Thursday, November 5, 1925
In the fall, the old man’s fancy lightly turns to thoughts of hunting, and the question before the house is, what is there to hunt?
In the days when every man was the captain of his soul and had to pick his way through a rum soaked world the best that he could on his own responsibility, there was many a man who firmly resolved never to drink again, and there was a border line that had to be determined as an incident to his swearing off. Beer, cider and the like might be above or below the line according to such list of proscribed medicines as each man in his discretion might choose to make. There was the case of one methodical man who made a list of articles containing alcohol which was long and comprehensive, and which were duly forsworn. Then when the time came for him to fall, he studied the list and found that he had left out port wine, and along about the fifth bottle, he achieved a great glow of personal liberty, though he was considerable of a wreck the next morning…
In the issue of the 22nd of October, I stated solemnly that I no longer went into hunting camps, and consequently, on that date, the day of the big snow, found me in Judge McClintic’s camp on the head of Cranberry River. Consistency thou art a jewel!
Judge McClintic has reduced camping to a fine art. He takes a wilderness setting, strips life to its essentials, and then builds on that until the party is living in such luxury as they have never known. The Judge has not in thirty odd years destroyed either game nor fish, on account of his tender mercies, and that means that the visitors must bring them in. The Judge is the best cook in West Virginia, and if you are fortunate enough to get invited to his camp, go…
Weather is not an interesting topic, but when it comes to two 12-inch snows and all that the word implied on Cranberry in October in 10 days, leave must be given to say something about the 50 odd varieties of weather experienced on the recent trip. The start was to be made from Marlinton on the 22nd. At four in the morning, it came on to snow and by daylight all was white, and the snow coming down with unabated vigor. The camp was to be a large one of some 16 men, and most of them grave and reverend seniors. These hunters had not got theirs by flinching and there was no thought of turning back for snow. The first few miles were easy for they went forward in motor cars, and windshields opaque with snow except for a peep hole kept open by constant diligence. The cars went part of the way up Stamping Creek and were sent back, and an Indian file was formed to break a road. A clear-eyed school marm in a Ford came by on her way to the upper school, and took three plodding hunters for a mile or so farther. And then the mountain loomed up in our faces, and we climbed to the divide, some four thousand feet altitude. Each one carried a gun but me, and I was the monitor of the broom and not one of the numerous bird dogs would come up to salute me. I might be alright but there was the broom for which they had a congenital fear or complex.
On top of the mountain the north wind met us, and from there on we faced the wind, and drifting and driving snow, and ploughed knee deep through the woods. Like Napoleon on his retreat from Moscow, even if we had wanted to surrender, there was no one to surrender to. The supply wagons had to come around the long way by Viney Mountain, by a kind of a trail, and the disquieting thought was whe-ther they could get through at all. We were making for a two roomed cabin on the banks of the Glady Fork, deserted two years ago. In the wagons there were tents and stoves.
We won through about one in the afternoon. No sign of the wagons. No chimney nor stovepipe in the cabin. The ruins of an ancient cookstove furnished two broad iron plates and on this a fire was built on the floor of the house and then for a couple of hours there was smoke in the eyes, but wagons got through and the camp was made comfortable for the night, and a good supper cooked. There were plenty of sleeping bags, cots and bedding, and a comfortable night was passed…
The water, the air, the grub, the exercise, the camaraderie made a new man out of me, and therefore I am giving you a hint of my experience, and I am glad to say that I can still face the storms that howl across the sky. There might have been a day when all that happened in camp was a sealed book, but never, no more, I sometimes think that the highest exaltation reached in this Grison Republic, is in camp.
During the time that I had been absent from the glades, the lumberman had come and gone, and it is once more given over to those who hold communion with nature.
MARRIED
November 3, 1925, Mr. James W. McCarty, of near Dunmore, and Miss Eva Mae McCoy, of Locust Creek, near Hillsboro.
BIRTHS
Born to Mr. and Mrs. Russell Clutter, at Riverside, a son.
Born to Mr. and Mrs. Guy Thomas, at Buckeye, a daughter.
DIED
Mrs. Lucy Gay died at her home in Marlinton. Her age was about 70 years. Mrs. Gay was the widow of the late Col. Levi Gay.
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Mrs. Nannie A. Hevener, wife of Uriah Hevener, deceased. She was the mother of one son, Uriah, Jr. Her husband and her son will live long in the memory of the people of Pocahontas Count-y. They were wealthy but their wealth was not all in money and lands they were rich toward their fellowman. Their hearts went out in interest and sympathy and helpfulness to men in all walks of life. Mrs. Hevener emulated the spirit of her generous hearted husband and son. A prominent characteristic was her open-handed, warm-hearted spirit to help the needy… The funeral service was held from the Arbovale Methodist Church. Her body was laid to rest in the Arbovale cemetery… She was a superior woman and the memory of her is precious. The pallbearers were her grandsons, Dr. U. H. Hannah, Geo. Hannah, Joe Hannah, John Hannah, Paul Hevener and John Hevener. Her little grandson, Howard Hevener, was honorary pallbearer.
Note: The following entry was incomplete in last week’s paper: The report has come that Lawson McMillion was shot and killed while hunting on Cold Knob in Greenbrier County last Saturday. He was known in this county as a labor organizer.
