What would you do to survive?
Would you kill?
As I lay on the vibrating aluminum deck of the helicopter on my way out of the hell I experienced for over a week, I knew I would never return to this part of the wilderness. I was done; all used up; spent. I had nothing left. Nothing left to give, nothing left to take. Nine of us, and a dog, headed into the forest eight days ago. As far as I knew then I was the only one to return. Two confirmed dead, two more almost certainly dead, and the rest missing; presumed dead. I was lucky to be alive, but I sure didnt feel lucky. What we did to ourselves, and to each other, out there in the cruel forest in order to survive was appalling, to be sure, but I was alive. They were not. I would have to live with what happened for the rest of my life.
When we gently touched down on the landing pad near the ocean I had to be helped out of the aircraft. My knees buckled when I set my tired and aching feet upon the firm ground and I collapsed in a heap of quivering flesh. I vomited and was thankfully only able to produce a small amount of foul bile. I had to be carried to one of the bunk houses of the camp. I cried. Not from the physical pain that wracked my beaten body, but from despair. So much had happened in so little time. I was completely overwhelmed. My poor brain could not face any more input. I wanted to help to save those left behind, at least those I suspected were still alive, but I could not. Barely conscious, I was almost oblivious to what was happening around me. Garbled voices enveloped me as artificial light filtered through the haze that was now my mind.
Try as I might I could not get up. I just lay there in a stupor for I dont know how long. Suddenly a sense of urgency swept over me as I thought of those left behind. Pity, sorrow, self-regret, all ratcheted through my weary soul. I knew someone had to do something, and quickly. But I could not. I passed out. When I came to, the man with the radio, the glorious leader of the shake block cutting crew, met my bleary gaze. He had been chosen to assist the rescue attempt.
The weather had taken a turn for the worse and heavy fog was preventing the normal search-and-rescue services from gaining access to the area. It was decided, by the shake camp contractor, to launch a rescue attempt using assets on hand. He gallantly put his entire operation into the rescue effort, including the helicopter and select members of his shake block cutting crews.
They crowded around me, topographical maps in hand, and listened to my brief account of what had happened, and where it had happened. I passed on as much information as I could; information that would aid them in finding the survivors and help them deal with the extreme conditions they were sure to encounter. I stuck to times and locations and left out various other details, such as what we did to each other out there. When I could tell them no more they left me. I wish I could have told them more, but I needed time to process; figure out what went wrong, and why. One of my greatest regrets of life is that I was not able to go with them. Of course the poor condition I was in would only serve to hamper them; I would be a liability, not a help at all in such a place. The beast was still out there and was hungry for more. That I was sure of.
Written and Produced by Gerald M. Chicalo.
Music by Jason Butterworth.
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Bushwhack Adventures - Introduction - Unsolved Mysteries in the Forests of British Columbia, Canadaby gchicalo9,490 views
you have filmed the floor and a branch (twice) well done
stevewoodhead 11 months ago