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>