Before the BFRO report was initiated about my California BF sighting, before I joined NESRA, before the account of my last "flash sighting" on that river island in Georgia, I had a most humbling experience that set me to thinking about just how easy it is to become lost in a swamp. Oh, I used to think I was such the woodsman. Yeah, I've been lost before and found my way out dozens of times. Sure, right, but never like this. Funny things go through your mind during a time when you suddenly realize you are completely LOST and cannot find your way out of a situation.
Actually, it was quite an unassuming day. My oldest son, Bobby, and I had launched our 16-foot Ghoenoe boat at the last landing way up on Lake Seminole, Georgia, and had motored out into the river headed upstream for a hog and deer hunting expedition at the crack of daylight. High hopes fed currents of conceited successes in our minds as we traveled rapidly up the river to a secret spot located inside a small creek mouth where we could hide the boat from the prying eyes of other hunters. Bobby had already killed several hogs and a deer out of this cherish spot and I just knew my attempts to finally kill a nice eating hog would be no problem today.
The weather had turned out to be rather pleasant as a morning cold snap sent the temperatures plunging down into the mid-thirties with a good batch of overhead clouds moving in that seemed to set us into a good mood. As we parked the boat inside this little creek and prepared to split up for a mornings hunt, Bobby slung his backpack on, grabbed the rifle, and headed out into the swamp to his left. I sat in the boat for a few minutes waiting for him to disappear into the swampy mess of vegetation. After about 10 minutes, I eased out of the boat and stood on the banks of this small creek contemplating my next move.
My clothing for the day consisted of some BDU camo pants, a camo tee-shirt, a long sleeve BDU shirt, and a hunter orange vest that fit over the top of it. My headgear was a camo BDU floppy hat, a pair of 8" hiking boots, and a pair of cotton socks. In the left rear pocket of my pants I always carry a red hankerchef and a small folding knife; in my right rear pocket I carry a camo hunting wallet with licenses, ID, and a dollar bill; in my right front pocket I carry some loose change, and in my left front pocket I carry a pocket watch on a chain attached to my black 2" belt that fits around my waist. Also, I wear glasses.
It was then that I made one of the most simple, stupid mistakes of my entire hunting career. I walked away from the boat up into the dry creek bed without my backpack. I had only the small .32 caliber Winchester carbine, a .44 caliber S&W handgun, part of a pack of cigarettes (I actually smoked back in those days), a lighter, and a pocket compass with me. "I'll just go up this little creek a few hundred yards and check for sign", I recall telling myself. Oops!
Here is what I was missing within my backpack: A 5-watt radio with communication to my son; an emergency space blanket packet; some basic survival fishing items (10#-test monofilament line, small & medium sized hooks, a few small bobbers, some split shot, a couple of small sized egg-sinkers, and a pair of pliers; a USMC Kabar knife; a container full of waterproof matches & some instant fire starter kindling; a complete MRE; a small canteen of water; a rain poncho; spare ammo for the carbine and pistol; a GPS unit; an extra pair of socks; and, a long sleeve camo tee shirt.
After I walked up the small dry creek bed away from the boat, I crossed over into the swamp for about 100-yards following a fresh hog track hoping to come upon this wandering rooter. It was not to be. Soon after following the hog track, I sat down next to a big oak tree and smoked a phewy cigarette. When I stood up again, I removed the compass from my shirt pocket and took a look at the northern needle direction while I held the carbine close across my chest. I knew from before leaving the boat, that the landing was due west, so I figured I would just amble along back in that direction to the little dry creek bed and follow it to the boat. Oh, Oh, Reggie headed out in the wrong direction.
Big dummy Reggie placed the carbine across my chest and put the compass near it to obtain a directional reading. The metal in the carbine skewered the true direction, causing me to wander off in a north-easterly direction, instead of back in the western direction where the boat was located. OUCH! So, away north and east I went, plodding along still hunting, thinking I was tracking back to the river. I was following some fresh hog tracks that led away from the dry creek bed and I allowed that to occupy my mind instead of payingattention to the direction I was traveling.
About 30-minutes into the hunting episode, it began to dawn on my dim, dinosouric mind, that I was NOT going to the river where the boat was located. So, I did the "smart thing" and continued on hunting for another hour only to find out I was really LOST. When the startling thought finally enterred my mind that I was good and lost, I sat down by a big oak tree and smoked a few cigarettes trying to figure a way out of my predicament. Admitting that one is lost is the first step towards resolving the crises. Being lost in miles of dim, damp swampland is not a good thing.
First order of business was to remain calm. People who panic and start racing around mindlessly usually tire themselves out both mentally and physically. I had one major medical problem that might spell the difference to my survival. I am a Type 2 Diabetic. That meant I take medication, twice a day, to keep the blood sugars at bay, and I had only taken the morning dose. Then, I had a major physical problem. In my late 50's (then), I was not in the best of shape to play survivalist amongst the changing envirenments that Mother Nature throws at you! And, let's not forget that Mr. Brainy Smerf here had forgotten to bring along his backpack. Yep, I really screwed up this time.
I had made a monumentous mistake with compass directions, I stood up and shot a true compass reading well away from anything metal, like the ding-dong carbine! I estimated that the river lay west of where I was at this time, but I was not completely convinced about where I was, either. Having wandered around mindlessly for the past hour, I actually didn't know where the hell I was, except I was in a hell of a fix right now. I decided to follow an old rule for getting lost = fire my weapon three times and await a response.
So, I pulled out the .44 revolver and fired it three times. No response. In another minute, I fired the revolver three more times. No response. Well, other than hurting my ears and wasting six precious rounds of ammo, I had not resolved a darn thing, other than running off any game animals around me for hundreds of yards! Then, I prayed. Somebody must have heard my pitiful plea because about five minutes right after the prayer session I heard the faint sound of an outboard motor way down to the south of my current position. Ah, now I knew where the river was, and knowing where the true postion of where the river was meant I would eventually get rescued. This was the first big break that I was to recieve in an otherwise receedingly downward spiral of bad circumstances.
I gathered myself together and started off in a southwestern direction in hopes of bisecting the river at some point. It was early afternoon now. Then, it started to rain. Oh joys, and it was a good soaking rain, too. Luckily, it was not a cold, soaking rain. But, this rain did spell trouble for me when it came time to find some dry fire making materials if I had to spend the night in the swamp. As I trudged along in the rain, I looked up to see a big buck standing amid a clump of palmetto bushes about 50-yards away from me. Slowly I raised the carbine to my shoulder, pulled back the hammer, and sighted in on his front shoulder. To shoot or not to shoot?
I did not shoot the buck! Why? Because I was lost, not quite sure where I was in reference to the river, and I had no time to be cleaning a deer right now. My time would be better spent finding the river and, then, locating a high point on a river bluff to overlook a large section of the river for any boat traffic. I had concluded that my best opportunity to be rescued was to prepare a camp to spend the night, if necessary, until I could be found! Of course, I had to find the river first. As I struggled along, resting many times in order to preserve energy, I suddenly became very thirsty. Okay, now what. My canteen was in my backpack at the boat, God knows whre, so what to do.
I solved the being thirsty problem in a unique way - one born out of both despiration and inginuity. As I forgot to tell you earlier, I had fired the .32 carbine three times, in addition to the .44 magnum pistol, in an effort to become located. So, I had three .32 caliber empty cartridges that I saved for whatever reason now became apparent. It had started to rain, not a heavy down pour, but a "soaking" rain. The rain continued for about an hour and completely wet the trees and the ground cover (including the potential fire making wood sources). Suddenly it dawned on my dim mind that I could take the empty cartridge shell, stick it under a big leaf from a tree, and collect enough water to drink and quinch my thirst!
Then, in the distance, down towards my left, I heard the sound of a boat motor going down the river. Yipee, now I knew exactly where the river was and realized that upon finding the river, I could then locate the high ground, and wait for rescue! What a lucky break. I carefully walked to the river, crossed a dry creek bed, and rested upon a hig bluff overlooking the river itself. This is where I would make my stand until found by the certain to be launched rescue efforts. Besides, my plan also included the fact that IF a boat came up or down the river, I would cut loose with a few shots from the pistol and someone would rescue me at that time. Well, it didn't happen that way, but the thought of such kept my hopes up. And, a lost puke like me., that has hope, will stay alive until found - sometime or other!
My next matter of survival became finding a food source (because the shell cartridge, filled with leaf run off water, took care of the most basic need). And, making a fire in case I had to spend the night. First, I dug around my immediate area and found enough dry moss, leaves, and small twigs under the wet ground, to get a fire started before dark (which was rapidly approaching - about an hour away). Next, I found some huge bug larvae inside a rotten log that I knew from USMC survival school would sustain me until a more delicious meal could be acquired. But, I'de hold off on eating the larvae until the last moment! Near dark I was just building the fire (actually considering eating the larvae) and started to light it with my cigarette lighter when I heard the distinct sound of an emergency siren located back behind me away from the river.
Man, that was music to my ears. I fired off three shots with the .32 carbine (the hell with the pistol as the carbine sounds carry a lot further). Right away a man shouted out "hello" about 100-yards away (I'm glad I aimed the gun up in the air). I almost said, "yes Lord"! No, I really said something like "over here"...with a few unmentionable cuss words in there, I'm sure. The man told me to come on over to him as we were going to go out the way behind him to the road. Oh, that is going to make me mad...the road was actually only 1/2-mile away on private property.
I greeted the gentleman (I wanted to kiss him but I didn't...I would had if it been a woman) and we walked out to his truck about half-a-mile out of the dismal swamp! He told me that the boat I had heard earlier in the day had been my son, Bobby, who realized "Pops was lost" when he came back to the boat and found all my gear there and no me! Of course, he never heard any of the shots (nor did I hear any of his shots that he fired before he left in the boat to initiate a rescue)...go figure. Bobby had called in everyone but the Marines, including the helo and the dog squad, sheriff, and the Highway Patrol. As I'm riding down the road going to the landing, I see all these rescue people and started waving at them like the lost idiot that I was. Boy did I feel like a Pinhead!
Back at the landing, there were both my sons, a dozen boats, with fish & game and other law enforcement rescue people, rescue dogs, and the helo on the way. You know I went around and greeted everybody to tell them how much I appreciated them coming out to rescue my sorry ass! Life lesson number whatever: Get a grip, take your stuff with you from now on, or stay home (catch up on my fishing?)!
Revised 7/30/09.
