This story reminded me of a survival story of my own. A Georgia woman was found in the CA mountains after being lost for over 3 weeks. She was found just by chance shortly after rescuers had given up hope and scaled back search efforts. She had gotten lost in a snowstorm and found shelter at a cabin whose owner had left unlocked in case of just such an incident. The owner of the cabin was the one who found her.
Found after 3 weeks lost
My first reaction to this story was twofold. First, it made me remember a time when this used to be common practice. Heck, in the Wyoming town I grew up in we even used to leave our keys in our trucks in case someone needed to move them while we were away! Virtually all mountain cabins were open for emergency use. The only unwritten code of honor was to replace and replenish whatever you took or used. The reason this thought hit me is because of my 2nd reason...a similar experience happened to me personally once (although not 3 weeks).
A friend and I had ventured deep into the Wyoming back country; the Wind River Range to be exact. I'd grown up there and we knew this area like the backs of our hands. We'd taken my Jeep as absolutely far as even the remotest semblance of a 'road' would let us go. The previous several miles had really been more of a rocky path barely cut from the side of a mountain. About a quarter of the way there we had been forced to cross through a very muddy bog area with deep water and mud and giant trees on either side (no way around it). I had gotten (badly) stuck on the way in, but we were able to winch my Jeep out and continue on. Once we ran out of road we set out on foot and packed another 15-18 miles to a very remote lake above the treeline. We'd not brought any food with us to speak of, as was usually the case; we'd planned on catching or trapping whatever we needed to eat. After a slow start we eventually got into some fish and wound up eating like kings. After several days, it was time to head back out.
I'd tried not to think about it while on our little trek, but getting my Jeep back out of where we were had circulated around in my head a couple times. Long story short, most of the trip back out was uneventful...until we reached the bog I'd gotten stuck in several days before. Well, someone else in some kind of a giant 4x4 had gotten into that bog since we'd been there and they had gotten MAJORLY stuck. Several large trees had been cut down, and the bog itself was torn to absolute shreds with giant ruts which couldn't be avoided. This was not going to be fun, and it wasn't small either, probably 300 yards across. There was just no way around it, and we had scouted for probably 20 miles trying to find one too. It was at the bottom of a steep canyon, and everywhere else was straight up cliffs. I knew we'd get stuck, the only questions were how bad and would we be able to get out.
Fast forward about 14 hours later. We were completely soaked, covered in mud, and freezing to death. It was now snowing like no tomorrow and temps were plummeting. The mud and water was already cold when we'd started (springtime in Wyoming high in the Wind Rivers). Despite not being able to tell what color my Jeep was anymore from the mud, fourteen hours later we'd managed to get all the way across the bog and up out of it. We were both near-hypothermic and exhausted beyond description. (I could probably write an entire book just about getting across that bog alone). We still had about 100 miles left to go. About 60 of the 100 was off-road getting to the highway, and the remaining 40 was highway back home. We changed out of our wet clothes as best we could and set out for home. One problem...I looked down at my gas gauge for the first time all day and was shocked to see it sitting below "E". OH....SHIT!!!!
We'd been so focused on trying to get unstuck that we'd failed to keep track of how much gas we had left (not that it would have mattered too much, other than maybe changing some earlier decisions). There was no way we had enough fuel to get back out. Not with two smaller mountain ranges to go over and countless switchbacks between us and the highway. Of course, now it was snowing harder than ever and snow was accumulating rapidly. This was not looking good. About 30 miles later (which actually surprised me) we ran out of fuel. Now it was dark and the wind was picking up. No time to mess around.
I'd remembered a small cabin I'd spotted on the way in. Just as a matter of course, I generally try to remember things I might need at some future point. If we stayed on the road, I estimated the cabin was roughly 10 miles around the base of this foothill in front of us. Overland, I figured it would be about 3 miles. So, overland we went...in the dark...in the snow.
After about an hour we both had gotten turned around. The foothill we were going over was about 1,000 feet vertical elevation change and a distance of about 3 miles. What I hadn't seen on the map was there were actually two hills with a large canyon down between them. By the time we'd navigated through all that we were really turned around. No matter what I knew the direction we needed to go to get out, but I now no longer had any idea of what direction to go to find the cabin we were hoping to find fuel at. I was starting to get a little concerned (like beginning to think we might need to stop and start building a survival shelter for the night, kind of 'concerned'). We'd actually found an ideal spot between two giant house-sized boulders, so we marked the spot and dropped some of our gear. After this we headed out to scout further ahead, carefully marking our path so we could find our gear cache and camping spot again. About a half a mile later, over the top of a ridge, something flashed in the light of my headlamp. It was a reflection off of something, but I couldn't tell what through the snow. As we got closer, I could see it was another cabin (not the first one we'd been headed for). What a miracle.
Once at the cabin, we knocked on the door...nothing. Tried the door knob thinking it might be open. Nope. Dammit! Then my buddy spots a note stuck in between the storm door and the main door. The envelope read "PLEASE READ". Inside was a note saying..."Damn bears have figured out how to open doors now (twice) and trashed the place. The key's in the mailbox beside the door. Please leave it as you found it. Thanks, Fred." Inside was another note on the kitchen table. It said..."Should be some food in the cupboard, not much but better than nothin'. There's wood just outside the back door. Just please don't make a fire which lasts longer than you're gonna' stay." There were some other instructions, but Fred knew the drill, and so did we. What an absolute luxury. By now the wind outside was howling and temps were down in the teens (maybe less). We still had a little of our own food and water left, so we ate that while we warmed up by the fire. Slept to about 9am the next morning (which is absolutely unheard of for me; I normally get rolling at 4am latest). We had been exhausted, and Fred's cabin (whomever Fred was) had very likely saved our lives!
That morning, the sun was out. Typical sunshiny morning in the Wyoming high country. Frosty-assed cold, but at leas the sun was out an no wind. Fred had a gas can full of gas on his back porch which I borrowed. Hiked back over the ridge to our gear from the night before, and then back to the Jeep. Fred actually had two gas cans, but I'd only borrowed one. Fueled up the Jeep with 5 gallons (which was a total bitch hauling over those two ridges!!), drove around the base of the mountain back to Fred's place and dropped off his gas can. Poured the second can in my Jeep and left a note with my name, number and saying I'd be back with the gas. And, a great big HUGE "Thank You!!!" to Fred (whoever he was).
And that's a true story, folks.
Epilogue - We made it back into town, and my first order of business was to round up 10-15 gallons of gas, some canned goods, and maybe something else as a thank you. In the cabin, I'd noticed ol' Fred had a .338 Win Mag leaned up against the wall in the main area. I just happened to have an old box of Super X .338 Win Mag ammo laying around that I wasn't going to need (I'd traded my .338 on a Weatherby .270 Mag), so I grabbed the shells and figured I'd donate those too. Oh, and a nice bottle of scotch. I drove back expecting to drop the stuff off and leave, but low and behold there was a truck there when I got back. I got actually got to meet ol' Fred and thank him in person! What a treat! I gave him all the stuff and asked if there was anything I could do to help him with anything (he was an old guy). He didn't, need anything so I packed up after a short visit and headed back to town. Of all the stuff I'd brought back, ol' Fred seemed to be the happiest about the box of .338 Win Mag ammo I'd given him. He was just over the top about that. Must have thanked me twenty times for it. On the ride back I was thinking about the whole trip, and then my getting to meet Fred. The more I thought about it...yeah, I guess those old .338 Win Mags were getting harder and harder to find ammo for anymore.
Thanks, Fred!
(Fred's long gone now, I'm sure. But I still remember him and that day like it was yesterday, even though it was nearly 50 years ago).
Found after 3 weeks lost
My first reaction to this story was twofold. First, it made me remember a time when this used to be common practice. Heck, in the Wyoming town I grew up in we even used to leave our keys in our trucks in case someone needed to move them while we were away! Virtually all mountain cabins were open for emergency use. The only unwritten code of honor was to replace and replenish whatever you took or used. The reason this thought hit me is because of my 2nd reason...a similar experience happened to me personally once (although not 3 weeks).
A friend and I had ventured deep into the Wyoming back country; the Wind River Range to be exact. I'd grown up there and we knew this area like the backs of our hands. We'd taken my Jeep as absolutely far as even the remotest semblance of a 'road' would let us go. The previous several miles had really been more of a rocky path barely cut from the side of a mountain. About a quarter of the way there we had been forced to cross through a very muddy bog area with deep water and mud and giant trees on either side (no way around it). I had gotten (badly) stuck on the way in, but we were able to winch my Jeep out and continue on. Once we ran out of road we set out on foot and packed another 15-18 miles to a very remote lake above the treeline. We'd not brought any food with us to speak of, as was usually the case; we'd planned on catching or trapping whatever we needed to eat. After a slow start we eventually got into some fish and wound up eating like kings. After several days, it was time to head back out.
I'd tried not to think about it while on our little trek, but getting my Jeep back out of where we were had circulated around in my head a couple times. Long story short, most of the trip back out was uneventful...until we reached the bog I'd gotten stuck in several days before. Well, someone else in some kind of a giant 4x4 had gotten into that bog since we'd been there and they had gotten MAJORLY stuck. Several large trees had been cut down, and the bog itself was torn to absolute shreds with giant ruts which couldn't be avoided. This was not going to be fun, and it wasn't small either, probably 300 yards across. There was just no way around it, and we had scouted for probably 20 miles trying to find one too. It was at the bottom of a steep canyon, and everywhere else was straight up cliffs. I knew we'd get stuck, the only questions were how bad and would we be able to get out.
Fast forward about 14 hours later. We were completely soaked, covered in mud, and freezing to death. It was now snowing like no tomorrow and temps were plummeting. The mud and water was already cold when we'd started (springtime in Wyoming high in the Wind Rivers). Despite not being able to tell what color my Jeep was anymore from the mud, fourteen hours later we'd managed to get all the way across the bog and up out of it. We were both near-hypothermic and exhausted beyond description. (I could probably write an entire book just about getting across that bog alone). We still had about 100 miles left to go. About 60 of the 100 was off-road getting to the highway, and the remaining 40 was highway back home. We changed out of our wet clothes as best we could and set out for home. One problem...I looked down at my gas gauge for the first time all day and was shocked to see it sitting below "E". OH....SHIT!!!!
We'd been so focused on trying to get unstuck that we'd failed to keep track of how much gas we had left (not that it would have mattered too much, other than maybe changing some earlier decisions). There was no way we had enough fuel to get back out. Not with two smaller mountain ranges to go over and countless switchbacks between us and the highway. Of course, now it was snowing harder than ever and snow was accumulating rapidly. This was not looking good. About 30 miles later (which actually surprised me) we ran out of fuel. Now it was dark and the wind was picking up. No time to mess around.
I'd remembered a small cabin I'd spotted on the way in. Just as a matter of course, I generally try to remember things I might need at some future point. If we stayed on the road, I estimated the cabin was roughly 10 miles around the base of this foothill in front of us. Overland, I figured it would be about 3 miles. So, overland we went...in the dark...in the snow.
After about an hour we both had gotten turned around. The foothill we were going over was about 1,000 feet vertical elevation change and a distance of about 3 miles. What I hadn't seen on the map was there were actually two hills with a large canyon down between them. By the time we'd navigated through all that we were really turned around. No matter what I knew the direction we needed to go to get out, but I now no longer had any idea of what direction to go to find the cabin we were hoping to find fuel at. I was starting to get a little concerned (like beginning to think we might need to stop and start building a survival shelter for the night, kind of 'concerned'). We'd actually found an ideal spot between two giant house-sized boulders, so we marked the spot and dropped some of our gear. After this we headed out to scout further ahead, carefully marking our path so we could find our gear cache and camping spot again. About a half a mile later, over the top of a ridge, something flashed in the light of my headlamp. It was a reflection off of something, but I couldn't tell what through the snow. As we got closer, I could see it was another cabin (not the first one we'd been headed for). What a miracle.
Once at the cabin, we knocked on the door...nothing. Tried the door knob thinking it might be open. Nope. Dammit! Then my buddy spots a note stuck in between the storm door and the main door. The envelope read "PLEASE READ". Inside was a note saying..."Damn bears have figured out how to open doors now (twice) and trashed the place. The key's in the mailbox beside the door. Please leave it as you found it. Thanks, Fred." Inside was another note on the kitchen table. It said..."Should be some food in the cupboard, not much but better than nothin'. There's wood just outside the back door. Just please don't make a fire which lasts longer than you're gonna' stay." There were some other instructions, but Fred knew the drill, and so did we. What an absolute luxury. By now the wind outside was howling and temps were down in the teens (maybe less). We still had a little of our own food and water left, so we ate that while we warmed up by the fire. Slept to about 9am the next morning (which is absolutely unheard of for me; I normally get rolling at 4am latest). We had been exhausted, and Fred's cabin (whomever Fred was) had very likely saved our lives!
That morning, the sun was out. Typical sunshiny morning in the Wyoming high country. Frosty-assed cold, but at leas the sun was out an no wind. Fred had a gas can full of gas on his back porch which I borrowed. Hiked back over the ridge to our gear from the night before, and then back to the Jeep. Fred actually had two gas cans, but I'd only borrowed one. Fueled up the Jeep with 5 gallons (which was a total bitch hauling over those two ridges!!), drove around the base of the mountain back to Fred's place and dropped off his gas can. Poured the second can in my Jeep and left a note with my name, number and saying I'd be back with the gas. And, a great big HUGE "Thank You!!!" to Fred (whoever he was).
And that's a true story, folks.
Epilogue - We made it back into town, and my first order of business was to round up 10-15 gallons of gas, some canned goods, and maybe something else as a thank you. In the cabin, I'd noticed ol' Fred had a .338 Win Mag leaned up against the wall in the main area. I just happened to have an old box of Super X .338 Win Mag ammo laying around that I wasn't going to need (I'd traded my .338 on a Weatherby .270 Mag), so I grabbed the shells and figured I'd donate those too. Oh, and a nice bottle of scotch. I drove back expecting to drop the stuff off and leave, but low and behold there was a truck there when I got back. I got actually got to meet ol' Fred and thank him in person! What a treat! I gave him all the stuff and asked if there was anything I could do to help him with anything (he was an old guy). He didn't, need anything so I packed up after a short visit and headed back to town. Of all the stuff I'd brought back, ol' Fred seemed to be the happiest about the box of .338 Win Mag ammo I'd given him. He was just over the top about that. Must have thanked me twenty times for it. On the ride back I was thinking about the whole trip, and then my getting to meet Fred. The more I thought about it...yeah, I guess those old .338 Win Mags were getting harder and harder to find ammo for anymore.
Thanks, Fred!
(Fred's long gone now, I'm sure. But I still remember him and that day like it was yesterday, even though it was nearly 50 years ago).
