This would be a funny saga of manhood confirmed . . . suitable for a dark-humored comedy movie . . . if it didn’t really happen to me. I think that the funniest scene would be when hooligans employed by the North Carolina Office of the US Forest Service intentionally released a big daddy bear into my campsite late one night. Instead of attacking me, the bear was frightened by my conga drum beats and so reversed course, charging the hooligans instead. Undoubtedly, they wet in their pants, but the bear continued on into the darkness.
by Richard L Thornton, Architect and City Planner
“There are seven acts that YHWH considers to be abominations: They are haughty eyes, a lying tongue, hands that shed innocent blood, a heart that devises wicked schemes, feet that are swift in running to mischief, a false witness who utters lies, and those who persecute or spread strife among the innocent.”
Three aging warriors from the Vietnam Era invited me to join them for fried fish at their campsite in the Nantahala Mountains of North Carolina. They claimed to have caught too many trout to eat, but I quickly saw that the trout came from a nearby Ingles Supermarket. The discovery would be just the beginning of my learning process that night. They described incredible corruption within the US Forest Service, including protection for occult activities, a planned insurrection against the Obama Administration and meth manufacturing within Appalachian national forests.
What the North Carolina mountain folk knew all along
When the mountain folk in Western North Carolina realized that I was the National Architecture Columnist for the Examiner, they made a point of coming to me at the campsite or when I was eating at a local restaurant. They somehow thought I was the Robin Hood of suppressed “regular folks.” They had been framed by the national media to look like the villains, who supported Olympic Games Bomber, Eric Rudolph’s anti-government causes.
Wikipedia tells readers that Eric Rudolph survived . . . even thrived . . . for seven years on the lam, because he was a skilled outdoorsman. That is politically correct caca de toro. The TVA police, some state and local cops, and even some employees of the U. S. Forest Service kept Rudolph’s hide-out locations a step ahead of the massive FBI search, by monitoring the FBI’s communications. There were also fascist moles within the FBI, who intercepted tips from honest citizens in Georgia and North Carolina, before they ever reached the Eric Rudolf Task Force.
Very few local folks in North Carolina were involved in his seven year escape from the FBI’s clutches. The manhunt for Eric Rudoph was the most expensive investigation ever carried out by the Federal Bureau of Investigation – $24 million . . . that’s $41 million today.
On many a day, Rudolph’s bike was only about 10 feet from my office window. Several occasions, he was going out of the neighborhood convenience store as I was going in . . . so we were maybe three or four feet apart. I could clearly see the scar on his chin. Well, I DID score 100 on the CIA visual intelligence test! People should take me seriously, when that visual intelligence is used.
HOWEVER, the brother of the director of the GBI in NW Georgia was a Mafia lawyer and cocaine addict. The Rome Police Dept. was severely corrupted by Mafia-owned cops and card-carrying Nazis. Instead of contacting anyone in Georgia, I forwarded photos of Rudolph and the GBI safe house to my handler in the Federal Witness Protection Program, an Asst. US District Attorney in Knoxville, TN. He sent the intel through DOJ channels to the FBI Eric Rudolph Task Force in Lawrenceville, GA, but someone inside the DOJ intercepted the intel before the task force could act on them.
Even though I knew not to discuss Rudolph’s location with anyone in Georgia, traitors within the GBI went after me also. The Assistant US District Attorney in Knoxville, TN, later discovered that in March 2000, my name had been added to the Georgia Criminal Information System. I was described as being a dangerous ultraright extremist, who had served two prison terms for violent crimes. It said that while behind bars, a state prison system psychiatrist had diagnosed me as being a dangerous sociopath and schizophrenic.
All this information on the computer was fiction, of course. LOL The Assistant Director of the GBI Crime Information System redacted the false bio and inserted that I had no criminal record, plus was enrolled in the Federal Witness Protection Program. Two weeks later, his parents in Gainesville, GA were murdered in their sleep!
Back to 2010
From February 23, 2010 to mid-April 2010, I lived in the vacation house near Fontana Lake, where Eric Rudolph often stayed. My last campsite in North Carolina was at Fires Creek Wildlife Management Area. Eric Rudolph stayed in several houses, belonging to transplants from Florida, on the road going past the Fires Creek Campground. At times, he supposedly also camped out in the woods there.
When in North Carolina, Rudolph stayed in the vacation homes of wealthy Floridians in Graham, Cherokee and Clay Counties, North Carolina. These were right-wing Republicans, who wanted to make the Clinton Administration look incapable of preventing terrorism. Didn’t anybody think it was odd that the National Media told us that when captured, Rudolph was salvaging food from a dumpster in downtown Murphy, NC on May 31, 2003. At the time he had on new clothes, looked well fed and had dyed his hair black?
Beating up a homeless man in the wintry wilderness
In late December 2009, after I had gone from a house in Jasper, GA to a tent in the North Carolina Mountains, two or three men came up through the snow, collapsed my tent then beat with clubs or baseball bats.
I certainly would have been killed, but I had six of my Creek grandmother’s quilts packed over my sleeping bag, plus had created a mini-tent around my head with pillows. The only part of me that was exposed directly to the bats was the area around my mouth, nose and cheeks. Quite a lot of my blood seeped through the fabric of the tent, nevertheless. The assassins apparently didn’t know that most of my head was protected, so they thought I was either in a coma or dead. If in a coma, they assumed that I would soon freeze to death. In fact, I was only briefly unconscious from the shock of multiple blows to my face.
The attackers had made mess of my lips and teeth, plus had broken my right cheek bone. I tried to get help at an emergency center and several dental clinics in Murphy, NC and Robbinsville, NC Area.
At the time, I had about $1200 in the bank, even after paying the movers, because I had originally planned to close on a FannieMae mitigation loan in mid-January. Thus, even without insurance, I could have easily paid for the medical help. However, no one would even give me emergency first aid, because I didn’t have a home address in North Carolina . . . they said.
I ended up having to sew up the worst cuts on my lips and cheek with a suture and thread in my US Navy Corpsman’s medical kit. I used several tubes of “dental pain salve” from Kerr’s Drug Store to deaden the pain . . . partially.
Moving to a new campsite in North Carolina
By mid-May, my broken molars had become infected big time and the infection had spread into my blood. According to my thermometer, I had a temperature of 103 F. In the days before penicillin, people usually died in such situations. In our enlightened society, doctors and dentists are supposed to treat anyone, even if they have no insurance like me . . . but who is going to enforce their professional ethics, when the patient is a homeless person, such as myself?
If that wasn’t bad enough, I stopped by the Valkyrie Video Games Parlor in Robbinsville, NC where I sent my articles into the Examiner from my computer . . . just in time to be raided by the North Carolina State Police, who had been tipped off that I was running an illegal architecture office there. When the first agent opened the door, he looked astonished and said, “This isn’t an architecture office! It is a video games lounge.”
I wanted to cuss, but my jaw hurt too bad and that was a good thing. The North Carolina State Police officer turned out to be a very nice man and a real professional. I explained to him that there was no architecture work in the entire Southeast and I merely was sending in articles to the national edition of the Examiner to support my vice of wanting to eat food. He and the other officers apologized for the inconvenience then went away.
Then I accessed my email. There were 132 unsolicited emails from an organization known as “Southeastern Indians Against Obamacare.” Fictional Native Americans from around the Southeast, but mostly supposed Cherokees, explained to me how good it was for me and my country that I was going to die of blood poisoning in a day or so. I should immediately contact Congressman Shuler and urge him to stop the creeping spread of federal waste and socialism.
Grannies! As federally recognized Native Americans, the Cherokees get free medical and dental care. Whomever wrote the email propaganda obviously knew absolutely nothing about contemporary Native American culture.
Those emails made me really mad, so I decided not to die of blood poisoning in the national forest. The good news was that my monthly Examiner payment had shown up in my Paypal account. I bought a pair of alligator pliers from Robbinsville Ace Hardware and a bottle of peroxide from Kerr’s Drugs. Well, I confess. I did also splurge and also get a national brand of toothache painkiller. I was going to pull my infected teeth out and wanted as little pain as possible. Booze was not an option, because it was expensive and not allowed in the national forests of North Carolina.
I next drove over to the U. S, Forest Service Tusquitee Ranger District headquarters to find a suitable campground. I told the nice ladies that I was looking for a primitive campground where my dogs could run free, and there were few people around so I could get a lot of sleep. They said that Fires Creek was ideal for me because it was so remote that few people ever camped there. It was an official primitive campground, but had bathrooms and showers.
I drove over to the campground. It was perfect and beautiful. There were no campers, but a group of young women around a couple of horse trailers. They were loading up their horses before leaving. Something odd though . . . the overseer of the pretty young ladies was a middle aged woman. She was wearing a large silver crescent moon necklace. I had seen those before in Virginia. It was the symbol of a High Priestess of a Witch Coven! Even more odd was that she was talking with a US Forest ranger, wearing a cowboy hat and cowboy boots. That’s a new one!
I set up my camp site and headed back to Peachtree, NC where there was a restaurant with good food. I would wait till morning to perform self-surgery.
The fried chicken at the restaurant in Peachtree seemed to take some of the pain away. It was getting pitch dark. Just as I approached the road that turned off to the Fires Creek Wildlife Management Area, I beheld a road block with at least five law enforcement vehicles, blue lights flashing . . . must be a wreck. When it came time for me to pass through what I thought was a wreck, a pleasant Cherokee County deputy asked to see my driver’s license and proof of insurance.
Well, that was no problem. Despite being poor and homeless, I had . . . thanks to former National Park Service Director, Roger Kennedy, and by the grace of God . . . managed to keep my license, insurance and car payments current. I reached into the glove compartment and handed him the proof of insurance card. Then I casually thumbed through the compartments of my billfold to get out my drivers license. It wasn’t there! I panicked and began rummaging across my seat in hope that the license had fallen out. Nope!
Two days before, the teller in a bank in Robbinsville, NC had asked to see my license in order to cash a check. Evidently, she forgot to give it back to me . . . or did she intentionally not return my license to show her support for law and order? Oh lordamercy!
The deputies and state patrolmen began shining their flashlights into my Explorer, looking for drugs or alcohol. One patrolman asked me, “You Injuns like to drink a lot. Do you have any alcoholic beverages in this vehicle?” I told him that I was Creek, not Cherokee, and there had never been an alcoholic in our family. “I certainly was not stupid enough to drink alcoholic beverages and then step into the driver’s seat.” He got the message and stopped looking for booze.
My heretofore polite dogs went bananas. They associated lights in the dark with the thugs, who had attacked my campsites repeatedly. Now that’s all I needed was to not have a license and then have one of my dogs bite a law enforcement officer. Fortunately, I had some Ingles Supermarket apple fritters. I shoved them into the dogs’ mouths and they shut up.
The deputy asked me to pull my car aside and wait. It was a Friday night. They were calling somebody in Georgia to see if I had a criminal record. No one would be in the office on a weekend night. I would be spending the weekend in jail even though I had a perfect driving record.
I heard a voice shout happily out in the darkness beyond the police cruiser headlights . . . “We got him now, boys! We got him now boys!”
It seemed like an eternity, but suddenly I heard a lady’s voice over the radio. “Mr. Thornton has no criminal record, outstanding charges, warrants or convictions. His insurance is current and Georgia driver’s license is valid. “
One of the troopers said, “Well I’ll be damned. Did you hear that? He has a valid Georgia license. He’s has a license!” Several others in the group repeated those words. The Cherokee County deputy the politely told me to go get a temporary license in Georgia as soon as possible. I could leave. There would be no ticket or charges.
I had just let the dogs out of the Explorer in the now dark camp site on Fires Creek, when I saw a big SUV with blue lights flashing pull into the gravel lane that you see in the photo of the Fires Creek campground. Now what? My head was throbbing from the infection. My body was burning up with fever and now some cop is gonna arrest me for some contrived thing.
It was a U. S. Forest Service law enforcement SUV. When the USFS Law Enforcement Officer stepped out of the door, I immediately recognized him. He was the guy, wearing a cowboy hat, who had been following me around western North Carolina for five months! I suspected it was him even before hand, because the guy stalking me always had teenage boys in his car. There was a teenage boy in the front seat. I thought that was weird.
What in the world did he want now?
“Mr. Thornton, you are violation of United States Forest Services regulations requiring a leash on all dogs in developed campgrounds. The fee is $75 per violation per dog.”
“Say what ?” I responded in shock. “I specifically went to your district office to be directed to a primitive campground where leashes were not required. The sign at the entrance says USFS Primitive Campground Area Wait a minute” . . .
I reached into my Explorer and grabbed the map that the nice ladies in Murphy had given me. “Look at this map. It is entitled Fires Creek Primitive Camping Area. Your lady even drew an arrow to the exact spot, where I pitched my tent. At both entrances to this camping area are the Forest
Service’s official signs for primitive camping areas. Look a-here on the sheet I got from YOUR office. It says, “Unless the camper sees this sign at a camping area, all pets must be kept on a leash. However, campers in primitive areas must be respectful of other campers and not allow their pets to be nuisances. Sir, this is a primitive camping area!”
The law enforcement ranger went into a rage. “I telling you one last time. It doesn’t matter what the lady said in the office. It doesn’t matter what the map says. It doesn’t matter what the sign says. What matters is what I say. If I catch any of your dogs without a leash on in this camp, you’ll get a $75 ticket for each dog, plus a $500 fine for refusing to obey the lawful order of a federal law enforcement officer! I am telling you right now that you leave this campsite and go up that road a mile or so.”
I responded, “You are telling me that you define what the law is? That’s not how it works in the United States. A man wearing a badge enforces the laws made by others, but the Supreme Court has ruled repeatedly that a police officer can not create his own laws. That is called being arbitrary and capricious.” The Law Enforcement Ranger said nothing, but gave me a look that could kill. The ranger and his teenage boyfriend jumped into the patrol SUV. He slammed the door and drove off.
The three “fishermen” – who weren’t
After the weird USFS ranger left, I glanced around the camping area. Three elderly fishermen had set up their camping trailers across the creek from me. That was okay. They wouldn’t make any noise. The fishermen and I chatted across the creek with each other as I fed the dogs.
They soon hollered over to invite me and the dogs to eat some leftover fried fish that they had
caught that day. When I arrived at the campsite, I thought it was odd that the freshly caught trout were shrink-wrapped in packages with Ingles Supermarket labels, but what the heck? I was still a little hungry even after eating at the restaurant. The dogs never turned down fried fish.
The men offered me a glass of whiskey. I declined because there were signs all over the place, saying no alcoholic beverages. Well, I hate whiskey anyway.
They then offered me a beer. I also declined for the first reason. Finally, one of them took out two pipes and offered me a toke of marijuana. I told them that I don’t do anything illegal because the Georgia state cops in the past ten years had incessantly tried find something to “charge” me with. In this case, the North Carolina courts would probably sentence me to life in prison for marijuana possession.
The three gents, though, preceded to get drunk and stoned. Periodically, one of the men stacked more wood on the camp fire. I asked them why they were keeping such a big fire burning. since it was getting late. The fire tender told me that I needed to start a fire before I hit the sack. He didn’t initially say why I would need a large bonfire.
The light emitted by the bonfire danced upon our faces, while everything else around was pitch black. Finally, the alcohol and pot loosened the tongues of the three wise men. They first warned me that while I was gone, several federal agents from Asheville had installed video surveillance cameras in a ring around the campground. They said that these cameras were only useful in the daytime, but that federal agents might be hiding on top of the hill behind them at night with night vision goggles or cameras.
I told them that I was doing nothing that I needed to hide. First, of all I was one of the good guys and under the protection of the Federal Witness Protection Program. I asked them, “Why would federal agents harass one of their own intelligence assets.” I was merely going around western
North Carolina looking at archaeological sites. It didn’t make any sense for the US Forest Service to be spending so much money and effort on me? I had a perfect driving record and never used drugs. The men didn’t answer . . . then.
I learned that they were all Viet Nam veterans, who had been part of the first wave of troops sent to Viet Nam. They had remained friends for life. One was dying of a form of cancer caused by Agent Orange, and claimed that he could legally smoke pot to alleviate the symptoms of chemotherapy.
After awhile, they started spilling the beans, as we say down here in Jawja. Each had been arrested by US Forest Service law enforcement officers for serious misdemeanors, such as drinking alcohol in the national forest or possession of a fire arm in the national forest without a hunting license.
United States Forest Service law enforcement officers had promised them that if they got me to drink alcohol or smoke marijuana, their charges would be dropped.
One, who acted younger than the other two told me that the feds knew everything about me. He said that there were many federal employees in Western North Carolina, who he considered traitors. They were in on a plot to assassinate President Obama. I was to be framed. The reason that I had been evicted on Christmas Eve was to give me a motive for attacking President Obama.
Obama was supposed to have been killed while vacationing in Asheville during early April. It didn’t go through because they had to kill him, while I was in Asheville. I had been invited to spend the weekend with a lady, now divorced, who had flirted with me, while I lived in the Asheville Area. She lived near the Grove Park Inn where the President and family were staying. However, my car had a flat tire and I didn’t have the money to get it repaired at that time.
He looked at me and said, “These traitors are part of a nationwide plot to establish a Nazi government without the people knowing it.”
The fire tender told me that there were some people in rec vehicles making meth at the exact location, where the Cowboy Ranger had told me to camp. They were highly inclined to kill anyone, who camped near their meth operation. He cussed a bit then said, “Yeh, these rangers fined me $500 for drinking a beer in the national forest then look the other way when wealthy drug dealers drive there $100,000 buses up into the national forest to make meth.
The fire tender then left for awhile. The others didn’t want to say much with him gone. The fire tender returned with an arm load of dead wood. I asked them what were the names of these “traitors.” They wouldn’t tell me. The leader did say that I needed to keep my fire going all night to be safe. I asked, “Safe from what?” They wouldn’t answer, but the oldest one again reminded me to keep my fire burning all night.
I asked them if Cowboy Ranger was from around here and working for the Forest Service, when Eric Rudolph was hiding in the Floridians’ houses on Fires Creek. The oldest man showed a scowl. “That bastard’s not from these mountains, although he tries to make people think he is. He’s from Florida just like Rudolph. Yep! He was living here when Rudolph was on the run. Richard, you’ve got to tell people how the mountain folks have been suffering from these feds. They are experimenting on ways to control people. Everybody is scared to talk. There are good people in the government, but they are scared to talk too. Strange things are always happening to the good people, like you.”
I asked them why in the world would so many people care a flip about a homeless architect living in a tent with three dogs? What possible threat could I be to anyone?
The veteran with cancer said that the group of witches, who moved to Cherokee County, NC from California were really mad at me. I had camped next to a circle of stones, where they held ceremonies. The USFS rangers made sure that no one disturbed the Witch Circle and would find reasons to make campers move, when the witches were holding rituals.
I told him that I had camped at the exact spot, where the women in the USFS office had told me to camp. The spokesman for the veterans then responded that he was not sure, but these feds in North Carolina that he knew, seemed really afraid of me.
Were the three veterans telling the truth? I had no way of knowing for sure. If some of the federal employees in western North Carolina were involved with treasonous activities, it certainly would explain all the strange things that had happened to me, and the murder of the 32 year old woman from Andrews, NC in 2000 at a lake near Blairsville, GA. She had been ritually mutilated like someone in a Hollywood horror movie.
The campsite of this woman and her girlfriends was at Fires Creek, but her body was found at a parking lot in Poteete Creek Camp Ground on Lake Nottely near Blairsville, Georgia. The bodies of the other girls were never found.
What I did know for a fact though, was that when I lived in Asheville, several of my wife’s female friends worked for the Forest Service and they were definitely members of a national witch cult. Back then it was mainly involved in placing women into positions of power in government, but by now has devolved into one more forms of organized crime.
The three veterans were all falling into a stupor from the combination of booze and pot. I bid them goodnight and returned to my tent. I turned on a propane lantern and wrote down everything that had happened and everything they said, while it was fresh in my mind.
There was no need for me to keep a fire going all night. I was too sick to bother with that anyway. I had a secret weapon. It was a solar powered flood light with a motion activated switch. Anyone who approached my tent too closely would be blinded by light and facing the wrath of my Creek war club and three very smart dogs. I kept the light system hidden in my car when I was away from camp. Absolutely no one knew about it, until it was too late.
When I woke up in the morning the three fishermen were already breaking camp. The fire tender brought me all of their left over food supplies including two dozen eggs. I thanked them and wished them well then feasted on a big breakfast. I never saw them again.
Busted by the Cowboy Ranger
It would be an impossible task to hold leashes of three dogs and pull a tooth with alligator pliers. I loaded the dogs into the Explorer, then headed to another section of the national forest. Okay, here we go . . . there was no other alternative. I clamped the pliers onto the worse tooth, then began swinging it back and forth to gradually loosen it from the jaw bone. After about 15 minutes of pain that I don’t even want to talk about, there was a cracking sound,
then I pulled down steadily, until the tooth was out. I then washed the blood out of my mouth and gargled with hydrogen peroxide. I followed the same procedure with the second tooth. My body was so numbed from the first pulling that the second tooth didn’t seem as painful.
I spread one of my grandmother’s quilts on the grass and laid down.
Dr. Mack, our resident canine physician sniffed my entire body to make sure that I was not seriously injured, then lay his head on my shoulder. The other two set their heads on my stomach and calves. I slept for about four hours, then woke up feeling much better!
That night I received confirmation of why the LEO ranger was so determined to keep my dogs on a leash. A couple of men (I presume) came out of the woods, but got zapped by Rob Roy when they passed the hood of my car. I had Rob Roy on a leash alright, a thirty foot leash. I couldn’t see anything because it was jet black outside. The attackers yelled “Jaysus!” and ran back into the woods. Jesus did not pay any attention to them. .
The next night’s visitor must have been a bear. The dogs barked. They didn’t bark when humans were attacking. Instead they would wake me up, growl and look toward the direction that the white trash was attacking me. I think that at least three times, while I was camping. the intruders were bears. They said, “buh-h-h-h” and ran off.
In the morning, a U. S. Forest Service truck showed up around 6:45 AM. Its two occupants looked youngish, but were in USFS uniforms. They drove slowly around the campground, then parked on the other side of the creek where the three wise men had been. The young men made barking and howling sounds trying to attract my dogs. My dogs were silent and stayed inside the tent.
The truck then drove around to a spot about eight feet from my tent. The driver honked the horn several times, then the young men made howling sounds. When my dogs didn’t respond, they drove off.
This happened almost every morning that I was camped at Fires Creek. Why are taxpayers supporting the salaries of HOOLIGANS, doing pre-adolescent dirty tricks like this?
The US Forest service drops off a bear
Another time was probably a huge male black bear, but I didn’t see it clearly. A pickup truck like the ones the Forest Service uses, drove into the campground around 12:30 AM hauling a trailer with a cage on it.
The moment that they opened the cage, I started playing my conga drums fiercely. My dogs then joined with ferocious barking. Whatever animal that was in the cage immediately ran the opposite direction right past the US Forest Service hooligans, who screamed in terror and undoubtedly wet in their cowardly pants.
The large dark creature did not stop until it had splashed across Fires Creek and deeply penetrated the forest. I heard some cussing from the hooligans and the truck drove off. Maybe that is why the veterans told me to keep a fire going all night. I might scare the males bears and local hooligans so bad that the would no longer be able to procreate.
The highlight of my stay at Fires Creek coincided with the return of the moon. The intruder appeared to be a bearded, barrel chested , 6’-7” man in a gorilla costume. His face was not covered by a gorilla mask, so he relied on bushy mustache and long beard to create the Big Foot look. Certainly, in the dark it would be enough to terrify most people, but I had my secret weapon – a solar powered, motion detector floodlight and a tripwire operated wildlife camera!
You can imagine the initial shock of seeing a 6’-6” hairy beast come out of the darkness of the woods, but he walked like a man. I decided to walk like an ape man when I attacked with my war club. I first made gorilla sounds and beat my chest. You can imagine HIS shock when a 6’- 3” and much more agile ape man came charging at him. My herd dogs smelled the cow leather gorilla costume and sensed that I was not afraid of him and so thought he was a runaway cow. They herded him back into the woods by nipping him on the heels. That was FUNNY!
All the Federal law enforcement of Asheville comes to Fires Creek
Memorial Day Weekend arrived and not a soul was camping at Fires Creek other then me. I had gone ten days of being there alone. Surely by now the Cowboy Ranger felt very silly.
My answer came early Saturday morning. At least seven cars and trucks drove slowly past the campground as I was cooking breakfast. First military-looking males in bullet proof vests climbed the wooded sloped that overlooking my campsite and “thought” they had hidden themselves behind trees. Then “bystanders” took positions in corners of the campground.
I noticed that this large group of federal law enforcement officers were ignoring two families, who had pitched tents across the paved road in an area, which was clearly marked with multiple signs saying, “No Camping Allowed.”
Everybody looked like G-men and G-women. Midnight Cowboy was not there, or at least, not visible. Most of the bureaucrats were dressed inappropriately for roughing in the woods. Finally an elderly couple walked back and forth on the lane next to my camp site. They were not campers and looked rather silly. This went on for a couple of hours.
Then another pickup arrived. A short time later, an extremely fast dog was released in the woods. It raced past my camp site to the opposite end where “bystanders” were standing. My dogs were in my Ford Explorer. It was clear that the occult people of the US Forest Service were wasting a great deal of public funds on a holiday weekend to try to make my dogs look like bad dogs. They failed.
Finally, everybody almost simultaneously received telephone calls. After putting their cellular phones in their pockets, they walked together to their cars. I presume they were federal agents from Asheville, who were paid overtime on the holidays to entrap my dogs. It didn’t work.
Late in the afternoon, I realized that the warm weather that day had melted all my ice. I raced off to Peachtree, NC to get to the convenience store before it closed at 7:30 PM. It was dark when I returned to the camp ground. I let the dogs out of the back of the Explorer and poured food in the bowls. It was impossible to feed three hungry dogs side by side while holding three leashes.
Guess Midnight Cowboy knew that. His Forest Service SUV had been waiting for me in the dark. As soon as I was pouring the dog food into their bowls, he turned on his blue lights.
Busted! I had been complying with Midnight Cowboy’s new version of USFS regulations for twelve days, even though for ten days, there had been no one in the campground, but me.
This time, he had two teenage boyfriends along with him as he waited in the dark. I stayed silent as he gave his triumphant speech and wrote out the tickets.
It was funny, actually. Cowboy Ranger waited with a puzzled look on his face, long after he had handed me the tickets. His actions throughout the two weeks had been outrageous, and therefore he expected me to go into a rage.
I had already been warned by my Snowbird Cherokee friends that predators such as Cowboy Ranger intentionally did things to cause the Cherokees to go into a rage, so they could be arrested and charged with more serious offenses. It is a racist game that some federal, state and local law enforcement officers have played for decades.
However, I am Eastern Creek. We are notorious for remaining cool under fire in combat. As he drove away, I gave him the open handed point of a Wind Clan curse. He would grow steadily more insane and perverted to the point that he would become an embarrassment to the US Government.
I then drove to Hiawassee, GA and made a point of asking directions of some very fine law enforcement officers in that county’s sheriff’s department, then bought a meal at the Ingles Supermarket in Hiawassee. The town spells the word “Hiawassee” instead of “Hiwassee.” I then drove back to Hayesville, NC and got a room at a motel on the Franklin Highway. I needed a hot bath and a good night’s sleep badly.
When I woke up in the morning, there were three patrol cars of the Clay County, NC Sheriff ’s Department’s SWAT squad blocking the exit to motel parking lot, with their doors open to protect them from a swarm of machine gun bullets expected from my motel room. They said nothing.
I let the dogs out of the Explorer and walked them over to a grassy lawn in front of the deputies to do their doggy things. I then loaded the car. The deputies were still there so I politely asked them to move their cars out of the way, I was going home to Georgia. They did.
As soon as I started driving off, they raced up to my motel room . . . pointed their assault rifles into the open doorway and peeked in. I have no clue what they were looking for or why they had surrounded my motel room. For me though, that was the last night I would ever spend the night in North Carolina.
I had to return in November for my court case. The federal district attorney had learned that I was a “good guy” in the eyes of the US Department of Justice and tried to quickly get my case dismissed.
A group of US Forest Service bureaucrats and occultists were there from Asheville. They approached the bench. They angrily handed the DA with a stack of at least 20 pages of crimes that I had committed. He glanced through them then I heard him say that this is all hearsay, not judicial records.
The DA sent an assistant to ask me if I would be willing to file a Nolo Contendere and pay a $75 fine instead $725 as demanded by the US Forest Service. There would be no record of the charges or fine in court records. I agreed, just so I could get the hell out of North Carolina ASAP.
While I was in the courtroom, a Georgia State trooper in uniform was seen directing an unmarked, jet-black, tow truck with a Georgia license plate to steal my Ford Explorer with the three dogs in it. The Three Canine Musketeers were barking as loud as their lungs allowed. This ruckus caught the attention of some federal employees on the first floor.
A United States Police officer drove up in a SUV and intervened. I was told that the Georgia State Trooper claimed to be impounding the car as evidence in a serious crime, committed in Georgia. The US Police Officer informed him that he was on federal property in the State of North Carolina. A Georgia State trooper had no police powers on federal property in North Carolina, unless deputized by the FBI. That ended that.
Now you know!