5-07-07

Boomer’s Adventure Journal

In Search of the Perfect River

Expedition #1: The White River of Arkansas.

Calico Rock with Chris Leavitt

Chapter One

Our first clueless attempt.

Afterwards we were asking ourselves what went right. Then we justified the whole thing as a learning experience. After all, we are cheechako’s on this river gig. I know the chapter’s title has tipped our hand concerning our shakedown cruise. I learned why they call it a shake down cruise. Sometimes you come away shaken by your cruise. That is what happened to us in our first attempt at river adventure.

Some of the plans worked quite well. We really didn’t get to test the equipment or learn much about the river. Our major failure was in our planning and research of the river itself. Our second major problem was in the estimation of what the canoe could handle. All the aerial views and Division of Tourism information was great but it did not make us aware of the danger areas of the river. I didn’t learn about the shoals until I was already in Calico Rock. When I did learn about the shoals from the Game and Fish folks I really wanted to kick myself for not realizing that would be normal for the situation. I had grown up on a part of the river that had been dammed and was basically a string of small lakes. We never thought of our river as a lake because it wasn’t wide at all, just deep enough for the steamboats to go up river. Well hello, guess why the steamboats couldn’t go up river from Batesville. Shoals….therefore there had to be shoals above our three dams or locks as we called them. Why had I not realized that. Ignorance comes from a lack of knowledge but to stay ignorant is stupid. At least we learned about the hazard before facing it.

The canoe did not fail in its intended capacity. Our expectation and the manufacturer’s intent of capacity were obviously a long way apart. This one was obvious as soon as we got in the canoe. Even without our camping gear etc. the two of us were just too darned big and heavy for the little boat.

Additionally, we had a second major operating error on our part. We tried to go on a river without being physically and mentally ready for the activity. The river is a wonderful place for enjoyment but you always have to remember the river can kill you. If you go out impaired you are just asking for it. We tried and it realized immediately how dangerous it could be. An accident the night before had set about a chain of negative events. Those events left my buddy Chris without any sleep and absolutely worn out. I didn’t realize how bad off he was until we were trying to rig the canoe for a little afternoon fishing trip. Now I am going to try to explain what happened on our first mapping attempt.

We intended to float from the Dam at Bull Shoals down to Calico Rock. We figured we could do about 20 miles a day comfortably. Originally we thought we could go from Bull Shoals Dam to Guion in three days. We had been corrected in that estimation by the guides and outfitters we visited with via phone and Internet.

Our list of equipment tests and chores had grown to a point that I had become concerned about my fishing time. Little did I know that would be the last thing I was interested in doing..

We had promised the Corp of Engineers we would mark our map with every Bald Eagle’s nest and Eagle sighting the length of the river. We had also promised the Corp we would locate every boat ramp be it private or government.

Our mapping intentions were ambitious as well. We still intend to create maps of this river using the latest in GPS technology. We want to locate landmarks and add useful notations to help others later. For instance, where are the boat ramps, camping, water hazards, bathrooms are important things for a float fisherman to know, especially in the case of river cheechako’s such as our team. What may be a problem for fishermen in a Jon or v-bottom boat might be fun for kayakers. No matter to us we are mapping for all float fishermen no matter what kind of boat or float.

Product testing on this trip as all our little expeditions included an array of camping, fishing, and boating gear. The product testing is just something we thought might be helpful to our float-fishing buddies. Over the years my cousin John McKelvey and I have spent a ton on camping gear. He and I thought it might save some folks a little money if we told them how our stuff performed via the journal and the blog. If it helps someone great. If not no sweat, we enjoy talking about the gear anyway. For instance I have been buying backpacking and other gear from REI since 1969. I think Johnny joined a year or two after that. At one time, he even made his own kayaks. But his real claim to fame is that he probably owns more Dutch ovens than any human alive. OK, I guess at this age we can admit it. It is really a who’s got the neat toy competition between two cousins. So we might as well share what we learn about our new toys.

Now here’s what happened to Chris and I and all our grandiose plans. The whole deal went to hell in a hand basket in a hurry. It’s been a while but I am going to try to write what I remember of the trip.

Chapter 2

Hotel found Chris lost.

Chris Leavitt, my former editor for an “oil patch” magazine, was driving down from Philadelphia to meet me in Calico Rock. We were to drop his truck in there then drive together in my car and trailer up to Bull Shoals. We would put the canoe in and then drift down to Calico Rock, pick up his truck, put all the gear in it, strap the canoe to the top and drive back to Bull Shoals. At the dam we would pick up my car and go our separate ways. By providing our own shuttle we saved having to depend on outside help. We didn’t know enough about the local area to know where to get a long ride shuttle or even a camping spot along the river.

The Arkansas Division of Tourism had recommended we call four or five outfitters who they said provided shuttles and also insisted we use the outfitters list the Division had published online. I called the outfitters but didn’t find anyone interested in a long shuttle. Nor did I find a campsite along the river. I think our plan was to ask the outfitters along the way or just pull out and find a secluded riverside spot.

We kept hearing the outfitters tell us that everything depended on how much the dam was generating. That meant how many gates were open; therefore how high the water flow. It just did not sink in the way it should have. Big, big mistake. We really were naïve about the river levels but more importantly we new nothing about the shoals in our future.

As I drove up from Dallas I thought Chris was a day ahead of me. But when I reached North Arkansas I called him. Somehow we had a crossed our signals and instead of being in Calico Rock waiting on me as I thought, he was just leaving a museum in Ohio. He said oops he must have had his days mixed up. But if he pushed it he could make it into Calico Rock by midnight instead of 10 a.m., which was what I thought we had planned.

I drove through the mountains via small ridgeback roads and arrived in Calico in the early afternoon. I figured I would need a hotel to wait on Chris. I had told him I would find a hotel and call him so he would know where to find me when he reached Calico. We had originally planned to camp at Bull Shoals State Park but now it was out of the question. I dropped into the local Chamber of Commerce and asked about hotels and places to leave cars etc. They recommended I go talk to the Jenkins Boat dock. They were located under the bridge at the little city park with a ramp and parking. The Jenkin’s also owned a hotel and would probably shuttle us between the two if needed.

Chapter 3

Jenkin’s Hotel and Trout Dock

I got a chance to visit with the Jenkin’s owner. He said he would be happy to shuttle us to the hotel from his dock and we could leave Chris’s vehicle at his hotel. He gave me a little nudge on encouraging me to learn more about the shoals on the river.

Jenkins Motel and Boat Dock proved to be a great choice. Not so much because of the accommodations but because of our new pal Teena, the motel boss. Teena was a breathe of fresh air from big city life. She was an encyclopedia of mountain and river information and just a good old straight talking mountain gal. When Chris finally arrived I introduced Teena as the housemother for Jenkins Motel. While I waited and worried about Chris, Teena provided coffee and chat.

Jenkins wasn’t too expensive and was just what we needed. A big old room with two beds. It was also within walking distance of a couple of restaurants. The place was just a ten-room two-story motel on the side of the highway but it was all we needed. I needed an address to give Chris when he when he called in again. Unfortunately, I wouldn’t hear from Chris until the next day.

Chapter 4

Never let em’ see you sweat

After a refreshing chat with Teena, one hillbilly to another, I went up the road for groceries, gas and fishing license. The regional Game and Fish office is right up the way from Jenkin’s Motel. I stopped by and ended up with quite the conversation instead of just a license. Here, once again, I was cautioned about the shoals. The fellows at Game and Fish gave me maps and showed me how many shoals I would be crossing immediately after launching the boat.

They also wanted to draw my attention to the fact that the Corp of Engineers or Southwest Power would be letting out whatever amount of water they deemed appropriate no matter what was happening on the river. They would tell the Game & Fish guys only how much water they were putting out presently and recent past but nothing about the future. The power company would not even guarantee minimum water to keep the fish alive in summer. Not a very considerate outfit to say the least. It was clearly a frustrating situation for these wildlife officers. They had to concern themselves with the safety of the wading fishermen as well as the float fishermen. The power generators could care less.

But what had really started to rivet my attention to my river problem was the fact that I was a cheechako all the way around. I was starting to realize that I was getting in over my head in the river navigation boatmanship department. I had very limited experience with paddling a canoe. I had even less experience running a canoe with my little motor. I certainly had no experience with canoe or anything other than a big river raft when it came to white water or what ever the shoals were going to offer. I was starting to doubt my ability to handle the boat and getting very concerned about our safety.

Then something happened that worried the hell out of me. One of the guys at the Game and Fish office was showing me the little map that depicted all the shoals locations. I couldn’t believe that I was going to be in a shoals setting immediately after shoving off on my very first trip. This same guy expressed concern about the shoals but said he would rather go over the shoals in a canoe than a Jon boat. That said to me very shallow rocky water. Uh oh. That was not what I thought I was getting into. Then the same guy who had let me know the shoals scared him told me that going over Lock’s one, two and three near Batesville was no big deal. He said he had seen lots of kids in canoes and kayaks do it. I told him they were risking certain death if they were caught in that undertow just beneath the dam. He laughed me off. This is the same guy that is afraid of where I am going the next day and I don’t even know how to paddle a canoe properly. Oh My God what am I getting us into, I thought.

Now my confidence level was way down. But staying true to the motto I put on a good face and never let them see me sweat. I knew I had a problem but I didn’t realize how big a problem and wouldn’t until the next day.

Chapter 5

Where’s Chris ?

I went back to the hotel and tried to call Chris’s cell phone again. He said he was making headway but might be later than he had anticipated. That was the last I would hear from Chris until the next day. I went to supper at one of the restaurants. Nothing to brag about, just filler food. I was tired having driven nearly 500 miles since 4 a.m. so I went back to the hotel.

Teena was sitting on the front porch. I sat down and chatted about the world and life in the mountains. I learned how life had changed in many ways but in some others things were still the same. Progress had not been good to the mountain people. Hollywood culture was taking it’s toll on the formerly isolated communities and it was showing around the edges. There was an optimism in the sadness of her report. She spoke as a wizened veteran of the world with an observer’s tone. I listened and asked questions. Her straight forward answers and attitude reminded me of Indian and Inuit folks I had visited with in places far, far away and long, long ago. Back then it was their culture taking the hit, now it was mine.

Teena got off at 8 p.m. and closed the little office down. Then she drove far out a country road to be with her family. I went to my room and tried to make sense of the day. I got my Game and Fish maps out and stared at the little white dots representing the shoals. There would be 6 sets before I got to my first scheduled rest stop, Cotter. That was only 18 miles. Argh. This is a whole different deal from what I was expecting. The second drawback as if I needed one was my paddling partner had never even been in a canoe. I was nervous about the shoals. Only a fool goes into danger without preparation and experience. I would be responsible for not only my safety but Chris’s as well.

I began to realize I needed a shakedown cruise as well as the equipment. I definitely needed to learn more about the severity of the shoals. Was this a big deal or was I being frightened because of my lack of experience and confidence ? At the time all I could go by was the concern the locals seem to give to the shoals. What more did I need ?

I read a little and wrote a few pages on a legal pad concerning Chris and the fact that I had not heard from him as promised. I tried repeatedly to reach him via cell phone but rationalized away the lack of an answer due to the mountains he was probably driving through. By 10:30 I decided he would call me when he got to town or a good cell phone area. I had had it. Four a.m. was a long time and a long way back down the road. Teena had loaned me a coffee maker so I prepped it and hit the sack.

I woke up early the next morning and no Chris. I looked at my cell phone and no one had tried to call. I thought, oh hell,
maybe he did have wreck like I had feared the night before. But then maybe he just got tired and got a room. It could happen either way and with cell phone reception so spotty in the hills it could all be explained. I hoped.

I had a couple of cups of coffee. Naturally, I tried Chris a couple of times to no avail. As I drank my coffee I sat on the hotel balcony and watched the early morning traffic. Calico Rock certainly had it’s priorities right. Early on a Saturday morning most of the cars were pickups pulling boats and heading to the river. I thought maybe the pull of the big city had tricked me those many years before. Maybe I should have headed to the hills and the river. But then maybe not. Who knew and besides that’s all history now. Enjoy the day.

Teena showed up around eight. Her shift was eight to eight. She was the 10-room motel manager, bookkeeper, maid, group sales manager, reservations clerk and public relations department. She also liked to chew the fat with the fishermen who were her guests. She said she did not put up with rowdies. As straight talking as she had been I believed her. When asked why she had not taken up guiding she said her boss was afraid she would throw the clients in the river. I believed her again.

We had coffee together, sitting on the front steps of the motel, watching the traffic, waving at folks she knew and I wished I knew. Teena was concerned, really concerned, about Chris. I mean she cared. Not big city “oh really too bad”, type of caring but she gave a damn about a guy whom she had never met. She offered suggestions, asked about his wife and wanted to know what she could do to help. I thought she was about to go home and bake something for us to eat like at a wake or something. Teena was for real. It was me and my big city cynicism that were not real. Let loose and enjoy the audacity of this woman and her culture. Think back and accept it as where you came from. She wasn’t a throw back to the old days and old ways. She was real and you and popular culture are the ones who had moved on past reality and the Golden Rule.

Around nine I called Chris’s wife and asked her if she had heard from Chris. No, I had heard from him since she had. She thought he was on his way to meet me. Because of the mix up she was under the impression we were to meet that Saturday morning instead of Friday. I told her of our change of plans and told her of my concerns. I didn’t want to alarm her but at some point we were going to have to make some legal type decisions and she would have to be the one to do report him missing if he stayed lost much longer.

We agreed to wait a while longer and she would try to reach him as well. A couple of hours went by. I walked across the street and had a pork chop and eggs breakfast. The pork chop must have been a swimmer because it came with it’s own pool of grease. The biscuits were excellent but I was looking for a great breakfast and I got filler food.

Chapter 6

Chris’s story

As I got back to the room my cell phone rang. It was Chris. He was in Kentucky and had had a small wreck but it landed his truck in a ditch on a lonely road without phone reception. He had walked several miles on the dark dirt road. Finally, a fellow picked him up and took him back past his vehicle to a pay phone.

The guy drove off and the pay phone didn’t work. Poor Chris. He walked to a state park and found a lawn chair. That’s where he slept waiting on someone to come to work so he could call a wrecker from the park store’s phone. When they got there everyone around seemed to know the pay phones only worked during the “season”. He couldn’t help but wonder how a man could know enough to know where the pay phone was but not know what everyone else knew. The phones don’t work.

Then the wrecker guy from the next town showed up. Chris didn’t have the cash he demanded so they had to drive to his garage and run the credit card. That was an hour each way. Chris couldn’t understand why they couldn’t pull his truck out and let him follow the guy to his shop and pay. I told him it was a hillbilly thing about Yankees and not to take it personal. However, I thought he had probably just gotten a rough customer and the guy had probably gotten his training in the city.

When he finally got his truck out he found there was very little real damage. He placed a bungee cord on a running board and took off for Calico Rock. That was when he called to report. He had been dealing with the car all morning and was absolutely worn out. He would be in around two p.m. he hoped. Chris sounded like he should stop and get a room even before he got to Calico but he made it by two.

While I waited on Chris to drive from Kentucky I went down to Jenkin’s Trout Dock under the Calico Rock bridge. There I met John the day manager Teena had told me about. Mr. Jenkins was traveling that day and John was handling the dock for him. One of the hotel guest from Texas was going out on a half-day charter. I had visited with him on the front steps with Teena.

As I got to the dock the fellow from Texas was returning from his two hours of fishing. He had to get to Walnut Ridge to his daughter’s graduation so he didn’t stay out very long. The guy was funny and almost delirious with joy when they arrived. He was cracking jokes one right after another and having a great time. When the guide brought out the fish he caught I could see why. The fellow had half a dozen or more of the prettiest Rainbows I had ever seen. I’m sure they were nothing special to the veteran fishermen along the river but they were hughmongus in my eyes. Right then and there I decided we were going fishing when Chris arrived.

I should have told Chris to go get some sleep but he insisted we at least go for a little trip. Chris really is a nice guy and was feeling super guilty about the timing screw up and the wreck delay. He had checked in with his wife and I had called her as well. She was still a little nervous but ok with him continuing the trip.

I introduced Chris to Teena. We pretty well had all the world’s problems noted and solved by the time Chris drove up. I introduced Teena as the motel “house mother” who had been worrying about his welfare. Later, I was glad to see Chris and Teena hit it off and get to have a few minutes to chat. Meanwhile, I pulled out some of the gear bags and stored them in the room.

I drove Chris around the old section of Calico Rock and tried to explain the river boat past of the White River and the leatherwoods in general. Chris is a man of letters and books. He loves history and understood the little old town right off the bat. When we got to the river I noticed just how tired he was. I then learned he had only slept two hours and had walked several miles. His feet were sore and getting worse by the minute. He could barely walk to and from the car.

Chapter 7

Proud Mary’s maiden voyage.

When we got to the little park under the Calico Rock bridge I started to arrange all the gear in the little canoe we had begun calling “Proud Mary”. Also I had to rig up the fishing gear so we could get started. While untying the rope I had crisscrossed to keep the gear from flying out or being stolen I noticed Chris was not functioning on a normal playing field. He was so tired he folded and unfolded things meant to be put away. I would hand him an end of rope to pull out and hand back to me and he would just hold it. He was a walking, sleep-deprived zombie. The poor guy couldn’t function mentally or physically. I told him to take a break and sit in the car while I prepped the canoe and fishing gear. He had not complained but I could tell when he walked his feet were just killing him.

It was pleasant weather and I worked quickly. Soon I had off loaded everything that wasn’t needed for an afternoon of fishing. I jumped in the car and backed the canoe trailer down the steep ramp into the river. I had even remembered to unplug the trailer taillights. I wondered how the little HHR would do with a steep wet asphalt boat ramp. I off loaded the canoe. Picked the motor up and placed it on the side mounts and finished placing gear where it needed to ride. I then learned how the HHR would handle the sharp little climb. It spun the front wheels for a minute, then caught and zoomed right up the ramp and into the parking lot like a 350 diesel pick up.

When I went back Chris having a conversation with a fellow from the same hometown near Philadelphia. They were chatting about some reform school the guy had been to near Chris’s home. I thought “oh great I hope my car is here when I get back”. It was. And for good reason. We didn’t go anywhere.

The river was low and had been all spring. Mr. Jenkins and his trusted pal John both had told me the dam was only letting out one to two gates and this is about what you would see all summer. While chatting with John and one of the guides that morning I had learned how high the river could come up. We were sitting on the floating dock under a big cottonwood. The dock had been in that location since the late 1930’s and had weathered many a high water. But looking up over John’s porch swing I could see some large metal brackets. Attached to it were some big old springs similar to the ones used on a car. I asked what the contraption was and they explained the river gets up so high that it drives the roof of the dock into the trunk of the Cottonwood. Therefore they had placed this bumper Rube Goldberg deal in the direct line of fire of the tree trunk. It had work pretty well but in the last flood something happened and the tree missed the spring and hit a the roof just a little down from the machine. It tore part of the eave off but it wasn’t too bad. Up under the bridge someone had marked the high water marks from the floods of yesteryear. I was standing under the bridge piling where they were marked and had to look 15 or so feet above my head. That would put the river over 25 feet above the present level. That was impressive and more than a little worthy of my attention in light of future trips.

I got everything ready and got into the rear of the canoe. I told Chris to shove us out and get in. He had a hard time climbing over the side. When he was in the seat I cranked the motor. We were drifting down the river ever so slowly and all was well. When I started up river, so I noticed my new outriggers were pushed underwater. Then I noticed Chris’s posture and the wooden seat he was sitting on was bending and about to break. I had to do something about both problems right away……

Chris was white knuckled at the front of the boat. He had the sides of the canoe in a death grip. Every movement of the boat sent warnings of immanent death into his brain. I could see his stiff back but didn’t know what he was thinking.
I had too get those outriggers fixed and that wasn’t going to be easy. I would have to work the brackets by crawling up to the center of the canoe and reaching out to pull in the floats. I had the motor locked into a little above trolling speed so we could at least maintain river speed and not drift downstream. I wanted to stay up river of the dock in case of any catastrophes. I locked the throttle in place and crawled up to the bracket. I was able to unlock the first one and raise the float to at least skimming level. Then I had to do the other one, which was now feeling the added pressure of being the only one dragging the boat down.

It took a while but I got it pulled in as well. This was the first time I had used the outriggers and didn’t really know what level to set them before we started. I should have noticed when Chris got in they went under water. As a matter or fact the whole boat was riding way low in the water. I noticed that while pulling the outriggers inward. We were all together too much weight for the little boat. Apparently the boat was not ready for someone of Chris’s size in the front or someone my size plus motor in the rear. I had to make a decision. What was the safe thing to do ? With egg on my face I turned the little canoe back toward the ramp. Little did I know that movement on my part answered the big Irishman’s prayer. He still had a white-knuckle grip on the gunnels. The wooden frame for the cane seat was bending way out of shape. It was a matter of time before we lost the seat and I was sure the flailing editor would tip us over.

The turn scared him to death. I asked if there was any water coming over the front or the sides. His answer of “not yet”, was not exactly the one I was looking for. I was glad to be going back to shore.

I didn’t want to disappoint Chris so I took the boat out of the water and suggested we fish from the bank. Looking back, Chris took me up on it but his heart was not in it. His feet were killing him and he just wanted to go to sleep. The poor guy was so tired that he couldn’t grasp how the bale on a spinning reel worked. I was having a hard time teaching him how to cast and his corn bait kept dropping into the rocks at his feet. Then the hook would catch on a stick or rock or something and it was just frustrating the hell out of the guy. I finally turned to my rod and reel. I placed my newest Mepps surefire killer five-dollar lure on the line. I gave it a mighty cast to show Chris how it was done and wouldn’t you know it the damned lure sailed halfway across the river. The only problem was it went without one inch of line attached.

I said, that’s it. We are jinxed today. Let’s go get you some sleep. Needless to say those were the words Chris had waited on all afternoon. I loaded the fishing gear into the boat as Chris walked back from the rocks. The fifty yards must have taken him 10 minutes. When we got back to the hotel he took his socks off. Here was a set of the largest blisters I have ever seen. From toes to arch it was nothing but one big old blister on both feet. I don’t know how he was walking. He said it was good that he had not looked at them before or he wouldn’t have even tried to walk. No wonder.

I sent Chris to the shower and repacked the trailer with the gear. I did my spider’s web across the top to keep thieves out or at least to fool myself. After rummaging through the food kit I came up with salami, bread, mustard and cheddar cheese. We washed the whole package of Salami down with a couple of bottle of water each. I went down to offer Teena something to eat but she had enough sense to decline. Chris hit the sack and that was the last of him until the next day.

Chapter 8

The consolation prize

I was feeling guilty about Chris having had all the trouble and had driven all the way from Philly. Now the float trip he had come for was being called off due to my misjudgment on the boat capacity. Teena suggested I rent a boat at the Dock and go fishing the next day. I thought about it and went negative. I should have listened to her. In retrospect it would have been the thing to do.

Instead, we got up the next morning and I suggested I drive Chris up to Bull Shoals to show him where we would have started. When we got to Bull Shoals Dam and Gaston’s Resort and we decided to eat lunch. The place was great, private grass landing strip, at least a mile of water front right below the dam. Great dock and guide set up with a multitude of boats for hire. It looked as if they had a minimum of a 100 little and not so little cottages right on the river. The restaurant was right out of Addison, Texas. It had a great antique clutter décor with fishing and hunting as the theme. It hung right on the edge of the river with Bald Eagles soaring the big bluff across the river. We sat and watched others as they ran their rented jon boats up and down the river. Chris ordered some smoked trout to check their quality. I thought it tasted like, well, smoked trout. He liked it. I don’t remember what we had as entrees but we enjoyed them whatever they were. I do remember the waitress was a nice little local gal whose mother-in-law had given her a bumper sticker for her trailer. The newly weds gift read “Don’t bother knockin if this trailers rockin”.. At a way Stevie Ray, your legacy survives in the hills of Arkansas.

We drove back to Calico Rock and said our goodbyes. Chris headed north, bungee corded running board and all. I turned south and headed the little car and trailer toward “Big D”. In about an hour I was feeling bad about Chris not getting to float or fish so I called him on the cell phone. I asked what his driving plans were for that night. He said he was headed to St. Louis and Harrah’s Casino. I didn’t even know they had gambling in Missouri much less a Harrah’s. He said he had a comp coming there and thought he might as well have a little fun on the way home. Amazing.

I made 500 miles and home late that night. I was tired.

Chapter 9

What coming next ?

Next adventure will be Boomer’s first solo attempt on the White. Stay tuned sports fans. The next trip will be in July and will start in Cotter, go to Buffalo City, then up the Buffalo a little way, then back down and onto Norfork. At Norfork we hope to get a shuttle to the ramp just below the dam and float back down the five miles or so to Norfork. This is the serious fun fishing part of the journey. After that I will take out or float on down to Calico Rock I just don’t know yet. If you have your own boat and gear you are more than welcome to join me on this next expedition. Call 214-912-9106 and we will visit about the when, what and where. But just remember, if your looking for an experienced guide to look after you forget it. I haven’t a clue as to what I am doing and will be doing well to look after myself. I’m not there to cook or clean up after you. Pull your own weight and you are welcome.

Later,

Boomer