This doesn’t have anything to do with anything, except insofar as Jeremiah Johnson quotes have todo with everything, now don’t they. And Rand keeps quoting Jeremiah Johnson at me all the time, which is pretty damn cocky of him for a starvin’ pilgrim. And then besides that, since I finally took the time to take these down, I need to put them somewhere where I’ll remember them. And who knows. Somebody else might enjoy them. Besides, it weren’t no trouble.

By the way, I’ve seen Jeremiah Johnson more than any other movie. If you haven’t seen it, you need to, especially if you’re a male and you like the outdoors.

"His name was Jeremiah Johnson. They say he wanted to be a mountain man. The story goes that he was a man of proper wit and adventurous spirit suited to the mountains. Nobody knows where abouts he come from and it don’t seem to matter much. He was a young man and ghosty stories about the tall hills didn’t scare him none. He was lookin for a Hawkin gun, 50 caliber or better. He settled for a 30, but damn, it was a genuine Hawkin. You couldn’t go no better. Bought him a good horse, traps and other truck that went with being a mountain man and said goodbye to whatever life was down there below. This here’s his story."

"I, Hatchet Jack, bein’ of sound mind and broke legs do hereby leaveth my bear rifle to whatever finds it. Lord hope it be a white man. It is a good rifle and kilt the bear that kilt me. Anyway, I am dead. Yours truly, Hatchet Jack."

“I am Bearclaw Chris Lapp, blood kin to the grizzer that bit Jim Bridger’s ass. You are molesting my hunt.”

“And I’m….”

“I know who you are! You’re the same dumb pilgrim I’ve been hearing for 20 days and smelling for three.”

“You sure are cocky for a starvin’ pilgrim.”

“If I head due west tomorrow, will I find good places to trap?”

“If you head due west or any other place tomorrow, you’ll be a starvin’ pilgrim in a week. You ain’t likely to meet up with someone of my good nature. The mountain’s got it’s own ways.”

“I swear, a woman’s breast is the hardest rock the Almighty ever made on this earth and I can find no sign on it.”

“Didn’t put enough dirt down. Saw it right off.”

“Elk don’t know how many feet a horse has!”

“Watch your topknot.”
“Yup. Watch your’n.”

“That Hatchet Jack was a wild one. [Lived with a she mountain lion in a cave up in the Musselshell.] She never did get used to him."

"Do you speak any English? I don’t speak any Flathead you know. So don’t bother me. Neither of you."

"Leave it be. Nothin’ wrong with quiet."

"Ain’t that a lot easier than sayin’ all that gibberish."

"It’s been a long time since I had so much of the English language spoke at me. I ain’t used to it."

"She weren’t no trouble."

“Maybe you best go down to a town. Get out of these mountains.”

“I’ve been to a town, Del.”

"Ain’t this something? I told my pap and mam I was coming to the mountains to trap and be a mountain man. Acted like they was gut-shot. Says: ‘Son, make your life. Go here. Here’s where the peoples is. Them mountains is is for animals and savages.’ I says ‘Mother Gue, the Rocky Mountains is the marrow of the world.’ And by God I was right.”

“Yes, you were.”

"I ain’t never seen ‘em, but my common sense tells me the Andes is foothills and the Alps is for children to climb. Keep good care of your hair. These here is God’s finest sculpturins and there ain’t no laws for the brave ones. And there ain’t no asylums for the crazy ones. And there ain’t no churches excepting for this right here. And there ain’t no priests excepting the birds. By God I are a mountain man and I’ll live until an arrow or a bullet finds me and then I’ll leave my bones right here on this great map of the magnificent…[rides into silence]"

“What’s on the spit?”

“Grown particular?”

“Not about feeding. Just the company I keep.”

“You’ve come far, pilgrim.”

“Feels like far.”

“T’were it worth the trouble?”

“Ha? What trouble.”

“You cook good rabbit pilgrim. Cold up here.”

“What brings you up so high?”

“Griz.”

“Ha. Griz.”

“Avalanche took the cabin. Lost my mule. We swum out of it. But no matter. Weren’t no griz left anyway.”

“Would you happen to know what month of the year it is?”

“No, I… I truly wouldn’t. I’m sorry pilgrim.”

“March. Maybe April.”

“March maybe. I don’t believe April. Winter’s a long time going, huh?”

“Ha… yuh.”

“Stays long this high. March is a green, muddy month down below. Some folks like it. Farmers mostly. You’ve done well to keep so much hair when so many’s after it. I hope you will fare well.”

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