Lost and alone

I went pack packing in the woods up around Rosco, NY. The woods are 150,000 square acres of wild game land. After hiking in for about two hours I found a young man who was lost and left by his friend

a.   LOST AND ALONE

Of all the really beautiful places in the United States of America, Upstate New York has got to be one of the really greatest, especially up around Cooks Falls, Roscoe. There is a campground I enjoyed very much, Butternut Campgrounds. Place was run by Charlie and Doris. What I really liked about it was the fact that the campground was right on the edge of 155,000 acres (242 square miles) of State Game Land. This is land that is left to nature; totally wild, unkempt and open to everyone. The State game land is home to White Tail Deer, Black Bear, raccoons, Possums, Squirrels, rabbits, chipmunks and many other furry things that lived in the woods. There are also streams and lakes in which you could find Beaver and fish for some great Rainbow Trout or Big Mouth Bass and the wonderful steel head. Of course to fish you had to have a fresh water fishing license. My favorite thing to do on this beautiful land was to go backpacking. Just bring the bare minimum, easy to carry and very functional. Put it on and head out into the 155,000 acres of State game Land for several days and nights all by myself; no one to worry about, no one to take care of, not a care in the world, just me and the wilderness touching our souls for a couple of days. The land would supply all the food I would need. There were all sorts of wild berries available. There were Blueberries, Red Raspberries, Black Raspberries, Wild Strawberries, Elder berries; oh you could go on and on. Fruit? You can find wild apples, careful with the green ones, wild grapes and then all sorts of greens. Damn, there is sage grass, water cress, wild lettuce, Fennel, not to mention the cattails and wild pumpkins and squash. Of course there is also the fish, always had a fishing license with me, small rodents and the grubs that tasted like cashew nuts when fried. There is no reason to ever be hungry in the woods. All you have to do is know what things look like and how to harvest them. Having gone through several extreme survival training courses while in the military and having spent three and a half years surviving in the jungles of Vietnam, I know how to live off the land and enjoy every second of it. Not for everyone of course, but I really enjoyed my solitude in the woods.

 

I always loved the sound of my bike. But to hear it growling on the open road as I snaked my way north along 17A, towards Butternut Camp Ground, was especially haunting. I was heading for one of my six day getaways to go up into the woods and backpack for six days and five nights.

Passing the exit for Roscoe I looked to the left where the sun would be setting over the treed mountains to get an idea of what time it was. The tops of the mountains and the sky had this reddish flare painted across them telling me that it was about 5:15, 5:30 or there bouts. My destination was the next exit. If you were not familiar with the area you could, so easily, pass right by it. It is little and it is not marked till you get to the end of the exit ramp. There the sign reads, Butternut Grove.

What a neat name I always thought. Imagine being asked “Where do you live?”

“I live in Butternut Grove.” Sounds like music.

There it was, I pulled in the clutch and kicked the bike down into third and powered on to the exit ramp. Half way down the ramp I pulled the clutch again and kicked into second letting the clutch go without pulling the throttle, getting that tremendous back pressure and the high volume growl of the powder blue 1967 SLH 1200 cc HOG. The sound bouncing back at me from the trees along the small side of the exit ramp was breath taking. Birds, animals and the insects stopped to see what it was. Coming to the tee in the road at the bottom of the ramp, I leaned the bike way over to the right and rolled around the turn onto Butternut Grove Road which, quickly, disappeared into the woods that wound its way through the strong silent trees. Pulled the clutch and kicked back into third, pumped the throttle and then popping the clutch the bike surged forward. Pulled the throttle running up the RPM’s, blasting the voice of my machine into the woods; the woods carried my sound. RPM’s peaking I pulled the clutch again and again, popping the throttle and popping the clutch once more put me back into fourth and I was rumbling up the little road that ran through the trees towards Butternut Camp Ground. A slow sweeping turn to the right and then another to the left and the entrance to Butternut Camp Ground came into sight.

 

Surprised, I saw Charlie standing at the entrance like he knew I was coming. Throttled down and down shifting, brought the bike to a stop next to Charlie. I extended my hand to offer a hand shake.

“Only one thing can make that sort of sound come through these here woods and that would be you and your wondrous machine. How are you?” Charlie always liked my bike. Though he was not a bike rider, he knew something good when he saw it and he knew the person driving it knew how to make himself a part of the machine. I shut the bike down.

“Good to see ya Charlie, how’s Doris?” Doris was Charlie’s wife. He and her, their two camp hands and their four kids ran Butternut Camp Ground.

“She’s great, heard you first and told me to come meet you and bring you to the house for Dinner.” I stepped off my bike and we walked it together up to the barn where I had a space always waiting to get my bike in out of the weather and settled into a comfortable park. Damn if it doesn’t sound like I am talking about a horse.

“Let me get cleaned up, get out of these road leathers and I’ll be right there.” Charlie walked out of the barn up to the house. He and Doris were really good people. Charlie knew that I had a military background and knew, somehow, that I had been involved in some really deep Vietnam s**t but he never brought it up or asked about it.

I pulled off my leather jacket and chaps, folded them and stored them in the saddle bags on the bike. Went to the slop sink and washed up, wetting my hair as well and combing it back, fixing it into a neat ponytail. I walked up to the house.

Doris looked over; put down the big kitchen fork she was poking a roast beef with, walked across the kitchen and gave me a hug. “Been a while, how long you going to go up in the hills for this trip?”

“Oh, go out tomorrow morning and come back in about five or six days and head back down.” Charlie was a lucky guy. Doris was a beautiful woman and had a figure that told you she kept herself in good shape. She also was no slouch when it came to working around the camp ground.

“You never get scared being out there all alone in the dark?” one of Charlie’s kids asked as we were eating the roast beef dinner.

“What makes you think I am alone? There are the Deer, the Raccoons, the Squirrels, the Possums and all the birds and bugs. There is no way I am alone. Just have to understand that I, like all the other animals, am simply part of nature, no one in charge, just all living.”

The kids always wanted to talk about what it was like to go back packing out into the open woods for a couple of days. They knew that I had gone out one time for two weeks. Brought back a 28 pound turkey I had caught and we cooked it for dinner. Charlie let them sleep out in the yard once and a while and play around the camp ground, but 155,000 Acres of State Game Land? Well that is a lot of land and one could get into some serious trouble, very quickly, if they did not know what they were doing.

Dinner was great. Doris was an exceptional cook. Dinner had been roast beef with mashed potatoes, mushroom gravy and side dish of peas and carrots. Of course desert was her famous Apple and Cheddar Cheese Pie. Charlie and I sat out on the porch after dinner smoking a couple of cigarettes and enjoying a glass of his home made wine. I am not a wine drinker, but Charlie could make some good wine. “What time you heading out tomorrow morning?”

“Oh I figure about 5, just before the sun comes up. Reckon I will be heading basically North by North West. Think I am going to go on up to Trout Pond and hang there. But this time I am going to take the ridge route that will bring me to Mud Pond. I’ll firm it up with you tomorrow morning.” As I said, Charlie knew I knew how to take care of myself in the open woods. But out of courtesy, I always gave him an idea where I was heading and when I would be back. About 9:00 I excused myself and headed out to the barn where I would sleep next to my bike.

Very nice, put my sleeping bag out, laid it on top of a cushion of hay. Got undressed and crawled in for a good night sleep. Did not worry about waking up on time, the animals would wake me up when they started to work for their day.

 

The morning buzz of the birds and insects coming awake brought me out of my sleep. I lay a bit longer and stretched in the sleeping bag. Clasped my hands behind my head and listened to the morning calls of the birds and the buzzing sounds of the insects going out to do their daily chores. Rolling over to the right I got up, walked over to the slop sink and washed.

Brushed my teeth, pulled my rucksack off the bike and took out my hiking cloths. Good pair of very comfortably worn jeans, a tattered red plaid flannel shirt, a good pair of white, knee high, sport socks and my reinforced  18” high lineman boots that I had an extremely knurled hiking soul attached to the bottom by a boot cobbler (There’s a lost art). They gave great support as well as giving perfect traction, my Vietnam bush hat and a sheepskin vest.

Took out my service 45, slipped a loaded clip in but did not chamber a round. No longer being in Vietnam, chambering a round was not necessary. The service 45 was not for anything other than an unexpected run in with something out of the ordinary. Slipped it onto the garrison belt and added to the belt my Swedish Combat Assault Knife I had carried all the time I was in Nam. Also slipped on the leather pouch that contained the flint and striker for starting a fire, a first aid kit and a one quart canteen which I filled with fresh water from Charlie’s well.

Charlie walked into the barn with two cups of coffee.  Offering one to me he said, “I do not know how you do this. Going out into the brush with basically nothing and enjoy it. True you are trained how to survive as you have said many times to me, but I don’t really understand what it is you find.”

“Charlie, it is something one knows without having to find it. To be one with nature and comfortable enough to know that nature will take care of you because you are one with her, well that is the enjoyment. I am not looking for anything; just enjoy nature at her best.”

I sipped the coffee which was great. Charlie surely knew how to make a kicking cup of coffee.  Like me, Charlie is Ex-navy but the big ship Navy. Charlie spent his four year tour on board the USS Nimitz (CVN-68) as an Electrician Mate, achieving the rank of EM2.

The fleet sailors made making coffee an art form. I do believe that they physically counted the number of grains of coffee that were put in the filter basket of the coffee maker and then there was the navy’s secret ingredient, salt. Yes, that’s what I said, “Salt”. The salt neutralized the acidity of the coffee and made the brew smooth and comfortable in the stomach even during high seas.

I pulled the topographical map of Cooks Falls that had been plasticized, out of my backpack and spread it out on the old apple tree stump that was just outside the barn. Charlie stood next to me as I took my bearings for the beginning and return. On the topographical map Trout Pond is shown by its true name, Cables pond. It is called Trout Pond by the locals because of the beautiful Rainbow Trout that can be fished out of the pond. Orientating the map to Magnetic North reading, I then took two compass readings with my navigational compass.

(You have to understand that there are two North’s that must be taken in account. True North and Magnetic North. True North is the line that will take you directly to the North Pole. Magnetic North is the North reading a compass will give you. Magnetic North is the point the Earth’s magnetic field exits the ground, somewhere around the North Pole. Depending on where you are standing on the face of the Earth, the difference between True North and Magnetic North will vary. You will always find the variance on the topographical map of the area. Here in Cooks Falls the variance is 18.5 degrees. Keep in your mind that maps are drawn in reference to True North. Navigation however is based upon Magnetic North. If you align the map to Magnetic North all your navigational reading will be spot on with your Headings. )  

The first was towards the turn in the road just outside the entrance into Russell Brook Campground. The second was towards the communication relay tower that was on top of a knoll about a quarter of a mile from where we were standing. Placing the navigational compass on the map that was orientated to Magnetic North, I drew a line from the two points of the readings I just took at the angle that was indicated by the navigational compass for each point. I then drew a line from each.

 

At the point where the two lines intersected, well that was exactly where Charlie and I were standing. I then placed the navigational compass centred on that point and turned the front of the compass towards Cables Pond (Trout Pond by the locals) and took a reading. There it was, the Heading to Cables Pond. Showed to be 342 degrees North by North West. Of course that was as the crow flies. Because of the topography of the area it would be impossible to walk a straight line, from where I was, to Cables Pond following the Heading of 342 degrees.

This is where the true understanding of navigation comes into play.  Keep in your mind that no matter where you stand, you can take a Heading of 342 degrees. If you placed dots on the map and drew lines at 342 degrees all the lines would be parallel to each other. Result, you more than likely would not end up where it is you wanted to be. When you turn off your Heading, you must be able to calculate what degree you turned off and how long you traveled on that degree and at what speed, so you can turn and know what degree your new Heading must be and how long you have to travel, at what speed, on the new heading so as to end up at the point that, when turned to 342 degrees, this heading would be the 342 degrees that takes you to your desired destination. Navigation requires information on, what your heading is, what the speed of your travel is and how long you are traveling on a particular heading. Knowing these three things you can keep perfect track of exactly where it is you are at all times. Oh yes, you must also know how to read a topographical map and be able to calculate distances by using the maps mileage scale. Based upon the years of backpacking I have been doing and my years of drudging through the jungles of Vietnam, Laos and Cambodia, I know that when I am hiking through unkempt forest my speed is about 1.5 miles per hour. Add a watch and you can now plot a course to your planned destination. You do not have to do it all at once, you can start your hike and when you stop for a break you can plot a bit further. You can even plot where you want to camp for the night and make that your predestination. Of course going off on your own makes it imperative that your know how to navigate without having to stop and think about how to do it. You must just know.

 

Coffee finished, backpack slipped over my shoulders and my walking stick, that was always waiting for me in the front corner of Charlie’s barn, at the ready I turned to Charlie, shaking his hand, “See you in about five or six days”. Not waiting for a reply I was off. I walked through the length of the camp ground past the sleek RV campers and into the tent area.

Some were stirring and getting up but then most were still sleeping as campers are hardy night people who then have to recoup by sleeping in late. The back of the camp ground was the best way to access the state game land if you were following the Russell Brook which was how I was starting.

342 degrees was my heading. My projected path would keep me on this heading for at least two hours. At that point I would have to deviate so as to get around the escarpment cliffs and I will break for breakfast and select the heading I would take around the cliffs. Clean fresh air was being pulled into my lungs with each breath I took. Had a sweet smell but at the same time carried the tiniest hint of the dank, darkish foul smell of rotting vegetation.

Not as bad as the smells of a jungle that really tears at your sense of smell. The temperatures here in the woods of Upstate New York were a far cry from the 135 sweltering degrees of the Vietnamese, Laotian or Cambodian jungles. However the falling litter on the forest floor still rotted and that unique fragrance was hinted to within the smell of the fresh Pine and hardwood trees.

My mind was dropping all the pressure I had been dealing with back at work and things of Nature started to replace them. The sound of my foot falls on the soft ground, sounded like a bit of air squeezing out from under each step taken  and the sound of the wind rustling through the different types of trees and bushes and plants coupled with the sounds of the birds calling to each other and insects clicking and buzzing brought my audio input down to very relaxed mixture of different sounds from various kinds of Natures inhabitants. The smell of people places was being replaced by the smells of Nature. Trees have a very special scent to themselves only to be realized if there is no outside influence of man-made smells.

Sight is replaced with the beauty of the woods and seeing little things you just don’t see in the city. Little things like; Dragonflies dodging through the air and Newts scooting along the earthen floor of the woods. The very taste of the air I was breathing was also different. It was crisp and clean, even seemed to have a sweet taste as it rushed over my tongue each time I inhaled. Felt wonderful to feel the change taking place. I could feel the city falling away and the gloriousness of being one with Nature falling into place. This is what I had come for.

Though the heading I was following did not offer a beaten path, it did sort of parallel the Russell Brook which made hiking rather easy with little if no obstacles even though it did have an ever so slight incline. According to the topographical map the first two hours would take me from about, 850 feet above sea level to around 1,957 feet above sea level. Traveling at a speed of about one and a half miles an hour means that in a time frame of two hours I would travel about three miles and rise about 1,107 feet. That is an angle of about 4 degrees. This is calculated using the Trig equation of, Tan ™ = AB / BC

(AB is the height of the opposite side of the angle you are trying to find and BC is the distance travelled to the opposite.)

So, if you simply divide the rise of the land above the sea level, 1,107 feet (That is the difference of the elevation I started at 850 feet and the elevation I would be at after two hours 1,957 feet.) by the distance you have traveled in two hours at 1.5 miles per hour which is 3 miles. . . .

(But you have to convert the miles into feet…3 x 5280 = 15,840 feet)

 . . . . you get, 1,107 / 15,840 = 0.0789. Take that number to the Tangent angle chart and you find .070 converts to 4 degrees. Keeping in mind that hiking for fun is not a test in science, if it were a survival situation; such calculations would be used to determine how much energy (calories) you would have to expend to get from one point to another.

But this is just a hike for fun so I am not worrying about expended energy. However a 4 degree rise is just about hiking on flat ground.

The sun was warm but the coolness of the morning was still held within the grips of the pines. Felt great to be out and not have to think about anything. Leaving my world behind, melting into the bosom of nature I found my steps becoming as they were when I used to skulk through the jungle. Quite like an animal living within the arms of the forest. Each step placed with the purpose of total support and balance as I moved across the soft, pine needle covered floor of the forest.

I was totally one with my surroundings, absorbing the smells and sounds of my world. But wait; there is a sound that really did not seem to fit. It was totally out of place. I stopped to focus my hearing to try and filter out this, out of place, sound.

There it was again, sounded like a sniffle, like someone crying. Someone crying?! . . . Out here?!

I have been walking for about two hours having covered about three miles. In the forest, three miles is a long way. It is a long way from Butternut Camp Ground but never the less there it was again. Someone was out here crying.

“Hello” I called out.

“Oh my God!!!” this desperate voice screamed back to me. I turned towards the sound of the responding voice to see a young man stumbling down from the top of a rise that over looked Russell Brook Stream. He looked to be about 18 or 19 years of age, dressed in blue jeans, a tattered blue “T” shirt, what looked much like a pair of tennis sneakers and a baseball cap with the New York Yankees logo above the brim. He was dirty with streaks of tears that had rolled down his dirt encrusted face. What a mess. “I’m lost, I’m lost Please help me” he was now yelling as he ran towards me.

“Lost?” I thought to myself, “This is an awful long way from now where to be lost.”

The young man slid up to me grabbing my right arm, looking in my face with a sort of not believing stare.

 

“Where did you come from?” I asked him, “What is your name and how did you get here?”

“My name is Jeffery Porter, I came from the Butternut Camp Ground, I got separated from my friends”

I stared at him, “Butternut Camp Ground? S**t! That is two hours behind me, again, how did you get here?”

The both of us sat on a fallen tree trunk and he explained, “Me and my two friends went hiking and we got separated. I don’t know how, but all of a sudden I was alone.”

I looked him in the face and said, “You and your friends went hiking in the dark?”

“No, it was light.”

“What the f**k you mean it was light, I started hiking at day break this morning and it has taken me two hours to reach this point. What time this morning did you guys start?”

“No, no, it was yesterday afternoon we started.”

“Yesterday afternoon!!! You mean that you have been out here all night?”

“Yes.”

“Yes!? What kind of friends are you hanging with? There is nothing back at Butternut about a lost hiker. No one is looking for you; no one knows you are missing! How old are you?”

“I’m 19.”

“Don’t seem you are going to make it to 20 with friends like yours.” My eyes squeezed half shut and I twisted my head, “Butternut Camp Ground? I came out of there this morning, got there last night. Charlie and his wife Doris did not say anything about someone being lost up here in the game land.”

“Who’s Charlie and Doris?”

“They’re my friends, they own Butternut Camp Ground. I had dinner with them last night and nothing at all was said about three young guys missing. I know Charlie and how he does things, for sure he made a round through the camp ground last night to say hello to all the campers and make sure everything is ok. If he found an empty tent, you guys are tenting it right?”

“Yeah”

“If Charlie found an empty tent he would have notified the authorities. This is 155,000 acres of open game land you’re in; being lost up here is no laughing matter.”

“You came from Butternut Camp Ground this morning?”

“Yeah, been hiking for the past two and a half hours to get this far.”

“You can take me back to the camp ground?” His eyes opened real wide with a face full of excitement as the realization of himself no longer being lost started to sink in. “Can you take me back to Butternut Camp Ground?”

“Yeah sure.” I said shaking my head not believing what this kid is saying to me, “Separated and they say nothing to anyone about you being lost?”

Man, I am not sure how this young man managed to get himself in to the predicament I found him in, but it sure was evident that he was scared out of his wits. Just looking at him told me that he had not eaten or drank anything in the last 12 hours.

His night must have been something out of a fucken nightmare. Not knowing anything about being lost in the woods surely is the recipe for absolute terror. The sounds that wing through a forest at night, if you do not know what they are, are more than enough to send you over the edge. Jeffery’s eyes told it all. Told of a night that brought to him every horrible thing he had ever seen in a horror movie.

 

He was going to die and his brain was conjuring all the nightmares and freaks needed to make his death the slow blood curdling kind that made you wish for a gun. For sure his night must have seemed to be years long. I needed to take his mind off of his situation.

“Before we head back to Butternut Camp Ground, let’s first have something to eat. I know I am hungry” as I said this I tossed my canteen of water to him saying, “Drink this, slowly.”

He caught it and pulled off the cap. I could see his eyes glistening with pent up tears as he tipped the canteen to his lips and drank deeply.  I started putting a campfire together, forming some large stones in a circle about 18 inches in diameter.

“When you finish that drink, go and collect some sticks about ¾ inches in diameter and abut two foot long. Get a full arm load”. A full arm load of sticks about ¾ inch in diameter, 2 foot long will burn for about an hour. That is more than enough time to boil some water and fry a couple of fish.

I looked around and found some dry lichen which make excellent kindling. That would start the fire. The sticks that Jeffery was gathering would be broken and split so as the get the heat started and then the thicker ones could be used to bring the temperature to cook level.

I made a short touring circle around the camp site with a radius of about 30 feet. Found three robin nests. Each nest netted four eggs. A robin’s egg is about the size of a man’s thumb nail I took 8 of them. 8 Robin eggs would make a nice addition to a couple of fish.

There I said it again, a couple of fish. Where am I going to get a couple of fish? Russell Brook Stream of course. At this point Russell Brook Stream was about 6 feet wide and a good 18 inches deep. It was running with a current that I would dare to say about 2 knots; perfect conditions for trout.

 

I slinked over to the Stream so that my shadow would not pop into the stream scarring the fish. I put on my polarized sun glasses to defeat the glare on the stream water and could now see the fish. There were two of them, Trout, hanging out towards my side of the stream. I backed off looking around for a nice, relatively large but flat stone. Finding one, I picked it up and raised it over my head. Sneaking back to the stream I saw the two Trout still in the same position.

Taking a deep breath and focusing my energy on my arms, I slammed the flat stone into the water next to the two Trout. “Kaplooot!” I dropped to my knees quickly so I could catch the two Trout before the streams current carried them away. Ahhh, two nice Trout. Each about 8 inches long.

Not legal keepers, a legal keeper must be no less than 10 inches long. But then I did not fish for them now did I. Actually I concussed them. You see, by slamming the large, flat stone into the water next to the Trout, the concussion created by the displacement of water from the speed of the stone entering the water rendered the Trout unconscious. All I had to do was pick them up.

By the time Jeffery returned with the armful of sticks, I had 8 little Robin eggs, 2 trout, a couple of handfuls of black raspberries and 2 fistfuls of water cress. His return found me cleaning the fish.

With a startled voice he asked, “Fish! Where did you get fish?. . .And eggs!?!?!”

I muttered, “If you are one with Nature, Nature will supply.”

I turned my attention to making a fire to cook our breakfast; placed three sticks in the middle of the stone circle forming a triangle with a centre about 3 inches wide. I placed the dry lichen on top of the triangle. This will give a good supply of air. To make a fire you must have oxygen (air), fuel (the wood sticks) and heat. The heat is going to be supplied by the sparks I will create by striking my knife blade across the magnesium flint fire starter I had on my utility belt. The dry lichen smouldered,

 

I bent over and softly blew on it and, Puff; the smouldering dry lichen produced an open flame. I carefully placed some of the split sticks over the top of the flame in a tee pee fashion. When they caught I started to do the same with the larger sticks Jeffery had collected. In about five minutes we had a good cooking camp fire. I stood up and pulled several handfuls of pine needles from an evergreen tree and placed them in my pot. Filled the pot with water and placed the pot next to the fire inside the ring of stones.

(By the way, never use river stones to ring a fire. River stones have moisture within themselves and when they get hot this moisture get hot and turns to steam. This could cause the stones to explode.)   

As the water in the pot boils it will steep the pine needles and make a really nice pine tea. Water working towards boiling, I turned my attention to the Trout. I placed several black raspberries and some water cress inside. Taking my frying pan, put a little bit of water in it and placed the two Trout in the pan. Now you have to wait. The time to cook on a camp fire is just after it crumbles under its own weight. This will lower the flames and build a base of hot coals. That’s when you put the frying pan on top. The fire crumpled and I stuck the frying pan on top.

When the two Trout had cooked for about 7 minutes, using two sticks, I had cut, like chopsticks, I turned the trout. I then cracked the 8 robin eggs around the trout along with the remaining black berries and water cress.  When the trout had cooked for another 7 minutes I pulled the frying pan off the fire. I cut two more sticks and gave Jeffery a crash course in how to use chop sticks. Poured the pine tea into the two cups, I had with me, and we enjoyed a really good breakfast.

Breakfast finished, fire having been drowned, stirred and drowned again, it was time to set the course for the hike back to Butternut Camp Ground. The compass heading I had taken out of Butternut Camp Ground towards Cable Pond was 342 Degrees magnetic. The fact that I was now going to be heading back towards my point of origin, simply meant to turn around 180 degrees. So, 342 degrees minus 180 degrees is, 162 degrees magnetic.

 

Sounds a bit silly to have to take a heading to go back to where you came from. However, when you are hiking through the woods and following a stream, well it is so easy to lose the stream. May sound funny, I mean, how can you lose a stream? It is a lot easier then you might think. A slight turn and you will lose the sound of the streams water cascading along its stream bed.

In the middle of a forest, every direction looks exactly like every other direction. With the size of the trees all around you, though it is day light you cannot really determine where the sun actually is other than up in the sky. Walk for just a couple of minutes and you will find yourself trying to find something that looks familiar.

You spin around trying to get your bearings and you simply become more and more disorientated. If you are not trained in the art of finding yourself when you are lost, well, you start to panic and now good judgment is dashed into the ground. The result is becoming completely lost with no hope of finding your way.

The harder you try the deeper into the abyss of being lost you fall. You start to run not knowing where it is you are running. You fall and knock your knees and the pain doubles your despair.

You are lost and there is nothing you can do to make being lost stop. Lost! Lost! Lost! Your brain tries to come up with a solution but with no knowledge of the forest or terrain, it is like trying to figure out how to fly a plane as you sit in the pilot seat with the plane plummeting towards the ground.

Total desperation with no idea of what to do, you collapse in a heap, close your eyes so you cannot see the horror you are contained within and hope for a sudden, painless end. Emotions drained you simply give up. This was the world the young man, I now had in tow, lived in yesterday afternoon and throughout the entire night. For sure his brain is fried.

“You’re out here all alone, aren’t you?” His voice tone arching in an upward pitch creating a childlike sound coupled with mystifying non-understanding.

“Yup.” Giving a short answer would stimulate Jeffery to try and get more from me. That would take his mind off the circumstance he had found himself in last night.

“Aren’t you scared?”

“No.”

“How do you know how to do all the things you have done?”

“Military training and three years of playing in a jungle.”

“Jungle? What jungle?”

“Vietnam. Humped the jungle of Vietnam with the First marines as a Navel Forward Observer for a year and a half and then was with the Mobile Riverine Force for another year and a half down in the Delta. Learned how to navigate, how to live off the land, how to survive, how to become one with Nature.”

Felt good saying these words; knowing that I had come away from my military service and personal horror of Vietnam, with something that I was able to turn into pleasure.

I always liked humping through the jungle and being out in it for weeks at a time. Did not really like getting shot at or having to survive a fire fight, but I wished that I could just disappear into the jungle with no war and live off the land. Well here I was, back in the real world, working, making a living and having time off to go hiking into the forest, enjoying the solitude of being one on one with Nature.

I’ll tell ya, it is a lot easier feeling, being one with Nature, then it is to try and explain it to someone. People would always say, “Why would you want to do something like that?” My answer would be the same as my Biker answer would be when asked why I rode a motorcycle, “If I have to explain it to you, you will not understand.” Ready to move out, I took a bearing of 162 degrees magnetic, turned my head to Jeffery and said, “Let’s go.” We started walking along the trail. I knew that it was going to be a noisy hike as Jeffery was obviously a bit overwhelmed by the very presence of whoever it was he has found himself depending upon to get him out of the jam he had found himself in.

 

“You were in Vietnam for three years?”

“Yup.”

“Why?”

I dipped my head to the left, Jeffery was on my left side, pulling my eyes high into the left top side of their sockets, “felt it was the right thing to do at the time.”

“You kill people?”

Focusing on the trail we were hiking on I muttered, “Not something you ask someone.”

“Sorry.”

And so it went, our hike was filled with all sorts of questions ranging from Vietnam, how I started the fire without matches, how I got the fish and the eggs, what I did for a living, on and on and on it went. I was not put off by all the noise and questions as I knew that this young man, as well as I did, knew how close he had come to having his life come to an end. Letting him question and talk, took his mind off that thought. It also made the time pass a bit quicker being that my mind was also taken off the hike allowing time to slip away.

It was about one o’clock in the afternoon when we came to the boundary of the state game land and Butternut Camp Ground. I could see and hear in Jeffery’s voice a tale of relaxation as his eyes started to bring to his brain visions of things he recognized. It was the tent area we came into first. “Hey, that’s our tent.” He took off running; there was a car, a 1968 Ford Galaxy, parked on the campsite. The tent was empty. There was no one on the campsite. “Maybe they are down by the rec. hall.” Jeffery sounded like he was excited to see his friends again.

I sat on the picnic bench that was part of the campsite supplied furniture. “Hey, come here.” Jeffery looked towards me and walked over. I patted the bench saying, “Sit down.” I took a deep breath and looked into Jeffery’s eyes, “Jeffery, you have any idea what could have happened if I had not just so happened to come along?”

 

“Yeah, I think so, scares me to think about it. Thank you.”

“I am not looking for a thank you or some sort of reward. I am trying to get your attention about these so called friends you went hiking with and when you got separated they just left you. I got here last night and there was absolutely nothing being said about someone being missing. I am a good friend of the owners of this Camp Ground. We had dinner together last night and again, nothing; nothing at all was mentioned about someone being lost out in the state game land. Your friends not only left you out there, they did not bother to mention to anyone that you were lost. They spent last night in this tent and still did not feel it important enough to go and tell someone that you were out there in the dark. What kind of friends are these? I think we should go and find them and ask them when they were going to say something.” We got up and headed towards the rec. hall.

“There they are.” Jeffery said seeing them standing outside the recreation hall.

Walking towards them, they looked in our direction, one of them said with a snicker, “Hey Jeff had a good night?”

Jeffery looked at me and could see the distaste in my eyes. I wanted to slap the fucken taste right out of this a*****e’s mouth. I held myself knowing that I was a lot more than these kids could ever possible handle and as such would only end up getting into more trouble than they were worth.

“You guys left me out there!”

“It was only one night man, how scary was it? You some sort of a baby or something?”

“Hey a*****e. . .” Jeffery started, I grabbed his shoulder and pulled him away.

“Whose car is it?”

“Oh, it theirs, them fucken jerks. I can’t believe that they think this was a joke. Worst part is that I still have to ride home with them.” Looking towards me, “Mister Rick, is there a bus that goes back to the city from around here? You were right, them guys are nothing but absolute a******s.”

“I don’t know, but I am sure Charlie does.” Jeffery followed as I walked towards the main house. Charlie was sitting on the porch drinking one of his great cups of coffee. “Hey, you got another one of those?” I yelled to him.

Charlie got up from his chair and walked to the edge of the porch, “Did not expect to see you this soon.”

“Found something up in the woods” looking over my shoulder at Jeffery, “Seems his two buddies and he got separated yesterday and from what I see now, they just left him out there.”

“Out in the open woods? All night?” Charlie’s eyes looked like they were going to pop out of his head. “Don’t they know what could have happened?” Turning his eyes to Jeffery, “You alright son?”

“Yes sir, but these two guys are real” he turned his head towards me as if to get permission to say a*****e, I knotted my head; he looked back at Charlie, “A******s. I do not want to stay here with them and was wondering if there was a bus that goes back to the city from here.”

“Oh I do not know about their holiday schedule.” Charlie said looking at me.

“Where do you live?” I asked

“Flushing”

“Oh hell, you can ride with me. I’ll drop you off and then go and drop in on my Mom and Dad in Bayside. I’ll go get my s**t but Charlie; I would really like one of those cups of coffee.” Looking at Jeffery, “You like coffee?”

“Yeah”

“Get one for the kid too. You’re going to love this; Charlie makes the best coffee I know.” I headed to the barn to get my stuff together. Took my riding clothes and boots out of the saddle bags on the bike, changed and put my hiking clothes back into the ruck sack and secured the rucksack to the bike; took out the road leathers, pulled on the chaps and then the jacket.

The gloves were in the jacket pocket. Looking at the right saddle bag on the bike, I was happy to see that I always had an extra helmet. Little skull cap helmets did not take up so much room. Pulled the bike up from its rest position, stepped on went through the start procedure, pumped the kick start pedal up to top dead centre and kicked the beast to life. Pulled the clutch and kicked into first gear I nudged the bike out of the barn and lopped up to the house. Right about here I wish I had a picture of Jeffery’s face when he saw me dressed in leathers, coming from behind the house on a HOG.

“Holy s**t!” was all that came out of his mouth.

“Ever ride on the back of a bike?” I asked Jeffery as Charlie handed me a cup of coffee.

“No, been close to a bike but surly nothing like this.” Pride was swelling in my head as he gawked at my HOG. Charlie had already given Jeffery a cup of coffee so as we sat on the porch enjoying the brew I went through the dos and don’ts about riding on the back of a bike. Jeffery paid attention and nodded his head at the appropriate times.

“So what do you think Charlie?” the words came out of my mouth as I turned to look straight at him.

“About?”

“These two a******s who left him” twitching my head towards Jeffery, “out in the open woods and saying nothing about it to anyone.”

“Not to worry. Let me take care of them. I’ll call Sandy; he’s my good friend and just happens to be the Sheriff of Butternut Grove.”

There’s that thought again, imagine being asked where you live, “Oh I live in Butternut Grove, New York.” And then asked what you do for a living, “Oh I’m the sheriff of Butternut Grove.” Outstanding!

“Besides, I am going to triple their rates and throw them off the camp after Sandy has some fun with them.”

I started the bike, Jeffery climbed on the back, waving good bye to Charlie and Doris we started the trip back to the city. Two and a half hours later, we were coming over the Tri-Borough Bridge down on to the Grand Central Parkway and off at Northern Blvd into Flushing. Jeffery gave me directions to his apartment house where he lived; was just off Parsons Blvd and 167^th Street. “Gee, thanks. I really don’t know what to say. Somehow I think you saved my life. Can I offer you something” shaking my hand with almost tears in his eyes.

“No Jeffery, just pick your friends a whole lot better.” I pulled the clutch and kicked into first and powered away giving him a good taste of what a HOG sounds like. From his place to Mom and Dads was just 10 minutes. As I pulled into their driveway I heard Mom say, “Oh, Ricky’s here.”

 

Author's Note

Please indulge yourself and critique my writing as to how you felt while reading this story, did the story paint a picture for you to see as you read? Any problems with spelling or grammar or punctuation. Don't worry about my feelings, I am way to old to allow a professional critique to do anything except what it is meant to do. . Improve my writing skill. Thank you.

Reviews

[Jack Kennedy]

Honestly I can't critique the grammar or puncuatIon part if they're are problems there because I don't really see them or know they're there unless they're pointed out to me but on with the story its good and I got the image in my mind and I feel you definetly should keep writing and I will be checking for more...