By Francis Marion
“The seasons of time offer no guarantees. For modern societies, no less than for all forms of life, transformative change is discontinuous. For what seems an eternity, history goes nowhere – and then it suddenly flings us forward across some vast chaos that defies any mortal effort to plan our way there. The Fourth Turning will try our souls – and the saecular rhythm tells us that much will depend on how we face up to that trial. The saeculum does not reveal whether the story will have a happy ending, but it does tell us how and when our choices will make a difference.” – Strauss & Howe – The Fourth Turning
“Trust the plan.” – Q
Trust the plan they say. That’s what I tell my kids.
“So here’s the plan: We’re going to hit the spine up above the bowl where you shot your first buck and then we’re going to hunt the east and south facing slopes for the morning. When we’re done we’ll cross back over and make our way to the shack at the top of the world. Sound like a plan?”
“Ok,” they tell me. The kids trust me. I make them feel safe I suppose, because no matter what we’re doing their well being is always first and foremost in my mind. They know it and that’s my intent. But the truth is life is uncertain.
The best I can do is expose them to the elements, prepare for the worst and enjoy the best of it.
As we sat and glassed for mule deer I could see a storm brewing on the north facing slope over Coquihalla peak. It lingered for a while then it moved over the top of the old giant like a mob of feral horses breaking over a hill.
It’s the sort of thing you can’t control.
When we hit the hill at daybreak I could see it was already wet. It had been storming the night before but wasn’t when we arrived on the mountain. As I sat and watched the clouds roll to the southwest it occurred to me we were in the eye of something.
While you’re lingering in the eye of a storm things can seem sort of peaceful and transcendent. What’s stranger is how the other side of it can still take you by surprise even when you think you’re ready for it.
“We got time,” I told myself. But I could feel the wind in my face and the old bastard across the valley was already gone behind a rolling blanket of grey and black.
“Grab your shit and let’s move,” I told them both.
They could probably sense the urgency in my voice so they moved quickly, shouldered their packs and rifles and began following me back over the spine of the hill and up towards the top of the mountain.
We hit the cabin in the sky just as the storm overtook us. It howled like a banshee outside, the rain and sleet moving almost completely sideways across the top of the mountain and down into the bowls on either side of us.
I wondered how long it would last.
The kids ate some food from their packs and I pulled out the ten-liter water bladder from my pack and started filling their bottles.
My thigh hurt. I’d pulled a muscle when I stood up with my pack on after we decided to break for the cabin. There was no reason for it. My legs were in good shape, I wasn’t doing anything stupid and I was well hydrated. I wondered how I was going to fair, three hours and a couple of thousand feet up from the SUV in the middle of a high-country late fall/early winter storm with forty pounds of pack on my back.
Interesting times, I thought to myself.
I didn’t say too much to the kids. I didn’t want them to worry. So we sat and ate and drank and watched the storm rage around us.
“What’s the plan dad,” my son asked me?
“We’re going to wait for a break in the weather then we’re going to make a beeline for the Jeep. I don’t think crawling around up here in the rain and sleet is the best thing to do. The game will be bedded down anyways. Nothing moves in this crap. Are you guys OK with that?”
“For sure,” they both responded.
I like to give the illusion of democracy so the kids feel like I value and want their input. It puts them at ease but the truth is when we’re on the mountain I make the decisions. And we were getting the fuck out. Eventually.
Two hours later we got a break and I told them to grab their packs and suit up. We blew out the door of the cabin and hit the trail down. We weren’t more than two hundred yards from shelter when another system rolled over the hill from the south like a tsunami over a small manmade breakwater.
Back to the cabin we went.
Another half an hour later and we got another opening.
“Ok guys it’s breaking to the east and the snow and rain are letting up but the ground is going to be super wet and some of those slopes are going to be like walking on snot with the sleet and mud. Slow and steady is the pace. I’m in front. We move at dad speed. Nobody falls, kapeesh?”
“Kapeesh!” they responded. And away we went.
As we skirted the bowl beneath the top of the mountain and headed for the subalpine we crossed the path of a good-sized black bear headed the same direction. The four of us paused for a minute and looked each other over then proceeded on the same path down the mountain towards calmer, greener pastures.
A few hours later, back at the Jeep I sat and rubbed my leg to get my thigh muscle to settle.
“Are you ok dad,” my son asked?
“Yeah. I pulled a muscle back before we hit the cabin for lunch. It sucks getting old.”
“You gonna be ok though,” he asked again?
“Of course,” I responded.
A dad’s job is to teach his kids how to live in the world and to protect them as best he can from the storm – not to bitch and moan about how much his leg hurts.
I guess the lesson is it’s good to have a plan but it’s better to trust your instincts and do what needs to be done. Especially when a plan goes sideways.
And in my world, they frequently do.
I guess the lesson is it’s good to have a plan but it’s better to trust your instincts and do what needs to be done. Especially when a plan goes sideways.
Awsome statement.
And instinct often best comes from the wisdom gained through experience.
Anticipate anything then plan, practice and act or execute accordingly.
“Everyone has a plan until they get punched in the mouth.” Mike Tyson
Living in the moment, using all your senses, plotting the way forward. Well done.
That was a great story, I felt like I was right there with you the entire time.
You’re doing God’s work, FM.
You too.
Still waiting patiently for the resumption of your awesome story, “City of the Dead”.
Me too, this is a great read also, thanks for sharing the experience.
It reminded me of your Witness the day story you wrote a while back. You guys are kickass writers, kudos to both of you.
What a beautiful story!
” … it’s good to have a plan but it’s better to trust your instincts and do what needs to be done.” Great advice.
Your kids are truly fortunate to have a dad like you. And we are fortunate to have you as a contributor.
You sure do like to kill things, though. heh heh
.https://images.app.goo.gl/rqSG1E42485qg3DW7
It’s the eternal battle of man against beast. Some hunt moose, others hunt raccoons. What’s your point, exactly?
Excellent! Good writing puts you in the scene while illustrating a moral truth. This did both.
that’s a great story. I hunt with my sons too. nothing like it .
As I read your post I realized I have not been hunting or fishing in years . 2015 was the last time I got into the woods.2014 for fishing.At least you are still doing what you enjoy and doing it with your children. I’m still waiting for you the snag a big grizzly bear up in those mountains. A memory for keeps for sure.
great story . great adventure . nothing like being outdoors with your kids. mine are adults now and I still hunt and fish with them
Loved it, FM. Fantastic. We need more of these. Thanks.
Thanks – Time and energy are in short supply these days.
Great story all the way through, with the last line the best.
“O Canada”
Kudos for being a great Dad. Hanging out at that cabin in the sky must be awesome in the summer. Is it yours?
– ILuvCO2
For me the picture was 100%, I have seen those somewhere, thanks for the accompanying description.
Good you didn’t shoot anything or the PETA girls would cry /s
I would like to send a personal note to Francis Marion. Nothing that would be of interest to the larger audience but more of a kindred spirit contact. Some of my books are for sale on Amazon (American History) so, yes, I’m a real person – old but real.
Thank you, RSD
Francis, might be time to start considering picking up a satellite phone. They’re down to four or five hundred bucks, and the basic plans are getting doable. That would give you real-time access to weather radar and communications in case of some disaster when you’re in the middle of nowhere. A lot of things can go wrong out in the world when you’re part of the food chain, even if you’re sitting at the top. The older I get, the more cautious I get. Today’s slight tweak of a leg might be tomorrow’s compound fracture. You never know. That’s the best kind of storytelling, I felt like I was there with you every step of the way. Nice work. Stay safe.
My wife and I just had this conversation a few months ago. With the kids getting older and my son leaving the house for university next fall she’s worried about me being in the hills by myself more often. So she bought me a SPOT Gen3 Sattelite GPS Messenger for my birthday this year. Problem solved.
When I finish a story such as this, I just wish that it was a bit longer.
When are you going to write something?
FM, I reckon that I’d start tomorrow if I was capable of giving a reader the escape and virtual fantasy trip that your writing does. Shoot, I’m an old buzzard. It ain’t like I ain’t got stories too after all these years. Besides, I was told to keep on posting gifs cause I’m an effin piker. I’ll work on it. Speaking of Buzzards, what’s up with your buddy?
A story with a lesson is just a long-winded comment and you can write comments just fine so…
As for Buzzard, I haven’t spoken to him in about a year. The last twelve months have been nutty in Canoodlstan. This country is so fucked right now all I can do most of the time is juggle meat space obligations and try and keep things around me from falling completely apart.
If politics don’t change up here over the next seven months this country will be finished. Literally.
“A story with a lesson is just a long-winded comment…”
If I might edit, FM? “A story with a lesson is just a long-winded comment [with a xxx]”
I think you could turn that gem of a metaphor into a Quotable Quote by Francis Marion. But, while I can sense the need for the parallel structure I can’t seem to think of a word which makes it quotable.
With a point? With intent and meaning? Worthy of TBP post?
A story with no moral is akin to a dirty joke.
I lost a friend over the meaning of the word “kith.” She said I was being a smartass bitch to make her look stupid.
I kinda was. Thus no great loss.
I thought of “moral” but it seemed too easy.
“A story with a lesson is just a long-winded comment with a moral”
I don’t think that does it… the goal here is to make FM’s very fine simile into a quotable quote which encourages writers of all ilks upon grecian urns to rage against the dying of the light. (Fwiw… I was trying to find a word of similar quality and presence as “ilks” and stumbled through several Romantic era poets, settling quietly into that good night. It is not worth much, I agree.)
I also agree that a well written comment quite often finds its way to full posting here at TBP. Because, as FM was known to say “A story with a lesson…..”
I tried to fix the italics. I did it.
Moron, his story has more to do with the relative calm we have experienced since the crash of ’08. The plan he refers to is one you may have – make a bee-line for Narnia or whatever. The point is to expose the kids to the real world and teach them how to deal with threats. His reluctance to complain is a lesson in itself. Most of the time, you have old coots from places like Boston pissing and moaning all day long.
Yoke’s lifelong dream is to make a name for himself like the Boston strangler and the Boston bombers did. The Boston Nazi has a certain cache’. Heh.
I would like to hear more about that.
I’d like to tell more about it. If I can scare up the energy/time I’ll write something.
Great story Francis. And great lessons you’re teaching your children. Best of luck. Chip
Stoic. That’s become a lost quality in men. Suffering? We’re all suffering. Tough it out until we’re all safe and warm around the campfire, then – – with your peers – – you can share your tale of woe, your fears, your feelings. We’ll listen and nod, maybe comment. You don’t unload that burden on your young’uns or the women. They already fear too many things.
I have a story about my grandfather and young me, fishing near shore on a lake, far from our cabin, in a little boat, until the breeze smelled electric and sudden thunder boomed close behind the treeline. We’d been too complacent, and the storm barrelled over the trees and headed for us. I’ll never forget him running the little motor full out, unwavering as we raced back across the lake, the rain lashing us (me under a tarp, at his command). He never complained, then or ever…even after the stroke, even as he lay dying. RIP Grandpa. I miss you every day.
Good story FM. I liked it a lot. Felt I was there as well.
I never been on a hunt myself but reading this I might.
and you are doing God’s work…
Slainte!
RiNS
Although a plan could go sideways, goals are paramount. In fact, if one does not have a goal one doesn’t need instinct either. Rather, one just goes which ever the way the wind blows. One may be using their instinct, but they are ultimately using it to achieve the goal.
FM, your stories and character have always impressed me, in spite of your being from Canada, eh?
That said, I would like to contrast the American Tragedy, where the parent, trying so hard to befriend instead of guide, allows behavior not only detrimental to their own future but destructive of the foundation upon which they learned to stand.
Of course, in the Pulitzer Prize worthy novel, the father watches as his beloved, pampered daughter refuses to feed herself, having become so spiritually enlightened she can’t bear to consume any flesh once living: animal, plant or even fungi or bacteria.
I know, as a student of literary theory racing against other writing rats, the supposedly delicious paradox of having the father’s greatest crisis juxtaposed with his daughter’s terminal compassion for all living things except herself (Love thy neighbor as whom preacher man?), but I simply see the problem at square one.
He should have whipped her ass when she was three and made her eat whatever it was she refused to eat and told her she should be thankful she had it. Then, twenty years later, he wouldn’t have been forced by his own inadequacy to watch her die demanding to get her way to the death.
I’m sure I read the rest of the novel, but to be honest? For me, the tragic climax was easy to see.
Of course, that’s the way I interpreted it privately. To get the A++++ from the dumbass English Lit teacher I went on and on about the parallel crises/resolution(s) of father/daughter and how relevant it was to the overall theme of the story. Now, save yourself time Wyle E. I know that was a small side-element in the overall story.
But, I think, as far as the overall “tragic” tone, it was the nut graph.
May the Good Lord Bless and keep you and yours in the Eye of the Storm.