Lions, and Tigers, and Bears...

I'm guessing that each one of us, at some point in our lives, has to learn to face and overcome fears of our youth. I had one such encounter with my fears when I was about 11 years old.

My older brothers, Kevin and Kory, and I decided one fine summer day that we wanted to go camping up the river from our house. There weren't many houses along the river at this time. There were more on the north side than on the south side, which was where our house sat. That was due partly because we owned between 1/4 and 1/2 mile of frontage property along that side of the river. There was an area maybe 1/4 mile up river that was vacant land, and had a nice flat spot up the bank to camp on. It was definitely a different day and age, when you didn't need to seek out who owned the property and obtain permission to just camp. We never defaced the property, and always took (or burned) any trash we had.

Well, since we were going by boat on this campout, we figured we had better determine all the supplies we needed for one night. I don't believe we bothered to take a tent, because we loved sleeping out under the stars. That brings me to my one fear that plagued me all during my growing years - fear of the dark.

I don't know if it's because the darkness can hide all sorts of things that makes one fearful of it or what. In my belief system, I believe that Satan has power over the darkness. As evidence look at all the evil things that take place at night. People tend to become more decadent in the darkness. I mean, there's a whole different world that lurks in the darkness. So I think that is part of where my fear came from. To this day, I'm still not the most comfortable in the deep woods at night, but have at least arrived at the point where I can stand to be there and not tremble in fear. For me, I always conjured up images of bears, or badgers, or other mean animals seeking me out in the night. Any noise would get me wondering what was out there watching us, or waiting to tromp on us.

So, I knew that if I was with my brothers, and was sleeping between them it would be more like safety in numbers for me. I gathered up my things - which probably consisted of maybe a sweatshirt and a sleeping bag - and lit out with Kevin and Kory on our trek. We arrived at the campsite before dark, and set up what we needed to set up. Then we got a fire going. By this time it was getting dusk. I grabbed the hatchet and began chopping on a log - mostly to keep myself occupied. Suddenly, Kory decided he needed the hatchet to chop down a larger branch or something. I was kneeling near the log I was chopping on, and he just reached out to grab the hatchet as I was swinging it down. It veered from the log and hit me in the left knee with the sharpened edge. Needless to say I was devastated, not to mention that I also had a sizeable gash in my knee.

Kevin took pity on me, and helped me down to the boat and ran me home. We didn't have much to do with doctors in those days, so Mom was the doctor/nurse. She cleaned up the wound with water and peroxide (much to my displeasure and pain), then put two or three butterfly bandages on the wound and I was good as new. I was a bit sore and limping, but decided to go back out and finish the campout.

Things settled down between Kory and I, and after having marshmallows or hot dogs or something, we were just sitting on our logs around the fire enjoying the night. By this time it was plenty dark.

Suddenly, I began to hear rustling in the ferns and woods around us. I'm sure that Kevin and Kory knew I was afraid of the dark, so they began conjuring up stories about bears being around and watching us. Well, the hairs began standing up on the back of my neck, to be sure. Then I hear more rustling, and I was sure there was a bear or wolf just waiting to attack us. Heck, I may have even thought it could have been a werewolf. Then, I start hearing some growling sounds. Well, it just about did me in at that point, and I think I just froze where I was and couldn't even breathe!

Whoosh, "Roar", and out pops this figure in the dark from the bushes, and runs up upon us! I about nearly wet my pants, until in the light of the fire I could see it was Dad who had snuck his way up the river in a canoe . He had come to check up on us. I said, "Thanks, Dad!" facetiously. That pretty much did my nerves in for the night, and I had to go back home with him to sleep safe and soundly in my own bed.

I've often reflected back on that experience, and wondered if anyone really even knew the extent of my fear of the dark. I guess that's why I'm more self-reliant than most, because I just learned to overcome things like that on my own. It does make one stronger to go through such experiences.

Playing Chicken

My next younger brother, Kurt, and I were almost always in competition with each other. We always considered it a challenge to try and one-up each other. Shamefully, I recall being more mean to him, or even taking advantage of him at times to suit my purposes. I will always regret those times, and hope he will have the heart to forgive me for being that way.

Still, one-upmanship was generally the norm with us. Along with that one-upmanship, we were constantly trying to see who was more daring. Usually I would win out - mainly because I was bigger and older. I thought I was always smarter, or wiser than Kurt as well. However, it just might be that he let me win out on so many of the competitions.

When we would try and build forts in the woods, we would start out on one together, then I would get too bossy or persnickety and he would get tired and go build his own. He generally finished ahead of me. I always went for fancy schmancy, and he went for practicality. I generally never finished mine.

One area where Kurt far excelled was when it came to firearms. I never really got into them too much, and he went full force into getting his own reloading equipment and making his own shells. He became quite expert at firearms.

Well, our quest for one-upmanship played into almost everything we did. We had a road that went west from our road for about three miles. The road began at the top of a fairly steep hill, then went down and up another hill about half the size of the first one. In our earliest years the road was made of gravel, which would wreak havoc on sled runners. Eventually, the township paved the road, and boy did it make for some fantastic sledding. The surface would ice over making it a perfect run for a runner sled. Car drivers travelling on that road didn't appreciate us too much, because they would have to slow down since we were often on the road. Come on, it was our private sledding hill! The drivers would sometimes lose too much momentum for getting up the big hill when they had to stop and wait for us to clear the road. Then they would have to back all the way up the smaller hill to get a good run at the large hill. Fortunately, there weren't too many people who used the road.

One day when I was about 10 or 12, I went out to the hill with Kurt. We decided
he would go down first on HIS sled and see how far he could go up the smaller hill without stopping. He went down in a flash, and in watching him I could see that he did not want to go up the smaller hill, because then it was a long walk back up the big hill. Somewhat reluctantly, though, Kurt walked up the smaller hill and got himself ready to go down and climb the big hill. I decided it would be a perfect opportunity to go down the large hill and see who could go faster.

Down I go, and picking up speed ever so quickly. I figured I was going about 30 mph, but in reality was probably doing about half that. By this time Kurt had started down the smaller hill. I kept a steady course, and steered straight into his path. So, here comes our oneupmanship...neither of us veered in either direction. By now we were steering straight for each other, and Kurt was now picking up speed. Closer and closer we are speeding towards each other, still neither of us veering off course.

Suddenly, when it felt like I was doing about 60 (but in reality probably only about 15-20) we collided. Since both of us were laying down head first on our sleds, where would our heads go but to slam into each other. Kabam!! There was nothing left but to pick up the pieces. I think Kurt got a bloody lip and some loose teeth out of the incident, and I just bumped my head. I think we were both totally amazed we weren't maimed with our skulls cracked wide open.

What this incident proved was how very determined each of us were at besting the other. I know I had no intention on steering out of the way. I figured that since he was the younger brother HE would be the one to veer out of the way. I guess, in the end, we were just too dumb to know how hard we would collide, and how much it would hurt. Neither of us won that day - or did we both win? At any rate, we're left with an interesting memory.

The End of the Spear

Speaking of homemade weapons... We spent countless hours making slingshots, bows, arrows, spears, toy guns (including rubberband guns) - just about anything we could come up with. Heck, we would even take the galvanized garbage can lids and use them as shields as we gathered up pockets of acorns or even small pebbles for our throwing fights. Yes, we would literally throw those objects at each other. It wasn't just a light lob to let them know it was coming their way. No, no! We threw them at full force. Thus, the need for the shields.

Anyway, we spent a great deal of time working on those weapons to get the arrows as straight as we could, or make sure the bow was strong enough to pierce thick cardboard at about 50 feet, or whatever we could think of to make them more "real".

When we made a spear, we tried to keep it for as long as we could (providing it didn't break in playing with it). We came up with our own unique markings to identify our individual spears. At first, for the tip, we would just use a hatchet and chop it into the sharpest wedge we could make. However, eventually we would tire of that and want it to stick into more things at which we would throw the thing. So, we would take a knife and whittle away at the tip to round it, and make a nice tapered and sharp point. But, even that got tiring, because when we threw it at something the point would usually break off and we would have to sharpen it all over again.

Eventually, we figured out that we could slightly burn the tip then rub it on a river rock to sharpen it. Not only would it get sharp, but it seemed to harden the tip more than it was naturally. That was nice for awhile, but it soon became old hat. Besides, we didn't always have a campfire to use to keep sharpening the tip when it got dull.

As would normally be the case with us, we began experimenting. Now, if my parents always knew what we were doing, they would have suffered many fits over our antics. However, Mom would send us outside most of the time, because in the house we either got in her way, messed up the house, or just roughhoused too much. We didn't mind, though. We loved spending countless hours outside, winter or summer, playing all our games, or just looking for some new adventure. As I was saying, we began experimenting with our spear tips. What did we come up with? Tin! Yep, those tin cans were finally proving useful for something. All we needed to do was to cut out the round tin top from a can, then cut a slice to the center. Since the spear tip was round and tapered, a round tin can lid fit almost like a glove - well, as long as you could tap a glove onto your hand with a hammer and tacks.

It was important to take our time while installing this tin tip to the spear. We wanted it to be as sharp as it could be. We finally hit pay dirt! The spear would stick in wood and pierce through that thick cardboard like it was butter. We were quite pleased with ourselves. Yes, we would even play our "Hunter and Hunted" game with these metal tipped spears!

One fine summer day, we were out playing our game of "Hunter and Hunted". Kory was the hunter. He had just newly tipped his spear with some heavy-duty tin. Low and behold one of us ran by the twenty-one foot travel trailer that was stored in the back yard. (Not only was it great on long trips, but it served as an extra bedroom when we had more company than we had rooms in our large house.) Well, as I said, Kory wound up and let that spear fly from where he was stalking in the field. Whomever was the target of that spear was so very lucky, because it sailed straight and true - right into the side of that travel trailer! He threw it with such force that it penetrated the side of the trailer, and stuck part way through to the inside! We were quite impressed - and also knew that Kory would suffer the wrath of Dad when he found out what had happened! It was a priceless moment! It also pretty much ended our modified, metal-tipped spear experiments.

Hunter and Hunted

I like to think I was so creative with so many things while growing up, but I really wasn't. I would usually take an idea someone else came up with and make it my own.

One such idea was a game we came up with called, "Hunter and Hunted". The rules were fairly simple. We would divide up into two teams. One team was the Hunter team, and of course the other was the Hunted team. The Hunted team usually had until the count of 100 to go out and hide in our expanse of field and woods. That's where our country property came in very handy. In fact, we usually had to set boundaries so no one had to spend all day searching for those on the Hunted team.

Our tools (weapons) were fairly simple. We would cut down birch or maple saplings for spears. We spent a great deal of time getting their tips sharp so they would stick well into the ground when being thrown. We worked hard at finding the correct balancing point so they would fly the farthest and stick in the ground rather than hit tail first, or flat. We also took either saplings, or green branches of birch trees to make bows out of. If needed we would shave the bow down some so it could bend easier, then notch the ends for string. We usually would use twine for the bowstring, but it didn't last long. We would also try taking regular string, waxing it, then making multiple strands twisted together. That would make for a longer lasting string. For arrows we would use young saplings from poplar trees, because they usually grew fairly straight. We never messed with trying to put fletching on them. We weren't too awful accurate anyway.



So, the way it would work was that each member of the Hunted team would go out and find a good hiding place. Sometimes that would be up in a big tree. While other times it would be to find a depression in tall grass or ferns, and just try to blend in. Did I mention that we would often create loin cloths to be more like "Tarzan" or "Indians" while playing this game? It would help us blend in better to the environment.



After counting, the Hunter team would go out and search for the other team. Now, the Hunted team members did not need to stay put. They could move around all they want as long as they weren't spotted by the Hunters. If memory serves, there was no real goal to reach. The Hunted team just wanted to spend the most amount of time without being "caught".

Speaking of "caught", the way a Hunter caught a Hunted member was by throwing a spear, or launching an arrow at that person. If the weapon landed within two feet of the Hunted person, then they were caught and would then join the Hunter team. Sound dangerous? I suppose, but we were pretty good at shooting arrows, and throwing our spears without hitting someone. To this day, I don't ever recall anyone being hit or wounded by one of our crude weapons.

On one particular late summer day, I was on the "Hunted" team. I usually liked that team, because I loved to see how creative I could get with my hiding places. I thought I was pretty good at it. Anyway, on this day, I chose a depression between a couple of mounds in tall grass to hide. This spot was quite open, but with the tall grass, and my ability to lay flat, I was pretty invisible. I was quite pleased with the fact that no one saw me, when suddenly I heard my brothers scrambling around closer to me. I began to think I might need to move from the spot. I held tight, though, and just listened more intently. Suddenly I heard some footprints coming from my right side. They did not sound so loud or heavy as my brothers, though. Just then, I looked up and saw this brown figure leap right over the top of me. I thought, "Could that be?" I got up just in time to view the white tail of a deer bounding into the woods. I just sat there stunned. Imagine me lying there in wait for one of my brothers to try and find me, and a whitetail deer gets scared up and leaps over me to run away. I believe it was a once in a lifetime experience. I wish there had been some way to record that event, but I can only describe it in words some 30 odd years later.

Victims of a Different Sort

In thinking back over the times we had growing up, it is sometimes amazing the things we came up with to keep ourselves occupied at 'Branham's Damsite'. Goodness knows who came up with the original ideas. The fact is, even if the ideas were not our own, we would always modify the rules to fit into our extreme way of doing things. We always loved thrills, chills, and spills.

One such game was called "Ambulance". The premise was that one person was selected to be the ambulance driver (the player no one wanted to be). The other players would go around the property with our bicycles and/or whatever device we creatively used, and get ourselves into a position which displayed some sort of accident we had been involved in. The idea was to be the most creative we could be to get into odd and awkward positions to make it the most difficult for the ambulance driver to retrieve us and take us to the hospital. (Thus, the ambulance driver being the least enviable position to have.)

So, the ambulance driver would usually count to about 100 to allow the other players to get into position. Then he/she would go around the property with the ambulance (the trusty Radio Flyer) and search for the injured parties. They would usually be crying out, "Help, help me!"

Since there were many trees on the property with low branches, it was especially fun to try and hook a bicycle tire on a branch, then the bike rider would be hanging upside down - sometimes tangled in the bicycle itself - and have to be retrieved by the ambulance driver. The object was that the victim could not help the driver in getting loaded into the ambulance. It was always a lot of fun to observe the unlucky person who was the driver try and wrestle the victim down from his or her position and place them in the ambulance, then transport to the designated area for the hospital.

One drawback for being creative, though, was that sometimes it was especially difficult for the driver to retrieve a victim, and it would take quite some time to accomplish. All the other victims had to wait in their postion until the driver reached them for retrieval. Some of my siblings would get bored of waiting and just quit before the game finished. Needless to say we didn't play that game too many times in one day. We would play it often, though, because we always tried not to be the driver. Usually, we would be in a group and someone would yell out something like, "Hey, let's play ambulance! I'm not the driver!" Whomever was the unlucky one to be last to yell out usually ended up being the driver.

Toadstools, or What to do with Fungi

Extreme and excitement were the key words when we were looking for something to do around our homestead. A few of us had ADD (Attention Deficit Disorder), including Mom, so we got bored easily.

Now, our property ran along the Wisconsin River approximately a quarter of a mile or so. Most of the property had a high hill you had to descend before reaching the river. It made for some fantastic views - especially in the winter when all the leaves were off the trees.

The property consisted of a large open field surrounded by wooded areas which met up with the road running along the property to the West and South. There were pockets of pine trees where nothing would grow on the ground but mushrooms. We had an especially fun grove of pine trees that lined the driveway leading up to the house. On the South side of the driveway it was almost like walking into another world blanketed by tree canopies. We spent a lot of time playing in and amongst those trees. On hot summer days, it was always so much cooler in there that we tried to linger and play as long as possible.

In our quest for something fun and exciting to do, one day Kory, Angé, and I (I don't remember if anyone else was involved) decided it would be a great time to gather up some of the rather large mushrooms that grew in and amongst the pine trees. The idea, then, was to ride our bikes around and throw them at each other to see who could last the longest. Far be it for us to ever check to see if the mushrooms were edible. We were pretty much certain they weren't. We didn't like eating mushrooms anyway.

We gathered our ammo and were soon riding willy-nilly around the property attempting to land a good one on each other. Well, as it usually goes with children, things got a bit heated. Then suddenly, Kory landed one big mushroom right in Angé's face and mouth! She likely would have died! I mean, it plastered her from one side of the face to the other, and a big chunk of it was in her mouth. It was a sight to behold.

I'm not sure if her biggest fear was that she thought she was poisoned, because of getting that non-edible mushroom in the mouth, or that her ego was just damaged for getting hit (and in the face) in the first place. We were a bit scared for her, although I believe Kory and I had a pretty good laugh over it. Nevertheless, it calmed us down, and Mom didn't have to worry about us rough-housing for the rest of that day. Funny how a good scare would do that to a person.

I haven't checked with any of my brothers and sisters lately, so I don't know if Angé ever lived that one down. It made for a great memory, though.

To Air or Not to Air

The great outdoors was a great place to grow up. We loved being on the river, and all the property on which we had to roam. One would have thought we would have become avid fishermen and hunters, but in reality we didn't get into much of those activities. I think it was partly because getting the right gear was quite expensive, and we were not ones to be able to afford a lot. I mean, since we were right next to a power dam, the low side of the dam made for great fishing. Many people would fish there in the summer. We would go out and cut down a birch or cherry sapling, and that was our pole. Then, when we saved up enough money, we would buy some line, hooks, sinkers, and a few bobbers. We would go down to the river and fish right alongside those fishermen with the expensive equipment. Usually we would come away with more fish than they did. Of course, all we caught were panfish, bullheads, and succerfish. Those guys were after walleye. Nonetheless, that was how we were usually outfitted.

It was a happy day when we started to get BB guns. We loved shooting everything we could find - and we had lots of room to do it, too. Kevin and Kory got the Daisy air rifles, while Kurt and I got Marksman Repeater (model 1010) air pistols. Our pistols didn't have much power, so we were always envious of the rifles. We just loved playing with guns, anyway - real or not. We even made guns from cutting out boards in the correct shape, and going around playing army, cowboys and indians, or just pretending to hunt on our own. When we got a toy air rifle, it was still pretend, but the thing looked more like a real gun.

One fine summer day I was out with the air rifle playing on the bridge that crossed the power dam. I was enjoying myself (alone - as I usually was, even in a big family) pretending to shoot "enemies" all over the place - especially down in the water. Lo and behold, along comes Kory and decides it's his turn to play with the air rifle. I was maybe 10 or 12, and Kory is about 3 1/2 years older than me.

So, here we are standing on this bridge with just a horizontal rail about 2 1/2 feet off the ground to keep people from falling into the river. Kory grabbed the rifle and wanted to take it from me. We began to wrestle with it pretty hard. Our struggle continued for a bit when suddenly we're leaning over the rail and the rifle just flies out of both our hands. Kersploosh! Into the rushing current it went - never to be seen again. I think I just stood there for awhile in amazement, and sorting out what had just happened. I was disappointed in losing that air rifle. I don't remember if it was a general property item, or if it belonged to Kory. No matter, it was lost, and with it I lost my power of imagination for that day.

I don't know if we ever did get another air rifle, but I have always reflected on how quickly we lost something (precious to me at that time) by selfish desires and not being courteous amongst each other. That experience has always stuck with me over the years, and maybe it's just now that I realized the lesson to be learned from it.

I love all my brothers and sisters, and Kory was one of my heroes. We did a lot of extreme sports together. He was my hero. Even in his 50's he's still doing many extreme sports. Maybe one day we'll get together and reminisce about the air rifle episode, and compare what lesson we have learned from it (if he even remembers it).

In the meantime, to borrow a couple of phrases from Red Green, "Keep your stick on the ice" and "if the women don't find you handsome, at least they'll find you handy."