Chapter 1

I missed my mark. Badly. At least 10 meters AGL [above ground level]. Airborne and falling without a chute. As I fell face-first from the inky black sky, I tried to contort into position to complete a modified PLF [parachute landing fall]. Knees and feet together. Right hand over my crotch, left forearm over my face. Not enough time as the tree covered ground came up to meet me. Epic failure. All I had heard and felt was a loud snap and quick pinch in the back of my neck before the lights went out.

I came to laying on my frontside; stomach, chest, and groin slightly embedded in the ground with the right cheek of my drool-covered face turned sideways, pressed into some mud and moss in a dark, damp, and cold wooded area. My heavily laden and weighted water-proofed titanium-framed backpack was still strapped to my back, pushing me into the wet ground. How am I still alive and in one piece? My left wrist ached, the wristwatch broken, a cheap-ass WW2-era Hamilton, just great. No backup. I was soaked to my skin, yet it was not raining. Rolled to the side, got my knees under me, rolled back and used my forearms to lever me to my feet. I was in the midst of a lot of pine and white-cedar trees. Some of the branches must have broken my fall. Can’t see the sun, but there was still some light, so it must be twilight, coming or going. Damn, my head hurt almost as bad as the wrist. Right knee started to twinge. Suck it up, buttercup. Drive on.

I had no idea where I was other than most likely within north/north-east North America due to those identified trees. Somewhere between the deciduous and boreal forest lines. White-cedars only grow east of the Mississipi and north of the Mason-Dixon line. How long had I lain there on the ground? Hours or Days? A quick check for ticks and other creepy-crawlies in and on me came up empty. I was thirsty, but not too hungry. Was probably only out for hours then. Got a towel, a box, boxer shorts, and a pair of socks out of my pack, wiped my face, dried off, and changed out. Grabbed a 2”x 6’ ace bandage out of my army-surplus first aid box. Wrapped the bandage around my gimpy knee. Shook out my engineer boots, dungarees, Big Yank cambray shirt and Mackinaw jacket. Felt much better, even in the soggy clothes. Patted down my front pants pockets, money clip and coins are still there.

Time to get me and my gear moving as light was fading fast. Tied the wet items to an outside pack strap to eventually dry. Put the watch in my pack, maybe it could be fixed somewhere down the road. My luckily unbroken army-surplus M2 compass and a red-lensed flashlight soon had me pointing north. Will need to use the flashlight sparingly as I only had a couple of spare D-cells with me. Think my left wrist is only sprained as I can grip the compass without pain. Moving the wrist back and forth and side-to-side brought pain. Lots of pain. Don’t do that again. Once I get to civilization, I will have to find some tape and take care of it.

I trekked a game trail roughly north by north-east, only coming across some deer scat and turkey tracks, no bears, wolves, or humans. No chirping birds. Not even an owl hoot or a bat flapping by. Eerie. Saw a small stand of bitternut hickory trees. Leaves were on the ground and the nuts already gone. Not one squirrel popped out to protest my passing. Set my pack on the ground, opened a side pocket, unsheathed my only weapon and then chopped off a seven foot long somewhat straight branch with my vintage Eastwing No .1 camp axe. The shortened branch would be a decent walking stick. Trimmed it up, put my compass and semi-dried clothes away. I reset my gear and away I went, flashlight in my left hand, stick held in my right.

I soon found a one-lane dirt road and turned left (north), following some semi-fresh tire tracks for about 5 kilometers (using a 1,200 step count per kilometer). Recent tire tracks meant civilization, just had to find it. Finished off one of my quart canteens. Empty. Only one left full. Wrist still aching. Knee not so bad. If everything works out, will have to remember to convert my native kilometers to miles.

The dirt road ended on a wide gravelled roadway running roughly east-west with v-shaped, muddy, detritus lined ditches on both sides. No signs or markers in sight. Got colder. Stepped behind a small stand of Birch trees to take care of some business. Dug out a small cat-hole with my camp axe, used some TP [toilet paper] from my pack, cleaned up then covered it all. No need to litter.

I mentally flipped a coin and headed east. I was able to refill both of my canteens from a fast flowing river that the road crossed over. The planks on the non-guardrailed or bumpered wooden bridge were not in the best shape. How many vehicles used this road in a day? Couldn’t be too many. Was I headed towards a dead-end? I remembered to add a couple of halazone tablets to each canteen just in case. Didn’t think I needed any iodine, the water was clear.

After a few more hours of walking (roughly 7 long miles), I entered the small village of Dafter, Michigan, sign-painted population of 58. Where the hell is Dafter? Never heard of it. Shrugging my shoulders and settling my backpack, I headed into downtown Dafter. Dafter was a few buildings centered on the crossroads of Curtis and 10 Mile, with Curtis running along side a set of granite ballasted, wooden-tied railroad tracks. Not even a stop light, just a stop sign on each side of the 10 Mile Road intersection. A few retro-looking Michigan Chippewa County license plates on some old-style panel truck bumpers were parked alongside a dumpy two-storey combination brick, block, and log building with a dimly lit “BAR” sign over the door. The side of the building facing me had a large, bright-white painted “Hot Food, Cold Beer, Hunting Licenses Sold” over the brickwork. Looks like I am somewhere in the eastern end of the U.P. by the look of the plates. You Pee, Yoopers! One could only hope. Glad the bar’s still open. So hungry. Thirsty for a beer too. Halazone treated water tastes nasty.

I crossed the street and grabbed a “Soo Evening News” paper from the paper rack in front of the bar/diner, putting a silver dime in the collection box. The “BAR” sign was just bright enough to read the smaller black print under the paper’s name. It was at least 24 November 1953, by the date of the paper. Holy fuck, I have been walking through the U.P. woods during deer season! How did I miss any hunters? What’s that ... a front-page above-the-fold article mentioned the “northern lights” like light show above the Soo locks the previous evening, and the now missing and presumed lost USAF F89 Scorpion jet fighter over the east end of Lake Superior. The two-seater had taken off from nearby Kinross AFB and had soon disappeared off all radar screens. Uffda!