Lost on a Mountain in Maine

by Donn Fendler

  I felt something wriggling on my legs and looked down. Christmas! I was covered with little, black bloodsuckers. I knew them, for I had seen them before. They were all over me and they made me so scared that I began to yell and scream and jump up and down. I have always hated things like that and can’t bear to have one touch me. I guess I went wild for a moment. I scratched and tore at them. I couldn’t brush them off and I knew, if I didn’t, they’d swell up worse than mosquitoes. I don’t know why I jumped back into the water, but I did, and I thrashed around and rubbed myself with sand, and when I came out, nearly all the bloodsuckers were gone.24

  Maybe some Scout Leader can tell me why they went away in the water. There were a few left and I picked them off as fast as I could. There was a spot of sun on that sandbar. I was so tired after my battle with the bloodsuckers that I lay down full length and closed my eyes. I dozed off, I guess, for I had queer dreams, none of which I can exactly remember. These dreams weren’t like seeing Henry, the first day. These were dreams—but I saw Henry, all right, with my eyes wide open, that first day.

  When I awoke, I felt better. I picked my way over the stones and got up on the bank. Right away, I found what looked like a trail. I followed it, going very slowly. I think I was just a little crazy, for I kept looking around to see if anything was after me, and here and there I’d start to run.

  After running a little, I’d get out of breath and then I’d stop and lean against a tree until I felt better. I was having trouble with my legs. They would shake and quiver, all the time, but especially when I stood still. Boy, it’s a queer feeling to have your knees quivering under you as though the bones had been taken out of them!

  Now and then, terrible, dark feelings rushed up into my head, like the one I had before I fell asleep. I can’t describe these feelings, but they were always dark and empty, but with something in them you couldn’t locate—something that made your heart pound and your legs want to run.

  I don’t know whether I ought to tell something that happened that very morning, but I guess I shall. It’s all right, of course, but people who don’t believe as I do may think it’s all imagination. I believe in Guardian Angels and, on my trip through the woods, one of the things that comforted me and helped me to bring myself out to safety was this feeling that I wasn’t entirely alone.25

  In the night, in those dark woods, that feeling helped me and, in the daytime, when the going was awfully hard, I felt as though I had someone to lean on, and that helped, too.

  Well, after I struck that trail and had gone along for a quite a way, I tripped over a root and fell down. I was flat on my face. I couldn’t get my arms under me—they were so weak at the elbows. I just lay there and waited. Suddenly, I felt something take hold of me by the shoulders—something like strong, gentle hands—and I felt myself lifted slowly until I was on my knees. I looked around, expecting to see a man, a guide maybe, and was I surprised when I could see nothing—not a thing! But the hands were still there and they were lifting and lifting. I got first one foot under me and then the other, then I straightened up. I was stronger. I could walk.

  Well, I hadn’t gone a half-mile before I saw something hanging from a tree. I went over to it and found a gunnysack nailed to the trunk. It was old and rotten and had a hole in it, but it made me think of a sleeping bag. I took it down and threw it over my arm with my blue shirt. Boy, that bag came in handy right away! The mosquitoes flew up from the stream in clouds, and the blackflies were just about as thick. I put the gunnysack over my head and peeped out through a hole. That helped keep off the bugs, but it made me stumble and, boy, every stumble hurt! It seemed as if my head would burst, every time I pitched forward.

  I pretty nearly passed right by some old cabins, because of that sack. It wouldn’t have mattered anyway, because when I turned off the trail into the clearing, I knew there was nobody there. The cabin doors were falling off their hinges and weeds were growing on the doorsteps. The roofs were caved in and green with moss.

  I pushed in one of the doors. The place smelled musty and damp. I went inside and put down my things and thought I’d take a rest. I stretched out on a bunk and closed my eyes. I thought, because of the roof and walls, the bugs wouldn’t bother me. That’s where I was wrong. They came in armies, big ones and little ones, and they lit all over me so thick I seemed to be covered with pepper. Boy! That was the worst place I was ever in. I got up as fast as I could and grabbed my things and went out.

  A wind was blowing across the clearing and that scattered the bugs a little. I felt pretty bad. I wasn’t getting any place, after all my walking. It seemed that everything I came to was deserted. I began to wonder if I’d make it and began to wonder, too, if people were looking for me, why I hadn’t heard a shout or the sound of a gun or seen some sign. I knew the Boy Scouts wouldn’t let me die in there without hunting for me and I wondered why I hadn’t seen any of them. Boy, what funny things come into a person’s head! I thought if I saw a Boy Scout, I’d ask him for a doughnut and a drink of milk. I thought so hard of doughnuts that sometimes I could smell them.

  I wandered around those camps for a while looking for something to eat. I looked in all the old cans I could find. They were all empty. No use hanging around there. I got my things together and went on. After that, I lost track of what happened. I can’t remember much—things are hazy, like dreams you can’t describe afterwards.

  It was that afternoon, I think, that I discovered part of my big toe was gone. I can remember that. I was stumbling along the trail. Now and then I was down on my hands and knees. It was easier, that way, when my feet got so bad that I couldn’t bear my weight on them. Suddenly I looked down and saw that the tip of my big toe was gone—cut right off and the blood was coming out fast. I don’t know how it happened. I never felt a thing. I must have hit a sharp rock or walked over a piece of glass in that camp. I sat down on a stump and held my toe in my hand. I held it tight, to stop the flow of blood. I held it for a long time, then I got up and went on.

  I remember finding a hollow tree and sitting with my back in it and my blue shirt over my legs and the sack around my head. I got warm there and, maybe, that is where I spent the night. You may laugh at that “maybe,” but all I can remember, after that, is finding myself walking close to the stream on a level place where the grass was soft.

  I couldn’t tell whether it was another day or not, for I got all mixed up about where the sun ought to be. I remember looking at the water close to me, to see which way it was flowing. It wasn’t wild and rushing anymore. It was spreading out, getting wider, and there were reeds and cattails. I could see the sky, then, and it was full of big clouds. I listened and watched for an airplane, but all I saw were big birds, like wild geese, going overhead.

  Pretty soon I stepped into some water and went up to my knees. That scared me and made me back up. I climbed onto a tree trunk and I could see a big bog full of dead trees. Each one looked like a soldier. The sun was shining on them and some of the branches looked like silver. I had a queer feeling about those trees—they didn’t want me to go that way—they were on guard there, blocking my path. They didn’t want me to go on.26

  CHAPTER 12

  JOURNEY’S END • NINTH DAY

  THE FIRST thing I really remember after that, I was standing looking down at a big rotten tree. I still had my blue shirt and gunnysack, but I seemed like somebody else. I was just watching myself do something. I saw myself crawl under the leaning trunk of the rotten tree and curl up into a ball. My legs went into the gunnysack and the blue shirt went around my head.27 I was on a merry-go-round, going ’round and ’round and up and down, and I tried to hang on for fear I’d fall off, and then, I guess, I fainted because I never knew anything more until the next day.

  I can’t remember much that happened when I woke up. I couldn’t see very well for a long time. Maybe that was because the sun was shining in my eyes. When I tried to get up, I couldn’t make it. I was sick to my stomach and my head ached. I kne
w I had to get up, though, for the flies were getting bad and my cut toe hurt me a great deal.

  When I couldn’t get up, I started to say my prayers. I prayed for a long, long time, and I remember what I said. It was just the same prayer I had made before. I asked God for four things. I asked him not to let Mommy and Dad worry too much, and then I asked Him to take care of the other children, and then I asked for food. I asked Him out loud for food because I hadn’t had any for such a long time. I knew it was Sunday, and that made me “lost” a whole week.28 I wanted to go to church but, since I couldn’t, I decided to say longer prayers. I think I prayed for an hour.

  The fourth thing I prayed for was someone to come in and get me. I prayed as hard for this as I did for food, because I knew I was getting weaker and weaker.

  After I had prayed, I looked around for food, maybe an acorn or a red berry that I could reach. Nothing happened. There wasn’t anything I could eat. I expected to find something and I was so disappointed I started to cry. When I had cried a long time, I stopped and just lay there looking up at the sky through the branches of the trees. Something inside of me kept urging me to get up, and I’d try, but could never make it.

  I guess I fell asleep for a little while. When I awoke I felt better and I worked until I got up on my feet. Christmas! I could hardly pull one foot after the other. That was at first; later, little by little, I found I could walk easier, and pretty soon I could go right along. The worst of it was when I fell down—then I’d lie just as I dropped for a long time. I remember I felt dazed and kept turning my head this way and that. Then I’d get up on my knees and, pretty soon, I’d get onto my feet again. Every time I fell I’d say, “Maybe I can’t get up this time,” but I’d pray a little, and then I’d get up. Praying always helped me to get up.

  That’s the way things went for a long time. Then, after I’d pulled myself through some bushes, I saw white water ahead—I mean, open water. I just stood and looked at it. I couldn’t believe it, because I knew if I found a pond or lake, I’d be all right. So I just stared, and pretty soon I made out a shore line, not very far away. Close to the bank, floated a big log. I had to look at one thing at a time, because it was hard for me to see at all. Things were hazy and wouldn’t stay still, but that log gave me new courage and steadied me a lot. It looked like part of a wharf.

  I had to go around a dense clump of bushes to get to it—and there, across the water,29 was a log cabin.

  When I looked across and saw that cabin I couldn’t believe it. I stood right where I was for a long time. I was afraid it was like all the other cabins I had come to. Still, it looked new and there was an open space in front of it. While I was standing there, things kept going through my mind. What if it were deserted like the rest? Well, I’d just go on. Then I wondered how I’d ever get to it. It seems funny to me now, but I felt sure I could swim across. I’d tie my blue shirt and reefer and gunnysack on my head, somehow, and dogpaddle over. That didn’t seem a hard thing to do at all—but where would I get a piece of string?

  I crawled under the bushes and came out on the bank. I could see the cabin better now, and there was a big elm tree right near the edge of the clearing and boy, oh, boy, two canoes were turned over on the ground. Canoes! There must be people there—fishermen, likely—and they’d help a fellow any way they could. They’d give me something to eat, maybe some bacon and beans, or a doughnut, and then I could find the way back to camp and maybe get there before dark.

  While I was thinking things like that—and I guess I was blubbering some, too, because of my feet—I saw a man come out into the clearing!

  I crawled out on the big log so the man could see me, and began to yell. I guess that yelling was pretty funny, for Mr. McMoarn told me later it sounded to him like a screech owl.

  I yelled and yelled and waved my arms. I saw the man look over towards me, then run into the house. “Christmas!” I said to myself. “What’s the matter with him?”

  While I was wondering, I saw him come out of the house again on the dead run, with other people after him. I saw them slide one of the canoes into the water. A man yelled to me to stay where I was, that they were coming after me. Then I knew I was saved, and I got kind of weak all inside. I had to get off that log. I had to get off quickly, because I felt like falling over in another one of those sick spells I had back in the woods. Maybe I did faint, too. I don’t know, but the next thing I remember a big man was picking me up. He didn’t say much—just shook his head and picked me up.

  He was going to leave my gunnysack, but I grabbed it just in time. I wasn’t going to lose that. It had saved my life. I guess Mr. McMoarn asked me some questions, but that’s all hazy in my mind. The next thing I really remember was Mrs. McMoarn. She was grand. She took me in her arms, and she was crying and saying things, and she laid me down on a bed and began telling people what to do. I heard the telephone ringing like mad, and then Mrs. McMoarn came over to me with a bowl of soup. I don’t know what kind of soup it was, but it was good.30

  I wanted to drink it right away, but they wouldn’t let me. Boy, try eating warm soup out of a spoon when you haven’t eaten much for nine days! Mrs. McMoarn was slow giving it to me, too, and I just couldn’t wait for the next spoonful. I tried to get hold of the spoon myself, but she said that would never do and that she was feeding me exactly the way the doctor ordered over the phone.

  I guess I fell asleep, while I was eating that soup, for the next I knew, noises of people waked me up. Boy, the room next to me seemed filled with people, all whispering together and moving around. Someone was talking very loud on the phone. Pretty soon, Mrs. McMoarn came in and smiled at me. She said they were trying to get my mommy on the phone. Then Mr. McMoarn came in and said everything was ready, and he took me up in his arms and carried me out into another room where the phone was. I heard a voice, but, honest, I didn’t recognize Mommy at first. Her voice didn’t sound natural at all. Maybe it was the crazy wires nailed to trees.

  But when I really listened, I knew it was Mommy.

  She was crying and talking, too, and asking me if I were really safe, and I told her, “Sure, I am all right. I just had a bowl of soup.” Then I asked her about Dad, and she said he was right there. Boy, it was good to talk to Dad. I don’t know what I said, but I was glad just to know that he was there listening to me and that he wouldn’t have to worry anymore.

  I guess Mr. McMoarn thought I had talked enough, for he took me away from the phone—but I hung onto it as long as I could.

  When I was back in bed, and they had all gone out for a little while to let me rest, I remembered God. I hadn’t thanked Him for all He had done for me. So I just closed my eyes and said my prayers and thanked God for kind people and for His help back there in the wilderness and for a good Mommy and a good Dad.

  AFTERWORD

  THE STORY of Donn Fendler’s experience would not be complete without some description of what took place in the outside world during the nine days he was lost. That story begins with the significant moment when Donn decided to leave Henry Condon on Baxter Peak and go back down the Hunt Trail, alone, to rejoin his father.

  The man near the Knife Edge, to whom Donn refers, was the Rev. Charles Austin. He joined Henry Condon on Baxter Peak, within ten minutes of the time Donn had left that spot to go back down the mountain. Because of the dangerous cloud condition, the two immediately started down the trail. As Donn had had a ten-minute head start, they were not surprised that they did not catch sight of him and, it was not until they had joined Mr. Fendler, about a mile down the mountain at the edge of the plateau, near Thoreau Spring, that they realized Donn was lost.

  Mr. Fendler and Donn’s younger brother, Tom, had just left the spring and were starting ahead on the last mile to Baxter Peak. They were waiting there for the return of Donn and Henry Condon and, in the thin mist that surrounded this whole part of the mountain, they mistook Mr. Austin and Henry Condon for Henry Condon and Donn. In fact, Tom remarked to his father, “Doesn’
t Henry look big in the fog.”

  Of course, as soon as they were within clear vision, Mr. Fendler shouted, “Where is Donn?” After a moment’s consultation, all agreed that Donn had missed the trail. The party immediately started back on the plateau towards Baxter Peak—Mr. Fendler and Tom keeping close together and Mr. Austin and Henry Condon separating, so as to cover every bit of terrain possible.

  As they hurried back, they called continually for Donn, not believing that he could possibly have wandered off the plateau in so short a time. After about an hour’s frantic search, during which time the sun had gone down and semi-darkness descended, it became evident that Donn had strayed quite a distance from the plateau itself and that more searchers were needed. A quick consultation was held, and Mr. Austin insisted that he stay on the plateau, while the rest of the party go down the mountain to the camp, at the base, for assistance.

  Henry, who was thoroughly familiar with the mountain, immediately ran on in advance of Mr. Fendler and Tom, and was soon out of sight. Tom and Mr. Fendler were well worn out and, being unfamiliar not only with Mt. Katahdin but also with mountain climbing in general, had to go down at a much slower rate.

  Henry reached the camp at the bottom of the trail and explained to the Forest Rangers what had taken place on the mountain. A small party was organized, and the following account, published in the Revere, Mass., Journal, July 27, 1939, gives a vivid idea of what took place during the next few hours.