Pictured left to right: Kitty(Decoy Girl), Bernie(Saint Bernard), Cori(Decoy Girl), Michael(Candybar Man), Jonathan(Blue Bear Boy), Tim(General Vogelczar), Vinnie(Blue Bear Boy), and Joel(Wooly Worm)

Once upon a time, Iksplor, a brave band of nature lovers, drove two cowardly gangs of ecoterrorists away from the scenic Roan Highlands. We were victorious at the battles of Yellow Mountain Gap, Little Hump Mountain and Big Hump Mountain. Our crusade was part of a campaign by a coalition of environmental organizations to drive ecoterrorists off the 2,200 mile long Appalachian Trail from Springer Mountain to Mount Katahdin. The coalition shared a burning desire to preserve the A.T.’s natural resources, exquisite scenery, and opportunities for outdoor recreation.

Long ago, Iksplor was founded by the venerable Tim Vogelaar. He was respectfully called General Vogelczar because of bold, brilliant leadership on battlefields. When our courageous commander called the Iksplorers to duty, we assembled at Cedars of Lebanon where we were hidden by dense evergreen forest. General Vogelczar divulged detailed plans for a daring nighttime raid on the Dudes, a gang of boarding school delinquents who harassed hikers and spray painted graffiti on rocks and trees. They had an extremely annoying habit of calling one another “Dude” over and over.

Under cover of night, we loaded our gear for the long road trip to Roan Highlands. General Vogelczar drove Maxpatch67, carrying four Youthsplorers. I drove Skydreamer, accompanied by three notable Iksplorers who were veterans of countless campaigns.

Heading east on Starstream Freeway, the veterans and I played a practical joke on the General and the Youthsplorers. Our troop transports became separated in heavy traffic. The General, unknowingly, passed us in the dark. We radioed, requesting his location. He responded with a milemarker number. We pretended to be several miles ahead. Following him, we laughed loudly as he drove faster and faster to catch up. When we confessed our prank, the General called us dorks.

We arrived at the trailhead in Sugar Hollow after midnight. Freezing cold air sent shivers down our spines as we packed for our mission. Hiking up the steep Overmountain Victory Trail was strenuous, but invigorating. The night was peacefully silent and enchantingly beautiful. Wedding white moonbeams flowed down on the frosty forest that glistened and sparkled like a winter wonderland. Upon reaching Yellow Mountain Gap, we paused briefly to rest and review our strategy to rout the Dudes. The General, an admirer of Mohandas Ghandi, urged us to avoid violence.

The Dudes were sleeping in an old barn that was used as an Appalachian Trail shelter. It was located on the south slope of Yellow Mountain several hundred feet below us. Stealthily, we approached the shelter. The dumb Dudes had no guards on duty so we quietly climbed into the loft and lay down among the scoundrels. In the twitch of a nose, Jeff began to rattle the rafters with thunderous snores. That’s how he earned the moniker Snore Monster. The Dudes were startled awake, and in predawn darkness, were unable to determine how many of us had infiltrated the barn. Frantically, the miscreant morons began shouting. “Dude, I think there’s seven of them!” “Nah, Dude, there’s eight!” “Dude, I counted at least nine!” Downstairs, an imbecile yelled, “Dudes, be quiet! They’re trying to sleep up there!” Confusion and chaos spread rapidly. The nitwits began arguing senselessly. Two Dudes in the loft almost came to blows over the identity of O J. Simpson. One growled menacingly, “Dude, I told you O.J. was not the creator of the Simpson’s cartoon show! Dude, O.J. is the football player who killed his wife!” Finally the bewildered buffoons fled like a herd of stampeding cattle.

After their hasty departure, we took turns at guard, and our noble band got some badly needed sleep. At breakfast, we cheerfully celebrated the decisive victory. General Vogelczar issued an Emancipation Proclamation, declaring environmentalists were forever free from the detestable Dudes.

Iksplor’s next mission was to save the Children of Bambi from the Punkster Poachers who had been murdering dear deer in droves. We set off at noon, carrying light daypacks, and quickly ascended a ridge southwest of Little Hump Mountain. The stony path meandered along the ridgetop, preventing us from seeing far ahead. Without warning, we met three suspicious persons hiking hurriedly away from Little Hump. The suspects paused for a brief chat with us, trying to appear nonchalant. However, their stammering speech, shifty eyes, and strong stench revealed that they were a pack of poachers in disguise. We realized they were fleeing from the area because the Dudes had made them scared of us. We let them move on, knowing they would spread panic among other ecoterrorists.

After our encounter, we proceeded confidently, following the ridgetop path out of the forest onto an expansive grassy bald. There, the trail bent sharply toward the north and rose up a gentle slope to the summit. General Vogelczar sent two Youthsplorers, Kitty and Cori, ahead to trick The Punksters into thinking we were a family on a day hike. That’s where they were first called Decoy Girls. Warily watching for an ambush, we followed the Decoy Girls to an outcrop of large boulders that looked like a giant turtle. From this stronghold, we searched the surrounding countryside with binoculars and discovered that the Punksters had abandoned the mountain.

Great joy filled our hearts upon realizing that we had saved Little Hump Mountain. Everyone relaxed and enjoyed some light-hearted fun. Joel found a wooly worm and assured us that the length and color of its bands were accurate predictors of winter weather. Playfully, we asked how that could be because each wooly worm we found had a different appearance. Joel jokingly replied that each wooly worm is a different meteorologist and each meteorologist gives a different forecast. After some good-natured teasing, Iksplorers gave Joel the nickname Wooly Worm. I forecast the nickname will last a lifetime. Our picnic lunches tasted like a banquet for kings. We wanted to linger, but the day was rapidly waning.

With spirits soaring, we focused our energy on storming Big Hump Mountain. Before moving on, General Vogelczar took reconnaissance photos of the route ahead. Wooly Worm and I volunteered to be the rear guard. We tarried at Turtle Rock a short while, ceremoniously smoking cinnamon peace cigars.

Big Hump Mountain towered over the surrounding terrain. Between us and its conical top lay the deep depression of Bradley Gap. Racing the sun, we traveled at lightning speed across rough country. While descending the North face of Little Hump, we spotted three Punksters in the gap below. Our rapid advance struck fear in their polluted minds. The scumbags scattered like fleas jumping off a shampooed dog! Two vile varmints raced off in opposite directions on ATVs. The third thug, carrying a high-powered rifle, scrambled rapidly up the trail toward the mountaintop. We pursued him closely, but carefully, lest he lead us into a trap. A plethora of large boulders and high grass gave the enemy lots of places to hide. When we reached the summit, he had disappeared from sight. We neither saw, nor heard, the Punkster Poachers again.

Exhausted, we lay down in a bed of deep, dry grass under a blanket of blue sky and listened while wild wind played music of the spheres. A precious panorama encircled our eyrie at the top of the world. We thanked the Creator for being our strength as we fought to keep these magnificent lands forever wild.

The sun was low on the horizon as we sadly said goodbye to this peak in paradise. The mountains, except for west-facing slopes, were already engulfed in shadow. The General and I carried Kitty, a Decoy Girl, on our shoulders for several miles. She was wounded by a big, bad, foot blister. We approached the shelter on Yellow Mountain as violet twilight deepened and darkened into ebony night. The glow of campfires and lanterns at a Boy Scout campsite was a cheerful sight. They would be our allies if any ecoterrorists launched a desperate counterattack. We were happy to learn that the Scouts would patrol the trail after our departure.

Beside a large campfire, we prepared a feast. The College Girls, who had just arrived from Grassy Ridge, joined us for dinner. Under a star-studded sky, we raised our cups of sassafras tea and toasted the success of our daring deeds. I sprinkled Oregon sage over the flames. A sweet scent swirled upward in the smoke, rising with our prayers of gratitude to Great Spirit. General Vogelczar delivered a stirring speech reminiscent of Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address. Before retiring, I covered my sleeping bag with a silvery space blanket. The next morning Wooly Worm said it sounded like a giant candy bar unwrapping every time I rolled over during the night. Never again did Iksplorers call me Michael. They gave me a new name, Candybar Man.

Iksplor held council during morning brunch. The College Girls assured us there were no ruffians between us and Grassy Ridge. We decided to go to the lofty crown of Round Bald to verify their information.

Before leaving, Vinnie and Jonathan explored the valley below us. Wooly Worm, wearing a blue parka, hid in high grass on the hillside. As the two boys walked uphill to the shelter, they passed right next to where he was crouched. He jumped out, growling at them! Thinking he was a bear, both boys stumbled sideways and fell on the ground. Watching the drama, the other Iksplorers split their sides laughing. Vinnie and Jonathan were dubbed Blue Bear Boys.

We enjoyed a pleasant hike back to troop transports in Sugar Hollow. Wooly Worm and I again formed the rear guard. We puffed on grape and cinnamon cigars, symbolically spreading peace smoke along the Victory Trail.

The drive to Round Bald was adventurous on the steep and curvy highway. The views were spectacular. Giant icicles draped sheer rock cliffs lining the roadside. We parked at Carver’s Gap and then strolled through a dense, dark green, stand of spruce-fir trees up to the 6,240’ dome of Round Bald.

Reverentially, we gazed at the majestic land around us. We felt like we were standing in a place unmarred by troubles and untouched by time. Maybe we were. The General snapped a picture of Pastor Bernie, sitting atop a boulder, looking as though he was pondering spiritual precepts and promises. Miraculously, the photo shows a bright halo in the sky above Bernie’s head. Bernie was given the sobriquet, Saint Bernard.

We were elated to discover no signs of ecoterrorism and were completely satisfied that our mission had been fulfilled.

For many moons, nature enthusiasts have freely and safely recreated in this sublime sanctuary. The kings of the Sierra Club, Wilderness Society, and Nature Conservancy awarded Iksplor with the Medal of Preservation, the highest honor they could bestow.

Iksplor lived happily ever after.