Raven's Peak: Cold Hard Bitch

by Cole Savage

  T.D put the groceries in the pantry and said, “when you’re done put your shoes on were goin Turkey huntin’.”

  The boys dressed in the new denim and camo t-shirts T.D had bought them, and together they helped T.D pack the cooler with lunch. T.D didn’t use ice; the cooler was primarily to keep things from freezing on cold days.

  They jumped in T. D’s truck, and T.D backed out of the dirt clearing and past a meadow where the ground was covered in wildflowers. With the windows rolled down, the air in the truck was chilly, and the rain from the previous day had given birth to a beautiful sunny day in the Appalachians. Ten minutes later and two-thousand feet of elevation higher, they arrived at a grove of Hickory trees. They dismounted and T.D had the boys sit on the tail-gate while he explained the strategy for hunting Turkey.

  “There’s only three things you need to bag a bird, boys. One is a shotgun, or a bow if that’s all you have. You need a turkey caller, and the most important rule in turkey huntin’ is concealment.”

  “What is concealment, mister?” said Cole.

  T.D threw an old army surplus camo net on the tailgate. “Concealment is when a hunter hides from Turkeys.”

  “Mister?”

  “You can call me, T.D.”

  “You said a bow or a shotgun, that thing doesn’t look like neither of those things?”

  “That’s a good question, Cole… This is a compound bow. It’s less accurate than a shotgun, but it cost less than firing bird shot.” T.D finished by explaining the various ways animals use to communicate.

  “Today will be a good day for you boys to understand the difference between a purr, a yelp, and a gobble. Pay attention when I’m callin’ them out. It’s important you know what calling too much or too little is, by listening.”

  T.D displayed a Turkey whistle. “After a while you’ll know right off if you’re using your caller too much or too little.”

  T.D showed them the difference between Turkey callers. “This is a friction caller… This one here is a flapper, but I like to use my mouth, I reckon it sounds the most like real Turkeys.”

  Paying close attention, the boys seemed fascinated with the extent of his knowledge. T.D handed Tyler the bow and demonstrated how to load it, emphasizing the importance of safety. They spent the afternoon hiding under a net, remaining perfectly still while calling Turkeys. Two hours in, hiding under the net in a clump of Maple shrubs, the sound of the wind whispering through the grass and into the trees, T.D shot his first bird with the compound bow, piercing the gobbler right through the neck and Cole looked like he was going to unload the contents of his stomach.

  “Boys, it’s important when you’re hunting with bird shot or buck, you aim for the head or neck.”

  “Why, T.D?”

  “Cause, ain’t no one want to take a bird home and eat a Turkey full of birdshot. So aim small, miss small. Next time we come out Tyler, you’ll be holding a real shotgun.”

  “T.D, I only fired my grandpa’s cut down twelve when he was holding it with me.”

  “Boy, you ain’t gotta worry none about that. Tomorrow you’re gonna get a lot of practice.”

  “All right, boys. Let’s get our gear. When we get back to the cabin Cole’s gonna clean the bird.”

  “T.D, are we only getting one Turkey?” said Tyler.

  “Shit, boy— you reckon we can eat more than one?”

  “No, sir. I just thought we could freeze it.”

  “Where do you suppose I’m hiding the freezer?”

  “Sorry, T.D, I forgot you don’t have one.”

  “Important lesson, boys. Only hunt what you can eat. The good Lord provided this for our use and we don’t want to waste any of it. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  They drove back to the cabin where Cole learned how to clean a Turkey. T.D cooked half the bird over the open flame of the fire pit outside, and smoked the other half in a wood fired smoker for next day’s supper.

  Later that night, sitting around a campfire, they talked late into the night. The boys relentless, firing questions at T.D about the mountains, hunting, and fishing. T.D shared anecdotes and stories that to the boys seemed outlandish.

  “Why do you like it here so much, T.D?”

  “Boys, I don’t even know where to start… I’ll tell you what, ask me again in a few days, I reckon’ by then you won’t have to—you’ll already have your answer.”

  “T’D, you ever go huntin and didn’t catch anything,” said Cole.

  “There’s day’s I went home empty handed, but it wasn’t cause I quit. I figured the good Lord felt I needed to be humbled…I ain’t no quitter, Cole. You ain’t ever hear of a Buck or Bear givin’ up when they was hungry, or quit runnin’ cause they was tired.” T.D looked at Tyler. “You ever see a Buck jump off a cliff cause he was cornered, or the breaks weren’t goin’ his way?”

  “No, sir.”

  “No, you ain’t, and you won’t. Beast of the wild keep goin’ till they drop and die. They don’t give up. It’s always been like that in the wild, and always will be. It’s one of the few things that brings tears to my eye.”

  “You cry, T.D?” said Cole.

  “I was bein’ metafo- God blast it. I can’t say that word.”

  “You mean metaphorical, T.D?” said Tyler.”

  “I ain’t too cultured in the ways of big city slickers, boys. But yeah, whatever you said.”

  At three A.M., when their eyelids were getting heavy, sitting next to Cole on a log, Tyler broke a twig in his hand, threw it in the fire and asked, “T.D, why do you love fishing so much?” T.D, sitting across the fire on another log, drooped his brows, rubbed his beard, yawned, and looking at the boys, he said with tenderness, “Fishin’ is less about fishin’ and more about time alone with your buddies. Everythin’ becomes centered and peaceful out here, and yet, most folk go an entire life without ever havin’ slept under the stars. Raven’s Peak is a place for peace, for the healin’ of our minds. And boys, in spite of how miserable the daily grind becomes in the big city, the experience of being here justifies the means that got us here in the first place. Places like Raven’s Peak helps us find our rhythm, our balance. There’s a certain, even silent, yielding out here, a distance between rivals that lessens, where lines ain’t never crossed. And nothing, I mean nothing, boys, bonds grown men more than a good shared drunken stupor under the stars. Now, before you say, huh? Ask me again in thirty days, and I promise, next time you’ll understand… Goodnight, boys.”

  “Goodnight, T.D,” Tyler and Cole said symbiotically, as T.D stood and retired to the cabin.

  A week had passed and T.D had taken the boys out every day, teaching them how to live off the land. He showed them edible plants like Wild Spinach, Cattail, Blueberries, and Arrowroot. He showed them the difference between typical plants and poisonous plants—like Larkspur, Monkshood, and Poison Ivy. He showed them how to catch Frogs by the marsh at Raven’s Peak, and introduced the boys to roasted Frog Legs. They hunted Timber Rattlesnakes, Eastern Diamondbacks, and Cottonmouths. He explained which ones were deadly, and showed them how to treat Snake bites. He demonstrated plants that had medicinal value and walked them through the indigenous woods at Raven’s Peak, going from plant to plant; demonstrating the medicinal benefits of certain plants in the forest. From Lady Ferns that alleviate nettle burns, to Korean Mint used to ease the pain of headaches, and Catnip used to treat the symptoms of colds. He showed them what Poison Ivy looks like and how to treat exposure to it.

  They went swimming in the river, and T.D showed them how to perform dives and how to survive hypothermia on cold nights. Even Cole started jumping off rock formations twenty feet high. Cole cried every night for Nicki, but the wailing happened more infrequently, and towards the end of the first week, Cole suffered from exposure to poison Ivy, which T.D treated with crushed leaves of Jewelweed.

  They chopped wood, honed their sharpening skills, and Tyler got proficient with the shotgun. They cleaned Fish, Sna
ke, Turkey, Duck, and cut Frog Legs. T. D went into town twice during the first week to get provisions while the boys stayed in the cabin doing chores, following a routine, and were always at T. D’s beckoning call.

  Last Sunday, at Raven’s peak, they spent the day exploring caves, and for the boys, their first experience with Bats. A week ago the boys were playing pranks on neighbors, and Sunday they were crawling around in caves full of Bats, Bats they didn’t know were in the cave until T.D told them to look up. He told them that that stuff all over their hands, and caked on their shoes was Guano: Bat shit. T.D joked that if he could bag Guano, he’d never be hungry again because Bat manure was highly sought by organic farmers. Cole didn’t think T.D was funny, he high-tailed it out of the cave, screaming like a girl whose hair was on fire, when he saw the top of the cave blanketed with thousands of Virginia, Big-Eared-Bats with a wingspan of sixteen inches. Even Tyler, who wasn’t squeamish about many things, thought Bats were creatures, here on Earth meant to remain a safe distance from him, a distance he calculated in the hundreds of miles. Tyler had visibly relaxed when they retired from the cave hastily, thankful that it was Cole who screamed first. T.D couldn’t agree more with their assessment, because as much as a mountain man as he proclaimed himself to be, to him, Bats were one of those things he could stare up at in the night sky, mesmerized by their movement, and think what wonderful creatures they were as long as they stayed high above him. But T.D wasn’t done with the Bats, he knew they were nocturnal creatures, so he deliberately set their campsite by the narrow opening of the cave, and waited, the boys unsuspecting, until total blackness when the Bats would fly out of the cave in a cloud, almost simultaneously.

  The chill that night was almost uncomfortable, even under the sleeping bags, so with their heads buried in the sleeping bags, the boys couldn’t ignore the sounds that T.D tried to ignore, a sound that was getting louder.

  Cole’s heart sent an alarm to his head. The opening of the cave was so close to the campsite, the boys had no way to move out of the way when the Bats flew out, so they moved into the fetal position, buried their heads in the mummy bags, and all at once, they felt trapped, as if they were suffocating, listening to the deafening sound of the Bats as they left the cave in a swarm. Even T. D’s laughter was drowned by the spine-chilling noise of the scurrying Bats leaving the cave.

  Ten minutes later, after Tyler settled Cole, he started a fire using a bow-drill and they shared instant oatmeal and pine-nuts. Five hours later, when the stars couldn’t get any brighter in the sky, the three of them slept under a blanket of stars, snug in sleeping bags that afforded them protection from the invasion of night time flyers and chill in the air.

  ******************

  Wednesday came around, marking the end of the first week, and the boys watched as T.D returned from wherever it was that he went for supplies. He pulled up in his truck, and they ran out to help. “Be careful with those bottles, we’re having company for supper.”

  “T.D, I didn’t know you drank whiskey?” asked Tyler, holding a bottle of Jack Daniels.

  “Boy, do you know anyone from West Virginia that don’t drink whiskey?”

  “I just never saw you drinking.”

  “Well, Tyler. Truth is, whiskey is heavy handed and it ain’t cheap, but mostly I bought it cause were havin’ company.”

  “Who’s coming, T.D?”

  “A few of my cousins and friends.”

  “Cole, get wood on the fire and shake off the rug. Tyler square up the parlor and get fuel in the lights.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  CHAPTER 26

  T.D fixed the boys Tuna sandwiches, Pine nuts, and they washed their sandwiches down with water as the thunderheads started to roll in. T.D secured equipment for the incoming storm and watched as the Hillbilly Cadillac rolled up. The Chevy pickup was at least thirty years old— rust the primary color— blended with shades of faded green. It was a chilly afternoon as Slack jaw, Skeeter, and Hooch, rolled out of the pickup— all smiles. T.D walked out of the cabin wearing wranglers, a red and white plaid shirt, standard issue coal mining boots, and a big grin.

  Slack jaw was dressed like a hillbilly. Wearing oversized denim coveralls, which made him look thinner than he was, and on top, he was sporting wife beaters and coal mining boots that came above the ankles. Slack jaw apparently didn’t own a razor because his beard was long, way past the nape of his neck and pointy at the end; rivaling his long black hair that made him look like a grunge musician from Seattle. His sunken eyes and wrinkled forehead looked like driftwood, and added twenty years to his appearance, at his youthful age of twenty-nine.

  Skeeter came off the truck carrying a steel guitar, looking like a lumberjack, wearing torn denim, hiking boots, plaid shirt with red suspenders. Dominating his oval face was a long thin nose. He was clean shaven with a prominent square chin, and he sported long brown hair covered with a baseball cap with Old Dixie on the marquee.

  T.D went over and hugged Slack jaw and Skeeter. They shook hands and acknowledged their presence with shouts of approval and howls like wolves. Hooch came over last, after retrieving a mandolin and a red tambourine from the back of the pickup. He handed the instruments to Slack Jaw and walked to T.D howling like a wolf.

  Tyler and Cole were peeking through the kitchen window, listening to the animal house yells of his fellow housemates.

  “T…. D…. My boy.”

  Unlike Skeeter and Slack jaw, Hooch was a mountain of a man. Barrel-chested, a full foot taller than the other two. Hooch wore denim coveralls, no shirt, exposing a gorilla hairy torso. His beard was long on the sides, but hairless at the chin. On his dome; Hooch had a cream-colored bucket hat that covered long curly brown hair. He picked T.D off the ground with a bear hug and dropped him. They exchanged handshakes, slaps on the backs, and continued their jocular banter as they withdrew into T. D’s cabin.

  T.D. closed the door to keep the cold night air out.

  “Tyler, Cole. Come meet the boys.” The boys scampered down from the loft wearing the long johns T.D had bought them, and presented themselves.

  “Tyler, Cole. These are my cousins, Hooch Grant, Skeeter Daniels, and my very best friend, Slack Jaw Dalton.”

  “Nice to meet you, boys.” said Skeeter, taking turns shaking hands.

  “Are you going to play tonight?” Tyler asked Skeeter, who was holding a guitar.

  “I reckon if Toby can tolerate us, were planning on it.”

  “Who’s Toby, Skeeter?”

  “I’m sorry, boys,” Skeeter said. “T. D, you never told them your real name?”

  “Well, boys. I didn’t want to make this too personal in case the boys weren’t going to be around. You know what I mean?”

  “Your name is Toby, T.D?”

  “Yep… Now run up and get to bed— we got a long day tomorrow.”

  With a look of disappointment, Tyler and Cole went up to the loft for the night, but they weren’t ready to retire so they quietly perched themselves on the edge of the loft, peering down between the spindles that separated the loft from the open room downstairs. From Tyler’s vantage point, he could see the back of the sofa where T.D was sitting next to Hooch. Skeet and Slack Jaw were on the hearth facing the couch.

  “So, what you boys been up to?” T.D said.

  “Shit, T.D— been a while— you know us, trying to avoid working for a living and staying out of jail,” said Skeeter. They shared brusque conversation, short stories told laconically, Tyler and Cole laughing at Skeeter who sounded funny when he spoke. It was English, that to an outsider probably sounded like gibberish. They all laughed, leaning forward, slapping hands at inconsequential accolades of the past that usually ended with someone getting hurt— mostly Slack Jaw.

  “So Skeet— spin me a web. What’s the latest pile of shit Slack Jaw stepped into?”

  “Shit, Hooch. T.D don’t know about General Lee.” The three guest laughed spontaneously, except for Slack Jaw, who put his hands over his face and loo
ked down. Bewildered, T.D cocked a half smile, extended his arms out with his palms up and said, “Bring it, boys. Can’t wait to hear this potboiler.” Skeeter laughed and looked at Slack Jaw, who was still looking down shaking his head.

  “T.D, you may want to write this one down. This was a real tear squeezer,” said Skeeter. He cleared his throat. “We was up at the hollow, at Valley Ridge garnering our crop cause the weather lady dun said an early freeze was coming, so we’re cuttin’ our crop faster than a March hare, and the wind was blowin’. It was cold enough to freeze the balls off a pool table, and Slack ain’t mindin’ his surroundins’. Son of a bitch has jerky in his back pocket in the heart of Bama Black Bear country, and we know Slack ain’t no surgeon. In fact, Slack Jaw’s dumber than two sacks full of hair.” Skeeter paused for laughter and continued, “We’re two rows apart— I look over and there’s a baby Bama Black on Slack’s caboose. Now, he ain’t a big un’, this Baby Black was about as big as my cousin Wilber. You‘all know Wilber, and he ain’t no small boy… You know Wilber, T.D?”

  “Yeah, Skeet. I know Wilbur. He’s the size of a Volkswagen.”

  “Volkswagen. What the hell is that, T.D?”

  “A small car, Skeet— never mine.”

  “So Slack don’t know the Bear’s there til’ the Baby Black throws her paw at Slacks petute tryin’ to get the jerky. Slack starts screamin’, cause the bear left five bloody scratches in Slack’s pooper. The Bear’s scared because Slack’s screamin’, so Slack turns around, facin’ the Bear, and Yogi takes a swipe at his front side then runs into the willows. Slack’s got one hand on his backside, the other on General Lee… Shit, T.D. There’s blood everywhere. I mean he was bleedin’ like Betty Sue at a Puerto Rican prom. A real gully washer— you know what I'm saying?”

  T. D’s laughing, Skeeter, who’s telling the story, pauses to laugh. Upstairs, the boys are laughing too, so T.D looks up and sees them laughing.

  “What you boys still doing up? Come on down here”.

  Tyler and Cole rushed down the ladder and stood in front of T.D. “What you boys doing still awake?”