Listen to Ann Corcoran’s interview of author Dennis R. Blanchard on RadioSRQ.com. This two-part interview covers the gamut of hiking the Appalachian Trail, preparation, emotions, food, equipment and just about every facet of a long distance hike. The photo on the site harkens back to Gabby Hayes.
A fun video about hiking the Appalachian Trail is on YouTube. It is a summary of a presentation I gave at Boxboro, Massachusetts last summer. It covers hiking from Georgia to Maine and gives a great summary of the equipment, animal and people encounters and what it takes to carry an amateur radio station on such a trip.
It’s interesting to follow trends when one has a book published. Last month, with the holiday gift lists being filled, it was print versions by far. The ratio was about 2:1. However, this month it is most definitely the eBooks in the lead. Today is only the 6th day of the month and there are many new readers, but the e-readers are in the lead by 2:1.
I’ve always been a bit awestruck by the term “non-fiction.” To me it in some way denigrates writing about things that are real. It reduces writing about things that are true or reality based to something that is “non,” or lesser. According to Dictionary.reference.com, fiction is something: “feigned, invented, or imagined; a made-up story” and yet non-fiction is defined as “opinions or conjectures upon facts and reality.”
Author of: Three Hundred Zeroes: Lessons of the
Heart on the Appalachian Trail
A non-fiction adventure travel
story on the Appalachian Trail
Finalist in the 2010 Next
Generation Indie Book Awards Contest
Available on Amazon.com,
Smashwords and
Kindle.
(see below for ham radio version of this)
Twas
the night before Christmas, when all through the shelter
Not a hiker was stirring, too cold for a swelter.
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that Hiker Nick would dry them right
there.
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of Pop Tarts danced in their heads.
And mamma in her bedroll, and I setting a trap,
Had just settled our brains for a long hiker’s
nap.
When out on the bear hanger there arose such a
clatter,
I sprang from the bunk to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the pack and scratched at my rash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to the trail below.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a hungry big black bear, looking for beer.
I’m a little old hiker, not lively or quick,
So in a moment of fear I grabbed a stick.
More rapid than eagles his growls they came,
And he whistled, and grunted, and didn’t look tame!
“Now scamper! now, scat! now, out I’m Fixen!
I yelled and I screamed, cursing like Blitzen!
To the top of the privy! To the top of the wall!
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!”
As dry leaves that before the trail storms do fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky.
So up to the shelter-top the bear he flew,
With the lots of loud noise, and crashing too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The clawing and pawing, the dog gave a woof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney the bear came with a bound.
He was covered in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his coat was all tarnished with ashes and
soot.
A bear-bag of provisions he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler, just 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,
It was evident in a minute, this was no sow.
The stump of a branch he held tight in his teeth,
And the chimney smoke encircled his head like a
wreath
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook when he growled, like he’d just left a
deli!
He was chubby and plump, and leaned on a shelf
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself!
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.
He made not a sound, but went straight to his
work,
And raided all the stockings, then turned with a
jerk.
And laying his paws aside of his nose
And giving a nod, he left for a doze!
He gave out a bray, which caused me to bristle,
And away he flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ‘ere he dove out of
sight,
“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a
good-night!”
Dennis
“K1” Blanchard
AT
07/08
Author
of Three Hundred Zeroes
(I’m not going to copyright this, but credit is appreciated) Feel free to copy.
T’was the night before Christmas, when all through the shack,
not a meter was stirring, not even on the rack;
The finals were hung by the chimney with care,
in hopes that St. Nick would tune them right there.
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
while visions of moonbounce danced in their heads;
and Mama with her handheld, and I with a trap,
had just settled our brains with a high voltage zap.
When out on the tower there rose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bench to see what was the matter.
away to the window I flew like a high tension flash,
tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
The moon on the breast of the new fallen snow,
gave the glow of tubes of days long ago.
When what, to my wondering eyes should appear,
but a miniature sleigh, with mobile amateur gear;
with a little old ham, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment, it must be Saint Nick.
More rapid than McElroy his keying it came,
and he listened and he tuned and called them by name:
“Now Dasher! Now Damper! Now Phasor and DX’en”
“On Common! On Coupled! On Doner and Blitzen!”
“To the top of the shack to the top of the wall”
“Now Dash away, Dash away, dash away all!”
As dry days before Field Day do fly,
when they meet with the forecast and never comply,
so up on the shack top the signals they flew,
with the sleigh full of gear, and St. Nickolas too.
and then in a band opening, I heard on the roof,
antenna work by a ham on the hoof.
As I drew in my head and was tuning around,
down the feedline came St. Nicholas with a bound.
He was all tangled in coax, from his head to his foot,
and his checksheets were all tarnished with ashes and soot.
A bundle of gear he had flung on his back,
and he looked like a contester opening a six-pack;
His handheld – how it crackled! The signals did vary,
his equipment made noises, his QSO was quite merry.
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a Mho,
and the beard of his chin was white as slow scan snow.
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
and the smoke, it encircled his head like a wreath.
He had a broad face and a round little belly,
that shook when he laughed like the roll of a tele.
He was chubby and plump, a right old elf,
and I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself.
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head
soon gave me to know I had not QR-zed.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
and tuned all the finals, then turned with a jerk,
and keying his finger aside of his nose,
and giving a nod, up the feedline he rose.
He sprang to his sleigh, his handheld gave a whistle,
and away they all flew, like the down on a thistle’
But I heard him exclaim ‘Ere he faded out of sight’
“Happy Christmas to all
and to all
A good night!”
K1YPP
Written about 1981 for a ham radio newsletter for the ’85 Repeater in Derry, NH. I didn’t bother to copyright it, but appreciate credit.
Dennis, K1YPP
I have this script I’m putting together where I need to have a few of the actors dressed as bears. Where does one find costumes to rent? I can’t imagine that the would be something I could afford to purchase. I never knew a book could get me involved into so many unrelated fields…now it’s movie making. What next?
I just finished reading Susan Alcorn’s book, CAMINO CHRONICLE and it has convinced me that it would an interesting, albeit different, hike for us to hike. Have any of you readers hiked the Camino Santiago? I recall reading Shirley MacLaine’s book about it a few years ago and it sparked my interest, but Susan’s book was more of a journal about what is good, and what is not so good.