A Story called: WALKIN’ THAT OL’ HOG ROAD… at the BEAVERDAM
He was just a young boy hunting birds on the Neighbor Lady’s property next to The BEAVERDAM…..
Young boy with his 22 rifle heard about the good hunting down on That Ol’Beaverdam Road.
Tired and thirsty, asks the old woman for a drink of well water and a sit in the shade.
He tells her he’s headed down toward That Ol’BevaDam Road.
She tells him “Son, Beva-Dam Road ain’t no place for a young man, You’de be best to Go On HOME…
His Mama had always told him: Son….Don’t Go Down that ol’ Muddy Dirt ROAD….No Good ever comes from that muddy swamp.
A new Christmas Sears and Roebuck GLENFIELD rifle, and box of 22 Long Rifle cartridges…..
Being a bright eyed, bushy tailed young man ….. It was an ITCH that had to be SCRATCHED
He knows better, But: He doesn’t have to be home till dark cause his mama was workin late at the Waffle House down in Dublin.
He ties his boot laces and tightens his belt…….checks to make sure he’s got a full 8 Long Rifles in his magazine…..
He’s Goin’……..
On Down to BEAVERDAM…..
By God……. He’s going on down that Beaverdam Road to see what everybody’s been telling him to stay away from…..
By God……
He’s GOIN’ to see…. THE VARMINT…….
A keen eye, steady hand, with stealth like a CAT, he eases on down the trail looking at all the Spanish moss/ water moccasins/ ancient cypress trees and palmettos……..and don’t forget the DIAMOND BACKS….
AND the skeeters….
finger always checking the SAFETY…
Years Pass….
The boy becomes a MAN ( with all the Trials and Tribulations of his DAY ) and That Ol’ BeaverDam Road and The SWAMP……becomes his REFUGE…
He’s made friends down at the boat dock, but not the kind he would tell his Mama about……
Cause they DRINK and CUSS and tell stories about……
About the SWAMP and the RIVER… WOMEN and The BOAT RAMP……. Oh Yea…. The BOAT RAMP….
Stories about Huntin’, Fishin, and Surviving’in the WILD….
WILD ASS Stories …..
The young man never heard anything like the STORIES they TELL…..
The kind of Stories that put WONDER and an Insatiable Lust of ADVENTURE in BOYS HEART….
He grows to be A MAN on the “ TALES of the BEAVERDAM”…..
Years Pass and the boy finally grows to age, old enough to camp out at BvaDam main camp by the Check Station
He gets there early one WMA HUNT, set up his stand, and comes back to camp, asks some old hunters: Where’s that other camp everybody talks about? The one way back , way back by the RIVER..
The old swamp hunters sort of shake their heads and say:
You don’t want to go back in there, Not Way Back by the RIVER….
He says: That’s where everybody says THE GOOD HUNTIN’ IS AT…..
Not a place for a young man…
The young man is persistent, and the old Salts say:
WELL ALRIGHT THEN…
AhhhhRight-Den…
( Mr Cape 1980, Deer Processor Conyers Ga )
They tell him to go on down till you come to the cross roads, go straight on to the MIDDLE ROAD, take a left over Three Bridges, and bare left onto THE RIVER ROAD….
Then take that Ol’HogRoad down by the river…..
Eagerly the young man starts out the next morning in search of…
Over the Middle Road, across Three Bridges, then the River Road, looking for THAT OL’ HOG ROAD….
Grown over for years…. Cause most folk know better than to get back that far in…
He pokes along the River Road, till he finds what he thinks is the way…
This must be the path… Slews, downed trees, Cain breaks, mud holes, Hog Signs everywhere…. Nose to the ground, He’s on the HUNT!!! Inch by inch, step by careful step, He’s on the trail…. Check that safety on your rifle….
Hours later, he looks up. It all looks the same… Every direction all the same….. Hour before dusk… Might better head back….. Hellfire and Damn Nation……. He’s Lost …… Lost in the PALMETTO JUNGLE…
Wanders for a while, headed eastbound toward the river he figures….
A couple times he sees in the distance, over the palmettos a faint glimpse of an. ol’ swamp hunter.
He calls out to them, but they always ease back into the palmetto bottom.
LOST as a BLIND DAMN PUPPY….
And finally comes to a sandy bottom dirt road. He follows it tired, hungry, bug bit, pissed off and pissed on, finally comes to an old pickup. The old man says get in,I’ll give you a ride. The ol’ truck was a beauty. Looked like it was almost new. He said it was a ‘32. He saw his rifle, it was a Winchester 1886. Hec asked him if it was old, No son, this is a brand new rifle. It’s Winchester model 71 in 348 Winchester, a new caliber meant to cycle in a Winchester action and kill anything from the lower 48 to the Alaskan range. The boy was just amazed. Never heard of anything fancy as that. He knew about 30-06 and 30-30, but I never heard of that one before. They talked about huntin hogs and deer and what gun was best for a good while. They must have been way back in there, had to back by the Big Sandy Huntin’ Club. They finally hit the main dirt road somewhere between three bridges and the river road, He said “Son, this is where you get off, I’m going on back to the Old Camp”. The young man got out, thanked him kindly, grabbed his rifle out of the back, walked toward the bridges, he drove off the other way into the dust.
The boy finally walked back to camp,all the way across the middle road. He thought to himselfself: “If I ever get out of here, I ain’t NEVER coming back”.
Finally drug himself past the crossroads and uphill past Texas cutover and the riflerange.
Got back to camp just about time the other boys was ready to quit drinkin’ and maybe think about coming to look for his dumb ass….
He told them how he got lost and finally got a ride with the old guy in a truck. Told them about the neat old truck and they all sort’a got quiet. When I mentioned that Winchester 71 he used….. And they all sighhhed as if to say…….damn … Don’t tell me…. 348 Winchester Caliber?
Yep…….
Well…. There we were We Back on that Ol’ BevaDam Road Again…..
Couple days later he we was back over by three bridges road. He had some time before the evening hunt. Thought I would just ease on back down that back river road and find that old road we came out of the swamp on. He walked and walked and walked again from three bridges to horseshoe lake, time again……
Never Ever found that dirt road…………………. Damn…
Told the boys back at camp about it……..
They said…
That old fellow was one their buddy’s Grand Dad, who had passed over back in ‘58.
They said That Kinda Thing Happens Now and Again….. down on….. THAT OL’ BEVA-DAM ROAD
Many years pass and the young boy has now grown old. He shoots a 7MM Remington Mag, 162 grain Nosler Partition at 3000 FPS . A pretty good12:48more_vert
THUNDER STICK. He still prefers to hunt by himself. He knows better, but that’s the way he likes it….
One day, just a freak occurrence, in his quiet, panther-slow movement, he busted a group of roosted turkeys just overhead. Startled…. he jumped back, and ZIGGED when he should have ZAGGED and had MIX UP with a DIAMOND BACK in HEAT, he’s way back in woods. He’s bit real bad in the calf of his right leg.
He tries to work his way toward a roadway but almost succumbs to poison bite, in much pain, finally found by one of those OLD HUNTERS, he had seen as a young man hunting at BverDam. He sort of recognised him, but hadn’t seen him around camp for a number of years, but was just glad for his help. The old Swamphunter treats his snake wound, and carries him miles out of the swamp to his camp(the OLD CAMP at the end of the Ol’HogRoad).
After a few hours of rest He begins to feel better, his leg begins to regain feeling. He’s coming out of his delirium.
As his eyes begin to open he’s treated to the most beautiful riverside spot. Hundred year old oaks with hanging Spanish Moss, Shady Southern River bottom, looking like a little piece of heaven on earth in South Georgia….
He begins to recognise some old timers from years past, Sonny, Ozmo, Big Al, Billy, The Funk, Big Mac…..Mr John, and all the old time gang.
Still groggy and faint of mind, He Said to himself….. He must be dreamin’ cause he knows these old dudes, but it’s been years past since he’s seen them. He must be dreaming……..
He fades in and out for hours His recovery was coming on strong now. Not feeling much pain at all. He stands to his feet with growing strength and hobles over toward the campfire.
He’s greeted by several old timers glad to see him up and going. He’s familiar with them but can’t recall their names. They look familiar and he asked if they are related to his friends back in camp. They just nod their heads gently with a knowing smile, say’in Yea, We’ve been Huntin’ BeaverDam for a while…….
He explains that he’s camping back at the main camp and asked if anyone might give him a ride back there.
They all nod in understandingly, but no one offers a ride.
They tell him: The only road to here was the Ol’HogRoad… And it only leads in one direction….
Finally, walking up from the path to the BoatRamp, the old man with the pickup truck and the 348 Winchester says:
“Son, let me explain: Welcome home to the OldCamp. You’re one of us now… You’ve traveled that Ol’Beva-Dam Road and you’re Finally home. Pick you out a good Camp spot down by the River and get reacquainted around the campfire. Here at the Boat Ramp, everyday from now on, is OPENING DAY…… Welcome Home”
Hmmmmmmm???
Oh yea, And now the rest of the story……
Some say he never got used to being a Beva-Dam BoatRamper.
They say he still tries to walk his way back to the main camp,
But he always ended up back on that OlHogRoad, back to the OldCamp.
If you’re ever out in your stand early before dawn and you see some poor fellow wondering aimlessly through the palmettos trying to find the way out…….
Or if you see him walking down the back river road long after dark…..
Beware if you ask him if needs a ride, He’ll just look away and motion you on, Cause he’s still out there…… just wondering On down that OlHogRoad.
Sounds sort of like TwilightZone don’t it?
That’s where your brain goes if you drink Gin Spin, chased by Chardeny and eat chocolate ice cream right before going to bed:))))
Y’all Enjoy……
Jack Anderson Revised Version 2-21-25 That was some GOOD WHSKEY last night:)))))
