Dave Harris

Have you ever had a letter that you have planned on writing but never got around to it?

I have several but there is one in particular to a man named Dave Harris.

Dave was the father of a girl named Terri that I was nuts about in high school. OK she was one of many and yes the list is long and distinguished. 

Dave was a great guy hard working, a grow your own vegetables guy who loved to hunt and fish. If the zombie apocalypse happened tomorrow he'd be one guy I'd seek out for he would absolutely know how to survive.

He worked for Hub Uniform Company and covered the Carolinas selling uniforms to cops. 

The decades have rolled on but back in the day Dave treated me like the son he didn't have, for Dave was burdened with two attractive daughters Sherri and Terri and they were indeed a handful.

I'm pretty sure Dave knew my intentions were not exactly pure but for some reason Dave liked me just the same and decided to teach this then long haired kid how to hunt properly.

I learned a lot from Dave Harris. Flounder gigging at the coast. Rabbit stew, he raised his own and how to take doves and how to twist the head off stick your thumb down the neck and pop the breast meat out with absolutely zero mess or feathers. 

I might have dated his daughter for just a few weeks and he had me out in the fields shooting doves. 

Back in January I spent several days in Arkansas wing shooting. It wasn't hunting really more like killing no limit just shoot and never miss. I've never seen so many birds. We cooked most and ate them. Those we didn't were frozen and shipped back to Charlotte. I imagine Dave would have done the same.

50 years ago the eastern flyway was hot. The coast of the Carolinas in the fall was loaded with migratory birds. They were thick as ticks and anywhere you went in the low country hunts were hitting bag limits in hours. At times the sky was dark with ducks of all varieties.

And then it stopped. The reason Ducks Unlimited

You see Ducks Unlimited paid farmers along the Mississippi Flyway to plant fields and leave them for the migrating birds. They didn't offer the same to Eastern Flyway farmers.

Back to Dave.

So one day I took his daughter up to what we used to call Glade Valley and Beauty Falls now known as Stone Mountain State Park and Stone Mountain Falls.

We spent the day up there and had planned to return to Charlotte in time for a late dinner. We hiked to the top of the falls watched the sunset and pretty much had the park to ourselves enjoying the late afternoon glory of a Carolina fall day.

On the way down we were surprised at how dark is was getting and the further down the mountain we went the darker it became. At the bottom of the falls it was so dark you could not see your hand in front of your face. 

Early fall in the North Carolina Mountains is awesome unless you are alone in a 14,000 acre state park by yourself. 

No matter how hard we tried we could not find the trailhead back to the parking lot. In fact we were not sure were any trail was. No sunlight no flash light just a bic lighter and the sound of the roaring waterfall. 

Yes, this was before cellphones.

We had a blanket and some left over food and each other.

I quickly determined the best course of action was to stay put til the park rangers set out a search party. Clearly someone would check the parking lot and note the one car abandoned in at the trail head and would send help.

Help never came. But the fire was awesome. The benefit of the waterfall nearby is you don't hear a damn thing else. Not one of those sounds that you hear at night in the woods that say bear or bears.

Around midnight the moon rose over the falls and flooded the woods with shimmering white light and as the moon rose it came right across the top of the falls. The moon became a stunning spot light as if we were on stage and the whole world was out watching. In that shimmering light and the crackle of the fire we spent the night. 

At dawn we hiked back out to the parking lot with no one else around, no search party, no blood hounds, no rangers.

Returning to Dave's house I was surprised to find him standing in the driveway without a shotgun thankfully. He was not pleased, his first words were "Well, you better have a marriage license or a hell of a good explanation". 

I explained and he smiled then asked if we were hungry. 

The years have gone on and while our lives have crossed paths a few times I lost touch with his daughter Terri. In the past each chance encounter offered just a glimpse on someone's life that was ok but far from what I might have imagined. And each time it was not so much a rekindling of our lust or regrets of our lost youth but more of an understanding that in life luck and good fortune doesn't treat us all the same.Yet still she was and I suspect even today stunningly beautiful. 

But what Dave taught me that summer was far more than I understood at the time. I've seldon picked up a shogun or stepped aboard a boat to fish and not thought of Dave.

Thank You Dave Harris.

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