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.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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.