We’re In The Wrong Place

         Uncle Matt was a hunter too. But he liked to go after woodchucks. And that’s understandable, because he owned the best durn groundhog dog that ever ran across a clover field. The two of them were undoubtedly the most tenacious stalkers of this prey that ever put one in his den. With Uncle Matt and Old Blue on the trail, it was usually finis for Mr. Groundhog.

All except one time---this story is about the one that got away. If You’d like, I’ll tell ya’ about it.

It seems that once upon a time they had this groundhog in his den “way off up yonder” in the uppermost regions of Hungry Hollow. At the foot of the mountain range there.

This particular groundhog had taken a strong liking to life, and very much wanted to remain among the living. He was movin’ dirt, and real, real fast!

Old Blue was in the hole after him, and he was a pretty good excavator too. The dirt was being moved in huge amounts. In only a matter of minutes that groundhog and Old Blue had dug themselves “plumb outta’ sight”. Uncle and that dog were partners---they were in this hunt together. They meant to get this groundhog; he would not spoil their long string of successes. So Matt followed his dog into that hole.

Ole Man Groundhog seemed to sense two enemies were after his hide, so he went into high gear and kicked in the overdrive. Earth was being moved as though an augur was boring thru it. He could feel the hot breath of the hound on his rump, and Uncle was just as hard after his dog.

 The trio dug and dug. Stop to catch their breath, then dig some more. This went on for what seemed like hours.

  Fast as this groundhog could dig, (and make no mistake, he was speedy ) he just couldn’t pull away from these two. On the other hand, neither could they gain on him. It was nip and tuck.

 So back to the digging. Old Blue had long since ceased barking, for it was taking his every ounce of strength just to keep from falling behind in the race. Just about holding his own, he was, thanks to constant urging from Uncle Matt.

 This dog Blue was a seasoned veteran of countless groundhog hunts, and knew he was the best around. His record had no blemishes, not the first “whistle pig” had ever escaped. This, of course, was all well and good, because it pleased Master. Should Master ever become displeased,---well, Blue didn’t allow his thoughts to dwell too long on such unpleasantness. The very idea caused unspeakable horrors to form in his canine brain. He’d find himself outta’ the warm , cozy living quarters of Master and banished to a cold, bleak doghouse outside  Heaven forbid! Pillaging thru garbage cans to hold starvation away! Goodness gracious, sounded like a dog’s life. Old Blue certainly didn’t consider himself one of those. Far better if Master remained happy!

There was something happening here that caused these thoughts to race thru Blue’s mind. It was this consarned groundhog up ahead in the tunnel. (which had by now become an  extremely elongated  hole down into the mountainside. It was akin to a major engineering project )

 Then a dreadful thought. Was it even a groundhog? The sensitive nose of Blue said yes, but he was beginning to have doubts. That thing, whatever it might be, was more like machine than animal. A very real fear  was mounting in Blue that he and Master were going to lose this one.

 His thoughts returned to his nose. Good golly Moses ! If’n his sniffer was going bad, then his days were definitely numbered. The “good life” would come to a screeching halt. This had been a bad day from sunrise til now. Increasingly Old Blue felt this woodchuck was getting away, and if Master hadn’t been right behind, Blue would’ve exited from that tunnel and headed for Mill Creek to lap up 4 gallons of water.

 But Matt wasn’t about to give up..By this time he too was commencing to wonder what that thing up ahead might be. Blue had put it in the den before Matt had arrived at the scene of action, thus he hadn’t actually laid an eyeball on it. Regardless, he wanted to get this one if for no other reason than to see how long it’s claws were. It was unbelievable how this thing was burrowing thru the earth!

The air was becoming stale in this hole. Matt turned and looked for the light of the entrance, but couldn’t see it. They had long since left it far behind.

Well, no use stopping now. There was diggin’ to be done, else that critter was goin’ to escape. Such a thought was well-nigh unbearable.

Matt was mountain wise ,and in like manner animal wise.  In this instance, however, a nagging kept pestering him. Was it possible these mountains were inhabited by a creature as yet unknown to man? From what he’d witnessed these past few hours, he was beginning to believe it a strong possibility. “Git him Blue! We got to git this un!” Matt felt he was on the verge of making a great discovery, possibly with unheard of financial gain. The digging resumed at a fever-pitch pace.

And---except for one thing that happened---they might be digging to this very day. It came about suddenly, and Matt made Old Blue quit clawing at the soil. The two lay very quietly on their stomachs---and listened!

Matt heard something. Voices. Coming from just above. Listened some more. And then it hit him like a ton of bricks!

When the full realization dawned of what he was hearing ,Matt clamped both hands over his dog’s muzzle. He didn’t want Blue baying and barking now. That wouldn’t do at all.

Because what he heard were the voices of guards at the Bland County Correctional Farm! In pursuit of that groundhog they’d dug smack-dab into and under the grounds of that prison!

Mr. Groundhog kept right on digging, but groundhog be damned. It was time for him and Blue to turn around and get the heck outta’ there. If they were discovered , it might prove rather hard to explain to those prison authorities just what they were doing. No one would ever believe they were merely after the fastest digging woodchuck that ever munched a clover leaf.

It was more likely he’d be accused of  tunneling in there to aid and abet a mass prison break. So Matt and that hound dog turned and went back in the direction from wherest they came. That’s how the groundhog’s hide was saved---the only one to ever get away.

Now every prison has it’s grapevine, and Bland County Correctional Farm is no exception. The scuttlebut on that grapevine to all incoming prisoners is this. If for some ungodly reason they should decide to leave the farm, to go on the lam and see what’s happenin’ on the outside, there is an escape hatch.

They need only to dig down a few feet at the right spot and a tunnel is there to aid them in their get-away. Naturally, all would-be escapees are curious as to where it leads. They’re told it exits some durn place called Hungry Hollow, and that many inmates before them have made good their escape via this route.

For decades now law-enforcement officers have conducted hundreds of searches for that exit in Montevista. The only thing I know about it , there is a certain spot---well hidden as it goes down thru the roots of an old tree---that a continuous blast of cool air oozes from. I haven't mentioned this to anyone, simply because no one has asked me about it.

But if directed by court-order  to point this place out, I’d refuse. Because I’ve witnessed something there many, many times, and wish to continue seeing it. This is the home of the biggest, grayest groundhog I ever did see. Early in the morn he sits there in the warm sunlight, reared on haunches to a position  that’s no longer too erect.

         No need for creeping and tip-toeing to that entranceway now. His sight, smell and hearing are no longer the trusted senses they once were. And his claws--- they look to be 5 inches long! He sits peacefully with eyes closed, as though he is remembering a long-ago event. This groundhog looks to be very, very old, and I think he should be left alone!

         This hunt took place when I was a mere lad, and I’ve pondered it across 5 decades. After seeing contour maps of the area where it happened, and flying over it several times via chartered flights, also engaging in extensive consultation with mining engineers and triangulation specialists ---I’ve arrived at some figures which I think are not far wrong.

         If in pursuit of that groundhog they had dug in a straight line, Mr. Groundhog ,Uncle Matt and Old Blue had tunneled through and under 2 major mountain ranges, several lesser imposing hills, 1 insect-infested swamp, 3 wastelands of various descriptions and major portions of two large counties. All combined for a grand total of 24 miles! Now my calculations may be off the mark a quarter-mile or so. But not more than that.

         I told Matt several times that he too had missed his calling in life. Just as surely as Bud should’ve gone into baseball, Matt should’ve become a coal miner. Digging that black stuff by contract, he’d been a billionaire many times over before reaching his thirtieth birthday!

          Uncle Matt invited me many times to tag along with him and his canine partner on those groundhog hunts, saying I was “welcome as can be”.Should they put one in his den, he wanted me to pull the dirt away from the entrance as they sent it to the surface.

         But ya’ know, I always politely declined every offer. Just didn’t think I could keep up with that pair…