Ben Long
Well-known member
There is a mountain in northwestern Montana I have hunted for 20 years, have packed at least 20 head of big game off of it, for me and my hunting friends. Sunday at dark-30, I was back at the truck, tired, after hunting 5000 vertical feet, with no game to show for it. My radio crackled and it was my hunting partners, who had killed a buck on the ridgeline before dusk and now needed help dragging it down.
I was stoked for their success, so I put on my headlamp and charged up the mountain. I thought about grabbing my pack, but thought, hell, who wants the weight? I knew where they were, about 1200 feet above me on an open ridge. They had all the gear we needed. I've done this lots of times.
An while later, I found their headlamps glowing in the woods. They had split the deer in half. I took the front half, the guy who shot the buck took the hindquarters and our other friend took the rifles and packs.
The last pitch off the mountain is very steep and very thick. It also got foggy and started to rain. Hard. The headlamps were pretty much useless, because of the steam coming off me, the fog, and the rain. So I was pulling/falling downslope, humping half the buck over logs and through thickets, when I lost my orientation and started off down the wrong side of the canyon.
After a half hour of that, I realized I was going in the wrong direction. No sign of my hunting buddies' lights. I could barely hear them when I shouted to them. (Did I mention I am deaf in one ear, so I can't tell where they are coming from anyway.)
My point is, I suddenly found myself in a very dangerous spot. It was pouring rain, I was soaked through the skin, running on adrenaline, utterly and totally disoriented and nearly blind between the fog and the plant cover. Temperature was about 45F and dropping. My compass, PLB, fire kit, plastic garbage bag, whistle, two-way radio, were nicely packed in my kit, back a the truck. No bear spray (did I mention it is grizzly country?)
In fact, I keep that survival gear a separate belt pack so I can take it, without taking all my stuff. It was a rookie mistake to leave it, but not because I was a rookie, because I was complacent, too cocky.
I had a couple things going for me: I was wearing nothing but wool, so I was still fairly warm. I also knew the land well enough to know that the river was below me, and we were parked near a bridge.
So I decided to head straight downhill, until I hit the river bottom, then follow the river upstream to the bridge.
I left the deer half in an opening, where I thought I might (maybe) could find it again. Then I plunged downhill. I kept going until I hit the river. Record rainfall meant the river was roaring along bank full, so I had to scrap my idea of walking the riverbank up stream. The banks were full of wet alder and dogwood brush, with loads of deadfalls. All the side channels were full of water, so I was soon wading to my knees in cold runoff.
I didn't panic because (a) I have lots of practice being lost (b) there was no way in the world I would leave my son at home without me and (c) I knew if I kept the river to my left I would find the bridge and, thus, the truck. I knew if I was careful, I would not get hurt, and if I didn't get hurt, I would find my way out.
Which I did. Soaked. Cold. And to two hunting partners who looked very relieved they would not have to call my wife and tell her I was lost in the woods. The next day were were able to retrieve the half of the buck, which wasn't even that hard to find in the bright sunshine.
Lesson learned (again): Complacency kills. Never leave the rig without at least the basic gear for orientation and survival. What can go wrong? Plenty. And fast.
I was stoked for their success, so I put on my headlamp and charged up the mountain. I thought about grabbing my pack, but thought, hell, who wants the weight? I knew where they were, about 1200 feet above me on an open ridge. They had all the gear we needed. I've done this lots of times.
An while later, I found their headlamps glowing in the woods. They had split the deer in half. I took the front half, the guy who shot the buck took the hindquarters and our other friend took the rifles and packs.
The last pitch off the mountain is very steep and very thick. It also got foggy and started to rain. Hard. The headlamps were pretty much useless, because of the steam coming off me, the fog, and the rain. So I was pulling/falling downslope, humping half the buck over logs and through thickets, when I lost my orientation and started off down the wrong side of the canyon.
After a half hour of that, I realized I was going in the wrong direction. No sign of my hunting buddies' lights. I could barely hear them when I shouted to them. (Did I mention I am deaf in one ear, so I can't tell where they are coming from anyway.)
My point is, I suddenly found myself in a very dangerous spot. It was pouring rain, I was soaked through the skin, running on adrenaline, utterly and totally disoriented and nearly blind between the fog and the plant cover. Temperature was about 45F and dropping. My compass, PLB, fire kit, plastic garbage bag, whistle, two-way radio, were nicely packed in my kit, back a the truck. No bear spray (did I mention it is grizzly country?)
In fact, I keep that survival gear a separate belt pack so I can take it, without taking all my stuff. It was a rookie mistake to leave it, but not because I was a rookie, because I was complacent, too cocky.
I had a couple things going for me: I was wearing nothing but wool, so I was still fairly warm. I also knew the land well enough to know that the river was below me, and we were parked near a bridge.
So I decided to head straight downhill, until I hit the river bottom, then follow the river upstream to the bridge.
I left the deer half in an opening, where I thought I might (maybe) could find it again. Then I plunged downhill. I kept going until I hit the river. Record rainfall meant the river was roaring along bank full, so I had to scrap my idea of walking the riverbank up stream. The banks were full of wet alder and dogwood brush, with loads of deadfalls. All the side channels were full of water, so I was soon wading to my knees in cold runoff.
I didn't panic because (a) I have lots of practice being lost (b) there was no way in the world I would leave my son at home without me and (c) I knew if I kept the river to my left I would find the bridge and, thus, the truck. I knew if I was careful, I would not get hurt, and if I didn't get hurt, I would find my way out.
Which I did. Soaked. Cold. And to two hunting partners who looked very relieved they would not have to call my wife and tell her I was lost in the woods. The next day were were able to retrieve the half of the buck, which wasn't even that hard to find in the bright sunshine.
Lesson learned (again): Complacency kills. Never leave the rig without at least the basic gear for orientation and survival. What can go wrong? Plenty. And fast.
