admin November 21st, 2009

My thoughts of deer hunting were dashed when I arose to find fog so thick it could be sliced like a white wedding cake. The fog wasn't one that hovered six feet off the ground.

This was dirt-hugging ground fog. Thick tendrils of motionless fog. I looked out behind the house to the woods 20 yards away, and the big maple trees were not visible.

It wasn't a white-out, but the gray clouds of clinging fog looked like strips of rotten bandages hanging in the air. I stepped outside, and an eerie glow was given off by the security light. The light itself wasn't visible, but the soft glow was … from 10 feet away.

I'm here, and I'll walk out to the newspaper tube at the entrance to the driveway off the road. The farther I proceeded down the driveway, the less could be  seen. It was one cautious step after another, and my eyes were downcast, looking at the driveway.

Not much advance planning here.

No flashlight for me. I do these things impetuously, and then wonder why I didn't think it over first. Ah, how can I get lost in my own driveway?

There were no borders or edges to the driveway, and I'd know if I strayed from my appointed rounds. I'd be in the trees. See, I was thinking.

It took several minutes to locate the road, and then a bit of backtracking to find the newspaper tube, and I then knew exactly where I was. I wasn't lost, but I couldn't see the house, garage or security light. Walking a straight line was am eerie and impossible task.

I even knew my desired direction of travel back, but the fog was so thick and clinging that taking one step would take me out of sight of the mailbox and newspaper tube. OK, I thought, I've got to head the opposite way to get to the house. It wasn't cold, but very damp, and a thought popped into my head that I probably should have put on a jacket.

This is the same kind of illogical thinking that took me out in a raging blizzard 31 years ago wearing a down vest, chamois cloth shirt, shoes, no socks, and then get stranded on top of a huge snow drift more than two miles from home. I made it back with only a minor bit of frostbite on my big beak. That's one penalty for being incredibly dumb about leaving home.

So there I stood, 30 yards from my house, and the humble abode was invisible. It's lost in the drifting fog, and even though I know it is there, my poor vision couldn't spot it.

I took two tentative steps, looked back, and knew I could find the mailbox but it too had vanished in the fog. Go back? Nah, press on regardless. Just follow the driveway. How hard can that be?

The problem now is it looks too wide to be my driveway. Am I walking down the road? Nope, a step later a low-hanging branch gave me a soft, wet and sloppy kiss on the face. I'm still in the driveway, and a few steps closer to the disappearing house. Not even the security light could be seen.

I paused, thought for a moment and wondered how exciting my deer hunt would have been if I were stumbling around in circles in the fog-filled woods. A buck could have been standing six feet away, and regardless of how large and white his antlers were, he would have been invisible.

Moving on through the fog.

OK, here we go again. I took another step, and another branch was felt touching my shoulder. This journey back was more difficult than the one going out to get the paper.

Another step and stop. There was nothing visible but white fog in all directions. Another step, and no more branches. I drew a line in the driveway with my toe, took another step forward, looked back and the mark was gone. I took one step back, looked for two minutes before finding the mark, stepped forward again, and drug the side of my shoe in the dirt once again.

I paused, knowing I must be within 20 feet of the house, and it could have been 20 miles away. It was impossible to see. My bearings were checked again with my toe mark in the dirt, and now I'm guessing if I'm in the driveway or not.

Two more steps, and something bulky loomed indistinctly to my left. Too boxy to be a tree, and one more step revealed my utility trailer. I'd almost walked past my house and garage in the murky weather. The trailer gave me my bearings and two steps brought me to my car.

I walked around the end of the car, took two step and could just make out the security light. From there to the garage on on the cement apron, and my house was now a walk in the park.

Thirty yards out, thirty yards back, and lots of excitement along the way.

I never knew going out for the newspaper could pack so much adventure and excitement into one five-minute period. Thoughts of deer hunting were put on the back burner. If I'm going to hunt, I want to know where I'm at and at least be able to see a deer if one offered a shot.

This getting lost while knowing where you are happened to my brother and I one spring day, and all we knew was we were standing in Lake Michigan and casting spoons for brown trout. I took a photo of him with his fish (shown above) and knew exactly where we were. It's really strange knowing your precise whereabouts but not being able to find you way to any other location.

This little episode yesterday was kind of fun. It wouldn't be much fun at night in the woods, but then, I'd never put myself into that situation. I'd like to think I know better but sometimes I doubt myself.

Posted via email from Dave Richey Outdoors

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