Jobu Smiled

It was a terrific camping trip, despite the fact that Jobu tried to sabotage it from the start.

Jon and I were planning to depart early on Thursday morning, following a Wednesday full of preparation. Jon had taken my vintage Dodge Dakota 4x4 and loaded it with all of his stuff: A couple of pop-up canopies, sleeping bags, and about a ton of aged cedar and cherry fire wood. It was sitting in the driveway ready to roll. My trailer was loaded to the roof with another ton of stoves, cots, tents, my 12x24 PVC cooking shelter, the flag pole, and enough flammable material to vaporize a good size mountain. There were axes, mauls, food, chairs, tables, sleeping bags, lanterns, and water. We were set.

Then Jobu got nasty. Jon jumped in the truck, and tried to start it. We got a low groan from the starter, and nothing else. OK, I said, we'll jump it off. The jumper cables were strung from the Jeep to the truck, and we tried again. This time, the headlights came on when Jon turned the key, and smoke billowed out from behind the grille. It seems that the wiring for the driving lights had, as most home mechanics will understand, found the one sharp edge in the engine compartment where a short would cause the most damage. After a frantic round of unwiring the driving lights, and several more attempts to start it, we abandoned the truck in the driveway, threw Jon's gear on top of the stuff already in the trailer, and hit the road in the Jeep.

By 1:30 we were on the mountain, having greeted Ted who had secured the campsite the previous evening, setting up camp. The tent, dining canopies, and assorted other junk were soon where they would remain for the next several days. Shortly after all this was completed, Pete arrived with his tent, and the keg. Things were looking up.

The weather forecast for the weekend did not look good. Thursday morning, the disaster loving freaks at the Weather Channel were gloating over an ugly orange mass over Missouri and Arkansas which was slated to drop a rain of biblical proportion over north Georgia on Friday and Saturday. Thursday was beautiful, though, and we thoroughly enjoyed it. Pete threw some ribs in the smoker, and as evening approached, we steamed some broccoli, and fried some sweet potatoes to go with the ribs. It was a great evening, and just after dinner, Kevin, and Joe arrived, and got their goodies set up. Bob arrived shortly after.

Around 6:00 Friday morning the sky opened up. The rain on the tarp over the tent sounded like hail on a tin roof. I was bummed. Jobu had raised his ugly head again. But, as usual, I was wrong. It rained about a 10th of an inch, and turned to partly cloudy for the remainder of Friday. Jerry, Matt, his dog Buddy, Jason, and Blake arrived during the day. Our group was complete.

Just before dinner on Friday, a strange dog wandered into our camp, followed by a couple of young men who were camped a few hundred yards downstream from us. They were there to check out our campsite, and warn us to be on the lookout for any of their charges that might wander out of their campsite during the night. The charges were 14 troubled kids on an "Outward Bound" type wilderness weekend. We told the counselors that we would hog-tie any wayward kids who invaded our camp, and parted with two new friends. I really admire the work that these guys are doing, and pray that they are successful.

Friday evening's meal was Burgers and whatever else we could cook in a skillet. Very tasty, and the conversation around the campsite was lively, to say the least.

I cranked up my NOAA weather radio after dinner, and "Stephen Hawking" was telling us to search for gopher wood and round up two of every living thing. Typical. When Ted, Joe, and I are all in camp together, there's always a monsoon.

It rained about 1/2 inch over night, and Saturday dawned overcast and gloomy. I knew we were ready to be drowned. As usual, I was wrong. The clouds started to develop breaks, and things were looking up.

Pete, Jason, Matt, and I all had Jeeps. Joe, Teddy, and Bob had 4x4 trucks. We decided to seek out the nastiest roads we could find and make sure the 4 wheel drives were all in working order. We assembled our convoy and started out for Earl's Ford. The road is paved for about the first half mile, then turns to gravel, mud, and large rocks, with a substantial stream crossing thrown in for good measure. Just before the end of the pavement, we came upon an old Toyota pickup stopped in the middle of the road to allow a squirrel to cross. Wrong. A sunburned arm, camouflage cap, and a single shot 12 gauge materialized out of the passenger window. Kaboom! A clean miss, and Rocky the Squirrel made a hasty exit to the left. Redneck #2 ejected his empty and the fore arm of the shotgun at the same time. While he was retrieving the parts of his shotgun, our little group went around them, and pulled over on the shoulder to await the rest of our group. My comment as we got out of the cars was "Now THERE'S something you don't see every day!"

Arriving at the water crossing, we decided that 2' of fast flowing water was too much for some of our group and headed for rougher roads. The one we found was about a mile of trash can sized rocks, mud, wet leaves, and fallen limbs that climbed to within 300 feet of the summit of the second highest point in Georgia. Nobody broke anything on the way up, and when we reached the clearing at the end of the "road" 5 of the group (and the dog) took off on foot for the observation platform at the summit. In light of my recent encounter with a wasp, I stayed behind and visited with Dan Brown's latest book.

The report from the top was that the 30-mile view was down to about 30 feet due to the cloud that had settled over the summit. Moses, call your office.

The trip down the mountain had one interesting event. I was about 50 yards behind Matt and Buddy, picking my way over the rocks when I noticed Matt had stopped. He was trying to coax Buddy back into the Jeep. Somewhere in the foggy recesses of his canine brain, Buddy had decided to catch one of the sticks that were flashing by the window at about 2 MPH. He finally caught one. Matt said he looked over to see how the dog was doing, and saw a tail disappearing out the window. Buddy was OK, but a little bewildered and considerably enlightened to the dangers of grabbing stuff from a moving car.

Back at camp, we were sitting around the fire anticipating another great meal (pulled pork barbecue) when a green truck with a DNR sticker on it, and a trailer pulled into our camp. Oh Crud! It was the notorious Ranger Dan. But one more time, Jobu smiled. The young DNR officer had a rather sad looking bear cub in the trailer, and was planning to release him just beyond our campsite. He said if he let them go along Walnut Fork, they all headed upstream and wound up in North Carolina, where they weren't his problem any longer. We had a nice chat with the officer and decided that maybe Ranger-you-must-be-doing-something-I-can-bust-you-for-Dan was the exception to the rule. This guy was cool. We mentioned our encounter with the squirrel "hunters" to him, and he asked if we had a tag number. We said no, but described the truck. He said he didn't need the tag and asked if the guys looked drunk. Considering that they were shooting from a vehicle in a public road, in front of a residence, with 3 witnesses behind them, the odds were pretty much in favor of inebriation.

After he left to release the bear elsewhere, we had another great meal, and sat around bemoaning the drubbing UGA took from Tennessee that afternoon. I looked up, and saw stars. Maybe we would make it through the weekend without being washed down the Walnut Fork.

Sunday dawned partly cloudy and perfect for breaking camp. The tents were dry, and most of the stuff packed away, could stay packed until the next trip. Perfect.

The trip home was uneventful, and Jon and I both spent way too much time in the shower (separately, you perverts!) scrubbing campfire smoke out of our pores.

The trip was Mental Floss, and Jobu truly smiled on us for a change.

Stay well and be safe.