Issue link: https://www.e-digitaleditions.com/i/116174
I It was remote, dark and distant, and about as wild and woolly as a place could be. S hotguns S By Robert Matthews A couple of hundred years ago the land had been farmed but had long since reverted to the wild. Its rolling hills were creased by several creeks where hardwoods grew. In the center of the property was a long shallow swamp surrounded by a dense hardwood bottom with oaks so big that two men couldn't reach around them. In places it was possible to see 200 yards beneath the overstory. The remnants of long-abandoned roads and buildings dotted its thousand acres, and the gravestones of early inhabitants were scattered here and yon. It was remote, dark and distant, and about as wild and woolly as a place could be. To us, it had been the most important place in the world. We met by agreement at my grandmother's house and drove the few miles down-river to the property. Once there, we eased the truck onto the shoulder and parked where twisted pieces of an old gate lay rusting in the weeds. We crossed the fence beneath a "no trespassing" sign that dangled by a wire attached to one end, then followed the old logging road as it wound through the pines and around the big bend. The road was little more than a path now, but it led into the deep woods. It led deeper into the past, and it took a while to get our bearings. The dense pine regrowth that came after the clearcut had obscured every landmark that we knew. t was a pilgrimage of sorts, this journey of ours. It had been a long time since we had been to "Goosepond." It had been called that since colonial times, and legend held that it had once sheltered geese by the thousands. It still held a few, and mallards and woodies, too, but not many people knew it. A slick, slithery red-clay road meandered across the southern corner of the property, although "road" is probably too grand a term. It was barely passable, even in a four-wheel-drive. P O R T I N G C 54 L A S S I C S