"There's gold in that river," Pat said with a grin.
An unsteady hand wiped the beer from his chin.
We was drinkin' Jack Daniels and Budweiser beer,
I was watching the stripper, ignoring Pat's leer.

He said, "On that river I know we'll get rich."
I laughed, "Pat, you're crazy, you son of a bitch."
A handful of dollars he pulled from his shirt,
stuffin' a few up the old stripper's skirt.

For hours we sat there, suckin' down booze,
Pat kept on saying, no way could we lose.
Last call was the signal to buy a half-rack,
then wander outside to our trucks parked in back.

We sat on the fenders and dreamed of that gold,
bitchin' about women, those trucks, getting old.
As a whiskey blurred sun climbed the sky to the east,
we decided to go, a vacation at least.

II

The first of July, nineteen ninety eight,
we met at Pat's house, of course, he was late.
Four months to get ready, we ain't got a clue,
how to load our supplies, the dredge and canoe.

We stared at our stuff all scattered around,
there was food, fishin' rods and clothes on the ground.
We looked at the pick-up, then Pat measured it.
No way in the world would all of it fit.

We looked at the dredge with its sluice box and float,
like a duet we sang, "That'll go in the boat."
The canoe, it just sat there, with a wide open grin,
as we broke the dredge down and piled it all in.

After loading the pick-up from the front to the rear,
we sat on the porch for a breakfast of beer.
Refreshed and well nourished we grabbed the canoe,
Old Pat started cussin' and then I did too.

It was too friggin' heavy for us to lift then,
so we took out the dredge, started over, again.
We unloaded the pick-up, threw the stuff on the ground,
Then sat in the shade and drank the next round.

We'd be gone a month, so we didn't need clothes,
we left them behind and packed the dredge hose.
At last the canoe was on top of the truck,
it had taken much beer, some cussin' and luck.

We drank the last beer at a quarter to ten,
I looked over at Pat, "Let's do that, again."
Too drunk too drive, too tired too care,
We passed out on the lawn in the cool evening air.

III

Next morning at daylight, they pulled out of town,
that Toyota pick-up was sure hunkered down.
Like the Beverly Hillbilly's and their old Model A,
HellBent and Junior were at last on their way.

Like a bat out of hell, they headed for Chicken,
north into B.C., odometer clickin',
twenty five hundred miles from the land of the 'Tater,
they'd get to Alaska, sooner or later.

Watson Lake, Yukon at last came and went,
Junior was sleeping, so was HellBent.
Asleep at the wheel, Bent woke with a scream
as the Toyota pick-up crashed into a stream.

Still half asleep, they crawled out of the ditch,
Junior called HellBent a son of a bitch.
He glared at Junior and said, "Though it's damp,
this looks to me like a fine place to camp."

Junior gave HellBent a belligerent stare,
about the same time, HellBent yelled, "BEAR!"
No high jumping champion could ever outdo,
the way them two fellers literally flew.

On top of the pick-up, perched on the canoe,
HellBent asked Junior, "Now what do we do?"
It was Ursus americanus of diminutive size,
but the cub had been wearing a grizzly disguise.

Red faced and embarrassed, HellBent climbed down,
that black bear skedaddled, at the very first sound,
of Junior chortling, in a lunatics rave,
at his trusty companion, old HellBent the brave.

IV

Next day from the highway they saw Jackfish Lake,
HellBent said, "Junior, I think we should take
a day or two here, and catch us some pike."
Junior replied, "We can, if you like."

They pulled off the road, then untied the canoe,
unloaded the dredge, paddled off to the slough.
Of the drama to come, no one could have guessed,
as HellBent untangled a fishing line nest.

Junior tied on, a bright silver spoon,
he tossed the thing out to the cry of the loon.
With a soft quiet splash, the spoon hit the lake,
Junior was startled by the big fish's take.

He buried the hook in the huge northern's lip,
reared back on the rod, the boat started to tip.
HellBent leaned left, as Junior leaned right,
that tippy canoe rolled out of sight.

HellBent was cussin' as the Bismark went down,
Junior sank under, never uttered a sound.
In four feet of water, Hell stood with a roar,
grabbed the canoe and sloshed to the shore.

Suddenly Junior was up on his feet,
still holding the rod, not admitting defeat.
That freshwater 'gator, a speed boat gone mad,
behind him skied Junior, the talented lad.

HellBent sat dripping on a rotten old stump,
laughing as Junior hit a log with a thump.
"Hang in there, Junior, don't let him go,
I think that old Northern's beginning to slow."

Junior was skiin' in the pale setting sun,
HellBent kept yelling, "Man, ain't this fun?"
That wild Northern never gave up the fight,
he kept dragging Junior, all through the night.

Along about sunrise the line finally broke,
Junior swam in, said, "Give me a smoke."
He lit up a Camel as he sat on a log,
grinned over at HellBent, "Did you see that hog?"

V

The forty-mile river at last came in sight,
they looked down on the river from a terrible height.
HellBent said, "Junior, I'm glad we can float,
all the equipment, down there in the boat.

Junior just grinned, up there on the road,
"HellBent, can you pack a hell of a load?"
Suspicious at that, HellBent said, "What?
Pack in that dredge? Hey, I'd bust a nut!"

Even the skeeters grew suddenly still.
Junior said, "Well, it's mostly downhill."
HellBent was whinin', "I ain't no pack mule."
Junior said, "Nope, you're a pack horse, you fool."

So they strapped on the sluice box, the header and hose,
old Hell was bent, dug a trench with his nose.
HellBent crawled some, but mostly he rolled,
down off that mountain, they was headed for gold.

HellBent was grumblin', "You said we could float 'em,
you lyin' bastard, I'll cut off your scrotum."
At last at the river they collapsed in a heap,
right there on the rocks, they both fell asleep.

They awakened at daylight to the honk of a goose,
but when they looked up, they saw thousands of moose.
Now moose are born ugly, of this they're aware,
and this makes them meaner than an old grizzly bear.

But, the moose were just browsing, eating their fill.
Junior and HellBent lay perfectly still.
HellBent spoke up, "Let's run for a tree.
I'm betting my life you can't outrun me."

Hell sprang from the rocks like a turpentined cat.
A forty yard sprint in two seconds flat.
Junior was left, alone on the beach,
HellBent was high, in a spruce, out of reach.

Bullwinkle and friends just quietly ate.
HellBent realized, a few seconds too late,
the tree he had climbed was scrawny and thin,
arching over the river, the spruce threw him in.

His belly flop splash frightened the moose,
they stampeded down river, along with the goose.
HellBent was racing through rapids and chutes,
the rocks of the river slid under his boots.

Near drowning he was when he hit the moose butt,
his mouth was wide open, his eyes were screwed shut.
He bounced off the moose and landed on shore,
in time to hear Junior say, "Do that some more."

VI

Junior got dressed in wetsuit and fins,
then said to HellBent, "The dredging begins."
They found all the bolts and the clamps for the hose.
HellBent kept asking, "Is this where it goes?"

Junior told HellBent, "Go sit on a rock,
this dredge will suck like a whore from the dock."
HellBent sat down with a lit cigarette
and said in a mumble, "It won't work, I bet."

The sluice box and dredge were set up at last,
when a mangy old mongrel tried slinking past.
HellBent was coaxing the beast to his hand,
when Junior looked up from his place in the sand.

"WOLF!!" cried out Junior, as he leapt to his feet.
Canis lupus was reaching for Bent's offered treat.
HellBent said, "Where?", as he looked all around,
but Junior was runnin', nowhere to be found.

His pink fins were floppin' as he flapped down the shore.
The snarl of the wolf was the grim reaper's roar.
HellBent stood frozen, his eyes bulging out,
as he stared at the teeth in that slobbering snout.

'Round a bend in the river, Junior had run,
where the moose and the goose dozed in the sun.
The sight of that man in wetsuited fear,
sent them upriver in overdrive gear.

The wolf only glanced at the stampeding moose,
but he broke and ran at the sight of the goose.
Flappin' and honkin' that goose led the herd,
HellBent tried kissing that lifesaving bird.

That goose took a gander at Bent's smiling face
and with powerful wings, continued the race.
All the critters were gone, far up the river
when HellBent sat down and started to shiver.

Junior came back with only one fin,
he looked at HellBent and said, "I give in."
HellBent said, "Yup, we'd be safer by far,
if we spent the next month in the old Chicken bar."

Curt Patterson
4/14/00