[at-l] The Parapackers Get Closer to the Blaze Poachers.

[sevy@conknet.com]

	The 50 little parapackers threaded their way up the dark trail as little
Pedro brought up the rear.  Little Pedro, who at 42 inches was no slouch as
parapackers go,  struggled under the weight of the VW bus battery Milo had
artfully lashed lengthwise to his back.   Milo believed and of course the
parapackers all agreed that he had outdone himself this time.   Only Milo
Garcia would be clever enough to wire all of the little guys headlamps
together and power that  string-o-paralites with his ingenious backcountry
power source.  

	Little Pedro had mastered the art of spinning that converted Southbend fly
reel with all abandon as he hiked uphill.  Like that little Zappaman  he
would later become - Little Pedro could sure make that Dynamo hum!  

	The parapackers knew that this would be a long day on the trail as they
tried to get closer to the Blaze poachers  Warren Doyle had warned them
about.  They also knew that Pedro could keep them moving as they started to
bonk at around 35 miles out.  Pedro would do a quick little reverse on the
bassmaster 500 and send the flow of current right up the line.  Their
headlamps would blink as the current oscillated up like a mini powerwave
popping  each little guy about 16 inches straight up!

	Milo of course was keeping his good eye out for that blue-blazed side
trail down to the shelter.  All were getting tired and hungry as they
thought of Milo's special fondue dinner.  "Hasten up my sturdy little
comrades !" Milo exclaimed as he came to an abrupt stop next to the trail
sign which read  ''Shelter, Water .34 miles ->.'
Pedro of course only heard "Hasten up..." and figured that meant another
shock of encouragement.   

	Af about the time Milo had untangled the last of the 50 parapackers  the
big batch of fondue was just about to boil over.  Milo shot up and shut off
the modified MSR stove and stirred the big batch with his sturdy hiking
staff. 

	 The parapackers began to circle the pot with their mess plates high above
their heads.  They'd all teeter to the right and then the left as Milo
would ladle out a big portion of fondue as each passed by.   

	Poor little Juan forgot and came around the pot a second time and almost
rolled down the hillside as the fondue hit his plate !

	Pedro sat on the edge of the shelter spinning the real and lighting the
campsite with all the headlamps draped around the nearby trees.  Enzo
insisted on placing one down by the outhouse and had to splice an extra 100
feet of wire for the job.  Every time Pedro would itch his nose the lights
would flicker, the 8 track would flutter and you'd hear someone shout from
down by the outhouse.

	Milo, just sat back in his canvas chair and puffed on his big fat Cuban
cigar and thought to himself - life was good, the trail was good, tonight's
fondue was especially good and yes, I am good !    
Tomorrow they should finally reach the blaze poachers.

The Bamaman

AT '81

Copyright 2000
David S. Severance


	


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