Like a stick in the eye.

My dad used to have a business building barbed wire fence, corals, and other enclosures for livestock. In high school and college I would often come home on the weekends, or during winter breaks, and build fence to make a little extra money.

Building fence requires huge amounts of physical labor, and often times the weather is either blazing hot or freezing cold and you can usually count on the terrain being quite rugged.  There are also the usual irritations associated with the outdoors such as ticks, mosquitoes, and the occasional venomous snake. Besides all of the environmental hazards, anyone who has ever worked with barbed wire can testify that it is impossible to avoid getting poked, cut, or gouged by the needle sharp steel barbs. Of course these are all minor infractions. I have witnessed on at least three occasions a coworker catching a steel barb at the wrong angle and having a large chunk of flesh excavated from their body, requiring a trip to the emergency room for stitches. However, despite all of the opportunities for injury afforded by the task of building fence, my most significant impairment didn't happen performing the job, but on the walk to the job site.

One cold winter morning, I was home from college on winter break. I woke up late as usual and was in a big hurry to get going. Unlike most job sites that required a fifteen to thirty minute drive out to the middle of nowhere, the fence that we were replacing was within walking distance of my parent’s house.

I got my boots laced, found my hat, and shuffled out the door. Across the road from our house was a wooded area with a steep grade about 30 feet tall that once served as a railroad bed. On the other side of the hill was another fifty yards of wooded area, then open pasture where we were working. There was a heavy frost on the ground that made the leaves I was walking on quite slick. As I began climbing the foot of the old railroad bed, I slipped, my feet came out from under me, I fell forward, and as my momentum took me face first into the ground, a small pointed stick burrowed deep into my left eye.

The pain was instant and excruciating. It felt as though a knife had been stabbed through my eye and into my brain. Tears were flowing from my eye like a fountain, and every time I blinked the entire left side of my face would scream with pain. I could not see anything, and I had every reason to believe that I had completely disemboweled my eye.

I sat down and held a handkerchief to my face hoping to ease the pain. Gradually my eye stopped watering and although blurry, my vision began to return. A few minutes more and the sharp pain subsided to a dull ache in the back of my eye. Finally, I felt the worst was over and I climbed the rest of the hill and hiked on over to where my dad was working.

Assuming I was just late from sleeping in, upon my arrival my dad asked me to bring over a pile of steel posts that I would pass on my way over. I did as I was told and loaded the posts up into my arms. The physical excursion once again caused the sharp pain to return. I walked over to where my dad was standing and explained what had happened. He walked over to get a closer look at my eye and I immediately knew by his reaction that my eye did not look well.

“You have a hole in your eyeball!” my dad proclaimed, “Get in the truck we’re going to the emergency room!”  

So off to the hospital we went. This happened at about eight in the morning. By four o’clock in the afternoon having been examined by three doctors, an ophthalmologist, a CT scan, x-rays, and countless eye tests, it was determined that the stick had made contact with my cornea, and then slid down to the sclera (white part) before penetrating into my eye, thus saving me from being permanently blind. For a couple of days after, a dull ache remained behind my eye but nothing worse than a slight headache, and by the end of the week I was as good as new.

To this day I still flinch from time to time when a tree branch hits me in the face, or I slide down a creek bank.

Man that hurt.

On A Dime

The summer before my junior year in high school, I worked as a cook at the local Pizza Hut. When I wasn't working, I would spend my evenings doing the things most sixteen year old kids did. I played catcher and center field on the local baseball team, basketball with my buddies at the park, and chased girls around town. At the end of the previous school year I had secured a loan to purchase my first car. It was a 1987 Honda Accord hatch-back with two 12” sub-woofers in the back. My friends and I spent hours cruising a loop between the local Pizza Hut and Sonic.  Life was good, but as I once read in a favorite Stephen King novel: "Life can turn on a dime".

I'm not sure when fishing became an addiction. Judging by my Grandfather's habits it could very well be hereditary, but by the time I had reached high school, fishing was a full blown passion. It's never been the act of fishing that drives the adoration; I believe it's the anticipation. The feeling that every time you cast into the water something big might grab your bait and give you a fight. Even if you cast ninety nine times with no success, it's the anticipation that the one hundredth cast might just be "the one".

It was a hot, muggy, night in mid-July. The kind of Kansas weather that made you sweat the second you broke out of the air conditioning, and you never really stopped sweating until you found air conditioning again.

My buddy Mark and I, like many times before, by the light of our flashlights, worked our way down the dam of the Cedar Valley Reservoir, to the spillway below. Mark and I normally fished alone, but this particular evening, my Dad decided to bring my ten year old sister along.

About midnight we saw some headlights sweep across the otherwise pitch black night, then we heard a loud "TWANG!" ring down through the spillway pipe that lead from where we were sitting, through the dam, and opened again about fifty yards out in the middle of the lake.  Assuming it was the local police cruiser on patrol, we thought nothing of the lights, and the loud sound was a quickly passing mystery, until we heard someone yelling from the parking lot. 

"Brandon!" yelled a voice at the top of the dam. 

Expecting one of my friends to be playing a joke, Mark and I continued stringing up our first channel cat of the night.

"BRANDON!" came the cry from the parking lot, only this time sounding a little more frantic. 

Although the humidity remained high, as the night grew older a cool breeze began filtering down from the lake, and my sister was starting to catch a chill.

"I'm gonna go up and grab your sister a blanket from the truck" said my Dad, "While I'm up there I will see what all the yelling's about"

As my father approached the top of the dam, we could hear him talking to someone, but were unable to make out what he was saying, until he too began to scream.

"BRANDON, GET UP HERE NOW!"

Having just hooked into my second catfish of the night, I was hesitant about leaving, but when my dad screamed my name a second time, Mark and I grabbed our flashlights and ran to the top of the steep hill!

At the top of the dam I was met by my dad and the two guys that were doing all the yelling. I knew their faces well. They were a couple of guys that were a grade older than me. They were both white as a ghost, and their eyes were as big as hub caps. It was as if they had seen something horrible, and I could see the fear on their faces even on moonless, pitch dark night.

"Brandon! A car went into the lake and there's somebody in it!" was my greeting as I peeked the dam.

The lake rested about 75 yards below the crest of the dam. The dam itself ran down at about a 30 degree angle and was completely covered in bowling ball sized boulders to keep high waters from eroding its walls. Adjacent to the dam stood limestone cliffs that rose from the water to about forty feet into the air. Small to medium sized cedar trees dotted the top of the cliff like candles on a giant birthday cake.

It was 1999, and cell phones existed, but at this time they had spotty service and were generally reserved for business people. They certainly weren't available in the quantities that now fill the pockets of teenage kids.

"I'm gonna go call for help, get your ass in the water!" yelled my father as he was already running for the truck. 

"It's Jenny!" The two guys screamed! "She was in the truck! She was trying to get out before it went off the cliff I don't know if she made it out!"

I was a strong swimmer, and without a second thought I sprinted down the dam to the water and dove in. There was debris everywhere. You don't realize how many loose items there are in vehicle until they are all bobbing around the surface of lake. I swam around to every piece of trash while the three other guys shined flashlights across the water.

"JENNY!" They screamed, "JEEEENNNNYYYY!"

I kept swimming, checking every piece of debris that floated around hoping to find the girl and bring her back to shore. I kept swimming, and they kept screaming.

Fearing the worst, I started diving down to the bottom of the lake in search of the truck. To the best of my ability, I held my breath and dove as deep as possible. I dove until my ears built up so much pressure I couldn't stand the pain any longer. On the cliffs above me the other guys kept sweeping their flashlights across the brown water screaming "Jenny! Jenny! Jenny!", but between the calls for her, there was nothing but the sound of waves lightly splashing against the base of the limestone cliffs.

After what seemed like years instead of minutes, we heard the sounds, and saw the lights of a rescue vehicle. It was Joe, the dad of yet another classmate, who had recently received his certification in water rescue. Without even putting on his wet suit, Joe strapped on his air tank and diving weights, and stormed down the dam and into the water. We all hoped for the best, but by this time nearly twenty minutes had passed, and even the best divers in the world couldn't hold their breath that long.

Life seemed to stand still as we waited for Joe to surface again, praying that somehow miracles did happen and that somehow he would come up with a scared, but safe teenage girl. This didn't happen. About the time the ambulance arrived, Joe surfaced with the limp body of the younger sister of one of our classmates. Unable to lift her out of the water with his scuba gear on, he handed her up to me waiting on the small lip at the bottom of the cliff. I held her under the arm and swam her over to where Mark was waiting to help. With his assistance we pulled her from the water and the two of us carried her up the dam, over the bowling ball sized boulders.

Her eyes were wide open, and she had vomit running from her mouth and nose. She had a large gash on her forehead that still trickled a little blood, but not much. Other than her clothes being soaking wet, she looked like she could be walking down the halls of school. She was wearing a white tank top, blue denim shorts, and leather sandals. She had bracelets on both wrists and big green earrings that matched her big green eyes. 

Two days later after having written statements for the local police, I got a call from Jenny's sister. She invited me over to her house where I took on the daunting task of retelling the nightmare to her Mom and Dad, Brother, and a variety of other relatives. There was food everywhere in their house. They had folding tables set up in their living room to hold all of it. I told the story. They all cried and thanked me for telling them. They said that "They just had to know what happened". I guess I don't blame them. I would want to know too. I omitted some of the details that I am writing now. They told me that the doctors were able to harvest her eyes and kidneys to transplant into patients that could use them. This made them feel a slight degree less sad somehow.

 Mark and I attended Jenny's funeral. Quite honestly we did not know Jenny too well. We knew her sister much better as she was closer to our age. They had all of the people that attended sign her closed casket. Mark's dad didn't think we had any good reason to attend because we didn't have an "emotion attachment" to her. I felt like that night somehow linked us to her forever in some small way. After the funeral we went to Pizza Hut with her family. After that day we never really talked about it again. 

I don't know how the truck ended up rolling off the cliff with her inside. I used to ponder this daily. I don't think I care anymore. Some things can never be explained.

-Do not complain about getting older. Too many are not afforded the opportunity. 

    -unknown

   

Skunked At The Skunk Hunt Part IV

A cold wind swept across the lake where we stopped to discuss our predicament. At the end the dirt road, all of our gear lay in the middle of a field. The only thing that stood in our way was two cops who felt like they had done enough work for one night. From a distance we could tell they weren't going anywhere. They sat in their vehicles, quietly idling with their lights on, playing solitaire on their computers.

“Just leave it down there” Chad argued, “I will get it in the morning when I go to work”

“No way!” I rebutted. “I’m going in.”

Chad driving, we cruised south toward the country side.  It took us about ten minutes to find what we were looking for. We hung a left and cruised back to the east until we reached a point on top of a hill. We stopped on the road adjacent to where we thought our gear would lay, about a half of a mile to the north of where we were.

Jumping out of the car, Karen and I plunged into the pitch black woods that lay between us and the golf course. Taking our time, we carefully and silently worked our way through the trees and down the hill toward our objective.

As we approached the dead end road, we could see the two sentries standing guard. Navigating with only the moonlight, we crept through the brush and across the road where the two police officers sat. We knew our gear lay somewhere in the grassy field about thirty yards out, but without lights it was very difficult to transverse the hazardous terrain.

Silently combing a pattern under the watchful eye of our silent guardians, we cross hatched our way across the field until we finally found our stash. As carefully as we moved in, we gathered our things and slipped back into the night the way we had come. After a far less stressful hike back to the top of the hill, we found our brothers in arms waiting for us in the car where we had left them.

By the time we got back to Chad’s apartment it was about 5:00am and we were too tired to discuss much of what happened. The next morning we packed up and drove back home. We did not complete our objectives, but we did get out with our clean records.

The End

Skunked At The Skunk Hunt Part III

We all remained perfectly still as the officer approached our car and began inspecting it with his flashlight. Luckily we had taken the beer and guns with us, but we still weren't sure how we were going to explain what we were doing. We all decided to hold tight and see what happened next.

Our hope was that the police officer would simply run our tags and go on with his patrol. The officer returned to his car, but didn't move from his post on the other side of the gate. After about fifteen minutes, we decided that we needed to “bite the bullet” and go talk to him.

Just as we were about to make our move we saw another vehicle approaching down the maintenance road.  This one was a large SUV, also from the City of Florence Police department. This officer repeated the routine of inspecting our tactical Camry with his flashlight. After some brief discussion, the two officers returned to their respective cars and sat in idle patience.

This time we all decided it would be best if we talked to them. Chad and I left the comfort of our hide in the brush, and approached the car of the officer closest to the gate. We were about ten feet from the back of the first car when the officer in the SUV spotted us and jumped out of his vehicle.

“Hold it right there! Get your hands against the vehicle!”  The guy screamed.

I can’t say that I was surprised by his reaction, seeing two guys walk out of the dark wearing full camouflage.  It didn’t take long for the second cop to jump out either. 

“What the hell are you guys doing out here?” said the second cop, asking the million dollar question.

That’s when Chad came up with what ended up being a million dollar answer.

“Hello officers, I actually work here at the golf course, and my supervisor said it would be ok if we came out after dark to play capture the flag. You see, it’s a game we've been playing since we were kids and, we didn't want to disturb anyone in town.”

It seemed like an eternity had passed before the second officer replied to our obvious excuse for being there.  He knew we weren't telling the truth, but was going to give us the benefit of the doubt. He had another surprise up his sleeve for us.

“Ok, well, we will just need you guys to come up here to the club house. The course supervisor is on his way out here and he can confirm that for us.”

“…….Shit!” We both thought to ourselves.

We explained to them that we still had two friends out in the field somewhere,  needed to go get them. Leaving the beer, guns, and other gear in the field, Karen and Trailer joined us in the back of the patrol car.

They drove us up to the club house where we waited for another eternity for the supervisor to show up and sentence us to certain arrest, jail time, and execution from our families and girlfriends.

After about twenty minutes the supervisor showed up. By this time it was about 2:00am and he was not entirely thrilled about being called out of bed.

The officers spoke with him for a while, and then asked Chad to come over while the rest of us waited in the back of the patrol cars. Finally, Chad and the officer came back and got back in the vehicle.

“Well, it looks like you guys are off the hook. I’m taking you back to your car. I want you guys to go home and not come back out here.” Said the officer looking back at us through the cage that all police cars have.

He returned us to our vehicle. Relieved, we hopped back in the Camry and took off. It turned out that the supervisor was not the guy Chad had arranged the hunt with, but he knew Chad was a good guy and didn't say anything to the cops.

Although we didn't get to hunt skunks that night, we also didn’t go to jail. A fair trade I think. But before we went home there was still one problem. Our guns and gear were still in the field at the end of the dead end road, and the cops weren't leaving. We had to get them back. We had to get them back, before the cops found them…

-To Be Continued

Skunked At The Skunk Hunt Part II

Having briefed me on the mission details, Chad and I agreed to commence “operation skunk” on the upcoming Friday evening after the golf course closed for the day. I knew that if this mission was going to be successful, I needed a support team. So I called on my two cousins, Karen and Traylor. We all agreed to meet at Chad's house in Florence. 

That Friday, in the living room of Chad's apartment, we inventoried our gear to make sure we had everything we needed. Our inventory included:

• 3 - .22 caliber rifles
• 100 rounds - Conical Ball Cap Low Velocity .22 Rifle Ammo
• Full camouflage dress for all four people
• 2 - 1,000,000 candle power spot lights
• 1 - night vision monocular 
• 1 - hand held gps receiver
• 4 - hand held flash lights
• 1 - 30-pack Bud Light

We loaded our gear and jumped into Chad's tactical issue Toyota Camry, and drove to the staging area. 

The golf course sat just below a lake dam. It had a main drive that ended at the club house, which then turned into a dead end, gravel, and maintenance road. The maintenance road went around the back side of the course, ending at an adjacent field next to the course’s maintenance building. 

The plan was to drive to the end of the maintenance road. Then use Chad's key to open the locked gate that kept people from driving back to the maintenance building. We would then hide the car in the maintenance building, borrow a couple golf carts, and use the carts to locate and destroy the skunks. 

Just after nightfall, we drove to the end of the road, and unlocked the gate. However just as we began to pull the car through, we noticed headlights coming down the road! In a rush to remain unseen, we quickly shut off the car, locked the gate, unloaded our gear, and dove into the surrounding brush.

It seemed like an eternity as we waited for the car to creep down the gravel road toward our location. Our hearts almost stopped as we saw the car pull up and stop on the road less than fifty yards from where our car was parked on the other side of the gate.

Through the darkness we saw shadows move in front of the headlights. Then we heard the sound of laughter as four teenagers begin to set off fireworks. Breathing a sigh of relief, we grabbed our gear and started back toward our car. We were nearly back to our vehicle when Karen yelled, “Get down, here comes another car!”

Sure enough, down the lane came yet another vehicle, but this one was driving much faster than the first one had. Also seeing the other vehicle, the teenagers extinguished their fireworks, threw their beer bottles into the ditch, and peeled out of there like there was no tomorrow!

As the teenager’s car sped past the oncoming vehicle we were able to read “City of Florence Police Department” on the side. The cop quickly began to turn around to pursue the teenager’s vehicle when his headlights shined on our tactical Camry parked on the other side of the fence. The golf course side of the fence…The wrong side of the fence.

-To be continued…

Skunked At The Skunk Hunt.

Disclaimer: Names and locations have been changed to protect the innocent. For our purposes, we will name the three people involved (besides myself) Chad, Karen, and Traylor. We will also call the name of the town in which Chad worked, Florence.

The year was 2004 and I was living in Pittsburg, working as the front desk guy at my aunt's tax office, while attending college. One day I got a call from my friend Chad wanting to know if I was available for a very special mission that weekend. As a guy who hates to miss special missions,  I asked him about the specifics. 

For a few months, Chad had been working at a golf course in Florence on a maintenance crew. Lately his job had become very daunting, due to the infestation of a wild and particularly ferocious gang of skunks. It appeared that the skunks had claimed the delicate fairways and greens of this particular golf course (and many others) as their own personal foraging grounds. As creatures of the night, the skunks were not a direct problem to golfers or the the course personnel. The problem lay with how the skunks find their food. Night after night, they dug dozens of holes in the plush, maintained grass of the course.These holes were having their toll on the tired maintenance workers who had to repair them every day.

It was clear to the management of the golf course that something had to be done about these creatures that din't discriminate between rough pastures, and well manicured fields of leisure. In disgust, the grounds superintendent said that he wished someone would come out there at night, and kill the skunks once and for all! 

Then a phone call was placed that set forth an unforeseen chain of events.

Chad explained to his boss that he had a friend that possessed a very particular set of skills. Skills that he had acquired over many years. Skills that made him a nightmare for nocturnal beasts such as these. 

The grounds supervisor was quite interested in the use of force to remove these vermin. However, he was very clear that if this mission were to proceed, it could not be sanctioned by himself, the golf course, or anyone affiliated with the organization. Indeed, in any official regard, this mission had to remain top secret. This mission had to remain off the books. This mission had to remain......."Black". 

It was just the kind of mission Chad knew I would accept. 

-To be continued

Rockfest Kansas City (unofficial) Best Practices

• DO NOT wear flip-flops
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• DO NOT wear jewelry that you plan on wearing again
• 
  
• DO NOT wear sunglasses that you like and/or want to see again
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• DO NOT wear a hat that you like and/or want to see again
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• DO NOT CROWD SURF! This one I highly stress. I have seen more broken collar bones and/or concussions than I can remember. Not worth it. Don't do it. Note: This especially applies to girls. Ladies, if you crowd surf you will be all but raped. There are a ton of A-holes and Pervs in the crowd. They WILL try to violate you. If you break this rule, don't acted surprised. 
• 
  
• Crowd Surfing Exception: If you feel the need to get close to the stage (within 15 rows or so), the only chance you will have at getting out will be forward. You will have to crowd surf the final five or six rows. When you reach the front, security will grab you and help you over the fence (if you're lucky). When over the fence, walk toward the center of the stage and you will find an alley that will lead you to the back of the crowd.
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• DO NOT wait to pee. Figure on a minimum of fifteen minutes to navigate the crowd and make it into a port-a-potty. If you wait too long you will pee your pants!
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• Claustrophobia: This is an important one. If you are the slightest bit claustrophobic, STAY BACK FROM THE STAGE. There are 55,000 people there, and they all want to be close to the stage. Simple body motions are limited. I'm talking backs to chest. Shoulder to Shoulder, pee pee to pee pee. IF YOU HAVE ISSUES WITH PEOPLE IN YOUR PERSONAL SPACE I'M TALKING ABOUT YOU!
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• Leave your wallet in the car. Only bring what you need. 1. Your I.D. (Can be replaced, MUST have it to drink.) 2. Cash (Don't bother with the plastic, there's nowhere to use it.)

Things that WILL happen you can't get pissed about. 

• People getting in your way. (55,000 in a small place, deal with it.)
• Waiting in line. (Potty, food, beer) be patient
• Drunk people. (Everywhere, if you can't beat them, join them. You will have a lot more fun!)
• Beer spilled on you (It dries, I promise)
• Mosh Pits: Try to stay back, you will break a nose.
• Someone rubbing against your girlfriend (Chill, there are hotter girls than her here.)
• Getting kicked in the head/upper body (If you get close there are crowd surfers, be vigilant. Look out for you neighbors and they will look out for you.)