Nameless Range
Well-known member
This afternoon I decided to go look for a whitetail in a few hundred acres of muck and beaver dams. I ended up having what was the most intense moment of my hunting life.
I got to the spot at 2, and had a doctor’s appointment at 5 o’clock this evening. I figured I would wander around in the willows for an hour and a half or so and see what I could find. That would give me plenty of time to drive the hour to my appointment from where I was hunting.
I’d never been there before, just driven by it in the past - where a small mountain stream fans out into a belly of willows about 400 yards wide and a mile long. It looked thick, but enticing. We recently had a hell of a snow storm. Where I was hunting, there was darn near 2 feet of snow. Temperatures this afternoon were in the teens, but had even been lower in the previous couple days.
I started into the heart of the thick. I figured if deer were in there they’d be out of the cold wind and where they could not be seen from the road. I quickly found that the entire span of the 400 yards was under water – most of it just 6 inches or so – soaked ground covered with deep snow. Not pleasant to walk in, but nothing the mucks I was wearing couldn’t handle.
As you can imagine, I was making a fair bit of noise, but I jumped a deer too. It was promising. With a half hour left, I was maybe ¾ miles from my truck. I could’ve backtracked, but I thought I would just cut across the whole thing to the road and walk it to my truck. I started, and found a spot across the main creek. Ahead I could tell there were some frozen holes from past inundations, but there were willows and higher lumps in between that I figured I could use as solidish ground. Well, at one point I thought I was stepping on something solid, and it was solid– it was ice – which I broke through. I couldn’t tell because of the snow till it was too late. X marks the rough location where it happened. In all the green you see in this photo, none of it is dry.
I initially found myself standing in about 30 inches of water, my boots filling up, but the “pond” I unknowingly stepped on had a sloped bottom, and I was sliding down it. I sloped back as I went down and next thing I know by the time I can touch the bottom I am up to my neck in water, and my chin is essentially on a shelf of ice.
I panicked and broke the ice in front of me, which was only about an inch thick, and then I turned around and “swam” back to the last solid ground I had known. Now, I am f*!king soaked up to my neck, it’s 15 degrees out, I’m a good 20 minutes from the truck on dry ground, and I don’t know if there’s a way straight through or if I am gonna have to backtrack. I didn't lose my cool, but I was concerned as hell. Incredibly my phone survived.
There’s probably some sort of psychology occurring in my head at that time that's a cousin of the Sunk Cost Fallacy, but I decided that backtracking, which would take close to 45 minutes might be too long. So I do my best at finding a better crossing, which puts me up to my waist in water at one point, and I scramble through the sh!t on adrenaline and fear back to the road. The first 5 minutes after I fell in, I was very cold and I’ll admit, scared. But by the time I got to my truck, I was sweating.
I was dressed in wool from head to toe and I wouldn't go so far as to say it saved my life, but I do think I could’ve been in some real trouble if I weren't, particularly if I were further from the truck. Additionally, if that pond, which was probably only 100 sq feet in size, had been only a few inches deeper and I couldn't touch the bottom, I may not have caught myself on the ice shelf at the depth of my chin – gives me the creeps to think about going under that ice.
Serendipitously, I had an entire change of clothes at the truck in anticipation for the Appt, so I stripped naked on the side of the road, dumped a half gallon of water out of my boots, and celebrated my pulse with a Coors. Here's what I was wearing when I went through the ice I didn't know was there.
My clothes and pack are now drying in front of the fire, and I've oiled and cleaned my gun.
Certainly a humbling experience.
I got to the spot at 2, and had a doctor’s appointment at 5 o’clock this evening. I figured I would wander around in the willows for an hour and a half or so and see what I could find. That would give me plenty of time to drive the hour to my appointment from where I was hunting.
I’d never been there before, just driven by it in the past - where a small mountain stream fans out into a belly of willows about 400 yards wide and a mile long. It looked thick, but enticing. We recently had a hell of a snow storm. Where I was hunting, there was darn near 2 feet of snow. Temperatures this afternoon were in the teens, but had even been lower in the previous couple days.
I started into the heart of the thick. I figured if deer were in there they’d be out of the cold wind and where they could not be seen from the road. I quickly found that the entire span of the 400 yards was under water – most of it just 6 inches or so – soaked ground covered with deep snow. Not pleasant to walk in, but nothing the mucks I was wearing couldn’t handle.
As you can imagine, I was making a fair bit of noise, but I jumped a deer too. It was promising. With a half hour left, I was maybe ¾ miles from my truck. I could’ve backtracked, but I thought I would just cut across the whole thing to the road and walk it to my truck. I started, and found a spot across the main creek. Ahead I could tell there were some frozen holes from past inundations, but there were willows and higher lumps in between that I figured I could use as solidish ground. Well, at one point I thought I was stepping on something solid, and it was solid– it was ice – which I broke through. I couldn’t tell because of the snow till it was too late. X marks the rough location where it happened. In all the green you see in this photo, none of it is dry.
I initially found myself standing in about 30 inches of water, my boots filling up, but the “pond” I unknowingly stepped on had a sloped bottom, and I was sliding down it. I sloped back as I went down and next thing I know by the time I can touch the bottom I am up to my neck in water, and my chin is essentially on a shelf of ice.
I panicked and broke the ice in front of me, which was only about an inch thick, and then I turned around and “swam” back to the last solid ground I had known. Now, I am f*!king soaked up to my neck, it’s 15 degrees out, I’m a good 20 minutes from the truck on dry ground, and I don’t know if there’s a way straight through or if I am gonna have to backtrack. I didn't lose my cool, but I was concerned as hell. Incredibly my phone survived.
There’s probably some sort of psychology occurring in my head at that time that's a cousin of the Sunk Cost Fallacy, but I decided that backtracking, which would take close to 45 minutes might be too long. So I do my best at finding a better crossing, which puts me up to my waist in water at one point, and I scramble through the sh!t on adrenaline and fear back to the road. The first 5 minutes after I fell in, I was very cold and I’ll admit, scared. But by the time I got to my truck, I was sweating.
I was dressed in wool from head to toe and I wouldn't go so far as to say it saved my life, but I do think I could’ve been in some real trouble if I weren't, particularly if I were further from the truck. Additionally, if that pond, which was probably only 100 sq feet in size, had been only a few inches deeper and I couldn't touch the bottom, I may not have caught myself on the ice shelf at the depth of my chin – gives me the creeps to think about going under that ice.
Serendipitously, I had an entire change of clothes at the truck in anticipation for the Appt, so I stripped naked on the side of the road, dumped a half gallon of water out of my boots, and celebrated my pulse with a Coors. Here's what I was wearing when I went through the ice I didn't know was there.
My clothes and pack are now drying in front of the fire, and I've oiled and cleaned my gun.
Certainly a humbling experience.
