Gary Greene’s Memories from an Old Hunter………..#31
In the field, there were two times that by definition, I might not have been lost, but I sure didn’t know where I was. Please remember these occurred during the days before my flip phone could aid me with directions.
In 2007, for the first time, my chocolate lab Hershey and I were hunting in the 1,160 acre Allenton Marsh Wildlife Area. It was a gray, gloomy day with no sun for me to refer to for simple directions. Hershey got birdy on a pheasant and I followed her deep into a marshy area. As the cover of cattails got higher and thicker, it had become too dense and too difficult and I found myself in knee deep, in over my boots water. My previously made entrance trail had returned to its natural setting and I was unable to retrace my steps. I tried to find a tree on the horizon for a location marker, but none were in view as the cattails blocked all my visibility.
I must have made a wrong turn as the water got deeper, and I had to fight for each step just to keep my boots from being sucked off in the marsh muck. The conditions were getting worse, with deeper water and muck. As it approached late afternoon, I realized that I had about two hours of daylight remaining. I found it becoming almost impossible to move, as I spotted a ten foot high bush in the marsh ahead of me. With extreme difficulty, I made my way over to the bush, as Hershey was fighting for every inch that she earned. I broke off an old, vertical, eight foot long, almost four inch in diameter, dead branch. I stripped it of its smaller side branches. I would lay that branch (now a Log) horizontally in front of me and pull/crawl/slide my way along that partially floating log on top of the cattails. That log and bent over cattails were just enough to keep the majority of my body out of the lower level of muck. Every time I reached the end of the log, I would force it ahead through the cattails and start crawling again. I was doing this, while I attempted to keep my now unloaded shotgun from being submerged and made sure that Hershey remained in sight at all times as she followed behind me.
Time passed too quickly, as it was nearing sunset, the darkened sky became even darker. As I struggled along, I became extremely fatigued, but I couldn’t stop because I didn’t wish to spend an evening in that marsh. I kept checking the limited horizon in my view for a tree so I could direct my line of exiting. The time was approaching 4:00pm and I knew sunset was around 4:40pm, so I calculated I would have some visibility until around 5:00pm. I had around that hour to escape this mess. I checked my cell phone for reception and I had some bars. With that in mind, to relay my position, I figured I could call 911. If I had to be found after dark, I could fire off some shots from my possibly mud filled shotgun. Then as if by fate, I saw the top of what appeared to be a tree. To me, a tree meant upland ground and possibly a way out of this fiasco I had gotten myself into. A long half hour later, I made it over to the Willow type tree and found many more as there was plenty of solid ground for my escape.
I checked the barrel of my shotgun, as we still had about 10 minutes of hunting time remaining and I figured after all this, I wasn’t going to totally give up on this hunt. Hershey, my now black, chocolate Lab and I made our way to the parking area. Being the hunting dog that she is, she flushed a pheasant and I shot that bird. Back at the truck, I removed my black, discolored clothing and Hershey rode in the back, just one of the few times she hasn’t ridden up in the cab with me.
I had learned my lesson from that Allenton Marsh disaster. When hunting new locations, I now carried a compass with me. In 2009, Hershey and I were hunting deep in the thick cover of Clover Valley public hunting grounds near Whitewater. Snow had been coming down steadily for the past half hour and it was a heavy, wet snow that was quickly covering the field. Hershey got birdy and I followed the running rooster’s tracks as we headed into a large thicket of twenty foot high, snow covered Buckthorn. The sky was black and visibility was becoming poor as we followed that bird for about five minutes before I finally pulled Hershey off the runner. The snow was now heavier than before, so I figured it was time to call it a day and make our way out of that thicket, and head home. It was nearly 4:00pm and under that canopy of snow and thick Buckthorn branches it had become equivalent to nighttime.
I was going to retrace my steps out of the thicket, but the snow had already partially filled my tracks and it was too dark to follow. To allow in some light so I would be able to read my compass, I brushed away snow and shook some branches. As I was clearing the branches, I dropped my compass in the snow, never to be found again. I looked at Hershey, and thought this is round two of my blunders in the field. I turned and my pace picked up speed as it was now approaching a sunless, sunset. I realized that I was possibly making circles as I was fighting to make it under the now lower, very heavy, snow covered Buckthorn branches. I am upset with myself for reliving that previous Allenton disaster, and perspiring heavily as I really had no idea how far into that thicket I was or which direction I was headed. Then just as the Allenton Willow tree previously showed itself on the horizon, momentarily that lightless, snow filling sky opened up with a ray of sunshine from the now almost completely submerged sun. I knew that direction was west, and all I needed was about three minutes to hustle in that direction to safely make it out to the clearing.
I am a believer, but I don’t see myself as a religious man. One of my best friends, David Block and his wife Theresa told me that I might not be religious, but with all my love of my dogs and the outdoors, and experiences like those just written about, I can’t help but be a very spiritual man. I like that concept and I agree wholeheartedly.