[at-l] a story...called "Wanchor"

[Jim Bullard]

Another one for my "Writ by Felix" file. Thanx.

On 2/20/07, Felix J <athiker at smithville.net> wrote:
> (Here's a story I was working on when my untimely dismissal from the ATN
> came about. I apologize for whatever format this comes out in if it
> isn't a good one. I will not, however, apologize for the content. )
>
>
> "Yeeeeaaaahhheeeeeoooooowww!!!" he bellowed as he slowly stretched and
> contorted his aching muscles. "Nothing like a good nap."
>
>  "I don't know how you can take a nap at 5 o'clock in the evening and
> still sleep at night," I said, looking up from a women's magazine I'd
> found on a shelf in the shelter.
>  "What makes you think I sleep at night?" he countered
>  "Because your snoring usually keeps me awake! That's way I have to take
> a nap in the middle of the day!" I kidded.
>
>  Wanchor went about the struggle of getting out of his sleeping bag and
> trying to get his legs and arms to move in some sort of controlled
> fashion. His grimaces told of the joys of 'hiker hobble'.
>
>  "Besides, what else is there to do?" he went on.
>  "You could learn ten secrets to longer lashes. Or, how to be a better
> girlfriend," I said showing him the cover of Glamour magazine.
>  "I need to learn one secret on how to grow hair," he said with a quick
> brush of his bald-head. "Do you think I could grow my lashes long enough
> to do a comb-over?"
>
>  There was never a dull moment when hiking with Wanchor. It seemed like
> we were always on the edge of an Abbott and Costello bit breaking out.
> It was always fun for us, I think. It was quite possibly always annoying
> for anyone around, though.
>
>  We'd been hiking with a guy from Connecticut, or California, or
> Colorado, or someplace that started with a 'C'. I was never really clear
> on that.
>   I had shortened his trailname from some long, Polynesian-sounding word
> with letters that may not even exist to the easier-to-say,
> tastier-sounding 'Cake'.
>
>  Cake seemed to have a pensive, contemplative look on his face when
> around Wanchor and me.
> He never said much, but always seemed to be listening. Always trying to
> figure out what we were talking about, and not wanting to give us fodder.
>  Little did he know, we generally had no idea what we were talking about
> either. That never seemed to keep us from saying it, though.
>  Wanchor took the shelter register and stumbled his way to the picnic
> table. He sat across from Cake, who was cutting up some wild rosemary
> he'd found.
>
>  "That stuff'll kill ya, ya know?" Wanchor said as Cake brushed the last
> of his herbs into his spaghetti sauce.
>  "What will?"  Cake asked with a bit of forced concern.
>  "Hey, what was that gal's name you used to date? The one whose dad
> invented Beltrac?" Wanchor yelled to me.
>  "You mean Liteshoe?" I said after pausing to think about what he meant.
> "Her dad worked for Tensabarrier. He didn't invent Beltrac."
> "Same thing," he mumbled as he started scribbling in the register. "You
> care if I write her a note?"
>  "What'll kill me?" Cake tried to sneak in.
>
> "Go ahead. No one can read your hieroglyphics anyway," I said in
> reference to Wanchor's habit if abbreviating words in ways they aren't
> typically abbreviated and coming up with a few words of his own.
> I turned my attention back to the ten questions that were going to help
> me determine what kind of girlfriend I am.
>
>   "What could you possibly have to say to her anyway? She didn't even
> like you" I continued when I realized I was going to need a woman to
> interpret number 8 for me.
> "Oh, she liked me just fine, my friend," he said with a touch of
> deviousness as he started scribbling in the spiral notebook. "...liked
> me just fine."
> I put the magazine back on the shelf and slid my boots on. This was more
> of a task than it sounds as several 'hot spots' caused me to wince a bit.
> "Your feet wouldn't hurt if you'd listen to me once in a while" he said
> as he was scribbling this in the register:
> "Hey, Lt. Shu,, dent yor fthr d-I frm E-ting wld rOsmry? Lemme no"
>
> "I'm not gonna carry enough alcohol to wash my feet every night and put
> baby oil on them and wrap them in gauze.  That's nonsense!" I said as I
> walked away with my water bottles.
> "Suit yourself. My feet don't hurt."
>
> His feet didn't hurt because he'd hiked them to the point they didn't
> have any feeling left.  He only started the alcohol/baby oil treatment
> after it was too late.  His feet were soft and supple, though.
>
> As I walked down the trail to the water, bootlaces dragging behind, I
> heard Cake say 'What's wrong with eating wild rosemary?"
>
> --
> Felix J. McGillicuddy
> ME-->GA '98
> "Your Move"
> ALT '03 KT '03
> http://Felixhikes.tripod.com/
>
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-- 
Jim Bullard
http://jims-ramblings.blogspot.com/