The Last Shuttle to Eagle Creek                                                  Thanksgiving 2014

It was a chilly day on "Black Friday".  What we call, perfect for walking.  Having deposited our backpacks at the marina to be shuttled over on the ferry with AJ, we began walking the 6 miles into good old campsite 90.  The road over the dam was closed. 

Sithenge is still as we left it.   In camp we finally ran into the Edge, Scooter Hunley.  I hadn't seen Martin in a coon's age and it was great to spend time with him in the old spot.  Martin, Ab and I were coming to Eagle Creek many moons before anyone heard of it.  As a matter of fact, that is where Martin and I met Sally Dumplin.  On that same trip who comes canoeing over?  It was none other than Grady.  We barely knew Grady and I hadn't met Sally D one time before that event.  It really wasn't that long ago.  I'm thinking less than 10 years.

The crossings that define Eagle Creek begin here. 

We met up with AJ and Jon in camp.  Jon kayaked over.  We felt like stretching our legs after Thanksgiving.

When Jon produced this foodstuff from his bag and asked if we wanted any beef jerky, I originally was hesitant.  I have had a lot of jerky before and tend to be somewhat of a snob.  But we tried his homeade version just to be nice.  As I bit into the jerky, it immedately melted in my mouth.  I never had beef jerky like that and it was an instant hit amongst the group.  When he conveyed the recipe it was decided to try some on our own.  I will let you know about the result. It was that good.

We bid farewell to Hunley Saturday afternoon and AJ and Jon departed for an ascent of Lost Cove and the summit of the Shuckstack.  Those of us left did daywalks out and around the beautiful drainage.

We didn't occupy sithenge this year.  The wood supply was closer and the creek beckoned.  While sitting around the campfire, Jon regaled us with a dramatic reading of  Robert Service's poem,  The Cremation of Sam McGhee.  It was quite fitting for the evening fire amidst a starscape only seen at Eagle Creek.  It seemed to have varying methaphorical meanings given the situation.  So much so that I am sharing it here, in its entirety.

The Cremation of Sam Mcgee      Robert Service

There are strange things done in the midnight sun

By the men who moil for gold;

The Arctic trails have their secret tales

That would make your blood run cold;

The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,

But the queerest they ever did see

Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge

I cremated Sam McGee.

Now Sam McGee was from Tennessee, where the cotton blooms and blows.

Why he left his home in the South to roam 'round the Pole, God only knows.

He was always cold, but the land of gold seemed to hold him like a spell;

Though he'd often say in his homely way that he'd "sooner live in hell".

On a Christmas Day we were mushing our way over the Dawson trail.

Talk of your cold! through the parka's fold it stabbed like a driven nail.

If our eyes we'd close, then the lashes froze till sometimes we couldn't see;

It wasn't much fun, but the only one to whimper was Sam McGee.

And that very night, as we lay packed tight in our robes beneath the snow,

And the dogs were fed, and the stars o'erhead were dancing heel and toe,

He turned to me, and "Cap," says he, "I'll cash in this trip, I guess;

And if I do, I'm asking that you won't refuse my last request."

Well, he seemed so low that I couldn't say no; then he says with a sort of moan:

"It's the cursed cold, and it's got right hold till I'm chilled clean through to the bone.

Yet 'tain't being dead -- it's my awful dread of the icy grave that pains;

So I want you to swear that, foul or fair, you'll cremate my last remains."

A pal's last need is a thing to heed, so I swore I would not fail;

And we started on at the streak of dawn; but God! he looked ghastly pale.

He crouched on the sleigh, and he raved all day of his home in Tennessee;

And before nightfall a corpse was all that was left of Sam McGee.

There wasn't a breath in that land of death, and I hurried, horror-driven,

With a corpse half hid that I couldn't get rid, because of a promise given;

It was lashed to the sleigh, and it seemed to say: "You may tax your brawn and brains,

But you promised true, and it's up to you to cremate those last remains."

Now a promise made is a debt unpaid, and the trail has its own stern code.

In the days to come, though my lips were dumb, in my heart how I cursed that load.

In the long, long night, by the lone firelight, while the huskies, round in a ring,

Howled out their woes to the homeless snows -- O God! how I loathed the thing.

And every day that quiet clay seemed to heavy and heavier grow;

And on I went, though the dogs were spent and the grub was getting low;

The trail was bad, and I felt half mad, but I swore I would not give in;

And I'd often sing to the hateful thing, and it hearkened with a grin.

Till I came to the marge of Lake Lebarge, and a derelict there lay;

It was jammed in the ice, but I saw in a trice it was called the "Alice May".

And I looked at it, and I thought a bit, and I looked at my frozen chum;

Then "Here", said I, with a sudden cry, "is my cre-ma-tor-eum."

Some planks I tore from the cabin floor, and I lit the boiler fire;

Some coal I found that was lying around, and I heaped the fuel higher;

The flames just soared, and the furnace roared -- such a blaze you seldom see;

And I burrowed a hole in the glowing coal, and I stuffed in Sam McGee.

Then I made a hike, for I didn't like to hear him sizzle so;

And the heavens scowled, and the huskies howled, and the wind began to blow.

It was icy cold, but the hot sweat rolled down my cheeks, and I don't know why;

And the greasy smoke in an inky cloak went streaking down the sky.

I do not know how long in the snow I wrestled with grisly fear;

But the stars came out and they danced about ere again I ventured near;

I was sick with dread, but I bravely said: "I'll just take a peep inside.

I guess he's cooked, and it's time I looked";. . . then the door I opened wide.

And there sat Sam, looking cool and calm, in the heart of the furnace roar;

And he wore a smile you could see a mile, and he said: "Please close that door.

It's fine in here, but I greatly fear you'll let in the cold and storm --

Since I left Plumtree, down in Tennessee, it's the first time I've been warm."

There are strange things done in the midnight sun

By the men who moil for gold;

The Arctic trails have their secret tales

That would make your blood run cold;

The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,

But the queerest they ever did see

Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge

I cremated Sam McGee.

Jon seems like a top notch guy.  I see spending a lot more time with him in the outdoors.  Jon is a person who understands the context of the outdoors and the substance of communing in nature's scapes.  So is AJ.  As a matter of fact, so are most of the people with whom I spend time outdoors.  Not everyone has the same motives for going into nature for days on end. 

There are strange things done in the midnight sun

By the men who moil for gold;

The Arctic trails have their secret tales

That would make your blood run cold;

You can't see it but to the right of Jon's hammock was the most unusual visitor in camp I have encountered at Eagle Creek.  Right at dusk a huge boar, one of the biggest I have ever seen, came strolling in to pay his regards.  Unfortunately I didn't have the flash calibrated.  But that was something else.  He just walked around between us and Sithenge.  He was every bit as big as the one Martin and I photographed at Tremont once.

We ended up hitching a ride out on the shuttle with AJ.  The water was low and this was, according to Carl, "the year's last shuttle to Eagle Creek." Indeed rocks were sticking up out of the water in places I had never imagined.  We had to walk out the bank a good ways to board the vessel.  But it was a glorious day and the best weather I can remember for Thanksgiving.  It was great to see AJ again and spend time with Martin who is one of my best friends on this earth.  I spent time around a campfire with people who encouraged conversations on multiple topics and didn't try to outshout the coyotes and owls when someone wasn't paying attention to them. 

  Can you believe we saw this copperhead on Sunday?  He was on the road outside the marina.

It was a perfect weekend to be on the Lakeshore of Fontana.  We enjoy meeting new people and spending time with them in the outdoors.  I have met my closest friends in the outdoors.   They have stood the test of time.  I originally met Jon and AJ at Cataloochee one late summer day.  It seems fitting to conclude this weeks hikumentary with another snippet from Service's poem. 
 

Now a promise made is a debt unpaid, and the trail has its own stern code.

In the days to come, though my lips were dumb, in my heart how I cursed that load.

In the long, long night, by the lone firelight, while the huskies, round in a ring,

Howled out their woes to the homeless snows -- O God! how I loathed the thing.

Slapnuts reminded me that I haven't updated the Scheduled Backpacking link since last spring.  But if you want to join us, best just to email me on thursday.  By then we have some sort of notion.  I know that next weekend Frank is coming down so I look forward to seeing him.