6 Miles With Courage

by LaCorte, Thomas

  Looking up he didn’t notice that the holes were burrows for various rodents and reptiles. It wasn’t until he looked down to see how high he was that he first saw the mice and rats as they scurried to see the giant that had just stuck his foot through their front door!

  They emerged like ants “boiling” out of a mound as they tried to find the disturbance. They ran to-and-fro stopping only to sniff each other, and the air, in their quest to find the intruder. Their squeaks must have gotten the word out to the rats and mice above because only a few moments had past when suddenly they started to emerge also, and then they came out from the holes where his feet and hands were!

  “Ugh!” he screamed loudly shaking his legs as he flung them off his arms. He looked down! He looked up! It was one way or the other but it was go time!

  He kept his wits about him, and in an amazing show of courage he propelled up the face of the embankment parting the mice as he went. For the most part they got out of his way except for an occasion rodent that just happened to emerge onto his boot or run up his arm.

  He crested the top of the ridge with a couple of rodents in tow as he was yelling and slapping himself like a man gone berserk. They quickly ran down to the safety of their burrows. Ryan dusted himself off as life on the berm returned to normal.

  “Oh, how I hate mice and rats!” Ryan said as he looked over the edge shuddering.

  As the land transitions so do the trees, and the tree canopy that has been over Ryan’s head since the crash ends right here! It is a milestone in his journey that should call for a celebration but it goes completely unnoticed. The sky has darkened so much from the approaching front that Ryan did not have a chance to see a change in the light, signaling an end to the towering canopy above. Now he was quickly distracted by the beauty of the first plateau.

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out the compass to check his bearing. In the direction that he was to go there was a plateau of unexpected beauty. It was a marvelous site. All across the narrow plateau grew the giant elephant-ear plant. They towered over his head radiating in an effervescent green hue. Being a tropical and sub-tropical plant they thrived well under the canopy, and in the rich soil of the lower regions of these transitional lands.

  Slowly he stepped forward gazing up through the large leaves that were every bit as big as his outstretched arms. He felt like a dwarf walking among giant green elephant ears, but they were truly plants.

  Over his head and trapped in the crutch of the leaf was something shimmering, a small pool of fresh water. Then—perhaps for the last time of the day—the sun broke through the darkened sky and the canopy above. The ears grew brighter and more transparent and Ryan reaching up tilted a leaf towards his face and the cool water refreshed him. Walking along his bearing, and pulling each leaf down one-by-one, he drank and splashed his face until he had his fill. Before he knew it he had reached the end of the first two hundred foot long plateau. He knew this because what stood before him was another tall berm leading up to the next plateau. With a sigh a refreshed and even more determined Ryan turned to face the next obstacle.

  This berm was different than the first as it consisted more of gnarly tree trunks than rich soil. This berm of twisted trees strewn-about, piled-up like match sticks, was a combination of swamp trees that had fallen throughout the years, and decaying upland trees that had made their way down the slope with the eroding soil.

  He concentrated on how he was going to ascend the berm for there were no holes or little trees to grab. He studied the large branches and towering root balls of the fallen trees as he mapped out a path in his mind for which to climb.

  “Let me see, I’ll start on that branch then hop to that branch, and then I’ll climb over to that tree,” he said pointing out a zigzag pattern. And being so eager to get moving he hopped onto the first fallen tree and started his ascent.

  He walked along the log putting one foot in front of the other holding his arms out for balance and keeping an eye out so as to step on the center of the fallen log. The center provided the best traction; the rest of the log was covered with slippery moss. When he got to the end he carefully stepped up to the next log heading back in the opposite direction but above the log he had just left.

  And so he continued this back and forth pattern until he could go no further. Blocking his path was a huge root ball higher than he was tall. It had rotting roots hanging out of the bottom which enticed him to climb them like a ladder, and so he did. He cleared the root ball without looking back which was a good thing.

  Of all the places in the forest, a large root ball was the most likely place to find the black widow spider. The dark and dank crevices made for the perfect place to breed and lay egg sacs and as most tree stumps go this one was no exception. Ryan’s climbing had brought out dozens of the shiny black widows with their distinctive red hourglass markings, but he was in luck. He had escaped without a bite.

  Clearing the root ball he stepped very slowly down a long log with nothing to hold on to. Fifteen feet up in the air, arms held out for balance, he was nearing the top. Suddenly the log snapped out from under him. If it were not for a cross-log directly underneath he would have fallen to the bottom of the pile where he most likely would have become trapped, never to be seen again. That’s what was running though his mind, and with the sound of the log landing below, he could hear the telltale sound of an irritated diamond-back rattle snake—echoing in the hollow below. It sent shivers down his spine.

  He scooted the rest of the way along the broken log. In fact he scooted along the final two logs never standing up again until he reached the top of the berm. Standing up he looked back from where he came. He looked down the treacherous pile of logs, across the plateau of elephant ear plants towards the swamp. He had a great feeling of accomplishment and rightfully so. Then he turned to face the next plateau. It was not as beautiful as the previous one being that it was not under the towering canopy.

  This two hundred foot stretch had lots of tall ferns, thick scrub-oak trees, and vines. Vines as tough as wire with spikes like iron, his father called these vines—tie-tie. It was hard to cut thru tie-tie even with a machete; it would be next to impossible with a bayonet.

  Ryan attempted it but after a few swings he put the bayonet back into his waistband and then carefully snaked his way ahead, keeping one eye on the compass and an eye out for the tie-tie. Weaving in and out, and with the help of a long stretch of fern and scrub-oak, he had made it to the final berm. And just over the final berm came the last two-hundred foot long plateau and then the uplands. But then Ryan had no idea how much longer this ascent would be.

  “Darn-it!” not another stinking berm to climb!

  He put his hands on his hips as he looked this one over. He put his mind to solving it right away. He knew, that if he thought about how tough the going had become, he would only get discouraged. Discouragement to Ryan was like a deadly poison. Too much of it and he would fail, and failure was not an option.

  He was trying to figure out how he was going to tackle the berm, when it came. A loud groaning noise off to Ryan’s left. He squatted down amidst the fern and scrub oaks. He had heard this noise before. It was another bear!

  Off to Ryan’s left a large male black bear emerged from a den in the side of the embankment. Ryan was well hidden from his view and he was downwind. He was really in no danger so long as he remained quiet. He moved not a muscle.

  After what seemed to be an eternity, the bear wandered away down a path. Ryan waited ten minutes then very slowly he crept towards the path near the front of the den. He tossed a small stone inside. He tossed a larger stone and still no other bears appeared. Ryan felt it was safe to venture out onto the bear’s path.

  Ryan was no fool. He saw firsthand what a bear could do to a man and he had no intention of getting into harm’s way. He had one thing on his mind and one thing only. Get to the top of the berm and move quietly forward.

  He crept along the bear path, staying just off to
one side just in case the bear should return. The path went left for just a short ways and then just as Ryan had hoped it went straight up the twenty foot berm. Ryan celebrated with a whisper.

  “Yes!” he said, moving quietly along a parallel path, all the way to the top.

  Once at the top he quickly moved away from the path and positioned himself at the top of the berm directly above where he had first encountered it. This put him back on course.

  After taking a compass bearing he quietly slipped through the scrub oaks for a short distance where he met a wall of briers. This was the last plateau, but it was the steepest and the most densely vegetated. To put it mildly it was going to be two hundred feet of pure thorn misery.

  He pulled the bayonet out from his waistband and after looking back to make sure the bear had not returned he began hacking at the briers.

  “Ouch,” hack, hack,

  “Ugh,” hack, hack,

  “Dirty-rotten,” hack, hack, Ryan had not gone but three feet and his hands were full of thorns.

  Even a well-seasoned land surveyor with leather gloves and machete will get an occasional thorn while working in briers. If Ryan were to continue with his bare hands and bayonet, he would turn his hands and arms into “raw-meat” in minutes. Not to mention the fact that he was not making progress.

  Other methods surveyors use in making a line through the briers is to use a long brush axe or even beat the briers down into a matt with a long stick. Ryan remembered sitting around the dinner table listening to his father as he talked about clubbing briers to the ground using a dead branch. Putting the bayonet into his waistband he went searching for a long stick. He found one in the shape of a baseball bat.

  It worked great! No more thorns in his hands and he was making real progress up the steep slope. Oh, there was the occasional “snag” on the calf by a brier rising up from the beaten down matt, but all-in-all it went rather well.

  There was no denying, it was very strenuous work. Ryan stayed focused and relentlessly beat down the briers. He was so focused that it wasn’t until he crested the top of the rise and stepped into the wild grass, that he realized he was standing on the edge of the upland. The club fell from his hand. He made it.

  He had reached the uplands!

  Chapter Twenty Four

  He turned to overlook the canopy from where he had just emerged and faced the great river basin below. He could see for miles! What lies in front of him could wait. What lies behind him was to be celebrated!

  The sky was grey but it was sky, no canopy above only below. From his elevation of one hundred feet he felt as though he were flying again. He saw a similar scene just before the crash. He took a compass bearing and looked out three miles towards where his father awaits.

  “I’m coming for you, dad,” he said with tears of determination. “You hang in there because I’m coming for you and I’m coming today!” And with that he tossed his club to the ground and turned to take a compass bearing across the upland, and then that’s when it started.

  It started as a warm feeling around the abdomen and it was growing uncomfortable. He tried to ignore it as he fiddled with the compass.

  He tried to set S20°W but now the warm sensation had turned to hot and burning! He dropped the compass.

  “What the—” he said clawing at his waistband.

  His hands found it. It was the bayonet and it was almost too hot to touch!

  “Ouch!” Jerking it out of his waistband and bobbling it from hand to hand he finally had to let it drop to the ground where he stared at it in disbelief. It was rapidly turning brown with rust, and a vapor began to rise up from the bayonet.

  It was rusting at a rapid rate.

  It was rusting so fast that it made cracking and popping noises as it broke apart, shattering into pieces. The pieces emitted a brown rusty vapor until there was nothing left but a powder in the shape of a bayonet.

  “What just happened?” Ryan asked himself, bending down to pick up the compass.

  He was staring at the pile of powder when a gust of wind blew down from the darkened sky turning the brown powder into a dust cloud that drifted away from the uplands. Ryan stood up and watched as it drifted down the brier path until it could be seen no more. Ryan turned around.

  “What is this place?”

  He was thinking why did the bayonet disintegrate here and not in the swamp? Would I also grow old now and turn to dust? Am I dead? He starred at his hands wondering and waiting for something to happen, but as the moments past nothing happened.

  His mind ran wild with thoughts.

  Could it be that I did not survive the crash? Am I just a lost soul forever cursed to wander the swamp, forbidden to escape? Was the region of the uplands off-limits?

  He continued to watch his hands waiting for some kind of rapid aging. Then on the back of one of his hands a large mosquito lands. She dipped her head and sunk her stinger into his hand but he felt nothing. He watched as her abdomen began to swell and turn red. Then with an instinctive swat he smashed her to bits revealing a bright red crimson stain.

  He stared at it.

  The sky grew darker, the breeze grew stronger, a turkey gobbled in the not too distant palmettos. Ryan looked around at all the life.

  “Wait a minute!”

  “I’m not dead!” He said wiping the blood from his hand, “Dead people don’t bleed.”

  He looked down at where the bayonet was —he remembered his father—what happened to the bayonet didn’t seem to matter much anymore.

  Yes it was something that according to the laws of physics should not have happened. But then a lot of things have happened that should not have happened. He resided to taking the matter up with his science teacher the very next chance he got.

  Now it was time to get back to the task at hand and that was getting across the uplands. After taking a few steps to retrieve his club he set a course to continue.

  Ryan turned his compass to S20°W and on that bearing was a dense palmetto patch 100 yards ahead. Ryan set his sights on a pine tree beyond the patch and heads towards it for a reference. It would be his “bearing tree.”

  Forest Road 77 was slightly less than one mile away. A brisk walk down a sidewalk that length would take thirty minutes and a nicely trimmed path through the woods might take forty, but Ryan had neither a path nor a sidewalk. However, Ryan was not exactly a stranger to the woods.

  If Ryan knew anything about the Florida-wild he knew a little about the uplands. He and his buddies had gone “man-camping” in the past. He knew a little about the dangers. The wildlife and the vegetation are familiar making him more comfortable here than down in the swamp. With a little hop in his step he heads towards the palmetto patch.

  Ryan has been around palmettos all his life but he has never tried to make a straight path right through the middle of them. A well trained surveyor with a sharp machete and the right technique can make good headway through a palmetto patch. A beginner with a dull machete would beat himself to death before making any progress. Ryan was a beginner without a machete at all!

  Ryan tried to penetrate the sprawling thicket first by walking through it and then by beating on it with his club. He was getting nowhere fast.

  The Saw Palmetto is a palm with a fan-type leaf. The leave stalks are armed with teeth just like a saw, hence the name. Without protection these teeth will rip open your skin. The palm itself grows to heights of three to six feet with intertwining trunks. Rarely do trunks grow straight.

  Rob would come home from cutting line through palmetto thickets and tell Ryan at the dinner table how tough it was. Rob told them that the fruit did not taste all that good but that it was a good source of food for the wildlife. Sometimes Rob would go back several months later to re-open the line and the palms had grown back even thicker than when he had cut them down the first time. It wasn’t that the trunk grew quickly but it was the leaves. It is a palm that lives a long time with some trunks being hundreds of years old.

  No
ne of that mattered to Ryan however as he was tearing himself up trying to make progress. He beat the tops of the palmettos and he beat at the bottoms. He tried to push them over which only led to scraped hands and arms. He tried to low-crawl underneath them but he didn’t get very far. Nearing total exhaustion he turned to see how far he had come. It was no more than twenty-feet. It was time to stop. Ryan had to come up with another plan if he was to move forward.

  He remembered a lesson he learned from history class. In the battles of old, if you could not march straight up the middle than it was time for a flanking move. That is to say it is time to move up the side. The trouble with moving up the side is that it is easy to get lost. Ryan wants to follow the compass bearing, and so far he has with incredible accuracy.

  Moving in small increments and always checking his bearing Ryan shifts to the left. He shifted about two hundred feet and was just about to head back to the right when he came upon an opening and a game trail leading towards the bearing tree in the distance.

  It worked! He had found a way around the thick palmettos.

  The game trail was a well-used deer trail and he moved along it with ease. He watched the thick palmettos on his right as he walked. Had he continued to beat a path he never would have made it through in time to rescue his father.

  There was something on the path he could have done without however, and that was the many deer ticks that were attaching themselves as his legs brushed the grass near the trails edge. He was unaware of them and it was something he would have to deal with later.

  It wasn’t long before he had reached the bearing tree. Pulling out his compass, Ryan picked a new bearing tree and headed off through the now low-sprawling palmetto and sparse pine trees. Other than using his club to knock down an occasional spider web the walking was easy. He did this from tree to tree as he had done in the swamp. Then he came upon a most peculiar sight.

  In front of him was a much larger pine tree than the others. It was dead and all that remained standing was the first eight feet of the trunk. In fact all that remained was one face of the tree and it was scarred with lines running down at an angle. Along these lines or hack marks, nailed to the tree were old rusty metal strips. At the bottom of the strips a clay pot was also nailed to the tree.