(Editor’s note: Part two of this story will appear in the April issue of the River Hills Traveler.)
This is a story from many years ago. I still don’t remember being more afraid, except during Hurricane Camille.
One weekend when I was about 14 years old, Mr. Frenz, a family friend and Boy Scout leader, took his two sons, Tom and George, and my brother, Luke, and me on a camping/fishing trip on the Huzzah River.
This was the weekend that George caught a very large Hellbender, a type of salamander. That Hellbender may still be in a jar of formaldehyde sitting on a shelf in a science class someplace in the Fox School District.
It was early spring and the Huzzah River was cold, along with the mornings and evenings. We cooked our food on a camp stove and kept warm by a campfire while listening to stories Mr. Frenz told.
Mr. Frenz (Karl) was a short, stocky man that came from Germany who would be almost understandable when he got excited.
While fishing downstream from the camp on Saturday, George and I saw what looked like a cave in the side of the cliff about 150 feet above the river on the opposite side of the river.
