Post by Roe on Mar 31, 2016 8:51:47 GMT -4
Bucky and the Three Moons
This story has nothing to do with bruins or bear hunting in any way, but it's far too good a story to overlook just because of those few short comings.
As I mentioned in another story, Bucky was dating my wife's niece. I use the past tense here because they had broken up some months ago. Bucky and I continued to hunt and shoot together, in fact, I had become pretty involved in USPSA competition by then and had finally talked him into giving it a try just last summer. To get him going, I had sold him the Colt Combat Elite and Safariland leather gear I had started with, even before I took delivery of the custom 1911 I had built by EGW. We practiced together often and he was progressing quite well, having recently moved up in classification. The coming weekend would be a big one for both of us, the Area 5 match had rotated to our home club and we would have the opportunity to compete with some of the finest shooters in the country.
Saturday morning, I arrived at the range at 7.00AM for the shooter's meeting and was surprised Bucky was running late. As names were called off to form squads and we prepared to depart for our first course of fire, I took a minute to use the clubhouse phone to call him, but got no answer. It was now 8.00AM and the range officer could delay no longer. Our squad began on the first of what would be eleven stages pretty evenly divided between field courses and speed shoots, with an obligatory Standards course and the chrono stage included. Bucky never did show. I had volunteered to work the second day of the match and tried calling him repeatedly Saturday evening so he knew there was still the opportunity to shoot on Sunday to avoid losing his entry fee. Again, no answer, and he never showed up at the range on Sunday.
Sunday evening, exhausted after spending two 12 hour days in the hot August sun, I was relaxing back at home with a cold beer. It was nearly 10:30 when the phone rang. Sure enough it was Bucky. "What happened, bud?" I asked. "You won't believe it when I tell ya." he replied. "Try me." I offered. He went on with the story. Seems he was approached by a buddy at work on Friday, who had set up a blind date for Bucky, a foursome with the two of them, the buddy's girlfriend and her friend, who Bucky had never met. He had not dated since breaking up with my wife's niece, and although apprehensive, it didn't take much convincing, especially once his buddy produced a picture of the attractive female friend.
After grabbing dinner, they went "four-wheeling" together in Bucky's old Dodge Ramcharger, drinking a bit as they explored the woods and trails of a large state game area that Bucky was intimately familiar with. As it began to get dark, he drove down a long dirt track that ended at an undeveloped lake in the middle of the state land, the road proceeding right into the water as a makeshift boat landing. Both Bucky and his friend were surprised when the girls suggested skinny dipping as relief from the hot August evening. Of course it took just milliseconds for them to overcome their astonishment and clothes were quickly removed and tossed inside the Dodge. Bucky left the doors and back hatch of the Ramcharger open and the radio playing, country music of course, then followed as they all waded into the water.
As they swam out in the middle of the small lake, playfully splashing and playing "tag", Bucky was thinking what a great first date this had become. In his revelry, it took Bucky a bit of time to realize he could no longer hear the music. When he looked back at the boat launch in the moonlight, it was immediately apparent his truck was no longer where it had been. He couldn't see it at all and entertained but quickly dismissed the thought it had been stolen as he certainly would have heard it start. He began to furiously swim for shore. Before he reached water shallow enough to stand, his foot hit something hard and immovable...his beloved Dodge! In his excitement and haste he had failed to put the truck in park and while they swam and played it had rolled down the gradual incline and into the lake. He was soon joined by the others, furious all their belongings were submerged inside the truck. Bucky spent the next half hour repeatedly diving down until he had recovered most of their soggy clothes, shoes, wallets and purses, then they began the long, long walk back to a major road. It took them most of the night to finally reach a phone and call for rides.
Late the following morning Bucky was back at the lake with three buddies that had four wheel drive trucks and with long lengths of chain they were able to extricate the old Dodge from its watery resting place. By now I was having a hard time stifling my laughter and at this point I interrupted him and asked, "Was it completely under water?" I had to cover the mouthpiece of the phone when he replied, "Roe, when we pulled it out there were fish inside it!" He had spent the rest of the weekend working on the truck, draining all the fluids, pulling out the seats and carpet and cleaning out the mud, weeds, and aquatic hitchhikers. After weeks of work, he was actually able to save the old truck and continued to drive it for several years. He wasn't so lucky with the girl, however. It was their one and only date, memorable none-the-less.
Naturally, this episode spawned dozens upon dozens of jokes poor Bucky had to endure. I began calling him Jacques Cousteau at every opportunity, but the best came nearly nine months later. The following spring, Bucky joined myself and another buddy to help with a project at my cottage. When we were finished and relaxing with a beer by the vehicles, my buddy who had heard the story but hadn't seen Bucky since it happened, asked, "Is this the truck you put underwater?" "Yep!" replied Bucky, patting the old Dodge on the hood, "190,000 miles and she's still goin' strong." I almost fell to the ground when my buddy, somehow keeping a straight face, quipped, "How many of those are nautical miles?"
Roe
