NOHUHU wrote:
Speaking of delirious, sometimes the "nightmare" happens when you are afraid to close your eyes.
Here's penguinman recounting his darkest hour in the swamp.
Glad to see you posting again NOHUHU. I miss your entertaining comments of the race.
Jim's optimistic attitude in dealing with these circumstances are quite inspiring. Especially being lost in the nightmare at night. And as Paul Harvey used to say "And now for the rest of the story" recounted by Jim aka Penguinman
I was making excellent time, arriving at the entrance to the nightmare just before sunset on day 4, Tuesday evening. The tide was low so I anchored my boat just a crossed from the entrance and setup my REI freestanding two man tent over my haka and trampoline (trying this for the first time). I enjoyed a hearty tuna helper dinner, prepared my lunch and snack provisions for the following day, reviewed my charts and then see my alarm for 12:30 a.m, about 4 1/2 hours after my 8 pm bedtime.
I awoke and after 30 minutes to eat my oatmeal breakfast, break camp and fold-up boat to minimum width, I entering the nightmare just after 1 a.m. I had also prepared a piping hot mug of Starbucks super robust coffee, using two packs for the extra early wake up. My closest tide station was shark river, peaking at a very high 4.4' at 12:30. The nightmare was wide open and I was flying along at 3-4 mph, floating well above the normal logs that would obstruct the mirage drive.
After about an hour, the trail started to narrow as I was actually having clearance issues above the kayak causing me to duck very low and push branches away as I passed along. I checked my GPS, an older version Lowrance H2O with Nauticpath marine chart card installed, and, as I had experienced in the past with this unit, I was getting no satellite reception due to the nearly complete swamp canopy coverage. In my previous two solo nightmare transitions in V1 AI's, I the tide was never this high and so I assumed the problems I was having were due to floating higher on the extra high tide and the larger 2015 AI I was using.
Progress became even more difficult and I continued to press on, fueled partly by my caffeine buzz and a determination to get through, I pushed the boat through some very tight spots and even cut some roots and branches with my leatherman saw to make room. I was leaving the boat, standing on logs and roots to be able to pull the boat by obstructions without my added weight on board. At one point I slipped off a log and went In the water over my head. This was actually quite refreshing because I was very hot and sweaty from all the exertion. But, it also served as a sobering wake up call that the trail shouldn't be this bad and I must have made a wrong turn. I decided to back out.
Just as it was extremely difficult to move the boat forward, it was even harder to move it backwards. I made some progress and even found a spot to turn the boat 180 degrees around, which wasn't easy. The path forward (heading back now) was still very difficult and it wasn't obvious which was the correct path as it was very dark and I was essentially moving through a flooded forrest with many possible ways to go. Before long, I reached another dead end, impossible to pass - I must be going the wrong way back I thought! So I backed up as far as possible again and tried another path with no success. This process was repeated 3 or 4 times leaving me completely exhausted, frustrated and scared. By this this time the tide was rapidly dropping as I could hear the sound of rushing water while the forrest drained.
I collapsed into the kayak seat, soaking wet, covered in swamp mud and slime, exhausted, and trying not to panic as the swarming mosquitoes relentlessly attacked any exposed skin which had been rinsed clean of the protective DEET by the swamp swim and all the sweating. I reluctantly accepted the fact that I wasn't going anywhere any time soon. I would need to think clearly and have a good plan to have a chance to escape my predicament. First step was to get shelter from the torturous mosquitos as the next high tide wouldn't be until 2 pm, nearly 10 hours away. I was able to drag the AI to a spot where one ama could be swung out and I set up the haka and tent solution. Once inside I realized I was now shivering due to cold evening air and being soaked. I quickly stripped out of my wet, muddy clothes and into warm/dry reserve gear, ate the peanut butter and jelly tortilla wrap I had made for lunch, as I warmed up inside my down sleeping bag. I soon stopped shivering.
As I lay there, I had to consciously fight away negative thoughts... What if I couldn't get out at the 2 pm high tide which was only 4.0', 4.8" lower than the 4.4' 12:30 a.m. high? What if I couldn't find the right path out in my limited time? Since my GPS couldn't get sat signal, maybe my Spot and EPIRB wouldn't either?? Were any of my spot OK's getting out - I was pressing it ever 30 minutes. How long would my food and water last? I told my 8 month pregnant wife Ocean Diva that I would call here from CP3 this night and this wasn't going to happen. How would she handle this stress? Would it endanger the pregnancy?? It was a challenge to hold it together. I even heard what I thought were distant kayaker voices so I screamed, "help! help! I am stuck and lost!" at the top of my lungs many times but no response... It must have been some bird calls or my imagination. I knew it wouldn't help to worry about things out of my control- like satelite reception and focus on things I could control.
I decided finding the way out was a top priority and I didn't want to wait until high tide to do this as I didn't have time or energy to move the boat down any more wrong paths. My plan was to venture out on foot (and arms - like a swamp monkey) to become familiar with surrounding flooded forrest area and scout for a way out. With no electronic navigation, I turned to my trusted old compass and a roll of toilette paper to ensure that I could find my way back to the boat and mark an exit path using the TP to flag the route. I chose TP for flagging because it was easy to work with, no rain was forecast and I didn't have to sacrifice any clothing. I wore scuba booties with Helly Hansen rain pants tucked inside, a fleece sweatshirt and my PFD with Spot, EPIRB, compass, knife, whistle, and roll of TP. My plan was to scout for 2 hours at low tide - the easiest "hiking" condition. I didn't have a backpack and needed to keep both hands free for climbing so I hydrated before leaving and left the water bottle behind.
A few flags and about 100 yards away from the boat, I happened to glance back and see a raccoon heading straight towards my food, remains water bladder and gear. I screamed and scurried back to the boat. Fortunately nothing was missing and I put food, water and other gear deemed essential securely inside the boat. I thought, "Wow, that could have been really bad - dodged a bullet!"
Back on the scouting mission, I followed the most obvious path and after 20-30 minutes I began to find reassuring clues such as freshly broken mangrove limbs and logs with their mud scraped. I continued on but the progress was painfully slow as I hung from branches, walked/balanced a crossed slimy logs and roots, sunk over my knees in mud and waded chest deep through "ponds" as I moved forward. Eventually I found one of the freshly leatherman-cut mangrove roots. I only cut roots on my initial way in, so this must be the way out!!
Satisfied that I had discovered the escape route, I spent an hour returning to the boat, covering an estimated 1/4 mile based on the number of TP flags and spacing. Side note, at 4 hours/mile, it is nearly impossible to cover any significant distance through the swamp on foot - don't ever lose your boat! Back at the boat, I spent the next few hours trying to rest and relax which was about as impossible as hiking the swamp. I ended up playing my favorite Ziggly Marley album on the iphone speaker and keeping busy with useful tasks such as tuning the Mirage Drive and bending masts back, cleaning and organizing my gear. I kept track of the water level by watching a couple close-by stumps and a baby mangrove slowly submerge.
Eventually the water reached the pre-determined "go-level" I had set and I headed out with total determination. After about an hour of very hard progress, the trail opened and I was moving again. I soon reached the fork in the nightmare, took the appropriate left turn and I continued on through the nightmare and Broad Creek, eventually reaching the Harney River Chickee just after dark. I was so releaved and happy to have made it through.
Some reflections and lessons learned: the Ocean and the Everglades are wilderness and the wilderness doesn't care if you live or die, your saftey is entirely up to you. Mistakes as simple as a wrong turn can put you into danger and you need to be able to rely on yourself to make it through. Don't become over-dependent on electronics - some simple time/speed dead-reckoning would have kept me from going so deep and getting stuck. When traveling alone, consider waiting for the high-tide during daylight for difficult sections. When the (censored) hit the fan, keep an optimistic attitude and focus on what you can control and not what you can't. Play your favorite music and eat your favorite snacks. Well that is it, very glad I made it safely and better yet that I didn't have to create a drama by involving search and rescue. -Penguinman
A few more pictures:
https://picasaweb.google.com/1134780289 ... 6648568434https://picasaweb.google.com/1134780289 ... 8965871490https://picasaweb.google.com/1134780289 ... 3234981026
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