PAUL'S WINTER ADVENTURES

(Paul Wheeler is a friend who lives in the woods near Bonner's Ferry.)

This must have been in my first or second year at the Garden. My father had died in the Fall of that year and my mom moved to Seattle and stayed with old family friends that had moved there a few years earlier. I'd gone to visit her over Christmas, but New Year's day, I wanted to spend at home, so I left early on new years eve morn.

The roads were just awful. Even as I was leaving the development I had to go down a steep, icy hill. Cars were piled up willy-nilly at the bottom, so I crept down and spent an hour or more, pulling folks out of the ditch. (folks kept stuffing my pockets with cash even though I tried to decline it)

Snoqualmie pass was the worst, they were requiring chains to go over. Cars were pulled to the side, cars were stuck in the middle, folks that were prepared were going slow, so they didn't tear up their chains. Long waits for snowplows that were doing their best, wending between all the stranded motorists.

The highway was so icy, I probably didn't exceed 25 miles an hour all day long and the temperature was dropping like a rock. I had a 4x4 International Travelall in those days, with an electric back window in the tailgate. Somewhere on the highway it shattered and it created an icy and snowy vortex inside. I pulled over and put a sleeping bag in place of the window, which didn't help much. Piled all my extra clothing and gear over my feet and legs and pushed on. By the time I got to Spokane it was dark. All I could think about for miles, was obtaining a thermos of hot coffee and wrapping my hands around a hot cup.

Bank signs were flashing -40, I could not find a single damn place open that served coffee, but midnight wasn't far off and I had a lot of miles left to get home, so I pushed on.

On that leg, all I could think about was building a roaring fire in the stove in my tiny cabin, crawling into the loft for a nice hot, sweaty, well deserved sleep. I think I just made it before midnight, woodenly stumbled in the door. Tried to warm my fingers enough to feel for and light a match for an oil lamp. When I finally got it lit, I turned around to start on the stove. WTF! Where's my stove!?! My fookin' stove was gone, someone stole my fookin' stove! Even as mad as I was, it didn't do much to warm me. I went back out and pulled my frozen sleeping bag/window and drug it back to the cabin, stomping as much ice out of it as I could and curled up in it on the floor to spend one of the most miserable nights in my life. Doubt I slept much with all the violent shivering. Come daylight my beard was a frozen chunk of ice so heavy, I had to be careful I didn't swing my head too suddenly and knock myself out. I stumbled down to the creek and the communal house to find everyone there all cheery and warm, my stove amongst the collection, along with the huge fireplace, serving to keep everyone toasty warm.

First time I ever saw one of those tree faces, I was driving down the road and slammed on my brakes. Freaked me right out, thought it was some strange growth that the light was revealing. I felt a little cheated after I got a better look at it.

Some years ago, one of the kids and I were coming back from town when I caught an odd glimpse of what appeared to be a human head sitting on a stump about 50' off the road. Screech, put the binoculars on it and sure as tootin', it was a human head alright. I wasn't sure whether to call the cops right off or investigate further. Sure glad I worked up the courage to check it out, because I'd have been the laughing stock of the county. It was very realistic, but fake none the less. Took me awhile to find out what it was, but it was a beauticians practice head, to learn how to style hair and apply makeup.

Nearly home and out in our field, I spied another one, sitting on a lone fence post! Never did find out who left them, but they were placed for effect. After I finally found out what they were, I sold one on ebay and the granddaughter and I have been trying to smuggle it into her place ever since. She adores it and fusses with it every time she's here. Her father hates it and won't allow it in his place. It's a little creepy.

Somehow I think it's good for us to get ourselves into jams once in awhile and have to figure out how to get ourselves unstuck. Really, when you think of all the zillions of man-hours spent by folks in the middle of nowhere, with nothing but their wits, most of them live to tell about it. Those are the stories we tell our kids and grandkids! Over the years, I managed to unthinkingly get myself into some real clusterfucks, but never suffered more than shaky knees. I still manage to pull off boners every now and then even though I'm old enough and somewhat experienced. A few years ago, I bought a four wheeler ATV and took it places I'd have been careful on foot. I got on a series of overgrown logging trails and was buzzing along so fast, I wasn't paying attention to where I was going. I knew I wasn't truly lost, any direction would eventually take me someplace I recognized, but I bought the damn atv because I can't get around like I used to. Instinct kicked in and I was able to retrace my route and find enough tracks to get out in short order.

Other things have been more common over the years. My last year or so of cruising, the FS begged us to take over another outfits' contract because they'd fallen seriously behind. I wasn't real excited about it because we'd initially been underbid on the job, so it meant less money. It was late in the season though and we didn't have anything else to do. Also, since there was already snow on the ground, the FS allowed us to give our best guess at a lot of biological data that was normally required, but took considerable time to complete. On my way from one plot to another I was side-hilling through a foot or so of snow and came to a broad area devoid of any kind of vegetation. The hill side was steep, but somehow having snow up to your knees gives you a false sense of security. I made it half way across before I looked down and it occurred to me that if I slipped it was going to be a very long trip down the mountain with no hope of stopping until I piled into the trees at high speed. I froze. Right there. I couldn't make myself go forward and I knew if I tried to backtrack I was going for a ride I probably wouldn't come out of intact. They call that motion your knees make "Singer Knees", after the motion a sewing machine makes. Uncontrollable, rapid shaking from stress or nerves. I don't really know how long I stood there shaking and trying to figure out a way to go, maybe even a couple hours. Finally I realized the light was going and I had to do something. That was all it took, purposeful, sure steps and finally a lunge at the edge of the trees for an anchor and I could work my way back to the rig. It's almost a little funny thinking back on it now. I'd been in similar situations a couple times on loose scree and you'd think those experiences would have made me more aware of where I was headed, but I guess some things you have to learn repeatedly.