A Dinner With Rabbie

Our friends at USA Kilts published a fine reminder of the annual celebration of Scotland’s favorite poet Robert Burns (1759-1796).

The long standing tradition of gathering each January 25th for an evening of feasting, toasting, and the reading of the master’s works is a fine way to spend an evening with friends. Partaking of fine single malt scotch, haggis, fine blended scotch, short bread, just plain scotch, and poetry.

Check out their article at the link above, especially the recipe for casserole dish haggis. I have not tried it…yet.

Another source for fine tasting haggis that contains none of the ingredients that usually send American screaming into the dark is the Caledonian Kitchen . This company sells their haggis in cans through  the British Emporium in Grapevine , Texas, and online including Amazon .

As ye celebrate dinna ferget a bit o’ song gaes well wid d’ festivities, an’ this song should be an ad for Uber:

Drunken Scotsman

 

 

The Lost Traveler – Chillin’ Out, A Traveler’s Worst Enemy

Wildfire had burned over 100 acres of the Camp Constantin Boy Scout reservation near Graford, Texas, so Troop 734 from Farmer’s Branch (DFW) was on a weekend campout to help plant new trees in the burned area.

The temperature was in the low 50s, with a strong sharp wind accompanied by off and on rain showers. The Scouts were ready for the weather. Good boots, heavy jackets, and rain ponchos.

Each Scout had his E-tool (folding shovel) and a 5-gallon bucket full of seedling pine trees. They found their grid assignment and spread out. Each Scout was twenty yards from the Scout to either side, and the instructions were to walk ten paces, chop a hole in the ground, plant a tree, and repeat until the bucket was empty.

The task was pretty simple, and the Scouts were moving through head-high grass that had moved in after the burn. The line of Scouts started to straggle, as each boy bent to plant the next tree. When he stood again, he could barely see the other Scouts to either side.

A “slough” (sloo) is a water channel. Natural sloughs are often part of a swamp or bayou. Man-made sloughs are channels created to control flooding. The Scout did not know what kind of slough he stepped into. All he knew was one second he was pushing through the grass, and the next he was submerged in icy water. Jettisoning his E-tool and bucket, he fought his way through the tangle and crawled back on shore completely soaked to the skin.

That was the first time this child wandered down the path to hypothermia. (The lowering of core body temperature to a point where life cannot be sustained.)

After I got out of the water, I realized:

My troop was either no longer in the area, or I had wandered out of our assigned area.

My troop had failed to do a body count before heading back to camp, so nobody knew I was missing.

In the time it took me to find a road, and get back to where I was supposed to be, I had gone through uncomfortable, to goose bumps, painful shivers, and I had finally reached a point where the shivering stopped. I was feeling nice and warm. All I wanted to do was to lie down on that nice soft soaking wet ground under one of those trees and take a little nap. No long, just a minute or two…

The priorities of survival are:

1. Shelter
2. Water
3. Food

Shelter is the first priority because extreme changes in body temperature can kill very quickly if the condition is not recognized, and immediate steps taken to correct the situation.

The following news stories describe different outcomes:

http://www.foxnews.com/us/2016/12/25/sheriffs-official-says-rescue-pennsylvania-family-christmas-miracle.html

 

http://www.sfgate.com/news/article/STRANDED-FATHER-S-HEROIC-LAST-HOURS-He-crawled-2465857.php

 

The best defense against cold is proper clothing composed of layers and wool.

Layered clothing allows you to adjust your personal insulation to suit the situation and your activity level. The worst thing you can do in cold conditions is get wet, and that includes perspiration. Chopping wood? Take a couple of layers off and keep working. If your body starts to feel a bit damp, you have waited too long. Stop and remove a layer or two. Cool down and dry out.

Repeat after me, “Wool is my friend.”

Wool has a unique property that can keep you alive. Wool insulates even when wet. Cotton is worthless as an insulator when it is damp. Gore-Tex is good. Wool is better. Wear it head to toe.

If you feel the goosebumps start, or you pick up a shiver, and you are exposed outdoors, it is time to take steps to get warm, and walking around can help with that. Just do not over do a good thing.

 

The second best defense is your crash kit. These kits are called by hundreds of names. The most common is probably “BOB” (aka Bug-Out-Bag) or Get Home Bag. I will not go into a list of must –haves because every person needs to build their bag to meet their most likely crisis scenario.

Long ago my Mom lived in Taos, New Mexico, and I would drive up and spend Christmas and New Years with her, so I worked out my Crash kit based on my most likely scenarios on that journey. One year I was really glad to have it when my car decided to give me trouble way out in the middle of the Texas panhandle, and the weather was moving in. Fortunately, I managed to nurse my cripple into Dalhart and get a motel room before things got nasty, but had I been stuck, I would have been OK.

I was wearing a combination of wool and cotton layers in the form of thermal underwear, wool socks, wool sweater, a parka, and a wool felt cowboy hat.

My kit list is pretty short:

Wool watch cap

Rain poncho in rip-stop nylon (Get an insulated poncho liner to help keep warm)

Leather work gloves

1lb. peanut butter (Best source of emergency calories I know)

Fire striker and cylinder of lifeboat matches

Emergency whistle

1 Tomahawk (My hawk has a rounded eye, so I can whittle down a tree branch to replace a broken handle)

1 Pocket compass with scale ruler for map reading.

1 pair slip-joint pliers

Canteen with aluminum cup and cover. (I can boil water in the cup to purify and/or make tea for warmth.)

1 Roll of toilet paper

In addition to the kit I had:

1 dome tent

1 sleeping bag

Other stuff I carried regardless of the weather:

.44 Magnum Ruger Super Blackhawk in shoulder holster

50 rounds of ammo (12 in pocket, 38 in my kit)

4” folding knife

Some folks are going to question the need for the revolver, so I should explain that road trips in Texas and New Mexico can easily lead the unwary driver into close encounters with roaming livestock and large wildlife in the form of deer and feral hogs. In New Mexico, black bear and antelope are often seen as roadkill.

Assuming the driver survives the initial accident, they are often faced with a crippled animal thrashing around on the road. Being a humane and responsible person, I want to have the means to quickly end the animal’s suffering without having to resort to my tomahawk, E-tool, or a rock I find beside the road.

In addition, a .44 Magnum makes on hell of a signaling device in the event you need to attract the attention of rescuers. You can also hunt with it if you have really screwed up and gotten lost.

For those living in restrictive states, a 12 or 20-gauge shotgun loaded with slugs will do the job nicely. It’s just a lot more trouble to carry around.

With the kit above, and properly layered clothing, I was prepared in the event I was stuck on my own for a few days.

Another thing to include are topographical and county road maps. Most of these are free for the printing on the Internet. In addition to paper not requiring a charged mobile device and cell service, they are often far more accurate than Google Maps and GPS. A good map might have saved those folks from PA some serious misery.

Give some thought to your route of travel and the expected weather before you hit the road. Dress appropriately, and have your Crash Kit stocked based on your family’s needs. Example: If you have small children some crayons and coloring books can help pass the time.

Stay warm and stay safe.

Western Gothic

By Michael Morgan

After all of the hoopla about the movie “No Country for Old Men”, I picked up a copy of the book, and began my journey through the vision of Mr. Cormac McCarthy. “Old Country” was soon followed by “The Road”, and I was completely hooked on his dark brooding style.

Then my friend Noah told me about McCarthy’s “Border Trilogy”, and “Blood Meridian”. I’m a huge fan of Westerns, be it film or print, and these books belong on the shelf of every fan of Horse Opera, right next to Charles Portis’ “True Grit”, Glendon Swarthout’s “The Shootist”, and Forrest Carter’s “Gone to Texas”.

All three of these classics have made it to the big screen, and, while I’m not sure about The Border Trilogy, “Blood Meridian” definitely belongs among them.

“Blood Meridian” follows a young man who joins a party of adventurers setting off into Mexico to hunt the Apache hoping to get rich selling the scalps to the Mexican government. Starting off with noble speeches about saving the Mexican citizens from the depredations, of the savage Apache, the saviors degenerate into a larger threat than the Indians. A true Heart of Darkness meets Lord of the Flies full of action and bloody violence. Perfect fodder for the current crop of dark Westerns coming out of Hollywood.

As an enthusiast of antique arms, I was particularly impressed by McCarthy’s accurate descriptions of the weaponry. When I finished the book, Noah asked me about the part where the gang is being pursued by the vengeful Apaches, and are almost out of ammunition, the Judge sends the party on a long looping ride to distract their foes long enough for him to mix up enough gunpowder to make a fight of their last stand.

He wanted to know if it was possible to make gunpowder in the manner it was described in the story.  The answer is yes, the description of the process is generally correct, and I would really hate to be forced to bet my life on the final product.

Actor/director James Franco made a test reel of this part of the book in an attempt to bring this story to film. http://www.vice.com/read/james-francos-blood-meridian-test-656  unfortunately,  the film project has not advanced and further.

The steady flow of McCarthy’s work from page to screen has made signed first editions of his books solid investments. This copy of Blood Meridian is coming up for auction on September 15, 2016.

https://historical.ha.com/itm/books/cormac-mccarthy-blood-meridian-or-the-evening-redness-in-the-west-new-york-rando/p/6164-57033.s?ic4=GalleryView-Thumbnail-071515

Prior sales of autographed first editions have realized as much as $7,500 for a plain autographed edition sold in 2015 all of the way up to $15,000 for a volume containing a personalized inscription sold in 2014.

https://historical.ha.com/itm/books/cormac-mccarthy-blood-meridian-or-the-evening-redness-in-the-west-new-york-random/a/6112-45419.s?ic4=GalleryView-Thumbnail-071515

A couple of years after I read Blood Meridian, I picked up a book called The Scalp Hunters originally published in 1860 by Thomas Mayne Reid, an Irish immigrant to America, Reid’s work is normally published under the name Mayne Reid, and he is best known for adventure novels intended for young boys.

The Scalp Hunters tells the tale of a punitive expedition against the Navajo with the goal to recover White captives. This is one of Reid’s early works told in a gritty style quite similar to Blood Meridian.

If you enjoy one, then get the other as well.

Another fine novel by Reid is The Headless Horseman. Not to be confused with The Legend of Sleepy Hollow by Washington Irving, The Headless Horseman is a romance and murder mystery set in 19^th century Texas.

https://historical.ha.com/itm/books/capt-mayne-reid-the-headless-horseman-a-strange-tale-of-texas/a/6003-76317.s?ic4=GalleryView-ShortDescription-071515

Oddly enough, I learned about Mayne Reid from my Russian wife. Apparently his work was a standard example of American literature in the Soviet Union. Somehow, U.S. schools fail to mention him even though he is not as “offensive” as Mark Twain.

Three Righteous Souls – Part 15

By Michael Morgan

Copyright 2016 All Rights Reserved

 

— 15 —

 

“That was mighty fine Emma,” Marty pushed back from the table.

Emma smiled as she picked up the kids’ plates, “It was just cans.”

“Not just anyone can make a bunch of random cans taste that good,” agreed Tom.

Setting the plates in the wash bucket, Emma looked at Marty, “Where will you go from here?”

“Tom says I should head south to the coast, and wait things out,” Marty picked up his coffee and sipped. “I’m just not sure about that idea.”

“Being the new man in a small town won’t be a picnic,” Tom agreed. “But it beats being drafted into a conscript army or FEMA work camp all to Hell.”

Emma started washing and spoke over her shoulder, “Where did you get the army idea?”

“The people were being sorted by age at that roadblock in Montgomery,” Tom poured himself some coffee. “I’d bet a lot of those older folks won’t be with us come spring time.”

“Were you always this paranoid?” Emma stacked the second plate on the rinse pile.

Tom shrugged, “Think what you want. An awful lot of Black people were ‘evacuated’ and ‘resettled’ in other communities after hurricane Katrina. That didn’t happen after hurricane Sandy hit New Jersey. Ever wonder why?”

“People in New Jersey probably had jobs and pull,” Marty offered.

Emma pressed the button on the spout of the five-gallon Igloo cooler Tom had set up on the kitchen counter, and rinsed the first few plates in the stream before the soapy water could dry. “I don’t see how that is any comparison to what’s happening now. Nobody is being drafted into the Army. It’s silly to think that.”

“Then why separate family members?” Tom set his cup down. “It only makes sense in one modern context.”

Headlights flashed through the living room curtains followed by another flash and another as the engines became audible.

“Out the back!” Tom snapped. “Marty get them to your truck. If I’m not there in an hour, drive away.”

Emma set the plate on the counter and Tom bolted for the front door, “Tom?”

“Go! Before they get around back!” Tom was unbarring the front door as the vehicles came to a stop on the lawn.

“Jeremiah! Caroline! Follow Marty!” Emma was ushering everyone out as Tom pulled open the front door and stood silhouetted in the headlights.

Shading his eyes Tom called, “Bob? Is that you?”

 

 

Jeremiah pushed the small ball of dirty cloth through the revolver’s chamber with the chewed end of a pencil, catching it when it dropped from the hole at the front of the cylinder. He repeated the process with the next chamber, “We ran hard, and Marty was good as his word. He drove us out of there with nothin’ but what was in our pockets.” He raised the pistol in emphasis.

“So where did you go?” The end of the cigarette briefly illuminated Andre’s face in a demonic glow.

Jeremiah chuckled, “Where didn’t we go? We were all over the place. A week here. A day there. Anywhere Marty and Mama could find work. I guess we were like the Joad family.”

“Who?”

“Don’t sweat it. Folks from a book I read,” Jeremiah picked up each cartridge and examined it before sliding it back into a chamber and closing the cylinder. “We finally got caught in Arkansas. Guess we moved too far north. Marty drove around a curve in the mountains and right into a roadblock.”

Andre took another drag, “Didn’t you try to get away?”

“Marty tried to back up,” Jeremiah nodded. “And they shot him through the windshield. Mama tried to talk to them, but they put a taser on her and dragged her off. We never saw Mama after that.”

“Sounds like I heard this story before,” Andre said through the smoke as he exhaled.

Jeremiah nodded, “Caroline and I were ‘old enough’, so they shipped us here.”

“So where’s your sister?” Andre took another drag.

“Walked in front of a bus the first week we were here,” Jeremiah looked at the floor for a moment.

“Man, I’m sorry.” Andres leaned forward as if to reach out, but Jeremiah sat back out of reach.

“No need to be sorry,” Jeremiah shrugged. “It was ten years ago. After we got caught, Caroline just gave up.”

Andre stubbed out the butt and changed the subject, “How’d you get a gun inside?”

“When all a shellshocked kid has is the clothes on her back and a ripped-to-shit teddy bear, people don’t search too hard,” Jeremiah smiled grimly as he slid the gun into his pocket.

 

 

This ends Three Righteous Souls. Thank you for reading, and I hope you have enjoyed the story. Jeremiah Pitts will be appearing in future stories in the ‘Yojimbo’ collection I am currently writing.