I would really love to hear your story!<br><br>Thanks

Matt,<br><br>Well, you'll have to find a way to travel across the pond and come along on a late-night hike with our troop then, because that's when I tell those tall tal.., er, stories. We take a silent, no-artificial-illumination journey through time each campout, stop at an appropriate site and build a very small fire, around which we toast some skewered bits of meat (usually venison or wapiti), share some other snack, and quietly tell a true story regarding outdoors adventure (must be first hand experience). Then we completely extinguish the few remaining embers and silently set out on the remainder of the hike. It's a great experience everytime.<br><br>It's no fun simply telling stories here... too sterile for good story-telling.

I AM in a survival situation of sorts. Wry Grin. Been looking for a job since April.

Thanks that sound like great fun-we'll do that!!!!

It does actually, you could start making a business out of this.

I've heard a park ranger say that the people who read survival manuals never need them, and the people who need them never read them.<br><br>I would guess that those who are routinely prepared don't have a lot of "survival situation" stories, if only because such situations often come from not being prepared. After all, it's hardly a "survival situation" if you have what you need... at most, you end up speculating that it could have been a lot worse.<br><br>There are exceptions, of course- circumstances can be overwhelming no matter how prepared you are- but I suspect that the sort of people who carry survival kits have far fewer "survival" stories to tell than those who would never think of it.<br>

Well...OK - throw another log on the fire, and I will tell a tale of youthful misadventure that happened a long time ago in a galaxy far away - actually in Arizona forty years ago.<br><br>We were planning to climb the Mexican volcanoes, a virtually mandatory ascent for aspiring mountaineers, over Xmas break and we decided to train on the San Francisco peaks, Arizona's highest mountains, a couple of weeks before we took off to Mexico.<br><br>The Peaks were suitably snow-covered and plenty cold. Base camp was the Arizona Snow Bowl, a very nice ski resort. We got a properly early start, but were soon slowed down by deep snow - me less than my companions, because I had brought along a pair of snowshoes. After about two hours of floundering, we talked and my companions decided to bag it - intrepid climber that I was, I elected to continue fearlessly on, alone. Things went pretty well, and I reached timberline and the summit ridge, where I found the snowshoes unnecessary because the wind had swept the ridge fairly clean and had hardened the remaining snow. Stumbling against the fierce wind, I made it to the summit.<br><br>Returning, the wind continued to give me problems and I was really anxious to get into the timber. When I reached the point where I had cached my snowshoes, I elected to leave them behind (dumb move #2, if you are counting). I plunged down toward the Snow Bowl, but soon found the going real tough, due to heavy, deep snow. I was often up to my waist. The short afternoon wore on and about 4 PM I could see that in half an hour I had progressed maybe 150 yards. I realized that I was going slower and slower and that it would be prudent to bivouac. I cast about for shelter and selected a reasonable tree, thinking to dig a snow shelter of some sort. Darkness came as I managed to fashion a hole close to this pine. The snow was soft and powdery, so I was left with an open hole, partially sheltered by tree limbs. I had brought along a stove and some food, so I melted snow, ate, and changed my socks and put on all my clothes as I prepared to spend virtually the longest night of the year out in the snow. I soon developed a pattern of sleep, wake up from the cold, light the stove, make something hot, get warm, sleep again, and repeat the cycle until morning. I concentrated on wiggling my toes and avoiding frostbite. I also decided that if anyone was outlooking for me, I wanted to be in good shape, and be able to offer them a nice warm drink...<br><br>Dawn came, and I set off downhill. Despite fitful sleep, and quite cold temps (that night reached about 10F), my progress was much better, and I reached the Snow Bowl in about three hours, taking the bus back to Tucson later that day.<br><br>Lessons learned: One - Have a general plan for the unexpected. I had already been reading about mountain survival (I still have the classic survival book by Allen, Pond, and Nesbitt which I had read then) and I was mentally prepped to bivouac if necessary.<br><br>Two: Carry the right stuff. The stove and extra food and clothing was probably a life saver. I had a really good pair of Swiss climbing boots, horribly expensive (I think I paid $45 for them) which kept my toes from turning black). My 60/40 parka was another good item, and most of the other stuff was wool.<br><br>Three: Carry the right stuff all the way. Don't leave the snowshoes behind! They were military surplus bearpaws, cost me exactly $7.50, and would make great wall decorations today ater a long and useful career.<br><br>Four. You can survive, despite an occasional dumb decision, as long as you don't make an unbroken string of bad calls.<br><br>My abandonment of the snowshoes is a scene I have since seen repeated many times as panic builds. Just when things get tough, people start discarding material. I later heard an experienced SAR worker say that people with big egos survived better - they wanted to "look good." I think he is right.<br>

Good one - well told! I imagine it's better told around a RL campfire, of course - especially up near the tree line with the wind softly moaning through the tree tops... <grin>

Thanks for all your comments guys!

Two situations come to mind. One was a climbing accident in the late 1980's and the other was the Nisqually Earthquake in Washington in 2001.<br><br>The climbing accident occurred toward the end of the days climbing. My climbing partner and I both fell down an "easy" snow field into a snow moat. He fractured his pelvis and wrenched his arm, I injured my back. He free climbed out of the snow moat, I was wedged between the snow moats lip and a rock (the hard place) and was able to extricate myself from this place. We then both proceeded down to the Pacific Crest Trail where he was unable to proceed. We decided to bivouac at this site. I returned to our base camp and picked up sleeping bags, tent, and other equipment. This was a Sunday and we were both expected to return home that evening. We were well equipped for the bivouac but he was in fairly intense pain from the broken pelvis. I left early the next morning to get assistance. I alerted SAR and they were able to reach him at night fall. The US Army based in Yakima WA, flew a MAST helicopter in and winched him out to the ER in Seattle. He recovered and continued to climb, I retired from climbing.<br><br>This accident and its aftermath induced me to get my HAM license (2M operation would have given me nearly instant access to a phone both to alert SAR, my wife and others). This was all prior to widespread Cell phone use....but the radio is still superior in the mountains.<br><br>The big lesson to me was that even though we were very well equipped both with the stuff we carried on the ascent day and with the base camp supplies I was able to bring back to the accident site, COMMUNICATIONS would have saved him much suffering, gotten SAR to the site in the daylight instead of a night rescue, allowed me to remain with him for assistance and guidance to SAR and given our friends and family much needed information.<br><br>The earthquake was a much different story. Many of the buildings in the area of Seattle that I work were very severely damaged. We had difficulty exiting our building as the emergency exits were both filled with fallen bricks and the exit door was locked due to security concerns at the loading dock level. This totally unacceptable locked door has been presently fixed, but I still keep a 3' heavy duty pry bar at my desk and exit with it for all emergencies.<br><br>Again communications to my wife were difficult. Loads of cell phones were available to use, but the sites were completely clogged. I was able to successfully use my HAM radio to get a message to my wife and get information about bridges, roads etc. I am now a member of our community emergency communication service, and just about to begin CERT training.<br><br>This earthquake was the reason I found this site and keep learning.<br>

I have been in a similar situation. But it took me 2 years to get my finger tips back. You know it is hard to tell people about storms and how deadly the winds can be on a mountain. How cold you can get when the wind picks up and if you are not prepared you do not have to worry about getting back. On Mount Rainier my buddy left a water bottle unprotected and it froze solid right between us. Scary uh?

Almost a survival situation. Don't read any further unless you have a high tolerance for stupidity.<br><br>Went pig hunting in unfamiliar territory with a friend one December. Our camp was on a mountaintop by a lake. I had a detailed topo and I had mapped out a 9 mile loop that consisted fairly quick descent along a creek (about 4 miles) to where it dumped into a river then a level stretch and a gradual climb back along a fire road. I was in lousy physical condition but I figured it would be a scramble for a while then a cakewalk back. For that reason, I didn't bring usual survival kit stuff with me. After all, the temperature was in high 40s when we left camp - practically balmy<br><br>We set off midday. Bushwhacking down the creek soon proved to be very demanding - alot of hands and knees scrambling over boulders. The sides of the hill were covered with pea sized scree so it was impossible to walk there. I was wearing a heavy fleece underlayer, a fleece jacket and a shell. I overheated and left the shell under a tree, planning to get it the next day. I was sweating like crazy and I couldn't imagine any reason to lug around that heavy shell. <br><br>We examined map, confirmed that we were only about 1/2 mile from river (and flat land) so we stopped and had a long lunch. I took some nice pictures of ice formations in the creek we were walking along. I had to use the flash because, even though sunset was still hours away, it was pretty dim in that narrow canyon.<br><br>After we hit the trail, I realized that I had misread map (the spring I used as a landmark was the wrong one) and that we were about 2 miles from river. We picked up the pace so we didn't notice the dropping temperature and increasing wind. It actually felt good to not be so overheated. The boulders became bigger and more slippery, forcing us to do some very fancy footwork. It was getting darker but I reasoned that we would be fine once we got to the river and fireroad and could walk back in the dark if need be.<br><br>After climbing/sliding down one series of boulders, we saw that our creek turned into small waterfall flowing through a house-sized rock. Going down was dicey and it would have required getting soaked in the water. <br><br>We sat to think a bit. At that point, I started shivering violently and was a bit dizzy. I was very tired. We were out of water.<br><br>Right about here is when I realized I was in a fix and frankly, I got a bit panicky. <br><br> I was a couple of thousand feet down in a narrow canyon that would be effectively dark pretty soon. I was soaking wet with perspiration. As soon as physical activity stopped, the wind cut through the fleece making it very, very cold. A strong wind was now blowing up from the valley below and being funneled into the little canyon we were in. (No wonder there was plenty of ice in the creek.) We had no real emergency food, shelter or warmth. We debated whether we should take the plunge through the falls, stay there through the night, or backtrack up the (now icy boulders) we had just come down. I reasoned that it it had taken us about 4 hours downhill and I just couldn't imagine having the stamina to go even longer than that uphill.<br><br>I was very tempted to try to dig out some dirt and leaves to sleep under and spend the night there, a nice nap seemed like the logical, perfect solution to me.<br><br>So what would you have done?<br><br>We turned tail and backtracked.The good news is that my companion had quite a bit more good sense than me. She reasoned that I was dehydrated, not dipping into hypothermia, but that I might if we remained stationary. She insisted that I start drinking alot of water from the creek, reasoning that I was dehydrated. I resisted since I didn't have a water pump or Iodine but she, logically, explained that the very small chance I might get giardia was outweighed by the more dangerous possibility that I would continue to get dehydrated, suffer immobilizing cramps, etc. I warmed the water a bit inside my jacket as I climbed. She was right, about 1/2 hour later i was no longer dizzy and I felt like I got a "2nd wind." We dumped some nonessential gear to lighten the load. I cut a sapling down with my knife and make a sort of walking stick. It proved invaluable as we helped one another up the boulders. It got pretty dark but we made it back to camp in less time than it took us to get there. (Duh, when I was sitting there calculating the time, I forgot that we had spent at least an hour on photos and lunch.) <br><br>The mistakes I/we made on the way down are almost too numerous to count. 1) inadequate survival gear, 2) leaving a windproof shell behind instead of stripping off an insulating layer, 3) inadequate water or filter, 4) poor map reading, 5) overestimating physical stamina and ability, 6) poor planning (waiting til last minute to leave camp instead of allowing plentyof time, 7) failing to critically assess problems early one, etc.<br> <br>I [censored] sure learned a few things that day, the most important being that even a benign little day hike can turn into a real challenge, if you make enough stupid decisions.

I suppose that I have, but I didnt consider them as such at the time. <br> In 1993 the Eastern part of the US was hit with a fantastic (in a bad way) snowstorm. I was stuck. I put on my coveralls, loaded the pockets and started walking. Early that evening I finally lay down on my couch. The power was out, but that was not a problem. <br>People can say what they will about space blankets, but I was happy to have one that day. Every time I rested I wrapped myself in it. The wind was brutal and the blanket was a good shield. <br> <br> October 4th 1995 I took my seaplane checkride. I let the instructor and the FAA man talk me into taking it that morning. That was the day hurricane Opal hit land. When I finally put the plane down, the cloud ceiling was about 20 feet above the pine trees with monsoon type rain. I do NOT want to repeat that experience. I honestly thought I was going to die even if I did manage to get the plane on the water without nosing it over. <br>I lived without mishap and even got the plane beached and tied down, but those two were thoroughly cussed. After I got the slip of paper, of course.

I think you make a very good point here. It often struck me while doing SAR that our teams were going out and functioning well routinely in the very conditions that had caused our victims to come to grief. The difference seemed to me to be experience, knowledge, and (definitely last) equipment. Knowledge and expereince go hand in hand - the vast majority of our vicitms were neophytes, often drunk beginners at that.

Great story, thanks for sharing. I had a similar experience, though not as interesting, so I won't bother to elaborate. <br><br> It's important for people to realize that a simple dayhike can easily turn into a survival situation. No one should leave the survival kit behind just because they expect to be back in a few hours (or even a few minutes). That's the best way to get caught out with absolutely no equipment.

<br>Hatchet a survival story.<br><br><br><br>This for mbrodw, it is a survival story by Gary Paulsen the book is called Hatchet it is a random house production.<br>This is one of the best stories I have ever heard of, it is about a 13 year old city boy named Brian Robeson who is ripped and torn form his world because of a plane crash, he forced to survive alone for 54 days in the Canadian wilderness.<br><br>I recommend that you do not read the book but listen to the audiocassettes, and listen to them at night all by yourself in the dark; it will make a bigger impact on you. <br>You can probably get the tapes from your library or you can get them at the bookstore.<br><br>Enjoy.<br>

I agree with Presumed Lost and Hikerdon. Prepare so that you reduce the chances of finding yourself in a survival situation. And if you do find yourself in one, you have acquired the knowledge, training, skills and equipment to mitigate it.