I Fell in a Hole While Packing Out My Buck in a Storm. This Old SOS Trick Saved Me
This is how people die. The thought came as I lay at the bottom of the canyon, staring up at the swirling snow. I tried to sit up, but the weight of the buck held me down, and when I tried rolling over, a devastating pain tore through my left leg.
Grunting, I unclipped my pack and rose unsteadily to my feet. The pain in my leg was savage, and sleet stung my eyes as I looked up the canyon walls. Then I glanced at my dead phone again. The quartered deer stuck out of my pack. The thought came again, but this time I said it out loud.
“This is how people die.”
An Unseasonable Hunt
When my buddies Hayden and Andrew had asked me to go on a mule deer hunt in the Montana backcountry, I happily agreed. We picked a spot along a canyon that Hayden knew held deer, and we headed into the mountains prepared with everything we thought we needed.
When I was younger, I prided myself on always being prepared in the outdoors. Whether it was a backcountry hunting trip or just a casual hike, I always brought everything I could possibly need in case something went wrong. I carried a fire starter, extra clothes, and high-calorie snacks in my kit. I would always charge my phone, and I’d usually throw a satellite device and signal flares into my pack if I was heading into any serious wilderness. Yet, over the years, my preparations began to lapse.
Most of the time, it didn’t matter. I’d go on a trip, have my fun, and then return home without needing any of the extra stuff I’d always carried. Although I didn’t realize it, this nonchalance led to a bad habit where I started to leave things I might need behind.
When we got to our spot and set up a wall tent near the edge of the canyon, the hunting conditions were perfect. The weather was cold, with nearly a foot of snow on the ground. By the third day, though, temperatures had risen into the 60s, melting the snow and turning the entire canyon into a labyrinth of sticky mud. It caked in layers on our boots and weighed us down as we slid and struggled through the drainages looking for deer.
By the fourth day of the hunt, Andrew got a call from his wife. Their baby was sick. We dug Andrew’s truck out of the mud and sent him home the next morning, leaving Hayden and I to fill our buck tags alone.
A Lucky Break
The fog was beginning to lift, and it was still hot and bright and didn’t feel like good deer hunting weather. Still, we were determined. Figuring we both had a better chance hunting solo, Hayden and I hurriedly loaded our packs, wished each other luck, and split up. We headed down two different drainages a little over a mile apart from each other.
I spent the next few hours struggling and sliding for two or three miles through a maze of different gullies trying to find a deer — any deer. I had almost given up when I spotted a mule deer buck bedded along the canyon wall. I looked him over with my binoculars and although he wasn’t all that big, I decided he was good enough for me. I stalked up the slope until I closed the distance to about 350 yards. With the sun setting behind the buck, I settled behind my rifle, took a deep breath, and squeezed off a shot.
The deer humped his shoulders and took off down the hill. Knowing I’d hit him, I pulled out my phone to text Hayden, only to see that my battery was dead. Cursing myself for not charging it, I shrugged off my mistake and went to recover the buck at the bottom of the canyon.
It was getting dark by the time I reached the buck, and I knew I didn’t have long to enjoy the moment. I hastily quartered and crammed the meat into my pack. Heaving the load onto my shoulders, I got to my feet just as the sun was setting, turning the canyon into a kaleidoscope of golds, reds, and blues. I stood in the half light and briefly tried to take it all in, then adjusted the weight of my pack. Whistling happily, I started the long hike up to the canyon rim.
The Storm
The first gust of wind blew up the canyon as a flutter that danced up my spine and made me shiver. The second came with a freezing jolt that hit me like a runaway train. I looked up into the last blue light of the sky and saw it rapidly darkening with storm clouds. I felt snowflakes brush across my cheeks as the wind began to howl like a living thing.
I dropped my pack on the ground and looked for my heavy coat before remembering I’d taken it out the day before to help pack out Andrew’s deer. With the cold wind biting into me, I knew that If I didn’t get back to the safety of our tent, I was going to be in trouble. I re-shouldered the pack and dug into my pockets for my headlamp. It, too, was out of batteries.
Luckily I had a backup flashlight that self-charged with a few cranks of a handle, but it gave off very little light in the blowing snow and freezing rain. For a moment I stood there, frantically winding the little flashlight while the sleet soaked through the thin fleece shirt I was wearing. I pointed the beam uphill and could barely make out the canyon rim above me. I knew I’d have to get there quickly, but I’d lost the path to the top and started hiking up the steep slope by feel. I never even saw the hole.
Looking up toward the rim, I suddenly sank knee-deep into a gap in the rocks and pitched forward, hyperextending my leg. In a panic, I pushed myself to the left and the weight of the buck on my back shifted down, twisting my leg even further. I felt and heard a loud snap as I was pulled from the hole, and I slid through the mud back down to the bottom of the canyon.
A Light in the Blackness
I don’t know how long I stood there shivering in the blackness and the wind, trying to think of what to do next. With no fuel around, a fire was out of the question, so I limped around in a circle until I found a small cave. It wasn’t much, but it offered some protection, and I had a mylar blanket and some handwarmers in my pack. I made a vague plan to crawl into the cave, wrap myself in the blanket and handwarmers, and ride out the night alone.
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I was steeling myself for the long night ahead and started digging in my pockets for the handwarmers. Then I felt the ammo — the few extra cartridges I’d brought with me.
Knowing it was my only chance to call for help, I loaded the rifle and fired three shots into the air — a signal for SOS. The sound of the gun was lost immediately in the wind, but I held out hope and stood there quietly, listening for any sign of an answer.
The light first flickered from far away, and I doubted for a second if I even saw it. It vanished and for a moment my heart sank, but then it glimmered again from atop the canyon rim, flashing on-and-off three times. I wound my little light and flashed it a few times in response, while screaming as loud as I could. Using my empty rifle as a crutch, I hobbled forward and kept yelling, fearing the beacon would disappear and leave me alone in the dark once again. When I reached the bottom of the canyon wall I could vaguely make out Hayden at the top.
“Help me,” I screamed, hoping like hell he could hear my voice through the wind.
“I can’t help you,” Hayden’s voice barely carried back to me. “I’m packing a buck too.”
“No dude, I need HELP!” I screamed even louder. “I broke my leg!”
“Oh, hell,” Hayden said, then, “Don’t worry. We’ll get you out.”
A Reminder on the Wall
Hayden didn’t want to risk a fall himself, so he used his headlamp and another flashlight to guide me up a gradual slope. I scrambled up the canyon wall on my hands and knees, the pain in my left leg still searing with every inch I crawled. Up at the top, Hayden looped his hiking poles together to make me a crutch, and then he ran toward the tent to start a fire while I hobbled a ways behind him.
It wasn’t long, though, before I saw Hayden’s light bouncing back in my direction. I was confused, until I saw the look of horror on his face.
“Dude,” Hayden shook his head. “The tent’s gone!”
We got to camp and saw that the wind had blown our tent completely over, exposing everything inside to sleet and snow. Hayden unearthed a couple damp sleeping bags from the soaking mess, and then we climbed into my truck and flooded the cab with heat. This relief would be short-lived, too, as the truck was low on gas and we still needed to drive back to town. Shivering in our seats with the knowledge that morning was only a few hours off, we both fell into a restless sleep.
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Dawn came clear and cold, and we climbed out of the truck to survey the damage. Everything was soaked and half-buried in mud and ice, but we managed to find some dry clothes and change. We started to cram everything into my truck so we could get out of there. But Andrew’s departure and Hayden’s buck meant we had too much gear and not enough room in my lone vehicle. Plus, my buck was still down at the bottom of the canyon.
Thankfully we were saved by a group of four hunters who drove past. After flagging them down and explaining our predicament, they agreed to pack out our excess gear in one of their trailers. One of them helped Hayden recover my loaded pack, and they placed it right beside the truck around sunset. With everything else taken care of, I hobbled over and looked down at the buck and thought about what it had nearly cost me. Then Hayden and I stowed the meat and head in the cooler, and headed for home.
I went to the hospital, where the nurses cut off the boot that had supported me through the night. Checking out the damage, they saw that I hadn’t broken my leg but had torn three ligaments in my ankle. I also fractured my talus bone, dislocated my knee, and nearly tore my calf muscle in half. They put my leg in a cast and said it could have been much worse.
When I got home I butchered the buck and put the meat in my freezer, and then took his head to the taxidermist. Normally, I would have just cut the antlers off a buck that size and hung them in my garage, but instead, I got a Euro mount.
That skull now hangs on the wall beside my front door, and it’s the last thing I see before I leave the house every time I go hunting. It’s a reminder to always carry whatever I might need to ride out another storm.
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Source: https://www.outdoorlife.com/survival/injury-backcountry-packing-out-deer/
