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Motorcycle Adventure To Alaska
To Become A Mountain Man
By Frosty Wooldridge
11-18-9

 

After breakfast, the boys headed south on Route 1, leading into the Chugach Mountain Range. They followed a winding tree-lined road with mountains in the distance. A clear, slow gliding river followed alongside the highway. Late in the afternoon, they saw a sign along the highway that read "Mountain Man Rendezvous."   Off in the bush, two men walked down a dirt road. Dan waved his brother to the roadside.   "You see those two guys wearing buckskin leathers walking into the woods?" he asked. "They're headed for a string of horses."   "Dan, let's go back and see what's going on," Trevor said. "What's a 'rendezvous' anyway?"   "It's French for 'a meeting place for people,'" Dan said. "Whatever it is, it could be interesting. Those guys are wearing leathers just like us, but you're right, I only see horses in their camp."   The riders drove back to the dirt road that led off the highway and into the woods. They reached a clearing where a group of bearded men stood around a fire pit. Stew simmered in a large black kettle that hung from a tripod over the flames. Coffee steamed from a dented pot near the coals. Around the camp, Indian teepees stood among the trees. Flintlock rifles, knives and tomahawks lay near each shelter. The boys parked near the men standing around the fire.   "Can a couple of hombres get a pan of grub?" Trevor asked with a drawl.   "Grab yerselves a plate o' vittles," one of them replied.   "Don't mind if'n I do," Trevor said, unpacking his mess kit.   "Hep yerselves," the man said. "Don't be bashful."   Trevor spooned the hot stew onto his plate and walked   over to the men, "My name is Trevor and this is my brother Daniel, like Daniel Boone."   Several bearded men named Curly, Gonzo, Hondo, and Yukon Jack stepped up to shake hands with the boys. Each man wore early frontier clothing.   "You two must be a couple of skinners," Hondo said. "We are?" Trevor said, puzzled.   "Shor', why not?" one of the men said, as they all laughed.   "Anyone wearing leathers like you boys gots to be buck skinners," he said.   "Yeah, why not?' Dan said, not sure of himself.   Trevor walked around shaking hands with all the mountain men. The burly characters smiled at the teenager.   "S'cuse me there, pardner," Hondo said, placing his hand on Dan's shoulder.   "Yes?" the older boy said, hesitantly.   "Yer a couple of good sized boys," Hondo said. "How'd you like to stay and compete in some mountain man contests?"   Trevor overheard Hondo and jumped in, "Sure! We'd love to, wouldn't we, Dan?"   "Yeah, why not?"   "Good," said Hondo. "Why don't you boys pitch yer tent over there in that clearing."   After the invitation, the boys dragged their gear past another group of buckskinners who were standing around talking. All the men had animal headpieces. A fox fur cap sat one man's head. Others wore coonskin caps and necklaces made of grizzly bear claws. Beads and feathers stuck out of felt hats, and everyone walked around in boots or moccasins.   Yukon Jack led the boys over to a sign that read, "ALL DOGS ON A LEASH OR THEY'LL BE EATEN ALIVE!"   "You guys eat dogs, alive?" Trevor asked.   "Just kiddin'," the mountain man replied. "Say, you boys got a mighty fine tent with netting to keep out the skeeters."   "With the size of these blood suckers, we need all the protection we can get," Trevor replied, pounding in a stake. "We heard they grow so big in this state, they'll quench their thirst on a caribou and carry off humans for dessert."   "That's not too far from the truth," Yukon said. "Last week, one of our skinners named Bushwhacker, fell asleep in his tent without a shirt on. As you can imagine, half the skeeter population in the world lives in Alaska. That night, they zoomed into his tent and made refueling runs on his body. He almost died from losing so much blood."   "He almost died...." Trevor said, swallowing. "That's the worst story I ever heard about skeeters in my life."   "Yukon," Dan said. "How come you skinners come out here and hold this rendezvous?"   "We like bein' in the wilderness," Yukon Jack said. "The early rendezvous were based on a common need for frontier people to meet and exchange goods. In the pioneer days, they met several times a year to trade with Indians and each other. Modern skinners continue the custom today with beadwork, belts, guns and leather goods are a few of the items for barter. During the time we spend here, we have contests of woodsmanship, strength, hunting, tomahawk throwing and cooking."   Trevor hiked up his pants and puffed out his chest, "Whall naw pardoners," he said. "They calls me Buckskin Trev and this here feller's my fren'...eh, whall, this here's my fren' Dogface, thas' right, Dogface Dan. We aim ta' take this here camp by storm."   "Buckskin," Yukon said. "We got to enter you in the arm wrestling contest judgin' from the size of ya'."   "I'll take on the meanest, baddest, toughest hombre in the whole camp," Trevor boasted, walking around bowlegged.   "Don't get too excited," Dan warned. "These guys are pretty big."   "Don't be such a wussie...let's go over to that teepee and buy a couple of coonskin caps," Trevor said, swaggering up to the collection of hats. "Shorty runs this business," Yukon said, following.   "Mr. Shorty," Trevor called into the tent opening. "Me and my pardner, here, wanna' buy a cap that...wha?"   Out of the teepee stepped a man standing six feet eight inches tall. Trevor swallowed in surprise.   "Sir," he spoke more quietly. "We'd consider it an honor if'n ya'd sell us a couple of yer coonskin hats."   "What kind of fur d'ya like?" the giant asked, in his deep voice.   "That deer skin one looks nice," Trevor said. "What d'ya think, Dogface?"   "I like the fox cap myself," Dan said.   "That's what we want," Trevor said, taking command. "Real good stitchin' Mr. Shorty...these'll do jist fine."   The young boys paid the man and shook hands. As they walked away, "Did you see how big that guy is? He buried my hand in his," Trevor said, gesturing to his brother.   "I wouldn't want to argue with 'em," Dan said. "He's a mountain of a mountain man."   The boys explored the rest of the camp until dusk. The smell of food attracted them to Flapjack Jones' grub tent. "What kin' I do fer you boys?" he asked.   "We're a little hungry," Dan said.   "Grab yerselves a plate and dig into that pot of stew," Flapjack said. "But watch out for my wolf on that chain over there." Dan looked at the animal sleeping near the stew kettle, "What's his name?"   "Maneater."   "I'm glad you told me before I tried to pet him," Dan said, looking over at Buckskin and rolling his eyes.   Wary of the beast at the end of the leash, the boys spooned the stew onto their plates. After eating, they walked by Gonzo.   "How'd ya' like ta' try yer hand at somethin' that might save yer hides whilst them yahoos that carry rifles can't find any dry powder?" he asked.   Gonzo, clad in buckskin leathers, stood in front of his tent. In a wide belt, four tomahawks pressed into the mountain man's stomach. Buckskin Trevor turned toward him, "Sure would Gonzo. A man can't be too careful these days. What ya' got?"   In reply, the mountain man spun on his toes and a whirling sound filled the air. A tomahawk cut into a round slab of wood behind him. Trevor's eyes widened at the sights of the man's skill.   "Kin ya' teach us?" Buckskin asked.   The older man smiled, "Shor' can...by the time you finish my lessons, you kin give your friend a haircut at 30 feet."   The boys gathered around the man for the lesson.   "First, ya' get a firm grip on the handle here and ya' face that big ole slab o' wood and pretend it's a grizzly 'bout ta' charge. Then give a thought, real hard, of this here bein' the only thing betweenst you and that thar' bear. Then give yerself one last effort at livin'."   Another quick motion from Gonzo and a second blade thudded into the wood near the first.   "Now Buckskin," Gonzo said. "Ya' hold the handle here, and do what I tole' ya'."   Trevor took his place alongside Gonzo, facing the target. The mountain man showed them how to stand. He gave a step by step lesson in the throwing motion and style that would stick the blade into the target every throw. The boys were told the slab of wood was really teeth and claws of a charging grizzly. The mountain man finished the lesson and placed the tomahawk into Trevor's hand.   "Okay," Gonzo said. "It's you who's got to stop that ole bear or he's a-goin to make a meal of ya'. Let fly like I tole ya'...think it in boy."   Trevor threw the ancient weapon. The whirling blade struck its mark alongside the other tomahawks.   "He did it!" Dan yelled when the tomahawk cut into the target.   "Geez, oh Pete!" Gonzo said, surprised. "Would ya' look at that! Ya' got strong shoulders Buckskin.   "Way to go," Dan said.   Gonzo slapped Trevor on the back, "Yer jist the kind of man I been lookin' fer. That was a mighty fine throw. By gum, you practice with Dogface and you'll be mountain men in good time."   Buckskin Trevor swelled with pride and Dogface Dan grinned. For two hours, the boys shared the tomahawk with the mountain men. The young buckskinners practiced their new skills-- laughing at each other's hits and misses. A weariness in their arms stopped the practice.   The boys thanked Gonzo before walking back to camp. He listened to their talk and excitement over the lessons. Trevor proudly displayed a new tomahawk that was a gift from the mountain men.   "Can you believe this day?" Trevor asked.   "Pretty amazing all right," Dan said.   "I'll never forget it, ever," Trevor said. "Jist calls me 'Buckskin tomahawk throwin' Trev', 'cuz I'll shave the whiskers off'n a bear at thirty feet...we sure did learn a lot today. How about that? What d'ya' think Dogface?"   The nonstop talk from Trevor did not allow Dan to answer, but the older boy walked into camp a little taller.   "This shor' 'nuff has been some kind of day," Dan drawled.   That night around the council campfire, buckskinners shared songs and stories. Sourdough bread with beef jerky tasted better than anything the boys could remember. They finished singing, "Home On The Range," when a skinner named Buffalo jumped to his feet, bellowing, "LISTEN UP SKINNERS!"   Everyone stopped talking and turned toward the man.   "I'm the meanest mountain man in Alaska," he said. "I kin fight a grizzly single handed, run down a lightning bolt with one leg tied up, and I kin climb a mountain in one day, and I can spit chewin' tobacco a half mile into a stiff wind...I'm so bad...."   Before everyone's eyes, Buffalo pulled a fresh trout out of his pocket and chomped it down in three bites. As the mountain man finished, Trevor jumped up wild-eyed and hiked up his pants while striding over to the buckskinner.   "Naw, jist a cotton pickin' minute Mr. Buffalo," Trevor drawled, swaggering up to the mountain man. "Ain't no skinner tough as Buckskin Trev, don't cha' know?"   Trevor stood toe to toe with Buffalo, who was six feet five inches tall and 230 pounds. Surprised, the big man looked down at the teenager. The buckskinner growled into Buckskin Trevor's face.   "You ain't so big," Trevor roared in a raspy voice. "I'm the toughest of the tough, meanest of the mean, and the baddest of the bad. I track polar bears for breakfast, turn grizzlies into pets, and if'n ya' got another fish, I'll show ya' the meanin' of what BAD really is!"   The young pioneer stood his ground with Buffalo. The crowd murmured. Dan stood still, waiting for his brother to make the next move. "I shor' do, Buckskin," Buffalo snorted, pulling out another trout from his leather jacket.   Buckskin grabbed it by the tail and tilted his head back. He dropped the fish into his mouth. But somewhere between his mouth and stomach, Trevor gagged on the trout. The youngest buckskinner threw up his dinner and the fish all over the ground.   Buffalo roared with laughter along with the rest of the mountain men.   At first, only one mountain man applauded Trevor's efforts, but slowly, they began clapping for the young boy. Dan yelled out, "Way to go Buckskin."   Trevor cleared his mouth with a canteen of water handed him by another mountain man. The boy looked up at all the men and grinned.   "Guess that thar' fish was tougher'n me," Trevor said, smiling.   "That's a skinner if I ever seen one," one of the mountain men called out. "Yes siree, he's a real buckskinner."   Later that night, Dan unrolled his sleeping bag inside the tent, "What a crazy day this has been."   "Yeah," Trevor said. "I can still taste the acid in my mouth from throwing up."   "You were about half as nuts as that man, Buffalo," Dan said. "Why'd you go up there and eat that raw fish anyway?"   "I don't know...just seemed like the thing to do at the time," Trevor said, chuckling. "Only I didn't plan on puking my guts out." "You sure were funny," Dan said.   "Why not?" Trevor said. "We're in Alaska to have a good time."   "I never figured on a bunch of grown men out in the wilds living like real pioneers," Dan said. "I guess you're right...we're here to have fun, but be careful."   "Have I done anything wrong in the last two weeks?" Trevor asked his brother. "No! I'm watching what I'm doing, so don't worry about me. I'll be Buckskin Trev and you be Dogface Dan, and we'll have the times of our lives, okay?"   "Sorry," Dan said. "I wasn't trying to give you a hard time, but you do go charging off sometimes...."   "Maybe, but I think before I charge now days," Trevor said.   "That's true," Dan said. "I'll give you credit for that."   "Anyway, I think they like us," Trevor said. "Heck, they walk around with a grin on their faces all the time. If they didn't want us here, we'd feel it."   "If you keep pulling off stunts like that fish deal, they'll want us here for the whole rendezvous, just for laughs," Dan said.   "Sure, why not?"   "I give up, you're nuts...."   "Come on...I'm just having a good time," Trevor said.   "I know, I know," Dan said. "Let's get some sleep."   Early the following morning, Flapjack Jones clanged the breakfast bell, "Come and git it or I'll feed it to the bears."   "That smells good," Trevor said, rubbing the cobwebs out of his eyes.   "We'll be right there Flapjack," Dan said.   After eating, Buckskin Trevor asked Curly, "What's on the agenda for today?"   "How'd ya' like to shoot a flintlock rifle at some buffalo targets?"   "Does a grizzly bear have teeth?" Trevor joked. "Count us in."   "Follow me down to the shootin' range for a few lessons," Curly said, throwing a rifle over his shoulder.   They followed the frontier man along a path, over a ridge and down a bank to a clearing near a river. The soft, spongy soil sank with each footstep. A group of men stood on a firing line facing cardboard buffalo targets fifty yards away. One of the buckskinners walked up to the line, marked his sights, aimed and fired. A click sounded as the hammer came down on the flint. An instant later, smoke belched out the chamber and a loud crack split the air.   "Mark a score, bull's-eye," the judge called out.   "Got a couple of green horns here," Curly said. "Let 'em step up to the line for a shot."   "Okay, Buckskin, come over here and load this rifle," said a man named Slim.   "First, ya' clean the barrel with this cloth at the end of this rod. Then you pour a shot of black powder down the muzzle. After that, wrap the ball in this grease cloth. Stick it down the barrel and tamp it down. Check your flint and you're ready to fire."   "Am I ready to stand on the firing line?" Trevor asked, minutes later.   "All clear at the firing line...go ahead Buckskin," the firing judge said.   The rifle jerked as smoke belched into the air.   "Miss," the judge called out.   "I aimed square into the target," Trevor complained.   "Here, let me show you rookie," Dan said, stepping up.   Seconds later, the older boy aimed the rifle on the firing line. Dan squeezed the trigger. The rifle spit smoke and fire.   "A miss," the judge called out.   "I don't understand it," Dan said. "I aimed right at the target."   "Let me try again," Trevor said, stepping up to the line with another rifle.   The boy set himself on the line. He aimed high and pulled the trigger. The flintlock belched smoke and flame.   "Mark a score, bull's-eye," the judge called.   The skinners cheered.   Trevor beamed as he backed off the firing line.   "Way to go," Dan said, patting the new rifleman on the shoulder. "I saw how you shot high to hit the mark. Good thinkin'."   "Thanks."   For three hours, the men fired volleys into the targets for points in the rifleman's contest. Trevor shot four more successful rounds. Later, each man and several women competed in Seneca runs. That test of skill involved running through the woods, firing at a point, and running off to the next target while reloading on the move. Targets hung in trees, or along the ground. The boys returned to camp in the late afternoon.   "What are those skinners doing over there in that bunch?" Dan asked.   "Let's find out," Trevor said.   The mountain men kneeled in a circle six feet across. A stone in the middle was the target. Everyone bet a quarter on the line and took turns throwing a brown object the size of a golf ball. Whoever tossed the object closest to the stone, won the match.   "What's this called?" Dan asked.   "It's called 'moose turd pitchin'," a skinner replied, laughing.   "Yeah, okay, whatever you say," Dan stammered, grinning in surprise.   "Jist don't git it between yer fingers," Trevor joked.   More buckskinners walked into camp as the evening drew near. A large kettle of moose meat stew simmered over the fire. Gravy filled with carrots, potatoes, onions, beans, peas, and corn bubbled over the flames. The boys stepped into line for dinner. With the first bite, Trevor said, "Flapjack! Ya dun it agin'. This here's the finest stew I ever ate. I wanna' say that right here and now."   "That shor' goes double for me," Dan said.   "Yer shor' 'nuff welcome," the cook said, smiling with pride.   The main event of the evening took place near the blazing bonfire in the middle of camp. Buckskinners gathered around for the arm wrestling contest to see who was the strongest man in Alaska. The hat maker, Shorty, accepted all challenges. His black beard and red stocking cap made him look even more ominous.   Several men tried and failed to move the champion's arm. Grunting, each of them struggled for a few moments, but fell to Shorty's strength. The boys watched until Yukon Jack pointed over at Trevor, "Hey, Buckskin, ya' been standing around here all day. Now, git in there and give ole Shorty a run for his money."   Trevor turned pale as a ghost. All eyes turned to him. He looked left, then right, and back over his shoulder, "Me?"   "They want you," Dan said.   "Why don't you go out there?" Trevor said to his brother.   "'Cuz you're stronger than me," Dan said. "You know it."   "That's easy for you to say," Trevor said. "That guy's big enough to stop a runaway train with one arm."   "Come on," Dan said, pressing his brother. "Go out there and give it your best shot."   "Okay," Trevor said, huffing out his chest and striding toward the giant. "All he can do is break my arm."   The boy rolled up his sleeve as he looked up nearly a foot, to stare into the eyes of his opponent. Blood rushed to Trevor's face as he took a deep breath and listened to the judge explain the rules.   "You men ready?" the judge asked.   "Yes, sir," Trevor said, scowling at Shorty.   Shorty growled into the boy's face.   Trevor roared back.   Shorty scowled, then spit off to the side.   Trevor swept his hair away from his forehead and clenched his teeth. He braced himself against the log and glared at his opponent. The boy locked his feet into place and slammed his arm down on the stump.   The mountain men cheered for the arm wrestlers.   "Okay, Shorty," Trevor snarled, through clenched teeth.   The monster of a mountain man gnashed his teeth and bellowed a hideous growl.   The giant locked hands with the teenager. They glared eyeball to eyeball. They breathed into one another's faces. Finally, the judge said, "GO!"   "Come on, Buckskin!" Dan cheered.   Shorty grunted and grimaced.   Trevor strained with all his might.   "Take it to 'em, Buckskin!" Dan yelled when he saw his brother move Shorty backward.   "Go Buckskin!" several men and women cheered.   The men hooted and hollered. Dan saw them supporting his brother. Trevor held the mountain man. Seconds later, the older boy watched several men nudging each other while they viewed the contest.   "Come on, take him," the older boy shouted.   Trevor strained, but the giant began pushing the young boy back. Slowly, Shorty pressed him down until Trevor's arm touched the stump.   The crowd yelled. "Way to go Buckskin!"   "Way to go!" Dan yelled, running up to grab his brother by the shoulders. "He'll get you next time, Shorty."   Trevor walked away, eyes blazing, "Did ya' see that?" he gasped. "I held him for awhile...I thought I was going to win...I must be stronger than I thought. When I get older, I'll beat Shorty."   "No doubt about it," Dan agreed.   The older boy smiled as he and his brother walked away from the stump. The men gave Trevor a round of applause and came up to shake his hand. As the boys left the circle, Buffalo sauntered up to the stump where Shorty stood. The boys turned to watch the action.   "I see ya' done whupped on my friend fair and square," Buffalo said. "But, I'm gonna' feed 'em more fish and he'll whup ya' next year."   Trevor grinned as everyone laughed at Buffalo's words.   "Now, I'm gonna prove I'm the strongest man in Alaska," Buffalo growled, glaring into Shorty's eyes.   "Trevor," Dan said. "Do you think Buffalo can take him?"   "I don't know," Trevor said. "Shorty's as strong as an ox."   The crowd watched Buffalo step up to the tree where Shorty waited. The two mountain men stood face to face. Buffalo raised his fists up to his waist and puffed out his chest. Shorty stuck out his chest. The two giants glared into each other's eyes. The veins in their necks stood out as they gnashed their teeth at each other. Shorty uttered a low, grunting sound, yelling into Buffalo's face, "Do ya' think ya' kin whup me midget?" Buffalo growled, not happy with the insult.   He stomped around in a circle, still face to face with Shorty. The fish-eating mountain man said nothing. He stared, glared and grunted. The crowd cheered the two skinners.   Buffalo edged up to the stump, still glaring at Shorty until the bigger man stepped up to the block. The giant rolled up his sleeves. His right arm bulged with muscles. With a loud bellow, Shorty slammed his elbow down on the wood. Buffalo ripped off his shirt, threw it down on the ground, and locked fists with Shorty.   The judge stood next to the men, "You know the rules," he said.   They grunted a few more times and gnashed their teeth.   "On your mark, git set...GO."   Both men grunted, straining into each other.   Buffalo pressed into Shorty. Veins popped out on his arm. Shorty's neck bulged under the strain. The two men fought hand to hand.   Their eyeballs strained and their faces turned red. Neither man moved.   "Come on Buffalo," Trevor cried out. "Get 'em!"   The two men fought to over-power one another, but each held his ground, not budging more than an inch. Suddenly, Buffalo bent over and planted a kiss on Shorty's struggling hand. The crowd shouted and laughed at the top of their lungs. Shorty lost his concentration and fell to the smaller man.   A smile spread over Buffalo's face when he looked over at the defeated, sweating Shorty.   "Ya' shouldn't have called me a midget," he snarled.   "Three cheers for the mountain men," the judge called out.   Everyone cheered.   Later, the mountain men gathered around the bonfire to sing songs and tell stories. The flames burned brightly in the evening air. Each time someone threw on more wood, sparks exploded in all directions. As the evening grew long, the flames flickered more quietly. The embers danced in rows along the burning wood. Often, a pop from a wood knot burst out of the fire. As it burned down, skinners walked away into the night toward their teepees.   Late in the evening, the brothers sat cross-legged by themselves. They were talking when Gonzo walked up behind them, "Boys, we've been real proud to share our camp with you," he said, putting his hands on their shoulders.   "Buckskin, you done real good today. You and Dogface makin' a trip like this says there are still boys out there fightin' to be men." "Thank you," Trevor said.   "We play around a lot," Gonzo said. "But, we're here for the same reasons you are...we want to carry on the tradition of adventure. That's what ya' proved today Buckskin, and I want ya' to know that everyone here tonight saw that when ya' challenged Shorty. Ya' showed character. We respected that. Yer a couple of real mountain men."   "Thanks, Gonzo," Trevor said. "I always wanted to be a mountain man."   Excerpts from the book: Motorcycle Adventure to Alaska: Into the Wind by Frosty Wooldridge, Copies: 1 888 280 7715

 

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