| General Fiction posted January 26, 2022 |
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A hunting trip goes wrong
Alone!
by T B Botts
Left alone in the forest Contest Winner
I was bouncing around in the front seat of the Ford Bronco, trying to coax some more heat out of the vent that was supposed to be providing warmth for the passengers, but was having little success. There was six inches of snow on the logging road that we were following. Fortunately another vehicle had been by some time earlier, maybe even some poachers during the night, spotlighting the innocent deer. My friend Bob was driving and his son Brent was in the back seat with his rifle between his legs gazing out the window, hoping to see a buck walking along the road. We'd seen plenty of tracks. The deer had been busy during the night.
I was struggling with my thoughts. Bob was a good friend and I didn't want to offend him, but I really didn't care to go hunting with him. He always wants to hunt in the most inhospitable areas. Any time we'd gone together I ended up either neck deep in snow, or crossing muskegs filled with hidden pools of icy water, or crawling over or under fallen trees. More often than not I didn't shoot anything, and came home cold, wet, hungry and frustrated at wasting a day off. However, I needed the meat and didn't have a truck that could traverse the teeth-jarring roads, and the season was going to end soon, so I agreed reluctantly to go.
The tracks of the vehicle that we had been following turned off on an even more remote spur, and we continued on the main drag, breaking trail and sliding along the rocky road, slamming into hidden ruts and feeling the vehicle bottom out, praying silently that we wouldn't careen off the edge into the clear cut sections of stumps and slash that the loggers left behind. There would be no driving out if that happened.
After what seemed like an ungodly amount of time in which I endured a beating in that tortuous vehicle, Bob pulled into a depression in the side of the mountain. It was a rock pit that had been blown with dynamite for use on the roads. Behind the pit the land stretched upward until it was hidden in the low hanging fog- like mist that engulfed the forest.
"We're here." Bob announced. He spoke louder than he needed to, but he had no idea because he was partially deaf and needed the help of hearing aids to be able to hear at all.
"I've never hunted here before, but I've seen the area in the summer, and it looks like a great place for deer. The snow should have pushed them down from the top, so we might not have to hunt too hard. Bill, why don't you go down the road another half mile or so, and Brent and I will climb up from here and go to the left towards that saddle. Let's meet back at the car at 2:00 PM OK?"
I agreed, and watched as they gathered their gear and started hiking up the steep mountain through the snow. I grabbed my rifle and checked my fanny pack to make sure I had everything I needed for a day in the woods. Lets see- bullets, compass, flagging tape, drag strap, Buck knife, fire starter, matches, railroad flare. In my wool jacket I had two Snickers candy bars and a peanut butter and honey sandwich and a can of Pepsi. I didn't want to drink out of any of the clear, ice cold mountain streams for fear of Giardia. You never knew when some animal might have taken a dump upstream or if one was laying dead in the water.
I took off down the road and hadn't gone more than a quarter mile when I spotted the tracks of a buck that had meandered back and forth across the road during the night before finally entering the woods and starting up the steep hillside. I started following it up, keeping an eye out ahead in case he might have stopped and bedded down. The winter day was cold and dark, the lead colored clouds threatened snow, and soon after I started my search for the buck, the threat became reality. At first the snow was light, almost like a scene from a Currier and Ives Christmas card, but soon it turned ugly, the flakes coming in blinding sheets, driven by the wind. Though the thick spruce and hemlock blocked a lot of it, the storm was so intense that more snow started to pile up in the woods. I was intent on following the buck, climbing ever higher, walking through dense clumps of blueberry bush. The tracks led through stands of Devils Club that snagged the sleeves of my wool jacket and across ravines filled with dead falls, trees that had been blown down in windstorms of the past. I was getting hot climbing ever upward, and started to sweat. That's never good in the woods. I unzipped my wool jacket and pants and discarded my hat, stuffing it in a pocket. The dreary day turned darker yet and I realized that I had gone farther than I had intended. A quick glance at my watch showed that I'd lost track of time. It was after 1:30. I was supposed to meet up with my friends in half an hour. It would be dark by 3:00 today with the snowstorm.
With a sense of panic I started back down the mountain. It would take too long to backtrack the way I came. The fastest way back seemed to be straight down. I started down and encountered a steep ravine, forcing me to turn to the left, away from where I thought the car would be. The snow came faster as I broke out into a clearing, wondering how far I had to go before I came upon the logging road. It was 2:15, fifteen minutes past the time we were supposed to meet. I jacked a shell in the chamber of my rifle and fired one, two, three shots, the agreed upon signal if there was trouble, and waited to hear a signal in return. Silence settled in the snow covered woods like that of a monastary. Darkness was settling in and I knew that they couldn't afford to wait for me. Miles of treacherous logging roads lay between here and home and the snow would make it even worse, maybe even impossible to get home if they didn't leave now.
I walked another quarter mile until I got into a spot where little snow had penetrated the canopy overhead and sat on a wet log. Reality hit me in the face like a shovel. I was alone in the woods. I had the makings for a fire if I could only find some dry wood. I zipped up my pants and jacket to conserve heat, and put on my wool hat and pulled it down over my ears. I ate my sandwich and one of my candy bars and wished I had brought more. Darkness was descending in the woods and I was an unwelcome guest here. I prayed for God's mercy and settled down for a long night, hoping that Bob's Bronco had made it home and a search party would come in the morning.
I was bouncing around in the front seat of the Ford Bronco, trying to coax some more heat out of the vent that was supposed to be providing warmth for the passengers, but was having little success. There was six inches of snow on the logging road that we were following. Fortunately another vehicle had been by some time earlier, maybe even some poachers during the night, spotlighting the innocent deer. My friend Bob was driving and his son Brent was in the back seat with his rifle between his legs gazing out the window, hoping to see a buck walking along the road. We'd seen plenty of tracks. The deer had been busy during the night.
I was struggling with my thoughts. Bob was a good friend and I didn't want to offend him, but I really didn't care to go hunting with him. He always wants to hunt in the most inhospitable areas. Any time we'd gone together I ended up either neck deep in snow, or crossing muskegs filled with hidden pools of icy water, or crawling over or under fallen trees. More often than not I didn't shoot anything, and came home cold, wet, hungry and frustrated at wasting a day off. However, I needed the meat and didn't have a truck that could traverse the teeth-jarring roads, and the season was going to end soon, so I agreed reluctantly to go.
The tracks of the vehicle that we had been following turned off on an even more remote spur, and we continued on the main drag, breaking trail and sliding along the rocky road, slamming into hidden ruts and feeling the vehicle bottom out, praying silently that we wouldn't careen off the edge into the clear cut sections of stumps and slash that the loggers left behind. There would be no driving out if that happened.
After what seemed like an ungodly amount of time in which I endured a beating in that tortuous vehicle, Bob pulled into a depression in the side of the mountain. It was a rock pit that had been blown with dynamite for use on the roads. Behind the pit the land stretched upward until it was hidden in the low hanging fog- like mist that engulfed the forest.
"We're here." Bob announced. He spoke louder than he needed to, but he had no idea because he was partially deaf and needed the help of hearing aids to be able to hear at all.
"I've never hunted here before, but I've seen the area in the summer, and it looks like a great place for deer. The snow should have pushed them down from the top, so we might not have to hunt too hard. Bill, why don't you go down the road another half mile or so, and Brent and I will climb up from here and go to the left towards that saddle. Let's meet back at the car at 2:00 PM OK?"
I agreed, and watched as they gathered their gear and started hiking up the steep mountain through the snow. I grabbed my rifle and checked my fanny pack to make sure I had everything I needed for a day in the woods. Lets see- bullets, compass, flagging tape, drag strap, Buck knife, fire starter, matches, railroad flare. In my wool jacket I had two Snickers candy bars and a peanut butter and honey sandwich and a can of Pepsi. I didn't want to drink out of any of the clear, ice cold mountain streams for fear of Giardia. You never knew when some animal might have taken a dump upstream or if one was laying dead in the water.
I took off down the road and hadn't gone more than a quarter mile when I spotted the tracks of a buck that had meandered back and forth across the road during the night before finally entering the woods and starting up the steep hillside. I started following it up, keeping an eye out ahead in case he might have stopped and bedded down. The winter day was cold and dark, the lead colored clouds threatened snow, and soon after I started my search for the buck, the threat became reality. At first the snow was light, almost like a scene from a Currier and Ives Christmas card, but soon it turned ugly, the flakes coming in blinding sheets, driven by the wind. Though the thick spruce and hemlock blocked a lot of it, the storm was so intense that more snow started to pile up in the woods. I was intent on following the buck, climbing ever higher, walking through dense clumps of blueberry bush. The tracks led through stands of Devils Club that snagged the sleeves of my wool jacket and across ravines filled with dead falls, trees that had been blown down in windstorms of the past. I was getting hot climbing ever upward, and started to sweat. That's never good in the woods. I unzipped my wool jacket and pants and discarded my hat, stuffing it in a pocket. The dreary day turned darker yet and I realized that I had gone farther than I had intended. A quick glance at my watch showed that I'd lost track of time. It was after 1:30. I was supposed to meet up with my friends in half an hour. It would be dark by 3:00 today with the snowstorm.
With a sense of panic I started back down the mountain. It would take too long to backtrack the way I came. The fastest way back seemed to be straight down. I started down and encountered a steep ravine, forcing me to turn to the left, away from where I thought the car would be. The snow came faster as I broke out into a clearing, wondering how far I had to go before I came upon the logging road. It was 2:15, fifteen minutes past the time we were supposed to meet. I jacked a shell in the chamber of my rifle and fired one, two, three shots, the agreed upon signal if there was trouble, and waited to hear a signal in return. Silence settled in the snow covered woods like that of a monastary. Darkness was settling in and I knew that they couldn't afford to wait for me. Miles of treacherous logging roads lay between here and home and the snow would make it even worse, maybe even impossible to get home if they didn't leave now.
I walked another quarter mile until I got into a spot where little snow had penetrated the canopy overhead and sat on a wet log. Reality hit me in the face like a shovel. I was alone in the woods. I had the makings for a fire if I could only find some dry wood. I zipped up my pants and jacket to conserve heat, and put on my wool hat and pulled it down over my ears. I ate my sandwich and one of my candy bars and wished I had brought more. Darkness was descending in the woods and I was an unwelcome guest here. I prayed for God's mercy and settled down for a long night, hoping that Bob's Bronco had made it home and a search party would come in the morning.
I was struggling with my thoughts. Bob was a good friend and I didn't want to offend him, but I really didn't care to go hunting with him. He always wants to hunt in the most inhospitable areas. Any time we'd gone together I ended up either neck deep in snow, or crossing muskegs filled with hidden pools of icy water, or crawling over or under fallen trees. More often than not I didn't shoot anything, and came home cold, wet, hungry and frustrated at wasting a day off. However, I needed the meat and didn't have a truck that could traverse the teeth-jarring roads, and the season was going to end soon, so I agreed reluctantly to go.
The tracks of the vehicle that we had been following turned off on an even more remote spur, and we continued on the main drag, breaking trail and sliding along the rocky road, slamming into hidden ruts and feeling the vehicle bottom out, praying silently that we wouldn't careen off the edge into the clear cut sections of stumps and slash that the loggers left behind. There would be no driving out if that happened.
After what seemed like an ungodly amount of time in which I endured a beating in that tortuous vehicle, Bob pulled into a depression in the side of the mountain. It was a rock pit that had been blown with dynamite for use on the roads. Behind the pit the land stretched upward until it was hidden in the low hanging fog- like mist that engulfed the forest.
"We're here." Bob announced. He spoke louder than he needed to, but he had no idea because he was partially deaf and needed the help of hearing aids to be able to hear at all.
"I've never hunted here before, but I've seen the area in the summer, and it looks like a great place for deer. The snow should have pushed them down from the top, so we might not have to hunt too hard. Bill, why don't you go down the road another half mile or so, and Brent and I will climb up from here and go to the left towards that saddle. Let's meet back at the car at 2:00 PM OK?"
I agreed, and watched as they gathered their gear and started hiking up the steep mountain through the snow. I grabbed my rifle and checked my fanny pack to make sure I had everything I needed for a day in the woods. Lets see- bullets, compass, flagging tape, drag strap, Buck knife, fire starter, matches, railroad flare. In my wool jacket I had two Snickers candy bars and a peanut butter and honey sandwich and a can of Pepsi. I didn't want to drink out of any of the clear, ice cold mountain streams for fear of Giardia. You never knew when some animal might have taken a dump upstream or if one was laying dead in the water.
I took off down the road and hadn't gone more than a quarter mile when I spotted the tracks of a buck that had meandered back and forth across the road during the night before finally entering the woods and starting up the steep hillside. I started following it up, keeping an eye out ahead in case he might have stopped and bedded down. The winter day was cold and dark, the lead colored clouds threatened snow, and soon after I started my search for the buck, the threat became reality. At first the snow was light, almost like a scene from a Currier and Ives Christmas card, but soon it turned ugly, the flakes coming in blinding sheets, driven by the wind. Though the thick spruce and hemlock blocked a lot of it, the storm was so intense that more snow started to pile up in the woods. I was intent on following the buck, climbing ever higher, walking through dense clumps of blueberry bush. The tracks led through stands of Devils Club that snagged the sleeves of my wool jacket and across ravines filled with dead falls, trees that had been blown down in windstorms of the past. I was getting hot climbing ever upward, and started to sweat. That's never good in the woods. I unzipped my wool jacket and pants and discarded my hat, stuffing it in a pocket. The dreary day turned darker yet and I realized that I had gone farther than I had intended. A quick glance at my watch showed that I'd lost track of time. It was after 1:30. I was supposed to meet up with my friends in half an hour. It would be dark by 3:00 today with the snowstorm.
With a sense of panic I started back down the mountain. It would take too long to backtrack the way I came. The fastest way back seemed to be straight down. I started down and encountered a steep ravine, forcing me to turn to the left, away from where I thought the car would be. The snow came faster as I broke out into a clearing, wondering how far I had to go before I came upon the logging road. It was 2:15, fifteen minutes past the time we were supposed to meet. I jacked a shell in the chamber of my rifle and fired one, two, three shots, the agreed upon signal if there was trouble, and waited to hear a signal in return. Silence settled in the snow covered woods like that of a monastary. Darkness was settling in and I knew that they couldn't afford to wait for me. Miles of treacherous logging roads lay between here and home and the snow would make it even worse, maybe even impossible to get home if they didn't leave now.
I walked another quarter mile until I got into a spot where little snow had penetrated the canopy overhead and sat on a wet log. Reality hit me in the face like a shovel. I was alone in the woods. I had the makings for a fire if I could only find some dry wood. I zipped up my pants and jacket to conserve heat, and put on my wool hat and pulled it down over my ears. I ate my sandwich and one of my candy bars and wished I had brought more. Darkness was descending in the woods and I was an unwelcome guest here. I prayed for God's mercy and settled down for a long night, hoping that Bob's Bronco had made it home and a search party would come in the morning.
Left alone in the forest Contest Winner |
 Recognized |
The woods can be a scary place to be. They are naturally darker because of all the trees, and often there are dangerous animals that call the forest home. It's easy to get turned around, and often going down one mountain only leads to another that you have to climb. Exhaustion can set in, and hypothermia isn't far behind if you aren't careful. Always be prepared to spend the night in case of the unexpected.
Pays
one point
and 2 member cents. Artwork by Lilibug6 at FanArtReview.com
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