OLE TASSO,

CURRIED LIZARD,

AND

WINCH A DEAD MAN

Ah yes, it is that time again, come join me in one last grand adventure for this year.

After having left good ole Manly at Dadanawa Ranch for a couple of weeks, while I was out running around doing other things, it was time to pick up the ole boy and head back home. What was to have been maybe a week turn around time at Dadanawa, turned into three weeks. This leaves the ole boy a few more weeks to horse around, and consume what I thought to be just “maintenance horse feed” I learned just prior to departure that it was in fact, High-Power Racing, Working, Kick up your heals and go CRAZY, horse feed.

Wanting to get an early start, I had brought him into the staff house compound the night before so he would be handy for the next morning. Before daylight I saddle up and get ready to head out, I was leading him out the gate because he had been rather spooky about walking through it the night before. I have my big backpack with cloths and stuff on my back, my camera in the waist belt bag and leading him toward the gate. All at once he rears up, bucks farts and proceeds to run over me leaving me on my back or rather on the backpack, while he proceeds to buck himself
out, farting with every jump all around the compound. (not realizing rodeo is still several months away) When he finally decides to stop and look to see where or what I may have in my hand that could do him bodily harm, I am getting off the ground, looking for my glasses and a ball bat.
This is when I inform him what happens to horses his age, they turn into Elmer’s glue, or Alpo
dog food, or in his case I’m not above salt drying the meat(tasso) and eating it my self. The backpack, camera bag and anything else that may hinder my swinging a club, or welding a sharp knife is left with Duane and Sandy to bring to Shulinab as they head into Lethem.

“Ole Tasso” and I head out, encountering monsters with green leaves rattling in the breeze,
boogie men in all manners of rocks, and of course killer lizards and quail.
By the time we reach Mountain Point, and decide to stop by Shirley Humphreys for a cup of coffee and a rest Ole Tasso has almost run out of things to get spooked at and settled down. The fact is he stands unsaddled under a shade tree, head down with a look of some ole mild mannered plow horse who is on his last legs, never mind the high-powered horse feed shine of his coat, and that gleam in his eye that tells me he’s really just dreaming up new tricks.

Arriving in Shulinab 3:30 in the afternoon, I am informed that my services will be needed by SCPDA to document and photograph the sheep pickup and distribution. (this is part of a 10 community project to increase income as well as protein intake) Ok, No problem. I unsaddled Ole Tasso, and refuse to share the any of the 3 beers I feel I have earned..

4:30 I climb into a Bedford truck headed to Aishelton to pick up the first load of sheep, back tracking the trip I had just made. Just as it’s getting dark we get back to Dadanawa, here the driver (east Indian) and the Vet. (black guy) decide that they would eat the iguana curry they had walked with and were going to have warmed up. I politely decline the offer of curry mainly because after a few more beers I consumed on the way and all the BS that had been floating in the cab of that truck had left my stomach feeling a little funny.

7:30 we head south again, at this point the two out riders scouting the road, were SCPDA guys on motor cycles, the drivers porter and another kid perched on the cab along for the ride from Dadanawa. At least they were sitting there when we pulled out, the road has not improved, in fact I’m not sure you could even call it a road. There were places in fact that would almost rival the Grand Canyon.

In the cab, I got the full benefit of Lizard curry on the way South, try sitting between a coolie and a black who have eaten that stuff and consumed a bunch of beer. If that lizard tasted anything like what they were passing, I want no part of it.

Midnight finds us about a mile out of Aishelton when we have a puncture. So all the guys get out to watch and give helpful advice, while the porter takes off the tire finds the nail, proceeds to patch the tube, air it back up with the help of the truck air brakes or something, and get tire back on the truck. Minus only 2 lug nuts and much wiser I’m sure as to the proper techniques in changing a Bedford tire in the middle of no-where in the middle of the night.

2:30am, we arrive in Aishelton, hammocks are slung and I’m up at 5:30 looking for coffee and a place to take a bath. Then it’s on to the sheep loading, the sheep had been purchased several weeks prior, and most were waiting for the games to begin. Games being 5 guys trying to catch sheep who are jumping and running stirring up dust laden SheepSh.. We then proceed to several other villages to load sheep, as well as loads of the local beverage, kari, rice, corn, pine, and anything else that could be used to make wine or something strong enough to take top of your head off.

I might add here that I more or less done myself proud, I was able to match drink for drink, or 2-liter bottle if you will with the guys, all of whom wound up higher than kites, while I was more or less sober. If memory serves, it was after we picked up the last of the sheep for the day that we headed to Sandcreek via a mountain pass. This pass is apparently one used by locals with bullock carts or on foot to go to their farms. Either way it was not intended to handle a Bedford truck full of sheep. Everyone including myself got out to haul, chop, bend back brush, or try to find a path of lest resistance as we directed the driver. Now here is a Bedford truck with 60+ sheep on board busting through the jungle, and what do you suppose I spy? Yep, sure enough along the side of one of the bluffs we were passing sits no less than 6 jaguars, holding signs and placards directing the Meals-on-Wheels to their dens. At the end of the pass, the turn onto the savannahs is so steep and narrow that we have to winch the truck up and out of the mess, but at last we’re back on flat land. Just as we think were going to make it to the next stop for the night, out of the blue comes one clap of thunder and down pour of rain, now the scramble is on to cover the sheep. We finally get to the main road or at least what passes for the main jeep trail, and its time to find the only bottomless pit left from the rainy season. Flat savannahs no tree nearer than ½ mile, and we’re stuck tight. Driver then informs the guys that there are two old axel rods in the back, they are to drive them into the ground and hook the winch line to these. This they do and both rods bend double as the winch line tightens.

Driver: “Ok boys, its dead man winch time”

Porter: grabs cutlass from under the seat……..

Me: “Shit, I knew you and a couple of the fellows were having words about your driving but don’t you think there is an easier way to get us out without violence” this is said while I’m pulling my shirt tight over my “18-hour bra” trying to look as unmanly as possible.

I am reassured of my safety, as 2 of the guys with the cutlass head toward that tree, (well at least their going to do it out of sight) couple more guys grab spades and pickaxes and start to dig the grave about 100yrds in front of the truck. Just as dark settles in, all is in place for the burial. The tree has been chopped down and trimmed to fit the grave which is about 5’ deep, winch cable is then wrapped around the tree which is then buried in the grave, covered over, and tamped down tight. Would you believe it works? No lives lost.

It’s on to the ranch of Alan Harley where we will overnight, that after the guys buy the remaining beers Alan had in stock.

Next morning it’s off and running again, only this time we drop off a few sheep to new owners, and pick up some others along the way, and of course, every village is expecting us so there is plenty of refreshment waiting. By late after noon everyone including the sheep are becoming a bit on edge, even though there has again been enough refreshment consumed by the crew to have mellowed out everyone. We again cross the Rupununi, and head up the hill to the Dadanawa out station at Witch-a-bi, but now its full dark, no moon, the only glow seems to be from the 3 guys on the top of the cab. Do we wait for our faithful outriders to check the path and lead the way? No way, with the 3 on top giving directions, left, right, straight, we proceed to bury the truck in another bog. Only this time the truck is leaning to the lee side at about a 30-degree angle. Backing up, pulling forward with all 4 wheels locked and spinning only causes the angle of list to increase. Something is said about someone’s mothers …….., driver grabs the cutlass under my feet while enlightening the speaker as to body parts that will be removed from the ……………..who said something about his mother. I’m left in the cab wondering if there will be enough dead men to winch us out this time.

Arrive the Calvary, out riders who had stopped to take a dip in the river. First question ask is, “why did you turn this way?” Reply was another replay of somebody’s mother, father, auntie, the family tree in general. After it is more or less agreed that the family isn’t going to get us out of this mess, they notice that there is a big tree a couple of hundred yards ahead that may be able to winch us out. This results in burying the truck even deeper, and the list increases. By this time, I’m in the front seat by my self, feet braced against the door to keep from falling out and hoping to hell when the truck winds up on its side that I am able to crawl out through the top or drivers window. Decision is made to winch back, so line is tied to tree behind us, this results in the burning the gears out on the winch.

Voice of reason: Ok, we have to unload the sheep, there is an old corral just up there, we’ll drive the sheep there for the night. Yea right, drive sheep to an unseen corral at midnight.

60+ sheep unloaded standing around wondering like me what the hell is going to happen next, now everyone surrounds them and we head up the hill. Me wondering if I will step in another bog up to my knees, or on a snake. We find the path and sheep are penned for the night and it’s time to head up to the house and find hammock space in the shed. I opt for hanging my hammock out under a couple of trees, still a little leery about the family name calling.

Just as I have my hammock more or less secured near the out riders, here comes the driver yelling like a mad man about bats in the shed. “Well of course there’s bats, you are in the wild you know, this ain’t Georgetown Toto.” “ No, these are not vampire bats, they’re fruit bats, and no they do not attack people, it’s a well known fact that they don’t like curry.”

Around 2am, I get cold and since I didn’t walk with my sheet, the only thing left is the rain fly for my hammock, which of course is outside of my hammock. For those of you who have never seen my Hennessey hammock, it an all in one thing, mosquito net attached, and you get in from the bottom, lay back and the opening is Velcro, so when you raise your feet and lay back it closes and you’re enclosed in a cocoon. To get out you just put your feet on the Velcro and it opens letting you drop your feet to the ground. OK

No it wasn’t ok, I put my feet down where it should have opened, and it didn’t, try again, still no opening……..What the hell….only torch light I have is the one on my new fangled cigarette lighter. Look between my feet and the hammock is solid, where the hell did the Velcro go? Now I’m starting to panic, besides being cold I need to answer the call of the wild and I can’t get out of this thing. Ok, take deep breath, layback, and wake up; this has to be a bad dream. Nightmare is more like it, as I lay back my one shoulder falls through a hole in the hammock. That’s right; some how I had managed to turn head to foot and dang near fell out of the damn thing headfirst.

Call was answered (outside of the hammock), rain fly wrapped around me, and I go back to sleep.

Daylight sees the full story of the truck, buried up to the door on the passenger side, a rider is quickly dispatched to Dadanawa to get a tractor to come and try to pull us out, I give instructions to the rider that if he returns without coffee and cigarettes he’ll be a dead man needed or not. The rest of us go to check if we still have sheep in the corral or if the local cats had decided on take-out. All were peacefully lying around, or nibbling on grass, happy to be on solid ground. The decision is made to drive them to a small branch of water for a drink. Yea right, it’s not only horses that can be led and not drink, sheep also. So it’s back to the corral, and on to digging trenches and jacking up the tires to the point of allowing post from the corral to be placed under them so that they may clear at least 3 feet mud.

Rider returns with a flask of coffee(seems he is a popular gent with the gals of Dadanawa), and cigarettes, tractor arrives, truck pulled out and now it’s time to load up the sheep again. This was to be a real circus, imagine you’ve been hauled all over creation in the back of a Bedford, through the bush where you were to have been the main course for the locals, over rivers, stuck almost upside down, and now they want you to get back in that truck and go again……. After about an hour and a half of roping, tackling, grabbing, chasing over the open savannahs because yes, a few did get out of the corral but were caught, it’s back on the road again to drop off this load to their new owners, and hopefully more refreshment.

Nightfall sees us back in Sandcreek, tired and hungry, and bless Auntie Louise she gets up, sends a girl to the chicken house, and quickly has a pot of chicken stew going. Of course it’s now Saturday night in Sandcreek, where there is not only the local refreshment but a sundry of other liquid libations. I am proud to say I hung my hammock and went to bed, making sure that I marked where my head should be.

Next morning, bright and early after a hardy breakfast of fresh hot bread, we pick up the last of the sheep and head back to Shulinab.

I over night one more time there and head back home early Monday morning at last astride my faithful easy riding old horse. This is one trip I wouldn’t have missed for the world.

Have a safe and happy holiday, wish you all could have been on this last adventure, but stay tuned, I am sure 2007 will offer many more Spins.

Shefishs 12-2006

“life is not a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body,

But rather to skid in broadside, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming

WOW

WHAT A RIDE”