A hundred years ago, when I was younger, I used to do a LOT of backcountry backpacking in the Olympic Mountains of Washington State, U.S.A. I usually went into the mountains in the middle of September when the kids and teachers were back in school and I had the place to myself. I'd usually go solo and stay in for 12 - 15 days at a time.

This one trip was a real adventure. The second morning up the trail I climbed a high tree to suspend a food bag high above the ground so the bears couldn't get at it. This was my food supply for the last five days, when I circled to this spot on my way out. I was standing on a moss covered tree trunk angled about 45 degrees when my feet slipped.

The next thing I knew I was waking up and I was cold from my waist down. I'd fallen and landed in a creek. Every part of my body hurt real bad. It took me two hours to drag myself out of the creek to where my pack was laying.

I knew I was going to die. There was no doubt about it. I still vividly remember thinking,"Well, O.K., I'm gonna' die, but this is such a beautiful place to go." I was not at all frightened. But I knew I had to go further on up the mountain.

The whole purpose of this hike was to say farewell to a dear friend that had passed away earlier that year. And this particuliar hike was one that he and I had done together several times.

So I lightend my pack, took off my pant's belt, and strapped it around my chest and cinched it up as tight as I could. Then I started up the trail again. I figgure that I'd been unconcious for a couple of hours, judging by the sun.

About dark I got to my goal, which was Elk Lake. I threw my gear on the ground, walked to lake, caught a trout on my first cast, released it and said fairwell to my friend. Then I laid under my tent as a tarp.

About two that morning, I was hurting real bad but decided I would try to get myself out of there. I left all my gear on the trail, except my water jug, and started hiking down. I hiked from three in the morning until two in the afternoon, without seeing anyone, the park was closed for the Winter. At two, I ran into a ranger who was going in to close up a couple of backwood stations. He offered to help me out, but I said No, I don't dare stop. He radioed ahead, and two more rangers met me a mile from the trailhead.

I made it back home with 6 broken ribs and a couple of blisters. This is all true. Before anyone starts to chastise me for making backcountry mistakes, let me simply say that I probably know them all. Let me also say that I have since enjoyed many long, solo hikes, and hopefully I will be able to do so again. CHEERS, Bob