Chagrined, but Ever So Thankful.

 

I want to extend my thanks to everyone who responded to my latest tale of woe, that is, the sticky situation I walked into--eyes wide open-- Wednesday night.   I’ve had a chance now to review the timeline as well as my behavior while I had one foot stuck in a bog.

The site of the mishap.   The dark patch of water nearest the willows is where I got stuck.   The white piece of plastic at top center right is what I was after.   All the tramples grass is where I struggled to get upright.

 

First, the timeline.   I left my truck and 6 PM and walked a third of a mile while picking up litter, taking about 10 minutes to sit down and watch a very curious orange-crowned warbler trying to figure out what I was.   As near as I can figure, that took a bit more than 30 minutes to clean up the litter, cross the road and start the return leg.

 

Within five minutes or less, I was firmly stuck in a bog off the side of the highway and down in a spot where no one was likely to look.  When I finally extricated myself and sloshed my weary way back to the truck, it was 8PM.  Allowing 15 to 20 minutes of walking, at the most, that left more than an hour for me to get thoroughly wet and free from the mud.   

Note that 8 PM.   Diminishing traffic and little chance of attracting attention from a passing driver meant little chance of help.

 

Now, my behavior.   I wasn’t worried.   Concerned, yes.   Not panicked.  I spent a lot of time feeling exasperated, frustrated, and thoroughly pissed off at my situation.   And very, very stubborn.

 

What saved me was thinking about a young man who was stuck in the deadly mud/clay flats near Hope on Turnagain Arm.  Fire/EMS from Girdwood couldn’t get there in time (almost 60 miles), the tide came in, and the man died a horrible death.

 

I didn’t have to worry about the tide.   I did have to consider hypothermia from, sitting and lying in that cold water.  At my age of 81, it would probably overwhelm me faster than younger folks.

 

I thought about the rescue technique used by Girdwood EMS to free people from that mud/clay along the Arm.   They jet water down alongside the person’s leg(s) to dilute the clay/glacial silt.

 

It might work, I thought, or I might get both feet stuck.   My right leg, though free, was useless because there wasn’t anything solid to brace against and use for leverage.   So, I rammed it right alongside my left leg, making sure I kept pumping up and down to infuse that mud with enough water to loosen its grip.

 

The photo and the rest below have nothing to do with my adventure.  They are here to break up the text and make it easier to read.   Besides red-necked grebes are cuter than all get out when they talk to each other.

It didn’t work immediately.  I kept at it and at it and, finally, I could twist my stuck boot a bit.   This went on for some time.   Eventually,  and not for the first time, I put both hands under my thigh behind my knee and pulled.   S-l-o-w-l-y the boot came free.   By the time it surfaced, it had four inches of mud still clinging to it.

 

The rest of that adventure was an exasperating fight against little upper mobility and I was astonished at how little of that I had.  My left shoulder is greatly compromised.   I can’t reach behind my back nor over my head.  I always get patted down at airport security because I can’t assume the raised arms position.   It is good for holding a litter bag, though.  

Barrow's goldeneye drake.

 

This isn’t the first time I’ve endangered myself.

As a kid growing up in Spaniard, I used to bicycle down to Cook Inlet and play in that deadly clay.   I always made sure to wash off all the clay before going home so Mom wouldn't find out where I'd been.

 

I once came so close to walking right into a huge back bear in Girdwood.   One of my sled dogs had broken her chain and went to explore the swamps across from my cabin.  Of course, she got wrapped up in some bushes.

The red dog on the left was my escape artist.

 

Lucky for the both of us that she was a very vocal dog and I could pinpoint where she was, but not see her.  I started across that swamp in sneakers, so I was picking my way.  I estimated I was about fifty feet from her when I was stopped by a particularly icky slough.   I found a rotten log that crossed it and was carefully inching across it when I heard a grunt.  

 

When I looked up, there was that bear waiting for me at the end of the log, no more than 6 or 8 feet away.   I backed away, rounded up a posse of young guys from the ski resort, and all turned out well.    An experienced hunter saw a black bear farther up the valley the next day and said it was the largest black bear he’d ever seen, estimating its weight at 500 lbs.

Yellowlegs

 

That same dog, again loose with her chain, climbed to timberline along the ridge of mountains just north of Girdwood.   The night was cold (minus 20 degrees) and sound carried well.   My vocal little sweetheart was in full voice when I called her name.  I found a friend, Pete Robinson, and after debating whether those were coyote or husky howls, together we climbed an avalanche chute to a thicket where her chain was tangled.   The thicket was surrounded by coyote tracks, so she had some company while she waited for me.

 

One time I came close to freezing my hands while out with the dog team.  I spent a little too much time at the restaurant that was my turnaround place.   By the time I left, the sun was down, it was dark, and the freezing temperatures were too much for the cotton work gloves I was wearing.   Fortunately, my lead dogs jumped right into the back of my pickup when we reached it, followed by as many of the dogs that could jump onto the tailgate without taking the sled with them.

 

My fingers were useless.   The truck wasn’t locked and I think I used my elbow to depress the round opener on the handle while my club-hand pulled the door open.   Now for the key.  I managed that, and by using the heel of both hands, I was able to pull out the choke, and to turn the key to start the truck.

 

While the truck warmed up, I held my hands under the exhaust pipe until I could feel and move my fingers.

Ring neck ducks.

 

And then there was the time I was climbing to the ridge of Mt. Alyeska and found the easiest footing was on narrow strip of snow.   Which, by the way, was on a glacier and was actually a snow-covered crevasse.  Enough about that.

 

Those are only a few of the situations I’ve gotten myself into, the ones that didn’t involve participation by my mouth, that is.

 

So, the chagrin.  I am feeling chagrined about getting stuck and I am feeling chagrined about blasting it on social media.   

 

When I got home that night, I took a hot shower and tried to warm up.  Settling in at the computer, I made an attempt to tell my tale.   I made a lot of typos.  My fingers weren’t working the way they are supposed to.   I was still stumbling a bit, but not falling. 

 

Once I told the world on Facebook how I’d survived another stupid adventure, I put on a lot of fleece and went to bed.  It was 4 AM before I felt like I was warm.   Then I slept until 3 the next afternoon Thursday.  I got up, had a snack, and went back to bed at 6 PM and slept another 7 hours.   Then, up for a couple hours, back to sleep until noon today, Friday.   It was like sleeping off jet lag.

 

A dipper with a bill full of bugs.

I have found that writing about an unpleasant or "traumatic" situation is the best way for me to deal with it.   I get all that negativity down on paper or a computer screen.   That concentrates it and cuts it down to a size I can manage.

 

Also, I LOVE making fun of myself.   Why else is my pen name “Gullible?”   

 

And posting on Facebook lets my friends and relatives know that, unbelievably, I’m still alive.