He walked where the rivers whisper low,
Where Oregon’s tall pines grow,
A soldier once with a fearless stride—
A ranger’s heart, a warrior’s pride.
Airborne wings and Green Beret steel,
He bore his pain, but he would not kneel.
The wounds ran deep from years gone past,
Yet his spirit’s fire forever last.
When war was done, he found new ground,
Where legends breathe and truth is found.
With Hanna by his steadfast side,
He tracked the unknown, far and wide.
They called their quest “Squatch-America,” bold,
A story of mystery, heart, and soul.
Through fog and timber, night and rain,
They sought the truth not found by name.
He’d set his camp where elk trails wend,
Say, “The woods’ll tell you, if you befriend.”
He’d laugh, pour coffee, point to a track—
“Something walked here, and it’ll be back.”
His voice held calm, his eyes held grace,
A soldier’s courage, a woodsman’s face.
And though the pain still marked his frame,
He wore his scars with quiet flame.
Now the forest hums his soft refrain,
Through moss and mist and mountain rain.
And Hanna still feels that gentle call,
In every pine and waterfall.
He’s gone ahead, where the trails all blend,
Where pain is gone and journeys end.
Perhaps he walks by Bigfoot’s side,
Through Heaven’s timber, long and wide.
So lift your glass and bow your head,
To the ranger brave, you know it's said,.
His tracks remain through God’s domain—
Scott Violet walks the wild again.
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