Re: [Hammock Camping] more poetry?
> > Isn't it about the time of year for some winter seasonal hammock poetry?Found it. Ralph
> > Anybody got any ideas for "twas the night before....?
> Didn't I just do that one a few months ago?
--- In firstname.lastname@example.org, "Shane Steinkamp" <shane@t...>
> T'was the night before summit, and all on the ground,
> Not a hiker was sleeping; no campsite was found.
> The walkers were vexed by ground so unstable
> No flat spot was found the size of a table.
> The campers tried nestling on top of their packs,
> but the lumps and the bumps were twisting their backs.
> Try though they might, no rest could they find,
> And one did exclaim, "My poor aching behind!"
> When out from the trail there arose such a clatter,
> They sprang from their bags to check out the matter.
> Downward they looked with their aches and their pains
> From their long sleepless evening they felt quite insane
> The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
> Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below,
> When, what to their wondering eyes should appear,
> But a fantastic sleigh, and eight ginormous reindeer,
> With a little old driver, with huge hiker gams,
> I knew in a moment it must be St. Ham.
> More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
> And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:
> "Now, Speer! now, Hennessy! now Bana and Byer!
> On, Bliss! on Jungle!, on Amazonas! and Lyer!
> To the top of the hill now! to the top of the wall!
> Now stop yo'self! stop yo'self! stop yo'self all!"
> As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
> When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,
> So up to the switchback the coursers they flew,
> With the sleigh full of hammocks, and St. Ham too.
> And then, in a twinkling, he tossed out a sack,
> then another, and another, and they all just stared back.
> As my bag slipped away, and fell to the ground,
> St. Ham jumped from the sleigh with one mighty bound.
> He was dressed all in Gore-Tex, from his head to his foot,
> And he looked quite refreshed with his well-rested look.
> A bag full of tarps he had flung on his back,
> And he looked like a thru-hiker opening his pack.
> His eyes -- how they twinkled -- his dimples how merry!
> His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
> His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
> And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow.
> The stump of a Slim-Jim he held tight in his teeth,
> And hiker stench encircled his head like a wreath.
> He had a broad face and hands that were strong,
> And as he strung hammocks, he sung a fine song.
> "Woe to you groundling, with the rocks and the roots
> Without enough enough sense to take off your boots!
> Watch this now and closely, I'll just show you twice;
> Once you can do this, you'll escape snakes and mice!"
> He tied up the beds, and lined them with care
> With pads and thick bags and a pillow to spare
> A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
> Soon gave me to know I would sleep like the dead.
> He spoke not a word, but kept straight to his work,
> He tied all the knots; which he cinched with a jerk,
> He drove in some stakes, and strung up a tarp,
> then pulled them all tightly in the quickening dark.
> He sprang to his sleigh, to his teams gave a whistle,
> And downward they slid off the hill like a missle.
> But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
> "Happy Hammocking to all, and to all a good-night!"