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Lost and Found

Eric Holden

    Looking down the ridge from the area I had chosen for the evening hunt, the snow seemed to be falling from the sky like feathers floating in a gentle breeze. I could not help but question myself as I sat in my tree stand. Is the wind carrying my scent away from where the deer normally travel? Did I remember to place my stand so that I would easily be able to draw my bow? This was the first time I had been back hunting since my father died of a heart attack a couple years back. I had spent my previous years of hunting having him help me with these things. These were my thoughts as the accumulation of the early morning and the long hike caught up with me, easing me into a nap.

    What was that noise? Something had awoken me but climbing back to the present after such a sound sleep was like swimming in honey. I could not get a grasp on reality for a minute, and when I did, I found myself struggling for breath. Lying on a branch just 30 yards in front of me was a mountain lion watching its surroundings, ready to pounce at a given moment. I had heard stories about mountain lions in this area but there had not been an actual sighting since before I was born 20 years ago. I could hear every beat of my heart. Then, I realized what had jerked me awake as the animal let out a horrifying screech that easily could have been mistaken as a women screaming in fear. This has got to be a dream, I thought as my body tensed up. This cloud cover from the snow must have brought this normally nocturnal animal out early in search of food.
    Then, a voice from inside me demanded that I take a breath, calm down, and take in my surroundings. I began to slowly breathe in, letting half of what I inhaled out. This was a trick my Dad taught me from his days as an Army Ranger. Originally, this trick was used when I first started hunting in an attempt to calm down my adrenaline so I could get off a steady shot. Once I had calmed down enough to loosen my muscles back up, I traced the animal’s tracks in the snow. I started at the base of the tree that the mountain lion was currently in, and followed its tracks, which actually led right under me. Unbelievable, I thought. This animal passed right under me as I slept. If it were not for the leaves being wet and the snow creating a cushion to prevent sticks from breaking, I would have more than likely woken up at the sound of leaves crunching beneath its paws as it approached my tree. Undoubtedly this would have caused me to jump in surprise, when I saw what was making the noise, and fall out of the stand. I would have been hanging from the tree by my safety strap as a toy for this cat.
    As the light began to fade, the mountain lion stood up from its perch on the limb and climbed down the tree. Its massive light brown body then moved at ease, disappearing and reappearing through the trees, tail flicking back and forth like a silent serpent, away from me. Yet, this did not comfort me. My truck was parked in the direction it went and my cell phone was in the glove box. I had no way to call for help.
    By the time I had completely lost sight of it, the light was so dim I normally would have already been on my way in for the evening to meet up with my dad and brothers. Again, questions came rushing over me. Should I stay here over night? Will this animal be sitting in a tree over the path I walk out on? I wished so badly that one of my brothers would have gone with me today. Then at least I would have someone to realize instantly I was in trouble after I failed to return to the truck. But they were working, had plans, or felt that it was too soon to go hunting since dads’ death.

     I was alone.

    Eventually, it was completely dark and the snow began falling at a much quicker rate, stinging my frozen face with each flurry. I reached into my pocket and pulled out a ski mask, putting it on in an attempt to trap some heat and combat the snow. , I thought. I tied my backpack and bow to the rope attached to the side of the stand, and gently lowered them to the ground. Then, I slowly climbed down the spikes I had screwed in the side of the tree, careful with each step not to slip. As my boots imprinted in the snow, I remembered the tracks the mountain lion made. I could not help but feel that at any moment I could get attacked. I tried to untie the knot around my backpack and bow, but my hands were too numb and were shaking too hard to get a grasp on it. I reached into my jacket pocket and pulled out my knife, with one swipe, I cut the rope free. I then put my knife back into my pocket, strapped the backpack tight around my shoulders, and picked up my bow. I grabbed my flashlight and shined the light around the area where I had seen the tracks. I could not find a single one. I came to the realization that the snow was falling too hard; it had filled the animal’s tracks up. Making it impossible for me to track which direction it went once I got to the area it disappeared. I decided, however, to creep my way over to where I had lost sight of it.
    With each step I made, I swore I could hear something else moving along with me. Yet, when I shined my flashlight in the direction I heard sounds, I saw nothing. After a few more steps I heard that unmistakable shriek a few hundred yards in front of me, immediately followed by a second, different one, to my right. My teeth began chattering uncontrollably filling my body in a panic. I still had about a mile and a half till I reached my truck. Just then, I remembered that about 100 yards dead ahead of me was an old logging road that went down into the valley. At the bottom of the road was an overhang my dad and I waited out a spring storm in while turkey hunting four years ago. I could stay in there all night, I thought. It can act as a roof to keep the snow from falling on me while at the same time, protection because there is only one entrance. I turned off my flashlight and slipped it into my back pocket so I would not draw any unwanted attention to myself. Also, this would create a free hand if I needed to quickly grab my knife.
    After what seemed like hours, I arrived at the top of the logging road. Well, it’s now or never, I thought. As I began to make my way down the hill, I could hear my dad’s voice in my head, “be careful of the ankle breakers,” as I carefully made sure each foot was set in place due to rocks and branches being hidden by the blanket of snow. Luckily, tonight was a full moon so I did not need a flashlight due to the moonlight reflecting off the snow, illuminating the woods just enough.
    Once I got to the bottom of the hill, I made an immediate left, knowing the overhang was fairly close. I was quickly stopped, however, from the spider web of sticker bushes that tangled me up with each step I took. Just then, I heard the mountain lion let out that terrifying screech again. Shit! If I had not actually seen what made that sound earlier, I would have honestly thought a women was getting murdered. Unable to place which direction it came from, I began fighting my way through the sticker bushes. Occasionally, I was briefly stopped by a thorn scratching the side of my face where the eyehole of the ski mask was. Once I was freed, I saw the overhang and began running as fast as possible towards it, plowing the snow beneath my boots with each stride. Once inside, I was finally able to feel safe.
    As I sat with my back to the rock wall, I faced out of the opening which I had crawled through. I noticed that because the overhang is a kind of shallow cave, and the overhead rock ledge acts as a roof, the leaves that had blown in over time were dry. I remembered back to stories dad told me about his Army days and how he was forced to sleep in the snow during training exercises. He said that “if you can get enough dry leaves, and find some type of cover, you can create somewhat of a nest to keep yourself warm.” Quickly, I began taking handful after handful of leaves and began piling them up against the far back wall. After a couple minutes of this, I felt something in my right hand. I dropped the leaves from my left hand and reached into my back pocket for my flashlight. Once I turned it on, I saw that I was holding a watch. It had a black plastic wristband and face while the glass was somewhat dirty, but I could still see the numbers. <>IWait, a second, I remember dad saying he lost his watch once we got back to the truck after waiting out the storm here. I can’t believe it, this is his. I can’t believe it is still here after all this time, I thought. I looked at it for a moment but then the cold began to bite away at me again. I slipped it into my back pocket, still holding the flashlight to see the remainder of the leaves.
    Once I finished making the bed for the night, I took off my backpack and pulled out some heat packs. After shaking them up, I placed one on top of my head, under my ski mask, one in each of my boots, and one in each of my gloves. Then, I pulled the watch back out, settled in my nest of leaves and began looking the watch over. As I was doing this, I noticed a pack of coyotes howling in the distance. They must be fighting over something to eat, I thought. Yet, I felt that the woods seemed slightly peaceful at this point. I began to wonder whether my family would notice I did not return home since my mom goes to bed early and my brothers were either working overnight or went to a friend’s house. Who knew, maybe they weren’t coming home till the morning? I pushed the thoughts away and simply listened to the distant howls of coyotes.
     Eventually, I decided to just lie down. I put the watch in a pocket on my jacket that zips shut and set my arrows and knife out next to me in case I received an unwanted visitor overnight. I grabbed my backpack and placed it on the ground beneath my head, in an attempt to make things a little more comfortable. After what seemed like hours, I felt my eyes getting heavy and fell asleep.
    When I was startled awake by a screech owl, I noticed it was actually getting bright outside. I guessed the time to be around 7:00 in the morning. Jack, my 18 year old younger brother should have gotten home from work about two hours ago. I wonder if he noticed my truck was not home, I thought as I sat up and began to pack all my stuff up. I strapped my backpack around my shoulders, grabbed my bow, and crawled out of the overhang. Luckily it had stopped snowing, but there was still a cloud cover and the wind had really picked up over night, as it hissed through the trees. Before I set out on my way up the hill, I took a moment to look at the overhang that served as my refuge for the night. It was nothing special, just a part of the cliff in the side of a hill that jetted out about ten feet. It was about four feet tall, with a solid grey color to it, similar to the color on the hide of a grey squirrel. There were icicles hanging from the cliff everywhere I looked, almost as if there was a solid sheet of ice on it. It does not look all that comfortable at all, but it really did keep me warmer than I thought it would overnight. I wonder what dad would think about this entire situation, I thought as I turned around to head back through the sticker bushes and up the hill. Well, I survived the night, that’s what really matters.
    Once I reached the top of the hill, I stopped for a short moment to catch my breath before starting the journey back to my truck. As I was slowly making my way through the woods, I was checking for tracks in the snow. I saw deer and coyote tacks all over, but not a single cat track. As I cautiously continued on, I was startled by a scream. This time though, it did not sound like a women, it had a deeper pitch to it. I leaned against a nearby tree and listened. After a few minutes, I heard it again. This time, the sound was not blurred out by the crunching of snow beneath my boots. I heard it clearly. Trying to push away excitement, I yelled back. Almost on cue I heard three voices begin talking at the same time in excitement. I heard a four wheeler start up, and saw two people running towards me. Flashes of orange and red disappeared and reappeared through the trees with each step they took, getting closer and closer to me. As I began running towards them, I saw my brother Jack come sliding around the bend of the path on dad’s old four wheeler. It then hit me all at once, I was not alone and never would be.

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