Christmas at the Fraley Springs fire tower

Back when we were still single, my group of friends had a Christmas tradition. Wrap up family time, meet at Ert's and head to the Fraley Springs fire tower.

It was a cold, bleak winter day that Christmas. In typical humor, the weather deprived us of a White Christmas. The last vestiges of the sun were dropping behind the ridge across the way. The headlights of Herman's Oldsmo-Buick darted down my driveway. Oscar jumped out of the passenger's side. He looked like a little kid who got a pony from Santa that morning.

"I got nitrous!" He held aloft boxes of nitrous oxide canisters.

"Top that off with a little hair of the dog, I'd say we got a party!" Herm held up a Wild Turkey bottle.

"Gentlemen and I use that term loosely. This calls for an immediate round of shots. Such will be followed by a hasty departure from this place unto another place." I declared that as if reading a legal verdict. And let the record show that was exactly what came to pass.

The hills flashed by the windows of my Ford SUV. The three of us caught up on the day's events. Eric Clapton played on the stereo. We came to a thorny issue.

"Dude, where is the weed?" Oscar seemed a little put off.
"Yeah man, you promised." Herm put in his two cents.
"My guy didn't come through. Don't ask why and all that shit. I don't know. It's the guy that always wears that 'kiss my ass' hat. You know, it has the picture of the donkey on it." I was fending off wolves.
"Who gives a fuck about his hat?" Herm was indignant. "You relied on a guy who wears a hat that says 'kiss my ass'. What did you expect? Four star service? This was your one task over the whole holidays. God Damn you!"
"Your taking this a little overboard, don't you think?" Still trying to keep the wolves at bay.
"I want my money back, mother fucker." Oscar hit on a point where I was really going to be in trouble.
"I'll give it to you Friday." I winced.
"Friday? Ahhh! When you get paid! You already spent our money? You miserable rat fucker." Herm smelled blood.
"Alright! Alright! Ya' bastards. Confession time." They had me.
"Fucker" Oscar mumbled under his breath.
"I went to kiss-my-ass hat boy's place. He had the stuff and the exchange went cleanly. He had some friends there, a couple and the girl's best friend."
"Oh god no, a girl! You are going to die." Herm knew where this was going.
"Kiss MY ass, fucker, shut up. Back to the confession in progress. Ole girl wasn't really hot, but hell, I'd fuck her. As is custom, after the exchange we matched some bud for the ceremonial, end of drug deal, joint. Ole girl came and sat down next to me. She laughed at one of my stupid jokes and gave me the arm touch."
"SAVE US THE FUCKING DETAILS." Oscar yells from the back.
"Yes please, answer the only two things we care about. One, did you or did you not get laid? And, where is our weed. MOTHER FUCKER." Herm, angry as usual.
"Okay bitches, damn! No, I did not get any. Ole girl used me to get stoned. She has your weed."
"You gave some random whore our weed?"
"No, she stole it."

The groaning and moaning continued all the way up the mountain. I paid no attention to the bitching; I was planning. If I could quickly get some shots in them all would be well.

We arrive at the tower. Getting out of the Ford, Herm and Oscar's bitching goes unfettered. Suddenly, Herm freezes and breaks into laughter. He is looking at the passenger's floor board. Oscar joins him. He breaks down horse laughing. Standing confused and feeling left out, "What you bastards, what?"

"Dirty, you are an idiot." Herm can barely breathe.
Laboring to breath, Oscar exclaims "You are a complete dumbass. She didn't steal your weed; you dropped it on the floor board."

In an instant, all was forgiven.

While Oscar set to work on our herbal remedy. Herm and I checked out the scene. The mountain was about a thousand feet above the surrounding towns. While there was no snow in town; the mountain was capped with it, a good four inches. The air was cold, crisp and clean; not a cloud in the sky. A half moon shown down with a pale, eerie light.

Oscar glanced up, "Man, this place looks like Hoth."

Our inner nerds came burning to life. We all completely memorized Star Wars, Episode Five, The Empire Strikes Back. As the joint made its rounds, we divided up roles. Herm was to be Hon Solo. If you looked Herm in the face, closed one eye and squinted the other; he could have been Harrison Ford's distant cousin. Oscar was chosen for Luke Skywalker. Herm and Oscar forced multiple roles on me. Chewbacca, I hated that one. I once dated a girl who was a little hairy. She also was not aware of razors and their application, thus her nickname "Chewbacca." The bastards jabbed me bad. I also had to be the visage of Obi Won Kenobi. This was a plot on their part to get even with me for the weed thing. I had no idea of what was coming.

We reverted to eight years old. Running around, like kids, reenacting the movie. Then came the Kenobi scene. In the movie, Luke is in a blizzard. He falls down, on death's door. From the afterlife, Kenobi becomes an apparition. He talks a bit, as he fades away, Han Solo rides through his apparition. Where Kenobi fades away, I was going to simply step behind a tree. As I got to that point I heard Herm's foot steps behind me. I thought he was right on cue. But Herm had started a few moments early, on purpose. I was caught flat footed. He rammed me in the back at full steam. I rolled down the mountain a good fifty feet. Bastards.

The theatre of the idiots was over, time for the serious business of getting fucked up. We smoked more and drank a lot more. Presently all reached the promise land of a real good buzz. It was time to climb the abandoned fire tower.

We each carried one inebriant as we shimmied up to the first set of stairs. Herm and I forged up to the second flight. Looking down, we saw Oscar frozen at the first flight. He looked up at us. "This is incredibly fucking stupid."

Herm and I exchanged confused looks "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"We are all so fucked up that not one of us could find our own balls. This rusted old tower must be at least fifty years old. Half of the wooden steps are either: rotted, broken or missing. And you want to climb up 150 feet of that? Did I mention that the two of you can barley stand up right? HAVE YOU LOST YOUR MINDS?"

Oscar may have well been speaking in French. Herm and I could not comprehend his arguments. He and I looked at each other, confused. Then at the same time we looked down and Oscar. "Pussy" We turned and headed up the fire tower.

We made it up the first three flights of stairs just fine. Half way up the fourth there was a stair missing. Herm lead the way boldly. Until the stair, just before the missing one, disintegrated under his foot. In an amazing furry of moving arms and legs, Herm suddenly shot up the stairs, rolling to a stop at the next landing. It was funnier than Hell. He looked like a cat dropped on a slick kitchen floor. I shimmied up the metal supports until I made it next to Herm.

He lay on the ground clutching a support girder with all his might. Terror covered his face. I was laughing at him so hard I couldn't breath, that made me oblivious to the surroundings. Then it hit me, the wind. The wind started to gust, real hard. I felt the entire tower sway in the wind. For a moment, I thought was going to be blown off the tower. I panicked. I lunged for the same girder that Herm was wrapped around. Herm obviously felt that there was a sturdy support shortage. He began to fight me off. We were now both trashed and in a full on panic and fighting for the right to hold onto a metal girder. Sadly neither of us noticed the other girder, two and a half feet away.

Another big gust hit the tower, it swayed. Herm quit fighting me so he could hold the girder with both hands. I immediately grabbed the damn thing in a death grip. For what seemed an eternity, the two of us clung for our lives. Loud, heavy gusts of wind rocked the tower. The two of us were knotted up, holding on for dear life. Then we heard it.

From below we could hear Oscar in a fit of laughter. Herm and I looked each other in the eye. Without saying a word, we both knew what the other was thinking. "Oscar Mother Fucker." Grim determination set in. We were going to show that bastard. For reasons that no sober mind can possibly comprehend, we started back up the tower. We were both terrified, but some broken line of thinking drove us on. Oscar later described the two of us panicked sloths. He timed us. It took an hour for us to climb the last eight flights of stairs.

Finally at the top we sprang into the little booth. The thin sheet metal walls kept the wind at bay. Both of us were visibly shaking. We could feel the tower continuing to rock about six inches. The terror was palpable. Then I had a great idea.

"Dude, break out the whipits."
"WHAT?" Herm looked at me confused and afraid.
"Yeah man, whipits, it is our only hope. Trust me! Do it! It is the only chance we have."

The wind howled even harder. Herm was loosing it. His hands were convulsing and his head bobbing wildly. In a few seconds he was going to loose all control of himself. I reached over and grabbed him by the shoulders and looked him straight in the eyes.

"Damn it man, pull yourself together! You are the keeper of the nitrous. I am depending on you." The tower now began to rock back and forth violently. "We can beat this. All is not lost. You have the whipits. The whipits will save us. Whipits man, the whipits. Think of the whipits as our personal Obi Won Whipit Kenobi. We must travel to Alderaan, but we must whipit and whipit real good. Reach deep into yourself and bring forth the whipit of life. I know I am saying whipit a lot, but whipit man!"

Suddenly the panic eased from his face replaced by a deep understanding. This gave way to grim determination as he pulled out the box of cartridges and the "Whipit Gun."

Honestly, I thought we were going to die. The tower was going to fall over, I just knew it. Really, I had no idea of how whipits would save us. I simply wanted one last good buzz before I died in a horrible tower falling incident.

We hit the first round of whipits. The familiar wha-wha sensation took over. Outside the storm hit its crescendo. Snow was now coming down hard; we could not see the ground. The tower made horrible creaking noises as if to finally cave to the wind. Death was certain. Herm and I sucked down the nitrous oxide as fast as we could; laughing like mad men in the face of death.

Suddenly, I awoke. Looking around I saw Herm lying three feet away, passed out. Nitrous cartridges were everywhere. I nudged Herm. "Man wake up, you are alive fucker." Slowly we came back to consciousness. The storm had passed. All was calm and relaxed. The moon hung reassuringly in the sky. Herm and I broke into a fit of laughter. We had made it. A thought crossed my mind. I said to Herm, "Oscar Mother Fucker."

Back on the ground, Oscar had ball without us. While watching us climb the tower, he smoked enough weed to fell a small horse. At one point, he just knew that me and Herm were going to die. Casually writing us off, he tried to see how much he could smoke before we died. He was trying to figure out how to tell the police how we died, when he saw it. Oscar swore he saw a Keebler elf. Keebler elves always have delicious treats with them. To get the cookies all one must do is catch one of the elves. Then he gives you snacks. Everybody knows how that works, right?

So Oscar started sneaking around the top of the mountain elf hunting. That is when Herm and I awoke. We looked down and saw Oscar darting wildly around. Herm and I were confused, but knew what we must do. We gathered up the spent cartridges and started throwing them at Oscar. On the ground, Oscar was operating under the assumption that Herm and me were dead. Imagine his surprise when suddenly shit fell out of the sky at him. When the first cartridge hit, Oscar jumped straight up in the air. He squawked like a bird and ran off in a random direction. So funny, Herm and I almost pissed on ourselves. About six cartridges later, Oscar figured it out.

White Christmas Indeed!

Dirty Ert