LAUGHTER in the MOUNTAINS
Enjoying the Last of the Mountain Men
by
Book Cover & Preview Text
TESTING METTLE This was the point where he always laughed. His laughter was unrestrained --a belly laugh punctuated with thigh slaps. And as the quake of his laughter waned, he would clench his fists --as if grasping the moment and forcing it forever deep into his memory. A smile of self-satisfaction would spread across his lips. You could see him almost tasting and savoring the sweetness of the moment as he shut his eyes tightly and tilted his head slightly to the left, lost in the physical delight of his mischief. But this time he didn't laugh. He couldn't laugh. He just stared in disbelief. “Another?” he finally asked, summoning as much innocence as he could muster. “Sure!” came the raspy reply. The wizened elfish prankster carefully poured another shot of his special 151-proof Hudson Bay Rum and handed it to the massive stranger. With no words to waste, the other simply threw his head back and tossed the shot of liquid fire down his already seared throat. Slowly bringing his head back to level, the behemoth's clenched lips managed a tiny upturn on the outer edges (simulating an understated smile) as he resolutely returned the unblinking stare of the smaller man and handed over the emptied shot glass. Thus began my friendship with Buckskin Bill, “Last of the Mountain Men,” as the old blacksmith slyly tested the mettle of an unknown youngster and found him acceptably interesting. THE SILENT DARE It was Buckskin's way. Whenever a stranger approached his compound, the old mountain man firmly insisted that all weapons be declared, displayed, and placed out of reach in open view. Otherwise the intruder must leave. Only after being disarmed would the “guest” be hospitably offered a drink --an offer that was not to be refused. Buckskin would ceremoniously bring out a bottle of rum and two shot glasses, pouring shots for himself and the stranger. The old man would quickly throw his head back and greedily gulp down his own drink, then eye the other man --silently daring him to do the same thing the same way. What the newcomer could not know was that the “refreshment” being offered was a potent concoction of rum that was 76% pure alcohol. It burned like molten lava going down the gullet. Buckskin was used to it. He literally gargled with it daily. For everyone else, it was a breathtaking surprise.
Formats
Book Details
About the Book
This book is a celebration of life. Its astonishing view is from the perspective of someone living a simple, isolated life in the Rocky Mountains as a “mountain man.” Sylvan Ambrose Hart was born in the Oklahoma Territory in 1906. In the 1930's, while still a young man, he walked into the Rocky Mountains and designed a unique life for himself in the wilds - hunting, fishing, trapping, panning gold, crafting his own tools, weapons, shelter, and clothes. For almost fifty years he lived the life of a reclusive mountain man --eventually gaining national fame as “Buckskin Bill, Last of the Mountain Men.” In 1973 another young man, studying philosophy in a private college back east, found that he could no longer abide being shackled by the conventional wisdoms of our culture. To the dismay of all who knew and loved him, he dropped out of college and headed for the mountains. He caught a train cross-country to Montana, then hopped a bus southbound skirting the Rocky Mountains. At one point he simply stepped off the bus and walked into the mountains with only a backpack, machete, and knife (no food or gun) determined to learn what the mountains offered to teach --or die trying. After a few months of eating rattlesnakes, ants and field mice, this struggling newcomer to the mountains (the author) discovered the now old and grizzled “mountain man” living not only successfully but quite flamboyantly in the depths of the Rocky Mountain wilderness on the “River of No Return.” Buckskin was an extraordinary man. Anyone who ever met him walked away with stories and memories to be cherished for a lifetime. Here are my favorite memories of the Last of the Mountain Men.
About the Author
The author's first real exposure to mountains came after his freshman year in college when he worked as a hiking instructor for a boys' summer camp in the mountains of North Carolina. The next year he spent ten weeks on the Appalachian Trail writing and studying botany “in the wild.” He was hooked. The following year he dropped out of college and headed for the mountains. Catching a train cross-country to Montana, he hopped a bus southbound skirting the Rocky Mountains. At one point he simply stepped off the bus and walked into the mountains with only a backpack, machete, and knife (no gun and no food!) to learn what the mountains offered to teach him - or die trying. He spent the next few months eating little other than rattlesnakes, ants, mice, the occasional fish and bird, and whatever wild edible plants he could forage. He spent pitch-black nights dry-camped on mountainsides listening to the howls of coyotes and the shrill shrieks of rutting bull elk. He faced the perils of rivers, mountain trails, brutal weather, and wild animals (including bears and bull moose) utterly alone - and he grew strong. Other than the handful of items in his backpack, he had nothing beyond what he could make, forage, catch, or kill by his own hand. After a few months on his own, he heard about an old mountain man still living on the “River of No Return” in the Rocky Mountains of Idaho and sought him out as a mentor. Together they had many unforgettable experiences over the next two years. Upon returning to "civilization," he completed his college degree - a B.S. in Philosophy - and forged a career as an air traffic controller. Now retired, he lives in Florida and practices “laughter along the surf.” The author's first real exposure to mountains came after his freshman year in college when he worked as a hiking instructor at a boy's summer camp in the mountains of North Carolina. The next year he spent ten weeks on the Appalachian Trail writing and studying botany “in the wild.” He was hooked The following year he dropped out of college and headed for the mountains. Catching a train cross-country to Montana, he hopped a bus southbound skirting the Rocky Mountains. At one point he simply stepped off the bus and walked into the mountains with only a backpack, machete, and knife (no gun and no food!) to learn what the mountains offered to teach him --or die trying. He spent the next few months eating little other than rattlesnakes, ants, mice, the occasional fish and bird, and whatever wild edible plants he could forage. He spent pitch-black nights dry-camped on mountainsides listening to the howls of coyotes and the shrill shrieks of rutting bull elk. He faced the perils of rivers, mountain trails, brutal weather, and wild animals (including bears and bull moose) utterly alone --and he grew strong. Other than the handful of items in his backpack, he had nothing beyond what he could make, forage, catch, or kill by his own hand. After a few months on his own, he discovered an old mountain man still living deep in the Rocky Mountains. Together they had many unforgettable experiences over the next two years. Upon returning to "civilization," he completed his college degree --a B.S. in Philosophy --and forged a life within the context of “normal” society including marriage, money, mortgages and misfit mischief. After a twenty-six-year career as an air traffic controller, he retired and published his first book --the reflecting pool: reflections of a mountain man.