Shooting, Camping, and Falling off a Cliff
The story I am about to relate to you today really happened, just like the other stories I have shared with you before. I sometimes wonder to myself if they really did happen, but my memory assures me they did, along with the witnesses who were there with me.
My brother David, brother-in-law Steve, good friend Freddy Simpson, and I went dove hunting one afternoon in the early 1970’s. Dave and Freddy were the hunters of our little group. Steve wasn’t too bad, and I went along because I liked to carry a gun and waste ammunition shooting at birds I probably was never going to hit.
Our plan was this. We would go kill a few doves and then go camping on top of Dripping Springs hill, which was in Garrard County, very near the Lincoln County line in central Kentucky. Dripping Springs is the place my daddy was born. There isn’t much left there today, except for the continual fountain of water that flows from the hillside. We had camped on top of this hill many times before. It is a steep climb up the side of this mountain, but, if you can get there, you are afforded a terrific camping spot, along with excellent views of the area around you. I only had one request, and that was my insistence on not missing school the next day. I had a test I didn’t want to miss. The others assured me they would have me back home early the next morning.
Freddy parked his old Chevrolet at the bottom of the mountain, and we climbed to the top of the hill. It was a beautiful September evening. We set up camp, hung up our lanterns, and enjoyed our surroundings. I think Freddy cooked the doves they had killed, and we had them for supper. I suppose they were good. I never tried them. After supper it began to get dark. We had a couple of Coleman lanterns hanging up in the trees, along with a nice campfire.
In just a bit, we heard a car stop down at the springs below us. We heard car doors open as the occupants got out. We figured it was some local drunks. We worried a little about the prospects of them stealing something from Freddy’s car. It was an old car and not worth very much, but it was all we had. Soon, the men below us began to yell, “We’re going to come up on that hill and throw you guys off it!” They repeated their threats, along with some intense cussing. We discussed what we should do. We doused our Coleman lights, and my brother David fired his shotgun once out over the hillside. The strangers loaded into their car and drove off around the gravel road that nearly encircles the hill we were camped on.
We heard their vehicle’s engine shut off as they coasted some distance to a stop on the other side of the hillside. This time, the strangers got out and really let us have it. They were going to “come up there and whip our @#%&*.” They repeatedly threatened us. We weren’t the least bit afraid, but we realized we needed to send a stronger message than the one before. We all picked up our shotguns, doused the fire, and lined up alongside the top of the hill. We all four fired our guns in unison, unloading probably 20 shotgun blasts down over the hillside, hoping the shot would land on the top of their parked car. We heard four car doors slam simultaneously as the strangers loaded up. They started their car and raced off into the night. Their drunken plans had changed very quickly, and we knew they would never threaten us again.
We spent the rest of the night peaceably. Well, as peaceably as you can while lying in a sleeping bag on a 30-degree slope. We weren’t likely to slide off the side of the hill while sleeping, but it wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility either.
I woke up early the next morning. I tried to wake up the others, but they were very reluctant to leave their warm covers. I told them all they had promised me they would get me to school on time. They would groan, roll back over, and continue sleeping. I was very aggravated at them. We needed to leave very shortly, or I wouldn’t make it to school on time. Now angry, I stomped around, fussing at all of them. I think I finally shamed them into getting up. We packed up our things, ready to begin the trek down the mountainside.
The others were still reluctant to leave camp and were just moping around. I, aggravated as could be, left them and our campsite behind. I never had any type of light, but was loaded down with camping gear and a loaded shotgun. They began to follow reluctantly behind. It was still very dark, and I accidentally ventured off the trail, frustrated with their complete lack of cooperation.
I didn’t realize it, but, because of the darkness, I had stumbled upon a really steep part of the mountain. I stepped over a cliff about 20 feet tall. As I fell, I dropped my shotgun and the things I was carrying. I managed to turn as I fell and grabbed the top of the cliff. The mountain and cliff are made up of shale rock, which was very fragile and loose. I clung precariously to the cliff edge, holding on for dear life. I saw Freddy making his way toward me. I hollered, “Quick, Freddy, grab me!” He replied, “I can’t, I’m carrying too much stuff.” Those words still resonate with me, even after all these years.
About that time the shale rock gave way and I fell straight down about 20 feet. There I landed on the steep hillside and began to somersault down the mountain, end over end. I finally came to rest after some vines, which grew from tree to tree, stopped me. I was upside down, dis-oriented, and wasn’t sure if I was dead or alive. I flopped over on the still to steep to stand hillside and tried to get my bearings. I finally was able to see my companion’s lights at the top of the hill I had just fell down.
They were hollering and asking if I was okay, and I told them I was. They eventually made their way down the steep hillside to where I was. We gathered up the things I had lost on my way over the hill. We, now completely off any semblance of a trail, had to work our way the rest of the way down the hill. It was nearly impossible because of the undergrowth and vines growing from tree to tree. Several times we had to all push together to break the vines. When they would finally break, we four would go tumbling down the steep slope. We finally made it down to the gravel road.
We had to walk around the roadside towards Freddy’s car parked at the spring. As we walked down the road, a school bus passed us by. I thought there might still be hope for me to get to school, even though I might be late.
After we got to the car and began to pull out, Dave, looking out the passenger window, said, “Freddy, you’re about to run over a pop bottle.” Freddy replied, “They usually don’t hurt anything when you hit them.” He drove over the bottle with his worn-out tires. After hitting the pop bottle, we drove about two feet before we heard the tire explode and flatten. School would have to wait.
