Eamon heard the rocks skitter away,
scree tumbling down with his every step,
descending from towering Mount Gilborne,
to a lake below where he could rest.
He knew a spot to set up his new tent,
where the conifers came down to the shore,
vibrant blue waters, the peak high above,
a nature-lover could not ask for more.
After setting up camp he went to the lake
to get water to boil for his food,
when he happened upon a man setting traps
in the water wearing clothing quite rude.
His shirt and pants all seemed to be deer-hide,
right down to the old western type fringe,
he wore a fur hat and long moccasins
that ran all the way up past his shins.
Standing in the shallows, he set his trap,
then he looked up and jumped back two feet,
shouted,”You fool, you could’ve been shot!
What’s the idea sneaking up on me!”
Said Eamon,“I didn’t mean to scare you,
and I see there that you’ve got beaver traps,
I like cosplay as much as anyone,
but I must ask, have you a permit for that?”
The man just gave him a peculiar look,
“Now just what’re you talkin’ about, man?
I came out here to this cold frontier,
ain’t need no permit to be on this land.”
Said Eamon,”I get you are playing a part,
and I don’t work for the Forest service,
but I want to keep the wilderness wild,
so I’m going to have to report this.”
“You’ll ride all the way back to St. Louis
to accuse a man committing no crime?”
The man just gawked and shook his shaggy head,
“Good luck then, you’ll have one hell of a time!
“I holed up here to avoid the Blackfeet,
they’ve been rampaging ’round without care,
you try to go now, I’ll bet you twenty plews,
you won’t escape these peaks with you hair!”
Said Eamon,”I get that you like history,
but I don’t really care who you are,
you can’t just go and trap any old thing,
that is taking this bit much too far!”
With that he turned to his bulging frame pack,
and dug out from it his satellite phone,
he typed in a number, and then turned back,
but the strangely dressed man was long gone…
* * *
Copyright © David Welch | Year Posted 2019