We went out to give the boat a run June 25th and wound up at Palmetto Island State Park. Of course we all know it’s finished but there is no money to open it. There are even signs up on the local highways saying Palmetto Island Park and right under that is a sign that says “Park Closed”.
We just eased up in the slip and took a few pictures. The word is that there are a couple of caretakers hired to watch over the buildings. It’s a real shame that all the years of waiting and the millions spent have resulted in a park for buzzards.
My grandson couldn’t wait until I finished taking the pictures so that he could try to holler and scare the buzzards, but they knew they where safe and stayed put.
I got to thinking about an old camping trip on White Creek just a few miles south of Rockwood, Tennessee. What amazed me was how much information is on the web related to obscure places like that. This is no national park, but just a big chunk of private land too rugged for development so far.
I thought of the memorial cross next to the Highway 27 bridge across White Creek. A memorial to 7 Boy Scouts and their Scoutmaster who lost their lives in a flash flood there in March of 1929.
I remembered that there was a highway sign nearby for a place called Glen Alice, and I associated the whole beautiful area with that name. A partial inspiration I’m sure for my first daughter’s name. Google Earth shows the spot with very few houses nearby.
Google Earth is really great for letting you go back to those places you may never see again without leaving your house. The highway cam showed the memorial cross and the satellite let me spot where I camped a few miles up the creek.
I remember Jimmy Painter was supposed to meet me out there and he wound up unable to come. Man those owls way up the hollow sure made some lonely hoots. He came the next day and as we swam in the creek we thought often of the boys that got washed away many years before
Wasting time on YouTube and came up on video of the Goat Man and it got me rolling down memory lane. Old timers from East Tennessee and North Georgia will remember him.
His name was Charles McCartney. No one around where I grew up knew him by anything other than the Goat Man. The Knoxville News Sentinel would chronicle his progress if he was headed our way, and folks would go out to gawk at him when he was camped nearby.
I would tell people over the years that it looked like he hitched some goats to a pile of scrap at the junk yard.
I remember asking a girl after mass one Sunday if she wanted to go with me to see the Goat Man as he was camping nearby. I remember being embarrassed when she asked him “How do you clean your teeth?”. I need not have worried as he calmly fielded all questions from the curious.
I only wish that I would have gotten one of those postcards he was selling. You can see him in one of the pictures rooting around in a garbage can where he kept his postcard inventory.
Something to think about before dozing off in your nice warm and cozy sleeping bag. Say a prayer for and be mindful of ways to help Veterans that have to camp to survive.
I just discovered Wanderingvet after a search bringing me to his recent post titled “8 to 12 Hugs a Day?”. Don’t go there unless you are willing to be moved.
In Wanderingvet’s Survival Tips I found his post on Sleeping Bag Survival, and it only added to an idea that’s been sloshing around in my brain. There’s got to be a way to recycle our old sleeping bags to these homeless vets.
As you can tell from this blog I try to make a little money off these efforts by promoting worthy products and merchants. My hope for today is to find channels to get our used gear to the homeless especially our Veterans.
It would be much easier justifying an upgrade in gear if we knew that our quality used gear could go to someone who could really use it. If you have a great idea along these lines please contact me so we can promoted it here. If you would like to write a guest post on the topic even better.
I remember camping with the Boy Scouts at the Chimney Tops Campground, and a Black Bear came visiting while we slept. If you say there is no such campground you are right, as some years back the Park Service made this jewel in the Smokies a picnic only area.
There had been a lot of bears seen around the area so the Scout Master posted a rotating fire watch through the night. We had our food tied up in trees.
I remember sleeping in a pup tent with a boy named Fowler. During the night I remember half-waking up and saying “Fowler get your leg off me” and he responded that his leg wasn’t on me.
The next day one of the boys that had been on fire watch said that a bear had poked his head in our tent during the night, and that must have been the bears foot on my sleeping bag instead of Fowler’s leg. I’m glad I didn’t wake up and see that bear’s head poking into our tent.
We had a tent ripped the day before by bear claws looking for food. There where a lot more bear sightings and problems in the Smokies before they came up with the bear proof trash cans.