I don't recall how KJ got me back up to the trail. Perhaps it was a combination of the pain and cold that dulled my senses. He seemed relieved that my leg wasn't broken. When we arrived back at the main trail he wanted to know if I could walk. I took one step forward and the pain shot through my chest. I could not. In fact, standing still, I could only take shallow breaths so he helped me up on his horse. He handed me the reins and took the halter rope. Then from somewhere in the dark a short distance ahead of me he spoke and began to evaluate the problem at hand.
"I have both our rifles but all of the shells were in your saddle bags." He hesitated a minute before continuing, "You also had our flashlights and food. We do not have any camping gear so it is too cold to spend the night in the watershed even if the law allowed. I guess we have no other alternative so we are going to try and walk out in the dark. What do you think? Are you up to it?"
"Yea", I managed to exhale. I grimaced or perhaps even smiled and thought, "I can't taste fresh blood in my mouth." The thought of finding a doctor was foremost on my mind.
Understanding the urgency of our situation he began to move forward feeling the trail with his feet with each step. Because of the rain and sleet the trail was muddy and slippery. This helped him. I can even recall the sound of small puddles of water splashing beneath the horse's hooves that night. Our progress was slow. From time to time KJ would misinterpret the feel beneath his feet and end up taking us away from the main trail and onto an animal crossing. Fortunately, the pack horse was smarter than us and would balk. On these occasions, KJ would hand me the halter rope and begin circling around the horse in ever widening arches until once again he found the trail. Thankfully, the stubborn horse would oblige by moving along without any coaxing.
After several hours of silence between us, KJ, exhausted, declared, "Don, I don't know if I can go on. We need to rethink our strategy. Let's stop and try and start a fire."
He helped me down from the horse and then laid out an alternative that had obviously been on his mind for some time.
"We have crossed the creek 8 times. There are four more to go. The rain is raising the water in the creek and at the last crossing it was above my knees. If it continues to rain and sleet like this up and down the watershed I may not be able to wade across the creek further below."
He stopped talking at this point as if to allow me time to let what he had said sink in. After a moment he continued.
"If we can get a nice fire going I can take the horse and get to the packer camp faster. I will come back for you with help. The next three crossings across the creek are very close together. I calculate by riding and giving the pack horse her head it will take about an hour to get to the last crossing. From there it was less than two hours back to the camp."
He was right of course. There was a good chance that if we continued our slow progress that we might both die from exposure in the mountains that night. On the other hand, if I stayed behind without a fire, I would be dead before he returned.
Without further discussion KJ handed me his billfold and began groping around in the dark looking for dry wood. Meanwhile I removed all the paper from our billfolds and the saddle bags. We burned everything we had trying to start a fire. These included our family pictures, money, maps and even our hunting licenses and permit to be in the area. All my years of camping, hunting and fishing in the western states I never had a problem starting a fire. Yet, all we tried was to no avail. Everything was too wet and it was impossible in the pitch black night to find any dry wood.
Finally, resigned to the obvious, he said, "Let me help you back on the horse."
There it was. We were committed to making the final attempt.
I recall only bits and pieces of the next couple of hours. I do remember counting the creek crossings-especially the fourth and finally one. I knew it was deep as KJ struggled, stumbled and swore trying to cross it. He told me later when he came to see me in the hospital that it nearly froze his manhood. However, it was about thirty minutes after this crossing and ascending up the final ridge that an astonishing event happened.
Unable to breathe beyond shallow short static gulps of air I felt finished. KJ's pace was so slow that it seemed no progress was being made. With each step I sensed that it might be his last. The only thing I could hear was his panting and grunts as he struggled forward. Then I heard him say softly, as if speaking aloud to himself, "I'm done."
Several times during the last few hours the thought of dying had crossed my mind. I had even tried to picture how the process would occur. In each scenario I created in my head there was solace in the fact I was not alone. Suddenly, the sky lit up above the ridge in waves of green light. It exposed the treacherous rock slide that we had crossed earlier that morning. Stumbles here meant certain death. I had never seen the northern lights before and I later found out neither had my partner. We never spoke about it but our spirits changed. "Let's get across this fucking rockslide." was KJ's response. Not long after crossing the avalanche the waves of light stopped. Something remarkably had changed and KJ plodded forward. Once we reached the crest of the ridge it was only an hour downhill to the camp. We entered the camp at daybreak.
We both fell asleep in the packer's truck as he drove us to the hospital in Walla Walla, Washington. I did not see KJ again until later that night.
The Walla Walla Hospital
I spent the entire day in the hospital blowing colored water from one jar into another one. The doctor told me that it was necessary to open my lungs. I had come close to dying of hyperthermia. I had three broken ribs. Fortunately, they had not perforated a lung. As it turned out the blood I tasted in my mouth had come from my nose. The doctor informed me that he would come back the next morning to take out the small pebbles and bark embedded in my forehead and nose. KJ showed up during the night and told me that he needed to get back to Seattle in order not to miss school the next day – Monday. We discussed my situation and I told him I would rather travel back to Seattle with him. He agreed as long as the doctor approved. While we waited for the doctor to arrive we talked about what had happened to him during that day.
He told me that he had returned with the packer to the camp and from there they rode back to the elk and packed it out. The mare was scratched up but miraculously had not broken her legs. The packer had found the tracks of a coyote crossing about where the mare had spooked and jumped down the steep bank toward the creek.
The doctor was not keen on me leaving the hospital in my condition but when I insisted he made me sign a release form so the nether he or the hospital could be accountable if further complications occurred. Before leaving, he sprayed my chest with something very cold which was almost as painful as my three broken ribs. He then bound my chest up tightly with an ace bandage and I left the hospital with KJ.
KJ's hunting vehicle was an older model Buick so there was plenty of room in the back seat for me to lie down. Before we left Walla Walla KJ pulled into a gas station for the two hour journey to Yakima. He had called his father from the hospital and his father was flying into Yakima to meet us.
I was drowsy, but still not asleep when I heard the gas station attendant.
