Eastern Backwoods Hunter

He stalked along the old rugged logging road with an arrow on the taunt string of the old Browning recurve. Not many people would be this far back in this late in the season. His camp was a mile down in the bottomland near the cold mountain creek. Today was his last day and he hoped to bag a whitetail.
It was just below freezing, not cold by his standards, but "chilly". He looked down a deep hollow but couldnt see to the bottom. Slow, fat snow flakes starting falling to the cold and barren ground.
His family back home expected this; him to be away in the mountains for a day or two, doing what he does best, hunting the high ridges of Northern Pennsylvania. As he rounded a bend in the old dirt road he stopped and as he knew he was not spotted he slowly sliced through the air, moving the bow to shooting position.
He stalked forward, his footsteps almost completely muffled by the wild North winds blowing into his bearded face. The sharp broadhead on the front of the birch shaft he knew would do the job if he hit the deer right.
15 yards the deer and the woodsmen meet eyes. . .

Continued. End

He made camp at the base of a huge pine. Almost No snow was under it and it was dry and kept out some of the fierce wind. He was surviving okay. Life was hard up as high as he was and he looked forward to spring when he'd go home. He felt like these mountains and streams and cold and the brute force of nature had somewaht made him wilder but more at ease with himself.

He set to work on skinning the beaver. He had caught it last night and was too tired and cold to skin it then. His hands were freezing and he'd stop now and then to warm them under the wool mackinaw.

A warm bed and maybe a little bit of T.V. would be nice he thought. Soon enough.
(going to be adapted to a book, this was just a story thrown together.)

Continued. . .

He would miss the harley and the conviences of modern society but he would do his best to stay away from them for awhile. He traded the harley to a bike dealer in town and bought one strong mule with the cash. With the excess cash he bought a good wool coat, an old beaten .44 lever action rifle and 3 foothold traps for beaver and coyotes. Lastly he bought a cheap military sleeping bag and a hudson bay blanket where he bought the traps.


He was already into a deep wild valley when he was overcome with anxiety of how back in he was. He was walking along an ancient summer creek leading the mule looking for sign of beaver to trap come late fall. He had trapped back east but wasnt that great at it yet. He'd learn. Just like he'd learn to hunt this wesern wilderness as well as he did back east.

He loved the wild ways now but knew he'd probably trap this year then head back into civilization next come spring after the last trap was pulled.

Looking for Something. . .

the dual pipes roared through the next town. Light was starting to dim in the sky and he wanted to get a room before he went running around for the night. He rode past a few bikers parked at a mcdonalds and reved he engine a few times and they all looked and waved. He probably had some back up if he would get into a bad scuffle like the one that almost happened 15 miles back.
He found a cheap hotel; it was a bit run down but there was a bed that he could lay his sleeping bag on top of, so it wasn't so bad. He dumped his gear on the floor and changed his under clothes. He knew he couldn't drink yet, at 19 he was just a few reaches short of the age. He road out to a WalMart and parked his bike in a spot and smoked a cigarette. He looked into the western sky as it made way down behind the huge snow capped mountains. Up there was a life that maybe someday he'd give a try. He lived a rugged life now but more was up there; closer to nature and all of earth. . . (continued)

(continued) Looking for Something. . .

"Boy, you best stand down," he spit a few last pieces of tobacco out of his mouth.
The rugged, younger one thought a moment and stood up. He took no crap anymore. He had left home because of the stuff he had had to put of with and now he was gonna have none of it.
"Well sir, seeing as i did nothing to provoke you, i will not stand down."
The older man looked the younger man in the eyes, not a ounce of fear shined out.
"Sit down boy. I ain't lookin' to fight you. Your too young and reckless. Got balls though you do." And that was it the older man walked into the store and left the young one standing outside wondering what had just happened.
The older man walked out minutes later, "What's your name boy?"
"Jack Hinder". Again the man startled Jack because as Jack had finished the r in Hinder the man walked to his truck got in and drove away.
The rain slowed up and Jack figured to head out. People were weird around here. He put on his skull cap helmet and rode away expecting the next town in another 13 or 14 miles. (continued)

(continued) Looking For Something. . .

The Harley roared as he flew down the highway. A huge storm was behind him and he wanted to get to the strip of town that was only 3 or 4 miles away; he could take shelter and gas up there. He felt a few drops hit his buckskin jacket as he neard the town. Drops smeard his sunglasses. He roared into town and a few onlookers stared as he pulled into the gas station. His new beard had grown out to a considerable length. He had grown it out since he left school. He had a tattoo across his knuckles that read "Lone Wolf". He filled his tank and paid the clerk inside then parked his bike in parking spot and sat at a picnic table and ate some food and smoked a all natural cigarette. A large man walked by him and gave him a stare and said something under his breath. "What was that?" The older man stopped in midstride as he was going through the door.
"Problem son?"
"Not yet. I heard you say something as ya walked by. What did you say?" The rain came down harder as the tension in the air thickened.
"I don't reckon it much matters to you what i said." He spit a dip of Skoal out of his lip and stared down the rugged looking teenager.
"Sir, I ain't lookin' for trouble but if you want it, i ain't afraid to let you see it show." The biker flicked the last of his cigarette to the ground.

Looking for something

http://www.artsceneiowa.com/artscene-DAVID-MANN.htmlHe woke up just a few minutes before true dawn. He took a quick shower in the dirty motel bath and dressed. He put on a pair of close fitting wrangler jeans and a pair of high leather slip-on boots. A wool plaid flannel came down over his chest and a buckskin jacket over that. He put his spare clothes back into the green army stuff bag and threw one strap over his shoulder. He walked out and tied the bag full of clothes and other goods to the sissy bar. He tied a dirty, ragged bandanna around his head. He put on a pair of dark aviator sunglasses and lit a handmade cigarette. He climbed aboard his old iron horse and started her up. The dual pipes roared and he reved it up to get her warmed up. The sun was gleeming over the motel rooves. He was always up early and laughed at what the sleeping others must think as they wake up to the sound of his bike at 6 AM. He shifted the Harley into first and let the clutch out slow. He had nowhere to be. He rode to the Motel Office and dropped the key off. Then again slowly made way to the lonely, personless road. He had left home only 2 weeks ago and yet, not once had he felt homesick. (to be continued)