To hunt a
fox, you had to go where the fox lived. And you probably would like to bring a
few hounds along to chase the fox. It would also be handy if you could carry a
lunch, or maybe a hunting partner or two.
You needed a four wheel drive vehicle, for sure. But you didn’t want a fancy one. It had to be
rugged, since you didn’t want to break down in tears if it got a dent or two.
The cheaper the truck, the better, but on the other hand, you were going into
some pretty tight spots, and you’d really prefer that the truck not only could get
you into trouble but get you out as well.
The obvious solution to this problem was an International Scout.
International
Harvester built the first Scout in 1961, the last in 1980. It was not an
attractive vehicle, and looked quite boxy compared to the sleek SUV’s of today.
But it was and still is, a “pioneering, off road vehicle”. It was just the thing for a thrifty fox hunter
back in the Seventies, especially if it was broke down, and being sold
cheap. The Scout is not a big, nor a
powerful vehicle. When you look at it, you don’t think about getting somewhere
fast. But if you’re not in any big
hurry, the Scout is the perfect vehicle for you.
Dad found a
super deal on an old white Scout. At the time, it was just a two wheel drive,
since the front end was broke. He parked it up the hill from the house, and we
started to work on it. I say we started to work on it, but I mainly handed the
correct tool and the correct time to the man doing all the work. I can honestly
say we probably spent more time under the Scout than in it. We worked on it quite a while, and remember
wondering what it was going to be like when it did run. One day it was finally finished. Dad started
it, and it sounded like a tractor. It
had an old stick shifter, and you could hear the gears grind when you put her
into gear.
Not too
many hounds could ride in the back of the Scout, and those that did had to
learn to enjoy each other’s company up close and personal. You didn’t get to
your destination quickly, but once you found a dirt road and a hill to climb,
the Scout was in its element. You’d
shift her into a low gear, and begin the slow climb straight up. At this time,
all the hounds usually slid to the back in the bed. Passenger and driver would
lean back and enjoy the slow but steady ride to the top. You prayed the motor
wouldn’t give out, because you didn’t know how in the heck you turn her around,
and you never were quite sure how good the brakes were.
The Scout
could take you anywhere, a lot of places where you probably shouldn’t have been
in the first place. It could take back deep into the hills, fording creeks and
dodging rock cliffs. It would take past where the road ended, and out to the
point, where you were going to turn the hounds loose. It could take you along
the edge of a steep ridge that made your passenger wish he was sitting in the
driver seat. The Scout chugged along,
like some old mule, and got you to where you wanted to be.
And it got
you out again. Hopefully, with all your hounds, but sometimes not. After the
sun came up, the hunters would call for their hounds, the ones that hadn’t quit
running already. Sometimes they might still be out tracking a fox, but sometimes
the hound just found a comfortable place to sleep. The hunter went back the way he came, and found
that the ride down the hill was a heck of a lot scarier than the ride up the
hill. A Scout had no power brakes. It took a lot of foot power to brake a
Scout. But as long as she stayed in gear, the engine drag held her back, and
the ride off the hill wasn’t too big a problem.
After one
hunt back behind Uncle Ray’s place in Willard, Kentucky, two or three hounds
opted to forego the early morning ride back to the Kennel. Dad returned with
just two worn out hounds, cursing the ones that stayed behind. He had to work,
and would not have time to go back to get them.
I hadn’t
had my driver’s license very long. I liked the idea of driving the Scout back
in the woods. It would be like a driving a jeep through enemy territory, just
like in the movies. I was happy when he asked me to go retrieve the stay
behinds. I knew there were a lot of
blackberry canes on Uncle Ray’s hill, and I heard about a crazy bull that was
running around in his pasture. Bev volunteered to go with me, and we set off on
our grand adventure at thirty-five miles an hour and the Scout’s tires humming
on the asphalt.
We came to
Ray’s place, and drove along the rutted dirt road past his house. There was an
electrical wire across the road to keep the bull in the pasture. Someone had
told us it was 110 volts, just enough to get the bull’s attention or just make
it angry. Uncle Ray turned it off for us, and we started driving, bouncing up
and down on the rutty road, but enjoying the sunshine and fresh air. We crossed a small creek, before turning left
to start our climb up the hill. We could still the tire tracks from the night
before, weaving in and out of the blackberry canes. We went up one side of the
hill and down the other, and until we came to the main event, a very steep
upward ride. I shifted the Scout into first gear, and she slowly started
climbing the hill like a mountain goat. Bev and I looked at each other. This wasn’t
so bad. Somebody walking fast could easily have passed us, but we weren’t in
any hurry. The sun shone bright and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky.
We could
see where the Scout had slipped in the dirt. We drove on past, along the ridge
line, until we came to the camp site. We saw the burnt out fire. Lying around
it, were three sorry looking hounds, bleary eyed and covered with scratches.
They seemed to see us, at least, they got up to meet us. We tossed them into
the back of the Scout. We were feeling good, and knew we had accomplished our
mission. And it hadn’t even taken that long. We’d be home in time for lunch.
When we came to the edge of the ridge, I
shifted back into first gear. I wasn’t going to take any chances with the
brakes. We’d take our time going down, just like we did going up. The hounds were all curled up in the bed,
already sound asleep. We gotten about a third of the way down, when the shifter
popped out, and we began coasting straight down the hill. I slammed on the
brakes, and heard three thuds against the back of my seat. I managed to stop
and shift her back into gear. We started once again, but out came the shifter, so
I hit the brakes again, and we heard three thuds against the back of the seat. This
was turning into too much of a roller coaster ride.
Bev got the
idea of holding the shifter in place, so we were unable to get off the hill
without any thuds or thrills. We waved at Uncle Ray as we drove past the
electric wire. We hadn’t seen any bull. I think it got electrocuted when Uncle
Ray upped the voltage to 240 volts.
Later, Dad
sold the old white Scout and bought a blue 1972 version with an automatic
transmission.
