It was night and it was for sure flood stage. The kids at the end of the blacktop had told us it was no use. But still I waded the water, looking for any way. Fifty yards out and still the bottom was shifty. This time, I was sure. I wouldn't get another truck stuck in another river with John. He nervously paced the shore, the headlights illuminated the foggy scene.

" Can we make 'er?" John could have yelled.

I really couldn't hear him over the really loud water. It was all going downhill very, very fast. But on some trips I could sometimes anticipate his very questions.

We backed up to try something else. As we left the kids we thanked them as best we could. As natives, they had known the odds of success. For the next four hours we had no idea what to expect. This river trip was out of control.

For the next twenty miles we travelled a twenty square mile area of very small roads. Through three counties we searched for any river crossing. We crossed uncounted undescribed streams. I personally felt like a modern Lewis or Clark. In fact we may have remarked about it. Especially after the roadside signs began to change. For the first several we backed up to try to decipher them. It was no use; "AA" and "YY", "YY" and "VV"; All double trouble tonight. Several times we felt we were close. But we could find no campsite. John and I took turns remarking how remarkably wide awake the other looked. Sometimes we turned up and then back down Neil Young or one or the other of us would roll down their window and stick our head out. After a while we began to believe; It was easy, we were lost.

As we were both extreme mountain men; neither of us could have ever have admitted it It was different and It was hard to swallow. Even the stars seemed to hide in the clouds. And the cow had jumped over the moon

When we could no longer recognize any roadside apperatious. John concluded we were in an " U.F.O. Zone". That occupyed our time for a while and was very informative. We both even positively identified several landing platforms.

Even with my extensive reading I have never seen these junk appearing areas satisfactorly explained in scientific nomenclature. Though I am but an explorer and not a scientist; I now feel I know a lot more about them. For on this night I went to the third level of a big one.

For posterities sake and with John F. Breyfogle as my witness. I will try to encapsulate the whole episode as it happened.

" John! What is that thing? " I might have asked.

The old Scout shuddered to a stop. We couldn't figure that one out. No matter, for there was another one about seventy yards away from the windshield.

" Look out! There's another one." He might have shouted.

This is the one I know most about.

" What do you think they are?" He asked.as he stomped on the brakes.

" Yep, Unhauh," I said already racing up into it. John cradled his shotgun, readying himself for any eventuallity.

" It has adjustable levels." I remember calling down from the second one.

Wisely, John had concluded that something might be living in it. He warned me to be careful.

He needn't have bothered. I was already being as careful as this unique opportunity allowed.

" Don't worry; I am being careful.,very careful" I said.

Jumping down from the first level, I concluded that while I didn't know exactly what it was. I felt I had seen just about enough. We discussed it and determined that what ever might have once been; It was now just a big pile of junk.

I remember that John noticed it first. At the top of a bald knob were several hundred yards of lights spreading in all directions. Exactly it seemed like a hidden modern day airport. The road now was so skinny and overgrown we couldn't have turned the truck around even if we had wanted to.

" Let's go!" Exclaimed John.

I jumped back through the door I must have left open seemingly so many hours ago.

Slowly inching up an outcrop of rocks that was just about a path, We watched it all unfold before our now very wide awake eyes.

" I believe it's a chicken farm." I remember saying.

" Maybe pigs." John sniffed. On this one I had no choice but to bow to his knowledge of the country we had found ourselves in.

It made me want to laugh. But somehow I choked out:

Enough said about this episode, the better. Time rolls on.

After just about passing a road we had been on three hours before. We turned and stayed to the left at all the "Y's" this time. We came again to a low water bridge that may or may not have been either " Griswall's" or maybe " Green's" Ford.

It was academic anyway. The river was just to big.

Finally at a dry spot to park there was enough room for our little camp. We set our traps and harpooned a couple of craydads for our breakfast. A very short time later I was awakened by a large, loud, brown four wheel drive and it's driver.

" Hi, I just came down to look at the flood." He yelled pleasantly.

Noticing that he didn't have a shirt on and I that had been sleeping in my winter coat. I rushed to pull my self to my senses. As I looked around i noticed that John had gone fishing.

" She was up to here last night." Motioning, the stranger said.

" She was up to here when we got here." Now 100% awake, I motioned back.

By small bits of sign language, we found we could communicate. And I really seemed to understand him.

John had seen the whole thing and upon his return, he asked about it.

" It was nothing." I said. So we only talked about it for about thirty minutes longer.

Soon it was time for me to go fishing and John took the Scout into Climax Springs to get gas and cigarettes. While he was gone a tourist from Johnson County, Kansas and I passed the time. The Kansasan couldn't remember where the other ford was either; And I had no way to tell him. His dog tryed to pee on the sleeping bags, But we were able to stop her in time. After throwing a few logs in the river, they too left.

After John got back, We bet each other on our determination.

" I'll bet you can't get half way across." One of us said.

I was about one third of the way across when I stepped off a 2" drop off. I very carefully worked my way back to safety.

" Boy that was a close one." I said. " Do you think she's runable?"

" No, these are keepers for sure. We better not try her." John said,

looking back at his new canoe with great relief written all over his face.

Even in the backwaters the fish were to fast for our lines. We packed up to go home.

" We're sure having fun now." John said as he threw the old truck into it's highest gear. " We'll have to do this again sometime."

" Sometime we surely will." I might have said as we settled in to watch thewindshield home.

John and I have continued our river trips up through the years. But as of the time this was written we have never shared anything as spectacular as the Little Niangua past flood