Amblin' Through Albany

In honor of Larry, we are republishing one of his beloved columns from January 3, 2003, a story that reflects the humor and storytelling that made his writing so special to our community.

This is the story of a Noble(s) adventure. It is a true story. No names have been changed to protect the innocent…or the guilty.

The pretty little wife (PLW) and I had lived in Albany only a few months when our dear friends and neighboring Jim and Saundra Nobles, invited us for a Sunday afternoon orientation tour of area ranches. At the time we had still not set foot on any of the big ranches around here. We started out early in the afternoon with Jim driving Saundra’s SUV and me riding shotgun. The two ladies sat in back and we were all in a holiday mood as we started out.

Jim Nobles, of course, grew up in Albany and knows the whole area quite well. Even though he had spent 30 years in (gasp, choke) New York, it was upstate New York and not New York City. Moreover, he always remained a Texan and an Albany boy at heart. He has a heart of gold, but he also has more than a bit of the blarney in him. His vivacious wife Saundra, originally of Dallas, has become thoroughly Albanized and is very active in the Study Club and in the community generally. So here were two bona fide Albanyites taking the newcomers on a Sunday afternoon tour.

It was indeed a great tour. Before the day was over, we had visited the Putnam Ranch, Lambshead, the Nail Ranch, the “dugout,” the Old Stone Fort, Reynolds Bend and the Matthews-Reynolds cemetery nearby and several other places of note. It was a wonderful tour and overall a great afternoon.

The three high points of the day, however, — or low points, depending on your point of view — occurred fairly early in the afternoon. We had just left Mrs. Putnam’s place when Jim said he could take us over to old Camp Cooper where in later years was built a structure known as the “Honeymoon Cottage.” We left the main road and proceeded down a road less travelled. And, believe me, it really did make all the difference. The farther we went, the narrower and bumpier the road became until it was just barely wide enough to accommodate our SUV. The vehicle was rocking like a boat in choppy waters. We were on a slight downward slope as the road got still worse and a bit muddy here and there from recent rains.

Suddenly we were on a downward slope of about 35 degrees on a very muddy track through a cutout just barely wide enough for the vehicle. There could be no turning around. Then I noticed up ahead of us, less than a 100 feet away, a body of water approximately 40 feet across and flowing rapidly. “Uh oh, what do we do now?” I asked Jim. “We’re going right across there,” he replied. “You’ve got to be kidding,” I said. “Well, just you watch, Buddy,” he calmly decreed.

Okay, time out! You need to know that up until that moment I had never before forded any river or stream of any size anywhere; and I had not planned to begin that day. The closest I had ever come was to an occasional paved low-water bridge down in the Hill Country which usually had very little or no water flowing over it. Moreover, my main experience with rivers had been with the lower Neches, Sabine, Trinity, Brazos and Colorado Rivers. Down there, all are moderately wide and deep and one does not ford them.

So here we are, heading into this rapidly flowing river whose depth I do not know and I wonder if Admiral Jim knows. Surprisingly, my life did not pass before me because, for reasons I cannot fathom, I never for a moment thought we might drown. I just thought we were very likely to get thoroughly wet and I was already dreading the long, wet hike to find help. This was low point number one.

My PLW, sitting in the back seat, claims to have been quite calm and confident. I can neither prove nor disprove this since Saundra is her buddy and may not be a credible witness.

We entered the water, which indeed turned out to be running-board deep. With the flowing water pushing against the side of the car, we slowly traversed to the other side. And this, dear friends, was my introduction, jump close and personal, to the Clear Fork of the Brazos River. Think of it as sort of like a baptism.

Going up the other bank, which was neither steep nor as muddy, was not difficult. Greatly relieved, we approached the site of old Camp Cooper. There was a barbed wire fence with a barbed wire gate, which Big Jim got out and opened. We drove through and then he got out and closed that gate. I made a mental note that on our way back out, I should get out to open and close the gate. That would be polite and it’s the least I could do.

Here then was the former government and history prof on the site of old Camp Cooper. The great Robert E. Lee had commanded here before the Civil War — or that is, the War Between the States. This was a true outpost on the western frontier, a vanguard of civilization. To say that the wife and I were thrilled would be an understatement. It is difficult even to imagine the rigors of army frontier duty in such an outpost. Between the ever changing assaults of Texas weather and the constant danger of marauding Indians, it could not have been a comfortable life. Our little touring party reveled in the place and the moment.

After a good look around the Camp Cooper area, we all got back in the SUV and began our exit, intending to go back the same way we had come. We approached the barbed wire gate which Jim had opened and closed on our way in. Wishing to be helpful, I hopped out of the vehicle to open the gate.

Now here before going any further, I must explain that, while I had seen barbed wire fences all my life, I had never — believe it or not — had any direct experience with a barbed wire gate. Such a gate is the essence of simplicity. For the benefit of any other city slickers, let me explain. The gate is nothing more than one movable vertical post with three or four strands of wire affixed. When the gate is closed, this movable post is attached to a stationary vertical post by two loops of wire which go around both the posts. One loop at the top and one at the bottom. To open or close the gate, one must usually lean outward on the movable post to stretch the gate wires in order to get the loops on or off. It is not rocket science; any idiot can do it — almost.

While Jim and the ladies waited in the SUV, I got the loops off the gate post with relative ease and pulled the gate back wide. Jim drove through and stopped to wait for me. Pulling the gate back to the closed position was not quite as easy because the wires were a bit cantankerous and, well, wirey. I got the post into the lower loop just fine. Then I became so totally focused on stretching the wires so as to insert the post into the upper loop that I failed to notice a key fact. I was about to close the gate with me on the wrong side, i.e. I would be between the gate and the vehicle with the rest of our party.

As I was intent on doing this, Jim opened his driver’s door and with the greatest diplomacy and restraint, I must admit, said, “Larry, you’ll want to be on the side of the fence when you get it closed.” I looked up stunned. Incredulous. And then embarrassed. My first thought was, “Good gosh! I have just performed, live and in color, an Aggie joke. And I’m not even an Aggie.” Then the total and delightful absurdity of it all hit me. Here’s a guy with all this education, degrees and honors, etc. and 36 years of college teaching, and he can’t shut a doggone barbed wire gate without messing up! I then began laughing so hard that it was all I could do to muster up enough strength to close the gate, this time with me on the correct side. It was not my finest hour.

Sheepishly I returned to the vehicle and climbed in. I was fully expecting to receive a royal razzing the rest of the day and probably for the next year or so. To be sure, there was some of that; but you know, they were remarkably restrained. We all laughed about it off and on the rest of the afternoon and, in fact, ever since. My pesky little wife has not yet thrown it up to me, but I know she is keeping it as a “hole card” for when she needs it.

Being a realist, I am acutely aware that it is definitely within the realm of possibility that Mr. or Mrs. Nobles has already told this sorry tale to some of you. If so, I can only confirm that it is true. And if not, well, now you know anyway. That was the afternoon’s low point number two, but our real trouble was about to begin.

We drove down the embankment and back into the Clear Fork. This time, now being an experienced forder, I was confident and calm. We crossed through the rushing water slowly but without difficulty and started up the steep, muddy incline of the other bank. We progressed perhaps 20 feet slipping and sliding and then could get no farther. We slipped back down into the river and tried again, using all the horses and drives the SUV had to offer. Same result. For the third time, Admiral Jim backed our vessel up a ways, revved the engine and got a running start. We did progress a few feet more up the bank, but then had to slip again back down into the river.

It was now clear that we were not going up that far bank. Therefore we turned around in the river and drove back up to the Camp Cooper area. This time, I opened and closed that confounded barbed wire gate without incident. But what were we to do now? Were we to be prisoners of nature at Camp Cooper?

We were in luck because there was another gate bordering the property. This one, moreover, was an honest-to-goodness gate with steel panels and hinges and a locking mechanism. It was everything a gate should be, not one of those crummy barbed wire deals. While it was securely closed, it was not — thank heavens — locked. Just beyond it was a dim track which obviously led somewhere.

With few other options, we went through and after carefully (and without embarrassment) re-closing gate, took that track. It went away from the river and eventually led to the hint of a road. That in turn took us to a real road. We found ourselves on a ridge heading northward. We went quite a ways, coming close I think to Amarillo, or at least Throckmorton. We did eventually get back to Mrs. Putnam’s ranch and then went on to see a number of other places. The rest of our tour went without problems.

In the course of one afternoon I had forded my first river, confronted my first barbed wire gate and learned the full meaning of the phrase “a slippery slope.” It was a great afternoon and through it all, Jim and Saundra were lots of fun and cool as cucumbers. It truly was a Noble(s) adventure.