Charles Tolin Camden, born March 1, 1941 to October 19, 2013 born to Charles Elvin Camden and Josephine C. Tolin in St. Joseph, Missouri. Survived by his wife of 48 years Naomi Katherine Camden and 6 children and two Step sons. 20 grand children, 7 great grand children Called to serve his country in 1966, served two years in the USMC, spent 14 months in Viet Nam. Moved to Idaho in 1969, where he worked for the BLM , moved to Montana in 1971 where he worked in the woods and at saw mills. Spent 30 plus years there where he lived his dream of traveling on horse back in the mountains he loved. Moved back to Idaho in 1995 where he became a cowboy poet and western singer. His love of God, Country, and Family was very strong Stan Skinner the article written by Stan Charlie Camden passed away yesterday October 19, 2013 Charlie Camden was a mountain man. No, he didn’t wear buckskins or carry a flintlock rifle. But he was a mountain man nevertheless. He loved Montana and Idaho. He loved the Big Hole, the Yaak River Valley, the Bitterroot Valley, The Clearwater River Valley, the Magruder Corridor and all the other wild places in those two states. In a two-year sojourn, he wrote the book on the Bob Marshall Wilderness, describing every trailhead and the forks in every trail with multiple photos to illustrate his descriptions. He was a master hunter, and he passed on his wisdom and wilderness lore to strong sons and fine daughters. He loved and married a strong and resourceful woman ̶ a mountain woman; and her love for him was profound. She stood by his side through good times and bad, nursing him tirelessly in his difficult final days. Like every close marriage, they had stormy moments, but she stood up to him when necessary and gave as good as she got. Now, once again, she must be strong for him as she performs her final wifely duties. Charlie Camden was a cowboy. No, he didn’t push cows, but he was a master farrier until his knees gave out, and he pushed well-tacked pack strings for weeks at a time through some of America’s wildest places. He was more than just a cowboy. He was a cowboy poet. He had an unerring ear for the romance of the Old West. His love for those times and those who keep its spirit alive was evident in many a verse that he wrote and sometimes sang at gatherings of kindred spirits. I was fortunate to have sat around a campfire with Charlie in places such as Graves Creek, where he tempted me with tales of fat graylings that lurked in its waters. Another time at Addition Creek, we looked up at a bright and vivid Milky Way and, using a handheld wheel, identified and marveled at constellations and thousands of stars that lit up a pristine sky unsullied by city lights. I remember being a bit nervous when Charlie told me that the Montana Wildlife department trapped problem grizzlies elsewhere and released them here. On a brief pack trip along the south fork of the Sun River, Charlie witnessed and videoed me taking two monster rainbows on dry flies. Afterward, we dined on my catch and once again sat around a campfire. It was at times like these that Charlie told me tales about his life in the Mountain West, along with stories about Chief Joseph, frontiersmen and how the Magruder Corridor got its name. I remember his voice, his prose lapsing naturally into the lilt and rhythms of the magical poetry he wrote. I truly regret that such experiences with Charlie were few. I know that my life would have been greatly enriched if the opportunity to share the wilderness with Charlie had happened more often. But life, they say, is what happens while you are busy making other plans. Charlie Camden was a Marine. In his prime, he was a recruiting poster Marine, tall, slender, posture erect and proud, his haircut high and tight in the best Marine tradition. In Vietnam, he was an artilleryman, commanding the crew of an armored, self-propelled, 105mm howitzer. He fought hard in many perilous firefights. Once, he manned a .50 caliber machine gun mounted atop his armored vehicle while North Vietnamese Army troops attacked and nearly overran his firebase. He fired his gun until it glowed in the dark, heat radiating off the barrel in waves that shimmered in the eerie, flickering illumination of parachute flares, punctuated by streams of tracers, ours red, theirs green. In the morning, in the post-battle lull, the cooling steel barrel of his gun almost instantly turned orange with surface rust. Another time, a broken track on their vehicle left Charlie and his crew in “Indian Country” as the rest of the convoy continued without them. Swiftly completing makeshift repairs, Charlie and his crew proceeded cautiously in the still half-crippled vehicle. A lone vehicle such as theirs was a tempting ambush target for the hidden enemy forces that infested the countryside. At a bridge over a shallow river, Charlie’s sixth sense told him they were about to be ambushed. Acting on his instinct, Charlie told his driver to wheel off the road and make for a low-water crossing a few hundred yards upstream. As they moved away, a spiteful burst of gunfire, confirmed that he had averted an ambush and had saved his crew and artillery piece. For some reason, Charlie and I never discussed his military awards and decorations. Perhaps it was because my own wartime experiences were a pale shadow of the heroism Charlie exhibited time and again. Charlie exemplified what a Marine means when he says “Semper Fi.” I cannot fathom the heartbreak and sorrow that Charlie’s family must feel right now. I do know that I am proud to have known him and been his friend. I will miss him greatly. Kathy Camden ckcamden@yahoo kathy.35@q 208-937-9899 Nezperce, ID 83543
Posted on: Tue, 22 Oct 2013 00:17:34 +0000
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