How to Get Yourself Killed in the Woods

This is going to be an embarrassing post to write.  Normally, I go out into the woods reasonably prepared.  I have an excellent sense of direction, I pay attention to the weather, and I keep my cool in stressful situations.

I didn't do any of those this past weekend.  

I was up at Dad's, visiting for Thanksgiving.  On Friday, I talked Dad into driving up into North Idaho to see if we could get to the Pinus monticola sapling that I'd found back in September with my brother.  I had no idea if the snow would be too deep or not.  

When we left Dad's house, my intention had been to drive until there was enough snow to make me nervous, and then turn around.  I failed to take into account the lull of plant lust.  It can cloud my judgement, and get me into situations that aren't good.  There have been a number of times that I've run head-long into stupid situations without thinking...  one time I clambered up a really steep rock face in the Wallowa Mountains in eastern Oregon in pursuit of some carnivorous plants- only to discover that I wasn't able to get back down so easily.  

Anyhow, there was no snow on the ground when we left Dad's house.  We drove into the mountains for an hour before we encountered the beginnings of snow.  Once we got there, it got steadily deeper by the mile.  I started to think we wouldn't make it to the tree, which was a mild bummer.  There was a single pair of tire tracks that went through the snow.  The trouble with tracks like this (I've been in this situation a few times) is that the snow gets packed under the tires, forming a reasonably firm surface to drive on- provided that the temperature stays below freezing.  If you wander off those tracks, you immediately sink into the softer snow- and it can be a challenge to get back onto the firmly-packed tracks.  

Dad started saying that he didn't think we were going to make it.  Mind you- Dad worries a lot more than I do, and I'm used to hearing him worry aloud about situations that don't bother me.  I wanted to go a bit further, since we were only about five miles from the tree.  About that time, another pickup came down the road toward us.  Since both trucks were pretty much stuck on the same wheel tracks, I had to back up about a quarter of a mile to a place where we could pass each other.  A young man was in the other truck with a couple of young kids.  I asked him how far in he was able to go.  He told us that he had come around the road from the other end.  He said that the road was good the whole way- and that it was actually bare gravel after a few miles.  

We thanked him and continued driving in.  We got stuck once, and we had to shovel a path to get the pickup back up onto the wheel tracks.  "I really don't think it is wise to continue," Dad said.   I told him that we should keep going for just a bit to see.  Later, I regretted the hell out of not listening to him.

After a few miles, the snow did, in fact lessen.  By the time we reached the tree, there was barely an inch on the ground, and driving was quite easy.  I collected scions, and we went on our way.  Of course, I didn't have a map, and I'd never been up that way before.  We should have just turned around then.  But the guy said that the road was clear from there on out.  Of course...  "the road is fine" is a bit of a subjective statement.  I won't take anyone's word on such a thing again.

We drove for a few miles, and came to an intersection.  There were signs that pointed to various trailheads and mountaintops- but not to towns.  We took off down a wrong turn.  A few miles later, we ran into some trappers on snow mobiles.  They told us which road we should have taken, and we turned around.  In retrospect, I think that they were staring at us like we were insane for being in there in a truck.  

We drove back to the intersection, and took the correct road.  Since we were now on the right road- which was bare gravel the whole way to town- I started watching for brooms.  There were pretty large larch, Douglas fir, grand fir, and Western Hemlock trees lining the road.  I really hoped to find a broom.  This time of year, I could shoot pieces out of it and graft it when I got home- instead of having to wait until winter like I did during summer expeditions.

We climbed in elevation until we started to see snow again.  Dad began to worry aloud again about the condition of the road.  We switched drivers, since I seemed to be a bit better about keeping the truck in the wheel tracks. 

The snow got deeper.  I began to get nervous as well, since the conditions were rapidly getting worse.  We got to the top of the mountain and headed down a very gradual slope on the other side.  I moved slowly, so that if I got off the wheel tracks I wouldn't go very far.  We got stuck and dug ourselves out again.

We went about a hundred yards and got stuck again.  I realized that we were pretty much fucked.  The road ahead didn't go down in elevation quickly, so there would be plenty more bad conditions ahead.  My back, which had been bothering me for the last few weeks, began to hurt enough that I couldn't do much in the way of shoveling.

Aside from mentioning his concern, Dad didn't show any sign of being as scared as I felt.  He just kept working on getting the truck unstuck.

We got out, and then got stuck again.  At this point, I was starting to get pretty freaked out.  I don't exactly panic when I get scared- I just kind of shut down.  I had to fight the urge to get back in the truck and just hide from the situation.  I got out our empty coffee cups and filled them with snow.  It was warm in the cab of the truck, so it would melt.  We weren't carrying any water, which was kind of bad.  I've read that eating snow when you are lost in the woods is a great way to bring on hypothermia. 

My clothes were warm enough, as were my boots.  The trouble was that my boots only came up a bit past my ankles.  Every time I had to get off the wheel tracks to get around the side of the truck or gather sticks, rocks and dirt to put under the tires, snow got into my boots.  My socks were starting to get wet.

I wondered how many toes I would lose to frostbite if we had to walk out.  It was at least 20 miles.

I felt ashamed and stupid at having insisted on continuing into the snow.  I apologized to Dad, and told him how upset I was getting. 

"Well, as your brother says, 'shit happens,'" he said.  Again, I was struck by how calm he was.  I asked him how he was able to keep so level-headed in such a bad situation.   His answer was a combination of just keeping focused on the task at hand, as well as having less life to lose than I did.  He's 78 and I'm 43, so I guess he had a point there.

I thought about the possibility of dying up in the woods.  Death seems much more real to me now than it did when I was a younger man.  I've always wondered how I would react when I had to look it in the face.  Even if we'd died on that mountain, death would have been many hours away, so I don't think I was actually looking it in the face.  I was just starting to realize that I might be looking it in the face that day.

I was scared.  I've watched a couple of older friends die over the last decade or so.  One was very scared, and one didn't seem to be. I've always wondered how I'd handle that situations.  At this point, I think I might be one of the people who is scared to die.  Then again, this was a situation that was brought on by my own bad decisions.  Guilt is an emotion that has always been close to the surface in  my mind (a trait that is easy to attribute to a conservative religious upbringing), and I think that much of my state of mind was mixed with it.  Perhaps someday, when it is time to die for real, I'll have an easier time of it- particularly if I manage to keep from making too many stupid choices.

I realize that it might sound as though I'm making a big deal of this.  Situations like this really do kill people, however- like the drug runners in a previous post on this blog.  In order to keep from losing my cool, I tried to think about the experience, and how it might provide some useful perspective to me in the future.

At any rate, after the third or fourth time we dug the truck out (over the course of a couple of hours), we managed to get moving again.  There were a number of very scary corners, but I managed to keep the truck on the tracks.  We descended into snow-free elevations again, and the road was once again bare gravel.

I hadn't thought to take any pictures before that point.  This interesting granite cliff made me remember to get out my camera.  The road that I've described was up on the top of the mountain behind the cliff.

That evening, when we finally got home, I was so thankful to be safe in the warm house.  Needless to say, I will not be going out unprepared like that again.  And when Dad says that he thinks it is unwise to continue into the snow, I will turn right around.

As for that pine... I sure hope that the grafts take.  Maybe I should consider 'Death on the Mountain' as a name for it.