Reports of My Demise are Only Slightly Exaggerated

 

Well, it finally happened.   I got myself into a dangerous situation today while picking up litter along the Seward highway.   First time in 17 years.

 

Mark Twain is quoted as saying, “Reports of my death are greatly exaggerated,” or variations thereof.  My situation today was serious and could have turned for the worse.

 

People who know me well know that I tend to dismiss any danger to myself when I’m in familiar surroundings.   (That does not apply to bull elephants in musth in Africa. They scare the bejeebers out of me.)

 

Things litter were proceeding well and I was having a great time along Lower Summit Lake.  My troublesome back was behaving itself.   I felt great.   I’d cleaned a third of a mile already, and was half way through cleaning a second third of a mile and heading in the direction of my truck.   I wasn’t wearing ear plugs and I could hear warblers in the willows.   I even spotted a couple of the tiny orange crowned warblers.

 

Now in the home stretch for the day, I spotted a small piece of white plastic hanging on a willow branch and headed down a 12-foot steep embankment to get it.   It was wet down there, but I took my time stepping from grassy clump to grassy clump and before I could stop myself, I was in water over my boots.

 

Oh, well.   I’m already wet and that plastic is almost within reach.   With the next step, my left leg plunged down, down, down and I could not pull it out.   It was stuck fast in deep mud. And I was in water over my knee.

Can you see the tiny bit of white plastic on the willow branch?   Look down from the right side of the spruce tree.

 

Now what?   I tried wiggling the boot to free it.   Nothing doing.   It would not turn at all.  My right leg was free but of no use at all.  

 

Okay, I’m stuck.   When in quicksand, lie down and distribute your body mass.   The only way I could go was onto my back because I was already sitting.   Now I was wet and getting cold.  The water wasn’t icy cold, but cold enough and I was now wet to my neck except for my left shoulder.

 

I had to take frequent rests from the struggling.  I tried to flag down traffic that was going past at 65 mph, but there was little chance of anyone seeing me down there in my faded Carhartt jacket, and no one did.   My bright safety vest was almost invisible because I was nearly flat on my back.

 

I thought about getting a yellow litter bag out of my back pack, inserting my grab stick into it, and waving that in the air to increase my visibility.  All things considered, I absolutely couldn’t.  I was lying on the pack and my right arm was supporting me enough to keep the back of my head out of the water.

I was astonished at how little mobility I had, not to mention that there was no solid ground within reach.

A view of where I got stuck and all the area where I struggled for a long time to stand upright.  The large dark spot of water--the white plastic is above to the right--is where I got stuck.   All the water and trampled grass is the area I needed to get myself out of that mess.

 

 

So this is what it’s like, I thought.   At least I wasn’t stuck in the mud and clay of Turnagain Arm or Cook Inlet and didn’t have to worry about the tide coming in.  That happened a couple weeks ago to a young fellow who perished.

 

I thought about the life-saving measures the Girdwood Fire and EMS uses to free people who get stuck in the mud/clay flats.   They jet water down where someone’s feet are stuck and loosen the deathly grip.   Maybe, I thought, maybe if I stick my free right foot down alongside the stuck foot, I can create enough dilution of the mud to give me a chance.   So, I did, fully aware that I might get both feet stuck.

 

With a lot of squirming and pulling on my left leg, eventually the grip on the foot loosened.   More tugging and squirming and finally I was able to move my stuck foot a bit, not up and out of danger, but a little side to side.  I kept working at it.

 

Side to side, kicking with my right foot.   On and on.   Slowly, slowly the left foot emerged from the mud and water.   The boot had four inches of wet mud on top when I finally got it free.

 

But, I was still in trouble.   And getting cold.  I managed to roll onto my right side and tried to sit up.  I didn’t have the strength.  I had the litter bag with some stuff in it.   One of those things was a short red wooden handle like a paint roller extension.  I grabbed it and set it on top of the litter bag which gave me enough area of support to roll and twist and, with pulling on the short grass with my other arm, VIOLA, I was sitting up.

Plastic, stuck spot, trampled grass , and finally standing up where the litter bag is.

 

Sitting but still unable to kneel or stand because my butt was lower than my boots.  Here goes, I thought, and “walked” on my butt cheeks to a spot where there was some grass in not-so-deep water. 

 

That worked!   More rests, more struggles, and finally I was able to stand up.  All in all, I was in trouble at least 30 minute and probably closer to 45 or 60 minutes.

 

Through all of this, I never once thought about using my phone to call for help.   Summit Lake Lodge was just up the hill a mile away.  In reality, I probably wouldn’t have any reception down in that hole anyway.

 

Everything on me was dripping water.   My boots, jacket, and pack weighed a ton.   My jeans were so wet and heavy they were down around my hips and I couldn’t pull them up.

 

I walked back to my truck, stumbling occasionally but not falling.   And yes, I continued to pick up litter, but I noticed I was having trouble holding onto things.  Plus my glasses were dirty and that made visibility difficult.

 

Once in my truck, I turned the heat up to extreme incinerate and the fan to hurricane force.    This Dodge Dakota has the best heater of any vehicle I’ve owned.

 

Now I’m home.   I stripped in the 60 degree garage and got the laundry is going, and I rinsed my gloves and pack and they are hanging to dry.   I also rinsed out my boots and struck them on a brand new boot dryer.    The dryer doesn’t work.   I’m going to borrow Julie’s boot dryer tomorrow.

 

The laundry room is a mess of mud and water.   I’ll deal with it tomorrow.   MY favorite pocket camera is sitting on some rice in a baggie.   It, too  got wet.

 

I went upstairs wearing only my glasses and my Fitbit.   I wondered if Fitbit gave me credit for all the struggling I did but, apparently, because one foot wasn’t moving, it didn’t. 

 

Even after a long hot shower, I was chilled, so I sat down in front of an electric heater with a big mug of hot chocolate and tried to warm up.   It’s working, but I’m still thinking how badly this might have turned out had I not been able to free myself and instead laid there all night in that cold water.

 

 

 

 

This photo, looking away from there I was,  doesn't do justice to how invisible I must have been to traffic passing by.   The embankment is starting to level out here.  It was much steeper where I was.   There is no reason for people to look down at me struggling in the water.