Bad things sometimes happen when you go deer hunting.
People have been shot, fallen from tree stands, or had heart attacks from the strenuous hiking or tracking.
You can add "Drowning" to that list.
Two weeks ago, on opening day my hunting buddy Dan bagged himself an 8-point buck with a muzzle loader around the Patoka lake, just south of French Lick. He was alone, because I was home sick with the flu. Rather than drag the heavy (176 lbs field dressed) deer the couple miles back to the truck, he drug the deer a few hundred feet to the lakes edge, walked back to the truck, drove to a dock put his 12 foot canoe in the water and paddled around to retrieve the deer. There may not have been much time saved, but the work was much less strenuous.
When I was finally able to go hunting, yesterday (11/29/2014), Dan - functioning as my field guide - decided we would put the canoe in the water with our gear, and paddle out to a piece of land that is difficult to access by foot, and should have very little hunter presence. The air was warmer than it had been, above freezing for a change, but the wind was whipping at a steady 15 miles an hour, with higher gusts. The lake was choppy, with 2 foot swells.
We put the canoe in anyway.
We traveled across the first inlet, heading into the wind, getting battered. I made Dan put in before we rounded the point, and I hiked across the peninsula, arriving at the other side before him. We talked, and while I figured it would be an hour or more for me to hike around the next inlet, I did not want to get back in the boat, so he paddled on, while I hunted my way around the inlet, seeing tons of Deer sign (and quite a bit of beaver-felled trees).
When we met up after the morning hunt, a bit after 11:30, we decided to head out, and either try a different location for the afternoon or evening, or just head home. The wind would be working with us on the way back, so we hoped to make good time.
I still did not want to get back in the canoe, but my feet were blistering up since I hadn't worn these boots in over a year, and the idea of walking back wasn't appealing either.
We rounded the first peninsula and worked across the inlet without taking on too much water, but the ride was far from pleasant. I wanted to go ashore, and walk around the last inlet, figuring if my gear stayed in the canoe, I could make decent time, but Dan assured me that we were only a few hundred yards from the dock, and we would make much better time this way.
We rounded the last point, and every wave began putting a little bit of water over the aft starboard gunwale. A little closer, and little more water. My feet began getting wet. Then my ankles. Then water began flowing over with abandon.
"Dude, we are going down!" I yelled to Dan.
"No, we're not! Just a few hundred yards!" Dan yelled back, even as the water began taking the boat down.
I looked at my watch. It was 12:15.
I am a good swimmer. Even though I have grown fat and lazy, I remember my years of swimming lessons quite well, and I haven't lost much speed in the water. But this is something completely different. My life preserver was pulling my hunting jacket up, forcing me down. My bib quickly filled with water, pulling me down. My boots felt like they weighed a ton.
I was drowning. "Dan, help me!" I called out. When I could catch glimpses of him, he was swimming for shore - the right thing to do, but disheartening for me. I swallowed way more water than I intended.
The water was cold - I was colder than I have ever been before, even though the temp was probably in the low 40's. I struggled to stay afloat, and was losing.
Eventually I took off my life preserver but continued to hold it, and managed to untangle and get out of my hunting jacket. I distinctly remember watching the jacket float away, and thinking "why, if it floats, was it pulling me down?"
Dan had made it to a buoy a hundred yards from shore. I headed for him. "Get my boots off, Dan!" I begged. He swam towards me, and managed to cut the laces on one boot. I pulled the boot off, and like the jacket, I watched it float away. A few minutes later I made it to the buoy, but my heart sank when I realized it was useless to hold on to, and would do nothing to help keep me afloat.
I prayed. Instead of some intervention, or some rescue, what I received was a deep peace. I was going to die. And that was OK. I relaxed a bit and thought about the family. I have life insurance, not enough for them to be rich, but enough to pay the bills. Social Security will help with raising my girls. It will be tight, I thought, but they will survive. I gave in to hypothermia, and waited to die, watching Dan reach shore and collapse on the rocky beach. "Let him live" I prayed.
I was still alive. I was growing bored of waiting to die. I knew my brain was not working right, because I kept looking at my fingers and was disappointed that they were paper-white instead of blue. I began fumbling with the bib, trying to remember how it came off. I found the zipper, and slid my shoulders out from the suspender straps. It fell off my shoeless leg easily, but got hung up on the remaining boot.
I rolled the life jacket up and wedged it under my arm pits and across my chest. Water was still splashing over my with every wave, but I could feel the wave coming at my feet, and hold my breath. I kicked towards shore.
Somewhere in the last 50 yards the bib fell off over my boot.
Eventually I made it to shore, and was able to walk up, with the rocky beach cutting my right foot through my sock. I had on a sweatshirt, my underwear, two socks, and my left boot. I stood there, realizing that the air was even colder than the water. I could hear Dan talking to someone. "Is George still in the water?" a female voice asked. "Yes, send help!" Dan said. He had used his "OnStar".
I walked up the boat ramp. I realized that I could not feel my feet, which made it much easier to walk on the rocks. Dan's truck was running. A guy I had never seen before put me in the passenger seat, and took off my boot and socks, then gave me a hat and tossed a jacket over me. Dan pulled off my sweatshirt. It was 12:45.
I had been in the water 30 minutes. Dan had probably been in 20. We were both freezing cold. The Department of natural resources did arrive - 30 minutes after I was out of the water, when feeling was returning to my fingers, and my breathing had slowed almost to normal. The ambulance showed up 15 minutes after that. They examined us, suggested we go to the Emergency room, and made us sign papers stating that we were refusing to go to the ER. We could see some of our gear floating in the lake, heading to the far end of the inlet.
Around 2:00, after the DNR and ambulance people left, Dan walked along the beach and collected what gear he could find. My backpack was there, having floated 500 yards or more. His backpack was not there, but his jacket was.
We both came home alive, and that made it a good day.
In the end, we lost some things:
Me - Wallet with $300 or so in cash, and the time to cancel all my cards, get a new LCH, Drivers license, etc. A Mossberg 500 shotgun with slug barrel - $400. My cell phone. My keys. 8 slugs. My glasses - $300. Probably $1000 worth of stuff.
Dan - Mussleloader with Scope - $700. The redfield scope on my Mossberg - $250. His backpack and all his gear - another $100 or $200. And the Canoe - $600.
All in all, more than $2500 at the bottom of Patoka lake.
But coming home with the same number as we left with - priceless.
People have been shot, fallen from tree stands, or had heart attacks from the strenuous hiking or tracking.
You can add "Drowning" to that list.
Two weeks ago, on opening day my hunting buddy Dan bagged himself an 8-point buck with a muzzle loader around the Patoka lake, just south of French Lick. He was alone, because I was home sick with the flu. Rather than drag the heavy (176 lbs field dressed) deer the couple miles back to the truck, he drug the deer a few hundred feet to the lakes edge, walked back to the truck, drove to a dock put his 12 foot canoe in the water and paddled around to retrieve the deer. There may not have been much time saved, but the work was much less strenuous.
When I was finally able to go hunting, yesterday (11/29/2014), Dan - functioning as my field guide - decided we would put the canoe in the water with our gear, and paddle out to a piece of land that is difficult to access by foot, and should have very little hunter presence. The air was warmer than it had been, above freezing for a change, but the wind was whipping at a steady 15 miles an hour, with higher gusts. The lake was choppy, with 2 foot swells.
We put the canoe in anyway.
We traveled across the first inlet, heading into the wind, getting battered. I made Dan put in before we rounded the point, and I hiked across the peninsula, arriving at the other side before him. We talked, and while I figured it would be an hour or more for me to hike around the next inlet, I did not want to get back in the boat, so he paddled on, while I hunted my way around the inlet, seeing tons of Deer sign (and quite a bit of beaver-felled trees).
When we met up after the morning hunt, a bit after 11:30, we decided to head out, and either try a different location for the afternoon or evening, or just head home. The wind would be working with us on the way back, so we hoped to make good time.
I still did not want to get back in the canoe, but my feet were blistering up since I hadn't worn these boots in over a year, and the idea of walking back wasn't appealing either.
We rounded the first peninsula and worked across the inlet without taking on too much water, but the ride was far from pleasant. I wanted to go ashore, and walk around the last inlet, figuring if my gear stayed in the canoe, I could make decent time, but Dan assured me that we were only a few hundred yards from the dock, and we would make much better time this way.
We rounded the last point, and every wave began putting a little bit of water over the aft starboard gunwale. A little closer, and little more water. My feet began getting wet. Then my ankles. Then water began flowing over with abandon.
"Dude, we are going down!" I yelled to Dan.
"No, we're not! Just a few hundred yards!" Dan yelled back, even as the water began taking the boat down.
I looked at my watch. It was 12:15.
I am a good swimmer. Even though I have grown fat and lazy, I remember my years of swimming lessons quite well, and I haven't lost much speed in the water. But this is something completely different. My life preserver was pulling my hunting jacket up, forcing me down. My bib quickly filled with water, pulling me down. My boots felt like they weighed a ton.
I was drowning. "Dan, help me!" I called out. When I could catch glimpses of him, he was swimming for shore - the right thing to do, but disheartening for me. I swallowed way more water than I intended.
The water was cold - I was colder than I have ever been before, even though the temp was probably in the low 40's. I struggled to stay afloat, and was losing.
Eventually I took off my life preserver but continued to hold it, and managed to untangle and get out of my hunting jacket. I distinctly remember watching the jacket float away, and thinking "why, if it floats, was it pulling me down?"
Dan had made it to a buoy a hundred yards from shore. I headed for him. "Get my boots off, Dan!" I begged. He swam towards me, and managed to cut the laces on one boot. I pulled the boot off, and like the jacket, I watched it float away. A few minutes later I made it to the buoy, but my heart sank when I realized it was useless to hold on to, and would do nothing to help keep me afloat.
I prayed. Instead of some intervention, or some rescue, what I received was a deep peace. I was going to die. And that was OK. I relaxed a bit and thought about the family. I have life insurance, not enough for them to be rich, but enough to pay the bills. Social Security will help with raising my girls. It will be tight, I thought, but they will survive. I gave in to hypothermia, and waited to die, watching Dan reach shore and collapse on the rocky beach. "Let him live" I prayed.
I was still alive. I was growing bored of waiting to die. I knew my brain was not working right, because I kept looking at my fingers and was disappointed that they were paper-white instead of blue. I began fumbling with the bib, trying to remember how it came off. I found the zipper, and slid my shoulders out from the suspender straps. It fell off my shoeless leg easily, but got hung up on the remaining boot.
I rolled the life jacket up and wedged it under my arm pits and across my chest. Water was still splashing over my with every wave, but I could feel the wave coming at my feet, and hold my breath. I kicked towards shore.
Somewhere in the last 50 yards the bib fell off over my boot.
Eventually I made it to shore, and was able to walk up, with the rocky beach cutting my right foot through my sock. I had on a sweatshirt, my underwear, two socks, and my left boot. I stood there, realizing that the air was even colder than the water. I could hear Dan talking to someone. "Is George still in the water?" a female voice asked. "Yes, send help!" Dan said. He had used his "OnStar".
I walked up the boat ramp. I realized that I could not feel my feet, which made it much easier to walk on the rocks. Dan's truck was running. A guy I had never seen before put me in the passenger seat, and took off my boot and socks, then gave me a hat and tossed a jacket over me. Dan pulled off my sweatshirt. It was 12:45.
I had been in the water 30 minutes. Dan had probably been in 20. We were both freezing cold. The Department of natural resources did arrive - 30 minutes after I was out of the water, when feeling was returning to my fingers, and my breathing had slowed almost to normal. The ambulance showed up 15 minutes after that. They examined us, suggested we go to the Emergency room, and made us sign papers stating that we were refusing to go to the ER. We could see some of our gear floating in the lake, heading to the far end of the inlet.
Around 2:00, after the DNR and ambulance people left, Dan walked along the beach and collected what gear he could find. My backpack was there, having floated 500 yards or more. His backpack was not there, but his jacket was.
We both came home alive, and that made it a good day.
In the end, we lost some things:
Me - Wallet with $300 or so in cash, and the time to cancel all my cards, get a new LCH, Drivers license, etc. A Mossberg 500 shotgun with slug barrel - $400. My cell phone. My keys. 8 slugs. My glasses - $300. Probably $1000 worth of stuff.
Dan - Mussleloader with Scope - $700. The redfield scope on my Mossberg - $250. His backpack and all his gear - another $100 or $200. And the Canoe - $600.
All in all, more than $2500 at the bottom of Patoka lake.
But coming home with the same number as we left with - priceless.
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