FLASHBACK to May 2003

Life in Rabun

By Tony Wheeler

There are so many good things to say about life in Rabun County that I could write about them forever and never be finished. As convinced as I am that Georgia is the best of these United States, I’m adamant about Rabun being the best slice of the Peach State’s pie. What is my most adored part about this place, you may ask? I can walk out my door and, if the old pickup cranks, be at one of my favorite hunting, camping, or fishing spots in less than an hour.

Camping is a big hobby of mine. Not the one I get to practice the most, but it’s high on my list of fun things to do. It’s the same for my wife, also, and I’m a very lucky man in that respect (a lot of other respects, too, Honey, if you’re reading this). What would I do if the illustrious spouse Cat wasn’t the outdoorsy type?

We began camping together shortly after we met many years ago, and these experiences have nearly run the gamut. We’ve camped all around in the woods of this county. It all started in a little, red, vinyl pup tent barely big enough or sturdy enough to hold a good sneeze. That was one tent that didn’t last us very long, but more on that later.

May marks the official start of camping season. Trust me on this. Spring may begin on the calendar in March, but the calendar is indoors. Outside, where it counts, it’s liable to snow. This year the flakes fell on the last Sunday of the month and that’s not as unusual as you’d think. We’ve had blizzards in March. Everybody around here has a photo of daffodils in snow. The April weather is almost as iffy. When it comes to camping, it’s not a good idea until May. I know, because I learned the hard way.

Cat’s always been with me when I’m camping, except for a time or two. One year she decided to visit relatives Up North (yes, and let’s get this out of the way quickly, I married a Yankee). I swore to her I’d considered every single possibility and there was just no way I could go with her. I didn’t have a passport, for one thing. Do they let Southern boys up there without one? Besides, who would watch after our faithful dog Woodchuck, the Throw Rug That Eats?

So Cat left. Hmm... a week without a wife. What to do, what to do? No sense messin’ the house up while she’s gone and then having to clean it back up at the last minute. I reckoned this was a good time to go camping so I called my friend Jeff. I could always count on him to do things at the spur-of-the-moment – he wasn’t married, you know.

He came to get me in his Jeep and had along his reliable companion, Butch the German Shepherd. With me, Jeff, the two dogs, two large coolers, sleeping bags and tents, we didn’t have any room left for firewood.

“That’s alright,” I thought, “ it’s been such beautiful weather.”

We stopped to get ice before we made the turn onto Warwoman Road, headed to the creek near Earl’s Ford. If I learned one thing on this trip, and I ended up learning many, it’s to never ignore the old-timers.

The old man behind the counter looked at us kind of funny and said, “It’s a bad time of year to be campin’, fellas.”

We snickered to ourselves and waited till we got outside to say to each other, “He’s crazy. It’s been pretty all day.”

It was late in the day and late in the month, the last day of March. It was dark as we each pitched a tent under the beams of the Jeep’s headlights. Ah, to be young and foolish. We skipped supper, a fire, and the now-requisite hanging of tarps to get to the important tasks at hand - consuming one or two or twenty cold adult beverages and playing the radio louder than we could get away with anywhere else. At three o’clock in the morning, I was awakened by Woodchuck’s boo-hooing and something else. Something weird. My back felt very wet and very cold. The little tent had been crushed by the weight of...snow. I couldn’t believe it! We drove to an all-night restaurant to warm up and sat there ‘til the sun came up and melted the snow.

That was the end of that particular adventure. It felt like a cosmic April Fool’s joke. There have been many camping trips since. We’ve progressed from that little pup tent, though. Now we usually hang out at established campsites like those along the Tallulah River in a pop-up camper with the amenity of a real bed. We’ve had a lot of nice times camping in Rabun. Fondly, we look back on them while looking eagerly ahead to many more.

“May old friends never be forgotten for new ones. May friendship be enlivened by good-humour, but never wounded by wit. May the difference of opinion never divide friends.”