76

RSH
Fourth of July 2014

The Bob Marshall
A fabled wilderness
Of North America

Its pitched ridgeline bar'n
Me & my motorcycle machine

I should have known
The Forest Service
Would be closed

Highway 83
Near Swan Lake Montana

No where else to go
But a deep country gas station
Have'n left Helena on a whim
The epitome of out-of-place

I knew of no trail
Nor place where to start

An elderly trapper
Came up to me
Disposable coffee cup
Blue Velvet cap

Pich'n upon my sight
Some welcome advice

' Follow me to the back
Inside the backrooms

Great maps
Sprawled about
' There is only one trail
' In 60 miles
' That can put you past the ridge

He would do me a solid
& Host the motorcycle on his property
_
This cabin
Built by his own hands

On a Lumberman's plot
In the woods

The trailhead not many miles from the plot
I draped the tarp over the motorcycle
.
.
.
The Bob Marshall
A cold heartless bitch

Descending into her
Over much snow

The trail not yet used
No more than once or twice this year

I went cautiously over
An iceberg of snow
At a critical pitch

I tied my skank to a tree
As a flag for the crux to the pass 
.
.
.
Perpendicular perched
A glacial pond

That drew
Itself to me

As a Siren
Sing'n her song

Blaze'n from main trail
To a grove of every type of water flow
.
.
.
The cold cultivate'n
A high altitude enchantment

Dimension
Breached, melded & interweaved

Once I was sure of
Two men pleasantly talking on canoe

If ever I experienced ghosts
It was then

In the morn
I knew

Such a site impossible
This place secluded
As secluded can be
.
.
.
Pathfinding in springtime
Is a real muthrfkr

Waterways blaze'n paths
Instead of the logical
Thruway of the animal
_

I returned a day early
The iceberg I crossed

Near the skank-flag
Now entirely gone

 Avalanched
All down
.
.
.
Back
On the other ridge side

I'd sworn I seen a grizzly cub
Lost I ran on a trail

Know'n there was not
Any other option

At least none I could
Plainly see
.
.
.
Down a ridgeside
Victim of great fires

I could not help
But be astonished

Not one of my
Previous tracks left
Tho there were
Recent hoof prints
.
.
.
Off the foothills

The old man told me a path
Upon which I must take to return

The path
A short cut
Chained off & restrict'n traffic
As much as one could
Out in the woods

I became greatly suspicious
Only hoof prints recently imprinted
.
.
.
To the trees I kept
Away from the open passages

In the distance I saw something
But my eyes are not for farsee'n

The blur of a man
As if one take'n careful aim
Near by a white donkey
_

That old trapper
Had a white donkey

Line of sight that far
On wood paths is lost easily

A trap carefully crafted
Mayhap ruined by
My day early return

I kept near the trees
MK-MOD
Now out defensively

If it was him
Why had he not greet me?
.
.
.
The last of the path
He drew on the map
Oddly like a loop
As indirect as can be

I got to the cabin at Dusk
& Remembered my laptop 'safety inside'

The cabin was built in that
Simple small fashion

An awkward 20min
Fore the old man
Came to the door

In a pant as if he'd run
Just now for dear life
Custom required him to
Invite me inside
To retrieve my belongings

I was careful to be concealed
But he may have seen me
With knife pulled back in the woods
It all
Only a misunderstanding
.
.
.
The .22 & scope pistol
One he favorited on his hunts

Taken from its spot
From where he previously left it

Of bad eyesight
& Irratic judgement

I do not let myself
Convict to be sure of anything
.
.
.
To past midnight
Us across each other

In that lone cabin
Round wooden table

His .40 lay
On table in front of him
In the open
 A manner of long-lost-respectancy

At dusk he had offered his couch
I thanked the offer

As an adept of Nessmuk
I craved the knowledge of this
Montana mountain man

Who had long lived
Off bushcraft

Techniques that will
Likely die with him

Unless I makes means
To extract them
& Record down for future use
.
.
.
Risk as it was
We had conversation

Not know'n him
Victim or villian

This conservative man
Once leader of a group of trappers

I looked up to this man
In unchecked respect

He is who
I've always wanted to become
.
.
.
Casually
I told him I'd been
In contact thru messages
With my sister Megan

I scheme'nly
Kept the nature of the message
From him

Unsettled deeply
When he inquired

If my phone
Had GPS

I feigned a gesture of
Sneak'n an item out of my bag
& Into my pocket
Put'n him offset from the gesture
I told him I had to leave
& Then left
_

I yearned to be
His bushcraft apprentice

But I respect
The neverending signs of suspicousity

These situations
Make me question
Deeply my sanity
.
.
.