People talked about him
But he never much gave a damn
Cause his dogs and those mountains
Were the truest kinds of friends

He wasn’t much for words
But then he didn’t have to be
Cause to watch him with those dogs
Was like reading an old story

He worked the fields through the day
And stayed out half the night
Following the bays of those hounds
With his .22 and that old mining light

CHORUS

Some nights he came home empty
And some nights he was lucky
But he really didn't care either way
Cause he lived for those mountains
And a good woman

loved him
And he once raised a good dog or two

VERSE

Well he treed an occasional bobcat
And more coon than one trading post could buy
But at the end of the night's run
Whether they lost or they won
All that mattered to him was they tried

He never got wealthy
And he never wrote a book
And never once did he brag about
All the game that he took

Sometimes from my back porch
When the night woods fall still
I swear I hear a distant bay
And catch a faint light from across the hill

CHORUS

Words and Music By Chad K. Slagle
Copyright© 2005

Jeremiah headed for Montana, about 1863
He said to hell with that civil war, and the white man’s greed
He headed high into the mountains, where no man dare
Except the ones that they called crazy, and a few grizzly bears

He stumbled upon a body, lying there in the snow
He pulled a Hawken gun from the frozen hands, and read the dead man’s note
It said "Whoever finds this gun, I know she’ll treat you right.
Just keep her clean and oiled and KEEP YOUR POWDER DRY"

He swore by his traps, and that old Hawken gun
Living off the beaver and a little venison
But soon those Montana skies, would turn a shade of grey
And an old North wind came blowing his way

The winter was harder than Jeremiah ever dreamed
Not a damn thing else was living, least that’s the way it seemed
‘Til he came upon a track, that he followed through some pines
And a ten foot hungry grizzly lie waitin’ on the other side

When the bear caught his eye he aimed that Hawken gun
Pulled the trigger three times, but it never fired a one
The bear began to charge and as he pulled his Bowie knife
He

saw the wet powder bag swaying at his side

The bear’s paw shred Jeremiah’s face, before he lodged it in a tree
Then Jeremiah ran that knife just above the claws, hard and deep
As the bear limped away it let out a mournful cry
And the dead man’s words rang through his head
KEEP YOUR POWDER DRY

A Sioux Legend says that when two warriors exchange blood
Their souls are forever linked, and they become as one
Another legend tells of a crazy man who had an iron jaw
He wore a Hawken gun and a necklace made of three bear claws

For years he roamed those mountains searching for a special track
Praying they’ll come a time he can get his soul back
And legend tells that one night in a haunted stand of pines
Jeremiah stood with an iron grin, and the bear in his sights

He stood there for a moment as if to say goodbye
He said, "Not this time you son-of-a-bitch
I KEPT MY POWDER DRY!"

And even now in those mountains the wind carries the sound
Of a clanky piece of iron and an old man’s final round

Words and Music by Chad K. Slagle
inspired by the life and words of Allen Schnopp

I was barely 6 years old
Armed with just an old cane pole
Strung with baler twine and arrows made from reeds

But I was young, wild, and free
Trying to be like a man on TV
Traveling the world with just his wits and recurve bow

Told my daddy some day I would be like that
Just like the Man, in the Borsalino Hat

Time went by and things sure changed
Bows with wheels and crazy things
The memory of that man's simple bow seemed to fade away

Years slipped by until one day
I came across an old videotape
And as I watched it I remembered how I use to feel

I put away my compound bow to hunt like that
Just like the Man, in the Borsalino Hat

BRIDGE

From

the hills of Pennsylvania
To the plains of Mozambique
The banks of Kodiak Island
To the tops of the Great Rockies

He taught me to love the good earth
And always take less then we give back
And I am so thankful for the
Man In the Borsalino Hat

You know a few seasons have passed since then
I make my own bows and arrows again
And each fall I still feel young, wild, and free

As I look at the memories on my wall
I can’t help but think that I owe it all
To a tall, thin humble man by the name of Bear

Thirty years later, and still want to be like that
Just like the Man, In the Borsalino Hat

Words and Music by Chad K. Slagle
Copyright© 2006

VERSE 1

Grandpa was a good man
A Mason by trade
With an eye that caught the details
In Everything God made

He could smell the rain a comin’
And name every tree
Taught me how to close my eyes
When I really wanted to see

Every winter morning
Grandpa would leave at the break of day
With his coffee and his walking stick
He’d head off to his special place

One morning I decided to follow him
To that old hemlock tree
That overlooked a clearing
And a flock of wild turkeys

And as he poured out his coffee
He turned his head and smiled
Whispered "Son, come over here,
And lets rest awhile"

We never spoke a word
And when it finally came time to leave
He put the stick in my hand
As I hung on his sleeve

He said, "I know your tired son,
But

this is a magic stick".
"Just believe and hold tight,
We’ll be home in just a lick".

Verse 2

Grandpa died when I was twenty-two
And I couldn’t find a way to cry
Not because I didn’t love him
Not because I didn’t try

And when I got to Grandma’s house
She asked me what I wanted
Not the tools and not a watch
I wanted the thing he haunted

The walking stick stayed in my den
Til just a year ago
When I tillered it and worked it
Into a beautiful hunting bow

Early one spring morning
I found the stick's magic once more
As a black ghost appeared from the fog
And I watched that arrow soar

In the dampness of a clearing
I finally found a way to cry
As I knelt beside the turkey
I told Grandpa goodbye

Words and Music by Chad K. Slagle
Copyright© 2005

Sitting outside my tent
Listening to timber wolves howl
By the warmth of the campfire light

I pull some jerky from my rucksack
And put a final edge on that
Old Randall knife

And then I settle in that goose down bag
Think of family at home
Thankful that they understand
There's times I need to be alone

CHORUS

High, wild, and free
Where the MacKenzies meet the heavens
And you can hike through God’s artistry

Where the Dall Sheep have dominion
From a throne at 8000 feet
Lord, I wanna be high, wild, and free

I have my coffee and watch the sunrise
Grab my quiver
And string my

hickory bow

Travel up the rocky tundra
Following a set of tracks
Over freshly fallen snow

I take a moment to catch my breath
And watch an eagle soar above
I can’t help but be humbled
By this display of the Master’s love

CHORUS

At the end of a shale bluff
Like a ghost he passes by
Without a sound
As I draw my bow I realize
What it means
To stand on higher ground

And as I walk down from the mountain
I feel a sense of harmony
With a set of horns to remind me
Of this place I long to be

Words and Music by Chad K. Slagle
Copyright© 2005