The onset of single digit temperatures this week causes me to pause to consider two questions. The first was asked by my fishing/golfing brother, Greg – nicknamed “Possum”. In today’s conversation about the cold, Possum asked: “what’s the coldest you’ve ever been?” That question led me to ask myself the second, my philosophic question: “will my willingness to be outdoors in the cold fade as I age?”
I’ve said a few times over these past months that this mild, moist year reminds me of those years I was growing up in the mountains of northeast Tennessee. College took me out of the mountains to the farm country of northwest Tennessee which was warmer and winder than these hills. From college I moved to Memphis were it was much warmer and more humid than I had ever experienced.
By the time I moved home to Hawkins County in the early 1980’s, the three decade run-up to what some call global warming had begun. We’ve had drought, warmer temperatures, less snow, and more bugs in summer for the years since I returned to my beloved mountains. Frankly, the weather this year suits me.
Tom Anderson is one of my best friends. We attended college in northwest Tennessee and law school in Memphis together. He’s my children’s godfather. We’ve tried to hunt together at least once each duck season in all these years since law school.
Sometime over the holidays in the early eighties before I returned to east Tennessee, Tom invited me to duck hunt on the Tennessee River near Parsons. While I had a bad cold, the opportunity to hunt with good friends in a good place was just too good to pass.
The weatherman was predicting sub-freezing temperatures meaning the river bottoms would be frozen and thus the main channel would be active with ducks. More importantly, an Arctic blast coming straight down the Mississippi flyway was also predicted overnight with a brisk wind out of the north bringing with it a wave of migratory birds. Conditions were right for a slaughter.
By 4:30 a.m. we sauntered into the local greasy spoon for a hearty breakfast of pork loin, biscuits, gravy, and copious quantities of hot, black coffee. As we left, the lighted marquee at the bank across the street showed a temperature of six degrees. More significantly, the wind was starting to whistle.
When our thirty minute drive to the river was complete, the wind was howling. The water level had dropped a bit overnight leaving a sheet of ice all along the boat ramp. The wind was causing the river to white cap. At Parsons, the Tennessee River flows north – the same direction out of which the wind was roaring. Anytime I turned my face into the wind, my running nose froze. It’s the only time I’ve ever had ice cling to my upper lip.
After backing the trailer into the water’s edge, wisely, Tom decided to start the motor while the boat was still on the trailer. The wind was kicking up a spray that lapped over the stern of the Jon boat soaking the interior all the way to the bow. The outboard cranked and cranked. Finally it sputtered and spurted into a running rhythm.
Tom’s boat had its driver’s seat mid-boat with a right-hand shift lever for putting the propeller into gear. The spray had soaked the shift lever causing it to freeze. Tom struggled to get the motor into gear to take it off the trailer. Using a tool found in the back of the truck, he decided to peck on the shift lever to break off the ice and free the lever to move. Too bad it didn’t work that way. The shift lever snapped off with the second blow. There was nothing left to do but return to the warmth of Tom’s house. Thank goodness the boat was still on the trailer.
On our way back to Lexington, we passed that same bank. Its thermometer showed the temperature had dropped to minus three degrees. That morning I was the coldest I’ve ever been.
While I can’t be positive, I think the answer to the second question is “no”. The experiences I’ve had in the great outdoors consistently are the best experiences of my life. The rewards for those few who brave the elements are magnificent. The best sunrises and sunsets I ever saw were revealed on those blisteringly cold days. The ducks, the deer, pheasant, and grouse all seem more precious when I know I’m one of the few – maybe the only - human joining them in their home. I feel like I’m a welcomed, honored guest. I don’t see those feelings fading with age.
