You Can Call Me Fred

You Can Call Me Fred
By George StampsJanuary 25th, 2007

The area was known as the Little Delta region but I was beginning to wonder if it shouldn’t have been called Little Hell. For two days I had walked in a circle due to losing my compass somewhere while trailing the biggest moose I had ever seen, hoping to get a shot. When I discovered my compass was missing I wasn’t too alarmed at first thinking I would have no trouble backtracking to camp but it’s amazing how much this country looks alike when you’re down one compass.
I always considered myself an above average woodsman but I made the mistake of not taking notice of landmarks as often as I should have. I had enough gear to spend a couple nights out but with evening shadows coming for the second time since I left Forgotten Creek what I would do after that weighed heavily on my mind.
I had spent the day in a steady drizzle climbing the surrounding hills trying to spot a recognizable landmark. Soaked and tired I spotted a fallen spruce that would help block the wind and give me a place to stretch the tarp I carried to keep the rain off. I gathered the drier branches lying underneath the trunk and using dried needles and smaller twigs I soon had a fire going to dry out.
I was eating the last of the jerky and trail mix I had taken with me when I left the cabin and was thinking I would need to pick off a grouse or two tomorrow. I was listening for anything that sounded like a bear in the darkness and soon discovered that everything sounds like a big Brownie when you’re out in the wilderness alone.
I was trying to fight off sleep when I looked up and saw him standing just outside the light given off by my fire.
“Mind if I share the fire?” he asked.
“Where in the hell ...I mean sure be my guest.” I replied.
“Had any luck?”
“No for the last two days I have been los...I mean kinda scouting”
“I see. Good way to get to know the country.” He said while picking up a branch and poking the fire.
Realizing I was carrying on a conversation with someone whose name I didn’t know I stuck out my hand and said
“Name’s Glenn good to meet you.”
“You can call me Fred.” He replied.
“You know I used to hunt up here with a fella named Glenn” He added almost as an afterthought.<br>
Still not wanting to confess my predicament I casually asked what he thought the best route to Forgotten Creek was from here. Asking if I had a pencil he drew a rough sketch of where we were and the most direct route to the creek. I felt immense relief having met this stranger who seemed to be as much a part of this area as he was in it.
I excused myself to step in the bush to relieve myself and as I was coming back I started talking to Fred once I was in earshot of where I had left him.
“You were asking about the hunting well I saw the biggest….”
As I came in sight of the campfire he was gone and at first I though maybe he had taken his own trip into the bushes but it was then I noticed the hat he had been wearing lying on the ground with a note stuck in the brim. Picking the paper up I read what he had wrote before leaving. I was noticing your bow you should try a Kodiak. Happy Hunting FB

Biography
George Stamps has been published in such magazines as Bowhunter, Traditional Bowhunter and Kentucky Bowhunter. The father of three and grandfather of two he stays busy sharing the outdoors with his family.