shut, and even turnin' his beard white! Ha!

~~~

Well, as Dad an' Little Big Man are waitin' fer me in the metel buggy thing, I'll jest wrap up by asklin' yer to pray fer our protection - ya know, when yer shootin' smokesticks, throwin' edged weapons at wooden blocks, and eatin' yer own cookin', something's bound ta happen, whether ya get a hit with lead balls, sliced and diced with knives and hawks, or perish miserably of an upset stomach from dinner... (sigh)... well, let's hope nothin' like that'll happen (ain't I sech a dire prophesier?).

~~~

And now, I guess I'll say bye, fer now, at least. That metel wagon be makin' weird honkin' noises. Ugh (shiver), it's jest unnatural fer a wagon to make honkin' noises, jest unnatural...

-Scribe

~~~

The valley fer "Frozen Toes"

More Views from the 'Voo

Daddy with Scribe, Little Big Man, Reaches Up, and his princesses, Whistler and Boo. Where's Little Bit? She couldn't tear herself away from the dirt.

Views from the 'Voo

Scribe competes in the camp hawk and knife throw, while Little Bit and Boo attentively watch.

Handsome Reaches Up sitting in a chair he and Daddy made the weekend before the 'Voo.

A Rondy-Voo Journal - Part 4

And here at last be the final installment o' our time up at the rendezvous...
Next mornin', which was Saturday, was our last day at the Cache Le Plew, an' knowin' we had to make the most o' it, we got an' early start.

First thing after breakfast (an awesome casserole made by Uncle Kent), my fren J an' I followed Mountain Man an' Uncle Kent to the shootin' range, while Little Big Man, his fren T, an' Reaches Up went to throw some sticks on the archery walk (here it might be noted that there was a mite o' trouble gettin' our shootin' gear together, an' that much as I would like to say it, we wouldn't ha' made it into the band o' Minute Men gathered durin' the War for Independence. Now if there were sech a thing as the Hour Men...). :)

At the shootin' range Uncle Kent, fren J, Mountain Man, an' I threw some balls at some animal targets in a contest called The Varmints Shoot. As soon as we finished up that (and accomplished several trips back to camp to restock our ammo) we all hoisted up our guns on our shoulders an' did the Rifle Walk (this second time, fren J an' I only shot for fun, as we had already done it fer score). As I watched Mountain Man an' Uncle Kent throw lead at them thar targets, I couldn't help but be glad I wasn't on the wrong side of them gun barrels! Ha!

An hour later found us returnin' to camp, where Dad an' I met Little Big Man an' Reaches Up. Mom an' the young ladies o' our home also drove up from the house to visit us. As they arrived right around the time appointed for the hawk an' knife throwin', they settled down with a tin-type machine an' watched the proceedin's (gotta love them new-fangled gadgets, even if cameras are several centuries ahead o' the fur trade).

First came the Camp Throw, which was jest throwin' single turns at a ard in the middle o' a log; after that Reaches Up, Mountain Man, Little Big Man, an' I joined other men in a rather complicated contest, made up by our friend Many Scars who also happens to be a famous knife-maker. We had to throw both hawk an' knife at a log criss-crossed by rubber bands. If'n you cut the rubber bands - zip! ya get a zero...notta...nothin'...get my meanin'? After ya threw that part o' the competition (whether ye got a good or bad score), ye had to throw distance throws (turn-and a- half, double, etc.) at a log that was close to the size o' an M&M. Okay, maybe not that small, but it was the smallest log out thar, alright! That too was fun, though challenging, an' even if we didn't win (though Little Big Man lived up to his name by scorin' among some o' the top throwers) it was a great throw, an' everyone enjoyed it. :D

Forty-five minutes later everybody in camo gathered for the award ceremony an' coucil fire. As the Rendezvous was dedicated to a reenactor who had recently passed away, his son stood up an' made a short speech on his behalf, an' then in respect Dad an' six other men fired a seven-gun salute (see picture).

As soon as this ceremony was finished, the winners of the various events were announced. I have below a list of the events won by me an' my brothers jest in case your interested:

• 1st place Camp Throw (ages 9-12): Little Big Man
• " " " " (ages 5-8): Reaches Up
• " " " " (ages 13-15): Scribe (Soli Deo Gloria...even I know a bit o' Latin!)
• " " Rifle Walk (Youth): Scribe (Soli Deo Gloria)
• 3rd " " " (Youth): Little Big Man
• 1st " Archery Walk (Youth): Scribe (Soli Deo Gloria)
• 2nd " " " (Youth): Little Big Man
• 1st " Varmint Shoot (Youth): Scribe (Soli Deo Gloria)

Well, thar ya have it, folks! And though "officially" Dad did not win anything off the prize blankets, if it hadn't been fer him, we'd ha' never known how to throw a hawk or knife, shoot a gun, or even participate in rendezvous like this one. He be the one who taught us what it is to be a good sport even when you ain't the winner, how to be a gentelmen,, an' most o' all how to be a bold, manly follower of Christ. Thanks fer everythin', Dad! :)

And now I'll jest wrap up by sayin' that all the glory for our success in the events goes to God, the Maker of all things. There's no higher callin' than to be a soldier in His Army!

Now, I'd better get back to me boks - it is the first day o' school for the Poff Clan, an' 'twouldn't do for me to fall behind in me learnin' already would it now (not that its ever okay)? :) So goodbye fer now!

-Scribe

A Rondy-Voo Journal - Part 3

And here's the third part of this here journal of our doin's at the Cache Le Plew...

The followin' day was Friday, the 19th o' September, and when we woke in the mornin', we was ready to get goin'!

Our breakfast was a simple but good meal of oatmeal, made sweet with wild berries an' apples picked fresh from the trees an' bushes growin' wild and free in the wilderness land... nah, jest kiddin'! We used them pre-made instant oatmeal packets (not that the fur trappers knew of Kirkland Brand). And as fer them wild fruit bushes an' trees growin' close by - well, let's jest say I were exageratin' o' mite. The only fruit a-growin' in that thar country we was in were those funny tastin' juniper berries... wouldn't care to flavor me victuals with those! Ha! ;D

Well, after we had washed the food down with some swigs o' orange juice (unfortunately I cannot say that it was the fresh squeezed kind), Little Big Man cleaned up the dishes an' then all o' us headed off with our smoke sticks to throw some lead on the Rifle Trail Walk... well, I guess I ought to explain o' bit, as from my previous words you might think Reaches Up had a smoke stick, too. :) Nah, unfortunately, Reaches Up has to put on some more muscle an' weight to be able to handle them thar weapons, as they're a might heavy. Yep, you can't expect to hit yer target if'n ya can't even hold yer gun up, right?

Anyhow, Reaches Up did come in handy... he became an equipment carrier o' sorts, if ya follow me, an' we found him quite helpful (but he is lookin' forward to the time when he can get up thar an' blow holes in rifle targets). Unfortunately, it was found when we got up thar that there weren't enough powder for him, Little Big Man, and me to shoot at the same time. He therefore decided that he would shoot later when we was done, an' so without further adieu, we began throwin' balls at them thar targets...

An hour later found us finished with that most enjoyable event, an' Little Big Man an' I shot our tie-breakers so that would be done. After that, we traipsed right back down to camp, where we found some frens of ours settin' up their tent 'near ours. Uncle Kent an' his two boys J an' T are long time pals of ours, an' after howdy-do's an' all that ceramony, Mountain Man, Little Big Man, Reaches Up, and me took a good, long break ( yep, and we smelled like gun-powder an' smoke by now, not that anythin's wrong with that, ya understand).

A little later, after the smoke sticks had been cleaned Little Big Man, Reaches Up and I went on up with Uncle Kent an' his boys to do the knife and hawk walk with 'em. Of course, my brothers an' I had already done it once, but as it was so much fun, we decided to do it with our frens jest for fun.

Once that was done, we all went back to our camps, and the suppers were prepared. :) My dad and brothers an' me had a scrumptious fare of scrambled cow meat with taters, onions, an' peppers - I'd almost say that dinner will be an all time favorite in my family! Boy, oh boy, did those victuals taste good - especially after such a long day! Uncle Kent, who, jest so you know, is a camp cook extraordinaire, battered up some bits o' chicken an' fried 'em, along with a pot o' corn and mashed taters. As he an' his boys had chicken wings leftover, they invited us o'er to eat the remains with 'em. Full as we was, my brothers an' I found yet more room to tuck away them scrumptious pieces o' battered meat!

Uncle Kent also made a big dessert for everyone, too (he knows how to cook jest 'bout anythin' in a dutch oven or cast iron cookware). It was a cake with chocolate on the bottom, vanilla on the top, an' cherries in between! And was that ever good!

After that, everyone sat around the fire, swappin' tales an' jokes, until at last, one by one we retired to our tents where we fell to snoozin' - ZzZzZzZzZzZz....

-Scribe

A Rondy-Voo Journal - Part 2

Well guys, here be another part o' the story about our time at the rondy-voo...
Next mornin', we all got up 'bout 7:00 and set about preparin' for a day o' hard competin'!
As a man can't set about his tasks very well without victuals fer fuel, I set about makin' breakfast: eggs and sausage.
Now I have to say I wern't very optomistic about the look o' them dead chicks cookin' in the skillet. For some reason, I couldn't get by the fact that makin' eggs in a cast iron pan ain't the same as makin' 'em in a non-stick skillet (and no I don't know what one o' them is either!).
Anyhow, despite my apprehension, the food turned out fine (I did detect the faint taste of ash, since good ol' Little Big Man kept stirrin' up the fire pit and sendin' bits o' burnt wood into my pan o' eggs). :)
But what I didn't count on concernin' breakfast was that our good friends Long Tongue and Many Scars, were bein' a bit gourmet in their food pickin's. Yep, Long Tongue and Many Scars, two grizzled old timers and great friends o' ours, were cookin' not swine... not bovine... but Antelope!
Bein' the kindly souls they are, they invited us over for a taste of their breakfast. And boy was it good! I can't really describe the flavor, though I can say it had a distinct, appetizin' taste (no, it didn't taste like chicken). Well, we enjoyed that, but knew the time was drawin' near for us to do the real deal - ya know, the stuff we came up there to do (life's not jest about eatin', right?).
After some practice, we all went up with a couple frens to throw some sticks on the archery walk. That were great fun, though I have to say I weren't too keen about eatin' the game we shot - cardboard and styrofoam don't agree with the pallet most o' the time. ;)
When that was done, we picked up a few more companions to increase our band, and then went up to the hawk an' knife walk, where we succeeded in slicin' logs, cuttin' cards, and maybe even bustin' up handles. Go figure.
Unfortunately, we didn't get to throw no lead with our smoke sticks that day. Besides, we was clean wore out by the time those two events was accomplished (actually, Little Big Man and Reaches Up seemed ready an' rearin' to do everythin' again even faster)!
We also got our first rain shower in five years up there at the camp. Thankfully we didn't get too soggy as it jest drizzled a bit. Funny thing was, the storm couldn't make up its mind - every time I thought it was done it'd start up again, and I'd sit back for the hundredth time, jest awaitin' for it to clear up so I could move out from under cover (but we are thankful to the good Lord for waterin' His creation). :)
I was able to succeed in doin' a little swappin' with the trader up there. I was able to get myself a good quiver for me arrows for five greenbacks and a couple pieces o' my handywork. Perty good, huh?
Thankfully, our dinner o' steaks turned out well, and this time, when we made hot cocoa, I made sure that the water was really, truly, absolutely boilin'! :D

- Scribe

A Rondy-Voo Journal - Part 1

Howdy, folks! This be Scribe here, gettin' ready to give an account of our doin's at the Cache Le Plew (that's French, jest so ya know) Rendezvous! So you'd better find a seat, as this'll be quite a tale...
On the 17th of Sept, Mountain Man, Reaches Up, Little Big Man, and I went on up to the site of the rendezvous, and began settin' up camp. Boy, was that fun (nah, jest kiddin'! We was all half dead by the time we was done)! Really though, it was perty neat seein' our tent an' stuff set up.
After that, we all got dressed up in style! Yeehah! Boy, did our buckskins feel good after such a long time o' wearin' them flatlander garments! We was ready for shinin' times at the rondy-voo( that's mountain man spellin').
When we had got all ready, we went 'round to the different other camps, greetin' old friends, and sayin' howdy-do to new ones. Yep, 'twas all perty nice, and in no time 'tall, we was feelin' at home, talkin' the good ol' mountain man language (that most respectable tongue includes ol' favorites, like "ain't"), and gettin' good an' dirty (yep, ye can't be one o' the group without a respectable 'mount of grime, soot, and sod rubbed into yer clothes, hair, an' all! Ha!) :D
Then, as 'twas gettin on dinner time, I, bein' dubbed camp cook all o' the sudden, began the evenin' meal: homemade beefstew an' cornbread! Yum! :)
After we had done stuffed ourselves full ( yessiree, I even filled that hollow leg o' mine), dinner clean up began! Well, as I was the camp cook o' sorts, I "arranged" for Little Big Man to do the dishes ( any o' ya'll ever cleaned cast iron afore?). Did he ever like that! :) I'm still awaitin' his thanks!
While the "washerman" did the dirty dishes, I stuck a pot o' water on for hot cocoa ('twas dark by this time). Twenty five minutes later, I took it off, believin' that the water was well nigh scaldin' already (I done forgot that cookin' o'er the fire ain't the same as on a gas stove... not that I know what one o' them is). I poured the water into the cups of cocoa, stirred well, and then served 'em, waitin' for praise about my superior hot-cocoa -makin'-expertise! Five minutes later, all I heard was "yeck!" and "did you stir this stuff up?". Even Dad made a face at the brown liquid in his cup! What went wrong? Turns out the fire hadn't quite heated the water enough, and ya'll know that them cocoa packets don't stir up when the water ain't hot! To tell the truth, it was quite nasty. The water was brown alright, but there wern't no taste; jest brown, unmixed cocoa powder at the bottom o' the cup! Yeck! :)
Well, that did it for the first day, and soon we all retired to our bedrolls and blankets for a good night's rest. As it was rather warm, I decided I wouldn't get in my sleepin' bag, but would jest lie there under the blankets. A couple hours later, I woke up freezin' (wish I had had a thermometer). Then I found my warm bag most agreeable! :D

-Scribe

Update from Camp

I talked to my Beloved this morning, and he reports a great first night at the rendezvous. He loves the new tent--it's nice and roomy! He's very pleased with their camp set up, and everyone enjoyed the homemade beef stew and yummy corn muffins last night for dinner. Scribe was working on a breakfast of sausage and eggs as we spoke.

The girls and I are REALLY missing our men, but God blessed us with a lovely day yesterday. (If you could have only seen Little Bit enjoying Bagel Bites--I should have taken a picture!)Today we'll be having lunch with some friends and enjoying the beautiful weather.

Love,
Queen Mom

Headin' Out...

Well, I'm writin' this here post at about 10:20 pm, durin' the few remainin' hours of Tuesday. We've purty much been workin' non-stop for most of the day, gettin' supplies ready for tomorrow's trek into the wilderness (well, jest 'tween you and me, the Mountain Man rendezvous be only 'bout half an hour from the interstate.) :)

Yep, tomorrow Mountain Man, Little Big Man, Reaches Up, and I will be a-goin' south to brave the unknown (then again, that might be a little bit o' exaggeratin' as our camp site is also a shootin' range for the local gun club! Ha!). The doin's will begin tommorow, but afore we start shootin', throwin' and the like, we get to do the fun stuff! Ya know, settin' up the tent, makin' sure we got everything (toothbrushes will be essential out there, ya know), and then gettin all worked up when somethin is found to be missin' from our packs... yessir, all that kinda stuff has to come first 'fore we can get to blowin' holes in targets and choppin' logs with edged weapons.

Today, though, we've been makin sure all's well in the victual boxes, lookin' over our cookin' gear to assure ourselves we got somethin' to cook our victuals on, puttin' edges on our 'hawks and knives, and so on and so forth.

And now I'll end this ramblin' talk o' mine so I can get ready for bed... wouldn't do for me to be half asleep in the mornin' and then get a talkin' to when I end up doin' somethin stupid, like throwin' my tomahawk at the the log when my brother's behind it!

After we get back from our little vacation, I'll post some updates an' pictures! :) We'll appreciate prayers for our safety and the protection of mom and the girls. And may we glorify Christ in all we think, say, and do.

- Scribe