Settle in now boys and girls, it's time for another story where Riverman almost died due to his own, uh, stubbornness. I'd like to say it was the first, or the last. But, it was neither.
This particular adventure started when I learned my company was going bankrupt. Being in IT, I got the heads-up before most folks, but I couldn't tell anyone. Watching my co-workers, neighbors, friends - basically family - go about their day knowing they were about to lose everything? That'll mess with your head.
So I went home to Priscilla, who was several months pregnant at the time, and said "Let's go for a drive." Because apparently when I'm stressed, my brilliant solution is to head into the Canadian wilderness.
We loaded up my F-150 and pointed it toward Monkman Provincial Park. I knew a forest service road that wound up into the Alpine - usually a nice, peaceful drive. Snow had come and gone, spring was teasing but hadn't quite arrived, and the roads looked clear enough. At our elevation, anyway.
Well, I later became much more skilled and have put pickup trucks in some ridiculous places and brought them right back out.
At this point, though, Riverman's winter driving experience was limited to just a few Canadian winters.
Here's where I should mention we drove 19 kilometers just to reach the park entrance, then another 30-35 kilometers on the Murray Forest Service road. We're talking proper middle-of-nowhere territory here.
Everything was going fine until I crested a hill and found myself staring at the other side - which turned out to be permanently shaded and coated in a very clear line of sheer, thick ice. Despite having ABS brakes, four-wheel drive, and good tires, physics had other plans. Down into the ditch we went.
Now, being the hardheaded individual that I am, did I immediately get out and assess the situation like a reasonable person? Of course not. I figured I could power my way out with 4WD low, rocking back and forth. All I accomplished was burying myself deeper.
Tried using a dog crate for traction - no luck. Attempted to dig by hand - no shovel, just hard-packed snow and ice. No cell service, naturally. I had a ham radio but couldn't raise anyone on any channel, including the road channel. Too far out, stuck down behind a ridge.
The good news? I had survival gear - half tank of gas, food, water, blankets, fire starters. All the things you need to not die. Unfortunately, none of the things you need to not have to use them.
Poor Priscilla. I started apologizing from minute one, but she's always been unflappable. Just settled in and played games on her phone while I had my little panic session. After burning several hours trying everything I could think of, darkness started rolling in. I made the call to save energy and start hiking at dawn.
Walking at night wasn't an option - not with bears, moose, wolverines, coyotes, and cougars all considering me a potential snack. At least during daylight I could pretend I'd put up a fight.
We tried to sleep. Key word being "tried."
Just before dawn, I told Priscilla I was heading back to find cell service. Grabbed my charged phone and started what I figured would be an 18-kilometer hike.
The forest service roads have kilometer markers, and I found myself at the 27 sign. I knew I'd had cell service around kilometer 9 before, so simple math said I had my destination.
I walked. And walked. And walked some more. The numbers kept getting smaller - progress! When I hit the 16 marker, I actually felt optimistic. "Perfect," I thought. "Getting there.
Oh, and about those predators I mentioned? They're just as active during the day. I passed at least four black bears within 100 feet - some at streams, others just wandering through the bush. Since I had exactly nothing to defend myself with, I just kept walking. They'd look at me, I'd look at them, I even waved at one, and we'd all go about our business.
I'd brought some water but not nearly enough. Found myself eating snow from the roadside banks, trying not to think too hard about how gritty and disgusting it was, or how much animal hair was mixed in
After walking past 16, I kept going and eventually came across... the 27 marker again.
Now, before you think I'm completely directionally challenged, here's the kicker - the forest service road had been renumbered at some point. Different starting location, whole new system. I wasn't walking in circles; I was at the actual kilometer 27, which meant I was really at kilometer 38 in the new system. Instead of 18 kilometers to cell service, I was looking at 29.
That's when I heard snowmobiles somewhere out in the bush. I yelled until my throat was raw, tried raising them on my handheld radio - nothing. They were too far away.
But then I found their staging area - a red Chevy truck parked at a side road with a cooler and obvious sledding gear scattered around.
I opened that cooler and found it full of Gatorade. I'm not ashamed to say I helped myself. The truck was unlocked and had a radio with a better antenna, but I still couldn't reach anyone, including those sledders I could hear in the distance.
That's when desperation kicked in. I popped the gas cap, and there were the keys - pretty common practice in such remote areas. Nobody's going to mess with your truck out there, and if they do, it's not hard to figure out who in a small town.
So I "borrowed" their truck and hauled ass to the highway.
Got cell service, called John K. - a friend and dispatcher at the mine. Then I drove back, terrified the whole way. Taking someone's truck in rural mining country could get you shot and dragged into the bush, emergency or not. These folks don't mess around with thieves.
Thankfully, they weren't back yet. I returned the truck, put the keys back in the gas cap, and left all the cash I had on the driver's seat - a whopping $5 US bill.
John met me about 45 minutes later with sandwiches, drinks, and a hug. We headed back toward the truck, only to meet Priscilla halfway. Despite my instructions to stay put, she'd gotten worried and started walking. I was so relieved and angry at the same time.
John and I tried pulling the truck out. No luck. Called in more buddies with their trucks - we tried pulling from three different angles. The thing would come partway out, then slide right back down into that ice-filled embankment.
That's when John called his friend Dave Hampel. Dave was a mountain of a man with a salt-and-pepper beard who looked like he'd ridden his Harley straight out of central casting for "intimidating but reliable." He was also exactly the kind of guy who could make impossible problems disappear - and one of the most kind individuals I'd ever met. I learned a lot from Dave over the years.
Keep in mind, both John and Dave were at least 20 years older than me, so I was very much the young guy asking for help. And this was my primary truck, stuck 50+ kilometers from town in the Canadian Rockies. I wasn't asking for a cup of sugar.
Dave, being the resourceful legend he was, knew the company that maintained those roads. Within hours, he'd arranged for them to load a grader onto a flatbed, along with several other trucks and pieces of equipment. Two days later, while I was at work trying to act normal, they conducted a full-scale industrial rescue operation.
Dave and the crew kept giving me rides to and from the mine, helping me deal with the fact that my primary tool (my truck) had mysteriously vanished. When they finally lifted that F-150 back onto the road, Dave said a chunk of ice the size of a mattress fell from underneath - which explained why none of our pulling attempts had worked.
Sometimes the difference between impossible and done isn't about having the right equipment or the perfect plan. It's about finding the right person to talk to. But more than that - it's about having people in your corner who will orchestrate an entire community to solve your problems while protecting you in the process.
These photos, all taken be me, are from that world - harsh, remote, but incredible. Despite everything that happened - the bankruptcy, the survival situation, losing that life - I miss it.
What's your "found the right person" story? When did someone turn your impossible situation into just another Tuesday?
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