A Sudden Turn Of Events
- 2 years ago
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Series Of Events free porn video
The first day after I got stuck, I could have just walked out. Not a problem at all, I had my backpack, gear, good outdoor clothes and heavy hiking boots.
The second day, I knew I couldn’t.
I had never even gave a moment’s thought to danger. I was just going fishing.
The big Fall Salmon would be in the river down below, I knew. They always were there in late October. It was my secret place, just a few people even knew of it or how to get there, the canyon walls were steep, forbidding.
I drove the 25 miles up the mostly paved section of the road from the main highway, took the two lane dirt side road that traveled another 5 miles or so towards the river.
That road opened up to a clearing 500 feet above the river, and a nice place to make a camp.
But I was lazy, there was a steep trail that went on down to another clearing down below, just feet from the river.
That clearing was smaller but it was closer to the river and also a good place to make camp for a week or so.
I shifted my Toyota pickup into 4 wheel drive and headed on down. I didn’t think it would be any problem. I had been down there several times before in the Summer, to catch the fat summer Steelhead and Sea run harvest Trout that came in.
I was only about 300 feet down the trail when I realized my mistake.
It had been raining heavily a few days earlier, then a small snowfall and I could see the tracks where some offroaders had been making mud runs, that hadn’t been there when I was last here.
As I put my foot to the floor to let my big knobby tires dig in and get me up on top, something snapped and the engine revved wildly.
The driveshaft, I knew. I felt my truck roll heavily to the right and settle. I was so deep into the mud I barely got the driver’s door open.
Getting out to survey the situation, I quickly realized I had no way to fix it and no way to get the truck out.
It was completely bogged down, it would need to be dragged out of there to even get to the shaft to fix it.
I still had no sense of danger, the weather was clear, temperature a crisp 45 degrees, no sign of rain.
So I did what any red blooded American Male would do in a situation like that.
I went fishing.
The Salmon were eager, too. This area of the river was always full of fish in late October. I had a fat 9 pound Silver on my 2nd cast, another just like it a few minutes later.
It was the Chinook I was after but I was miles from anywhere, endangered species laws didn’t concern me much so I kept them both.
I went back up to where my Toyota was stuck to gather up some gear. I had planned on building a shelter anyway since this was a nice weeklong vacation for me. I was well prepared, I thought.
It was only a few hundred feet or so from my truck down to the lower clearing, I had almost made it.
I gathered up some of my gear and I built a fire, found some rocks and piled them around it forming a top. I cut some green Fir boughs and covered it, then covered that with one of my heavy tarps.
It made a perfect smoker. I cleaned the fish and smoked them.
I was still expecting someone to show up sooner or later, usually my solitude was interrupted once or twice when I was here before.
So I sat pretty much unconcerned and munched on the Salmon and a can of peaches I had gathered from the bed of my truck.
I spent the first night in my sleeping bag in the cab, pretty much miserable because the seat was at an angle so I couldn’t relax.
But I was nice and warm, my sleeping bag was the latest high tech thing. If anything, it kept me a bit too warm, I even took off my jacket and shirt.
I woke up the next morning, stiff and sore. It was very cold outside, well below freezing.
I built a fire and made some coffee. Then I packed the cured Salmon meat into one of my coolers. I put some snow from the side of the road under a layer of plastic in the cooler and packed it away in the truck.
It did cross my mind to hike out, but I didn’t relish the idea of wasting my fishing trip on what I knew could be a 30-40 mile walk.
I wandered down to the river and quickly caught another fat Salmon. I would have caught some more but I knew I had better put up a shelter and gather some firewood.
I had some stout fishing line, the braided stuff, 60 pound test. It didn’t take me long with my axe and machete to make a framework. There was a perfect spot between 3 solid Fir trees, nice and elevated and above where the river ever reached.
Once the framework was done and securely tied together with the braided line, I covered it with Fir boughs for insulation. Then I put my largest tarp over it, lacing it down securely.
Normally there wasn’t a lot of wind way down in this canyon, but no point in taking chances, I thought. I knew it often rained like hell though, so I got my little folding shovel and trenched the uphill side around my leanto nice and deep.
I build another stone fireplace, covered it with an big fan shroud I had attached a piece of metal pipe to. That was clever of me, It made a perfect stovepipe that stuck out the side of the shelter.
Heck, all I was missing was a couch and a TV.
By the time I had the shelter built, there was just enough time to drag in a few loads of firewood. The bigger limbs were fairly dry, one swipe with my axe cut them up into sections for stacking. I had a pretty good pile by the time it was too dark to do any more.
So I poured myself a snort from my half full bottle of whiskey and sat and watched the flames flickering.
I spent the second night on the ground in my sleeping bag. I was still nice and warm but it was lumpy and the ground was hard.
I was still thinking someone would be coming by, so I hadn’t worried too much about being fussy about comfort. I knew once someone did it was going to spoil a day or two of my trip getting the truck fixed.
I woke up to a foot of snow on the ground. That wasn’t too bad, but there was a good half inch of ice on top of that. It was raining, mixed with snow, and very cold.
Walking out was now out of the question.
Realizing I just might have to spend a few days out here before someone came by, I decided to stock up on more firewood. I spent the entire day gathering, ending up with a huge pile of limbs. My double bitted axe made short work of popping the longer pieces into sections.
I covered the with one of my tarps to help keep it dry.
Then I gathered some soft Fir boughs and made a bed out of them, using my wire cutters to clip the softer ends from the stems. That helped a lot. I cooked the last of my eggs and bacon for dinner, and poured myself another shot of whiskey as a reward for a good day’s work.
It started to snow lightly again as I prepared to retire for the night.
I slept like a baby, the shelter was nice and warm with the small fire going. I woke up to 4 feet of snow on the ground. The fire was out, my trap was sagging from the weight of the snow and ice.
That was the first moment I began to realize I was in trouble. I knocked the built up ice off my shelter roof first.
I managed to more or less thrash my way up to my truck, making several trips back and forth, carrying everything down to my camp. It wasn’t easy, but my clothes were mostly waterproof, I just kept packing the snow down until I had a trail. I didn’t help any that the snow kept coming. It was getting dark when I carried the last box of canned fruit and some tools back down.
I was sweating furiously, my clothes were soaked from the inside so I stripped and hung them to dry, putting on some spare clothing.
I stoked the small fire with some limbs, heated a can of pork and beans and ate some of the smoked fish. I looked out past the flap in my shelter, the snow kept coming.
I took stock of the situation.
I had my fishing gear, my .22 pistol and a few dozen shells. There was the axe and a hatchet, my machete and a folding shovel. I had several rolls of fine wire and a pair of wire cutters, my heavy hunting knife, and the little Leatherman tool I carried in a pouch on my hip. I also had two sets of spare dry clothes, and a large roll of plastic bags.
There was enough food, canned fruit and some chips, a six pack of soda, some crackers. That would last about a week. I seemed to be in pretty good shape.
Then I remembered my cell phone. I had bought it but never used it. I dug it out of one of the boxes and turned it on. No signal, which is pretty much what I expected.
I turned it off and put it away, those things were always worthless.
I was glad to see it had stopped snowing the next morning. I ate some more of the Salmon, and opened a can of peaches, eating just one of the halves.
I knew I might need the fruit for later, so I stored the can in the snow, folding the lid back down.
I used the shovel to clear snow away from in front, the back side of my shelter was fairly clear because it was under the big Fir trees.
The forest was thick, and offered protection, so I gathered as much wood as I could. I even reached up and snapped dead branches from the trees, knowing they would burn. My pile of wood grew quite a bit.
Several days went by, I ran out of the fish and started in on my canned goods. I was down to enough coffee for just a couple of pots, I made just a cup or two each day now.
I knew I needed food, the only real food close by was the river. The river was only a hundred yards away, with 6 feet of snow piled up it might as well have been 50 miles.
No choice, I grabbed the shovel and began to try to break a trail. I knew enough to not allow myself to break a sweat, it was still bitterly cold.
It took three days, I worked for the morning in short spurts, rested to cool down, then worked again. In the afternoons I went out into the forest and harvested wood, limbs, branches, anything that might burn. Some of it was damp but I piled it and covered it, knowing it would dry out.
I found a big seed tree, harvested some of the cones and opened them. I ate the seeds, used the cones to add to my fast reducing stock of wood.
They burned very fast, but hot.
I was out of tinder and then my last lighter gave out. I cut a green Fir limb, used my knife to shave off thin little curls, knowing they would burn nicely. I kept at it until I had two big garbage bags full. I spread some out in front of the fire to dry them even more.
That would make them easier to light.
I used the stout fishing line to make a friction fire starter, looping the line around a short piece of wood and attaching each end to a snug bow I made from a tree limb.
It worked fine, I worked the bow back and forth to spin the shaft, in a few minutes I had smoke, then flame. I nursed the flame and added the green shavings, soon I had a nice hot fire.
I melted some snow for a warm drink, then went back to work clearing a path to the river. Snow kept coming, but I gained steadily. Once I got to the riverbank I walked back and forth, packing down the remaining snow.
There was more snow the next morning but just a few inches, I took my fishing rod and made some casts with no success.
Then I spotted a dark red fish, a big soreback Chinook. I took the lure off my line and tied on a large treble hook, flipping it out over the fish that lay there sulking in the current.
I snagged it the first cast, there was quite a struggle but finally it lay exhausted by the edge. I had to step into the water to reach it, slipping my fingers deep into it’s gills and lifting it to the bank.
Food!!
I carried it back to my shelter, gutted it. It was a fat female, ripe with eggs. I ate the eggs raw, relishing in the feeling of energy that poured through me. I used my heavy knife to cut the fish into chunks, no need to smoke it since it would easily keep in the cold.
I sat and rested, just waiting to warm up a bit and go back to the river to get another one.
Then my foot started to hurt.
I quickly pulled my boot and sock off, my toes were already white, ugly looking. I stoked the fire and tried to warm them some, that rewarded me with a screaming stab of pain but I did my best to take it.
My big toe regained some color, the others looked funny, a whitish gray color. I put on my a spare sock and then took care of the rest of the fish, packing the big steaks in snow and putting them in my cooler.
I slit the stomach lining open and cleansed it, and cooked the entrails in my pan and ate them.
I was at the point of wasting nothing now.
I checked my foot daily, staying in the shelter to try and keep warm. It hurt enough that I didn’t feel like trying to walk on it much, so I stayed inside the shelter, and tried to keep warm.
When the toes turned dark, then black and steady pain set in, I knew what I had to do.
I placed my foot on a block of wood, reached for my hatchet and with one careful lick they were gone. I pulled the knife I had heated in the fire and dragged the red hot blade across the wound.
Oddly, it didn’t hurt.
It was another few days before the fever that set in quickly passed, and I felt good enough to go out and work on the trail.
I knew I would be needing food soon.
It was that same afternoon that I spotted the animal tracks outside my shelter. They came down over the edge of the snowbank and led to where I stowed my open can of fruit in the snow. The can was tipped over, the juice gone, and everything eaten except for part of one piece of a canned Pear.
I popped that into my mouth.
I thought about that for a few minutes, then I got out my roll of wire. I cut a piece, attached it to the trees, and covered each side with Fir boughs. I let the wire form a small loop, guessing at the size of whatever it was by it’s tracks.
I opened one of my last two tins of fruit, put a small piece out to bait the trap. I ate one piece and set the can down inside.
I waited for a long time quietly. Several hours went by, then in the dark, I heard a sound. Suddenly there was a squeal, I jumped up and reached outside, felt my hands grasp a struggling furry body. I squeezed it’s neck until it stopped struggling, even so it managed to bite me several times.
In the dim light from my fire I could see it was a large rat of some kind.
I skinned it and roasted it, it was delicious.
The next day I made short work of clearing out the trail to the river. I made several casts, catching a few small native trout. As I was just getting ready to head back to camp, I caught a motion out of the corner of my eye.
A small very skinny Deer was working it’s way up the riverbank, reaching up from time to time to nibble at some overhanging brush.
I quietly hurried back to my camp and got my little .22 pistol. By the time I got back, it was closer, moving slowly but deliberately my way.
As it passed right in front of me, not 20 feet away, I shot it through the lungs. It leaped and landed in a couple of feet of water, then stopped, head down, gasping.
I shot it again, it fell sideways and began to be swept downstream. I dropped the pistol and ran into the ice cold water, managing to grab a hind leg and haul it out onto the shore.
I dragged it back to my shelter, hurrying, I was soaked to the waist.
I dropped the animal and stripped off my clothes, quickly adding fuel to the fire. In a few minutes, I was warm and dry again, so I got out my spare clothes and dressed. I hung the wet clothes up to dry, reached for my boots and noticed one had split the length of one side.
I used the stout fishing line to lace the sole back on, making a series of holes with the sharp probe on my Leatherman tool. Then I cut som
e plastic and made covers for my socks, I knew I had to keep my feet dry.
It was the next day before I got back to the Deer. It took me all that day to cut and clean the animal. There wasn’t a lot of it, it was small.
But it was food, I had enough for a couple of weeks, maybe more. I huddled close to the fire, warming water to drink, roasting bits of meat.
The skin from the Rat I had caught made a nice cap, the hide from the Deer soon replaced my now disintegrating pants.
I perhaps became something wild myself. I gathered wood as best as I could limited by the mounds of snow between the trees. I had long since carved sections of bark from all the dead trees close by, there were few limbs. My fires became as small as I could make them and keep them going. Each morning I labored with my indian fire maker to get another small flame going.
Food became an issue again.
Then one morning I woke up to the sound of water running, it was coming down the hill behind me in a torrent. I peeked out, it was pouring down rain, and it felt strangely warm. I checked my ditches, they were holding..barely.
I spent the next few days huddled inside, waiting.
There was no more food, there was only water.
The rain seemed to last forever, then one morning it was cool out again, but the Sun was shining.
I wrapped my feet in some of the last of my roll of plastic and put on my boots, now held together mostly with the fishing line.
I hiked up to where my truck lay, still embedded in the mud. I opened the door to search under the seat, hoping for some crackers, a stray bit of food.
Then I heard voices. I looked up, two men were walking down the road. They stopped and looked at me in shock.
I guess I must have looked a sight with my long hair and beard, a rat skin hat and deerhide pants, my coat hung in tatters over my back.
‘Who are you?’ one of them asked.
‘Name’s Dan.’
‘Dan? Dan Magnusan?’
‘Yea.’
‘We were searching for your body.’ The other man blurted out.
‘Well, I ain’t dead.’
The first man shook my hand, grinning.
‘Damn! I don’t believe this!’
‘Got anything to eat?’ I asked.
One of them handed me a candy bar, and the other one had a thermos of coffee. It was hot and black, delicious.
‘What day is this?’ I asked him.
‘March 24th. You have been lost for over 150 days.’
‘Hell, I wasn’t lost.’ I told him.
‘I was just on a fishing trip!’
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