There I was, late September, Deer season, Northern California, Lassen County, California. The early morning was unseasonalbly warm, no clouds or wind. A perfect morning that guaranteed a more perfect day. I was pumped for I knew that big buck was about to spring out in front of me at any second. Stealthly walking, stopping every few steps to watch and listen I plodded along. I came across the familiar railroad tracks that traverse the land and climb up on the outcrop of rocks that I sit on everytime I get to this area. I look at my watch. I've been gone for two and half hours. I situate myself, take a big pinch of Skoal and settle back to enjoy the morning solitute. And then it happens. No, it's not the stomach rumble that occurs about this time. I reach down with my right hand and almost unconsciously feel for my Buck 110, bought in my teens in 1968 and...it's not there...
You see, this was the first morning I used my new fanny pack outfitted with one of those knife/combo "Buddy L" attachments from Cabelas. Little did I notice that the knife section of the pouch had a open bottom but just an elastic "ring" at the bottom end. Huh? How could I be so dumb not to notice that. But all the stupid questions going through my mind didn't answer the real dilemma. Where was my 110. I kept telling myself it must be right there where I sat down and the shifting of my jacket and other apparell caused it to squeeze out. But, no, it wasn't there. I checked the manzanita and boulders but the 110 was gone. What to do...
The first thing I did was check my track on the GPS that I had turned on when I first started walking. It indicated that I had come about a mile and three quarters since I began at dark. The only thing left to do was to back track, using whatever of my tracks were visible and the GPS and see if I could find the knife. Fat chance you say. It did go through my mind numerous times.
So I began my trek back swearing if I didn't find it I would do this every day until I had to return home. Back tracking wasn't all that difficult except when walking across the open meadows covered with lava rocks and some unknown low growth plants. In those areas finding my boot tracks was next to impossible and the GPS measurements didn't place me directly on my path but more of "you're in the right area." As I marched forward, I found the big stump I sat on for a few minutes, no knife. I found the huge fallen Ponderosa that I had to make a wide walk around. And, I also found the toilet paper that I had discarded. But still, no knife.
I was pretty sick. All the memories of this knife came pouring back into my mind. What I had done with it, the game it had helped me clean. The day I bought it, the people I hunted with, the places it had been and the hopes of some day passing this big part of my outdoor experiences onto one of my sons all filled my mind.
And then it happened. Within a quarter mile from where I started that morning I stumbled through a small meadow. A boot track here, a kicked over rock there and in an area of dry typical red Lassen soil I saw the familar brass end of the knife sticking straight up as if it had been impalled in the earth. I stood there in disbelief wondering if my eyes were playing a trick on me. Then when my senses came back I grabbed the knife like an football player jumps on a fumbled ball. I still feel the knife in my palm now. The first thing I did was look up at the sky and utter a few words of thanks. The second thing I did was put the knife in my front Levi's pocket. Never again will it see the "Buddy L" pouch.
Those of you that have been there, done that know what of what I speak. Those of you that have had the pleasure of having a tool that has been with you over years of years, always there and ready, know what I feel.
I can only feel that something was looking out for me that morning...
You see, this was the first morning I used my new fanny pack outfitted with one of those knife/combo "Buddy L" attachments from Cabelas. Little did I notice that the knife section of the pouch had a open bottom but just an elastic "ring" at the bottom end. Huh? How could I be so dumb not to notice that. But all the stupid questions going through my mind didn't answer the real dilemma. Where was my 110. I kept telling myself it must be right there where I sat down and the shifting of my jacket and other apparell caused it to squeeze out. But, no, it wasn't there. I checked the manzanita and boulders but the 110 was gone. What to do...
The first thing I did was check my track on the GPS that I had turned on when I first started walking. It indicated that I had come about a mile and three quarters since I began at dark. The only thing left to do was to back track, using whatever of my tracks were visible and the GPS and see if I could find the knife. Fat chance you say. It did go through my mind numerous times.
So I began my trek back swearing if I didn't find it I would do this every day until I had to return home. Back tracking wasn't all that difficult except when walking across the open meadows covered with lava rocks and some unknown low growth plants. In those areas finding my boot tracks was next to impossible and the GPS measurements didn't place me directly on my path but more of "you're in the right area." As I marched forward, I found the big stump I sat on for a few minutes, no knife. I found the huge fallen Ponderosa that I had to make a wide walk around. And, I also found the toilet paper that I had discarded. But still, no knife.
I was pretty sick. All the memories of this knife came pouring back into my mind. What I had done with it, the game it had helped me clean. The day I bought it, the people I hunted with, the places it had been and the hopes of some day passing this big part of my outdoor experiences onto one of my sons all filled my mind.
And then it happened. Within a quarter mile from where I started that morning I stumbled through a small meadow. A boot track here, a kicked over rock there and in an area of dry typical red Lassen soil I saw the familar brass end of the knife sticking straight up as if it had been impalled in the earth. I stood there in disbelief wondering if my eyes were playing a trick on me. Then when my senses came back I grabbed the knife like an football player jumps on a fumbled ball. I still feel the knife in my palm now. The first thing I did was look up at the sky and utter a few words of thanks. The second thing I did was put the knife in my front Levi's pocket. Never again will it see the "Buddy L" pouch.
Those of you that have been there, done that know what of what I speak. Those of you that have had the pleasure of having a tool that has been with you over years of years, always there and ready, know what I feel.
I can only feel that something was looking out for me that morning...
