Post your, “Well, that was dumb…” stories

Jsega51 said:
Ahhhhh sledding. Sledding at night in high school with some friends at a golf course trying to find the jump everyone used to build over a concrete water valve housing, I went downhill 3rd after hearing my buddy yell he ”just missed it”, well I sure as hell found it and it took me by surprise flipping me upside down in the air allowing me to land on my neck, crunching my body over like a scorpion. When I finally came back to conscious I was pleased that I wasn‘t paralyzed but wasn't too happy that my own knee decided to drive itself into my face breaking my nose and knocking me out.

No knives involved but there was a ton of blood!
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That reminds me of a story from my youth. Not sleds in my case but bicycles.

We had a large gully out back on the farm that we would jump our bikes over. I think I was 9 or 10ish when my brothers decided to make the jump more interesting using cinderblocks and a sheet of plywood. Wanting to impress my older siblings, I said I'd have a go at it so I hopped on my hand-me-down bike with the sweet banana seat and started picking up speed. Right when my front tire hit the board and I saw the edge of the jump looming over the gully, I immediately had second thoughts and twisted the handlebars violently to the right. This resulted in the handle punching me in the gut and sending me flying over the handlebars and into the bottom of the gully. I smashed my face into a rock, chipping several of my front teeth in the process.

My brothers were howling, of course. In hindsight, I'm sure it looked really funny.
 
My dad is a West Point grad, Airborne Ranger, ex pro rugby player, and ect. When I was a kid he dropped a giant beer stein, that he had gotten while stationed in Germany, on his foot. It split open pretty good. He proceeded to get one of those sewing kits you used to get from hotels and stitch it up and proceed as if everything was normal.
 
Like most my age you don't get there without a multitude of stupid behind you.......here is a recent one.

My cousin and his wife live in the same building as me. He had very major surgery and was in recovery at home. His wife calls me and asks if I can change the big bottle of water in the cooler.
"Of course" says I and I head down to their apartment.

The big plastic bottle is 25 litres so it weighs in at around 26 Kilo's or around 57lbs. It a weird shape and I have to pick it up, open it, turn it spout down and then allow it to drain into the cooler slowly. I've never done this before.
As I picked it up I felt it slipping and I sort of lunged and supported it with my back........big mistake!

It felt like someone stabbed me in the lower back. Luckily I didn't drop it and got it secured into the cooler but damn I was sore. I now have sympathy for all those with lower back pain.

It took 6 weeks, 3 visits to the Physio, dry needling, massage and a shit load of anti inflammatories to get it right!😣

I used to throw around 200 round cases of 12 Gauge ammo like it was nothing when I was 25??
What happened to me??😳
 
Blues said:
"Just when I thought I was out...they pull me back in."

Okay, here's one...

Back when I was young and dumb and full of...

...well, anyway...we were doing a controlled delivery of a large amount of narcotics which we had seized after we arrested mope #1 with the load.

Flipped him and got him to cooperate, which entailed calling mope #2 to come to his location and pick up the load.

I had two other agents with me from DEA and Customs who I sent upstairs in the residence and I got in one of those little broom closets built in under the stairs to the second level with my shotgun.

So, mope #2 eventually arrives and we go to radio silence and I can hear them conversing in Spanish, which I was pretty fluent in...but what I don't know is whether or not mope #1 is telegraphing anything to mope #2 by looks, pointing, eye gestures or whatever...and the other two agents are upstairs with no visual either...waiting for the deal to go down. What could go wrong?

I hear some footsteps walking back and forth outside my location and eventually the door to the closet is pulled open and mope #2 is standing there with a very wide-eyed look as he is greeted with an 870 pointed at his face. Fortunately, he neither had a gun in his hand nor attempted to grab the shotgun. He gave up without a struggle.

So many things could have gone wrong that I won't even begin to enumerate them...but we got the bad guys and the load. (If any of you have read Jim Cirillo's "Tales of the Stakeout Squad" you'll have read of similar events, warts and all.)

It was definitely a "there but for the grace of God" moment...or Darwin Award finalist.

(We ended up flipping the same load several times that day, including another "interesting" event later on that evening at the Embassy Suites in Miami.)
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I find it ironic that you spent so many years fighting the scourge of drug addiction only to spend the last 20 years here enabling the scourge of knife addiction!! 🤣 🤣 🤣
 
Pàdruig said:
That reminds me of a story from my youth. Not sleds in my case but bicycles.

We had a large gully out back on the farm that we would jump our bikes over. I think I was 9 or 10ish when my brothers decided to make the jump more interesting using cinderblocks and a sheet of plywood. Wanting to impress my older siblings, I said I'd have a go at it so I hopped on my hand-me-down bike with the sweet banana seat and started picking up speed. Right when my front tire hit the board and I saw the edge of the jump looming over the gully, I immediately had second thoughts and twisted the handlebars violently to the right. This resulted in the handle punching me in the gut and sending me flying over the handlebars and into the bottom of the gully. I smashed my face into a rock, chipping several of my front teeth in the process.

My brothers were howling, of course. In hindsight, I'm sure it looked really funny.
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I went over the handlebars once trying to bunny hop obstacles landing on my face and ripped the braces off the front of my top teeth. The orthodontist said he’d never seen it happen before without the teeth coming out with them lol. It really hurt and I absolutely told myself I was dumb.
 
A few years ago, I was camping with a friend in the Tetons. Decided to spend a day walking / climbing a horseshoe ridge by myself. It was fun - very exposed in sections, with great views, but easy climbing / scrambling.

At the end of the day, I came to a saddle that dropped very steeply back into the valley where we were camped. Being incorrigibly lazy, and not wanting to retrace the whole route, I looked at the 60 degree gravel slope and thought “I can get down that - it’ll be just like running down a scree slope.”

Long story short, I misjudged BADLY. The ground was still frozen, but with a half inch of loose gravel on top of it. So instead of my feet sinking into the substrate and giving me some control over my descent, it was like moving on a smooth, hard surface strewn with marbles. Once I’d started down, I couldn’t really get back up, so ended up pressing myself spread-eagled into the ground, literally inching my way across the slope, trying to find any bit of texture on the surface that would give me a little purchase, and constantly telling myself to stay calm because the slightest slip would have been fatal. If I started to slide, there would be no way to control it or stop until I hit the valley floor a few hundred meters below. After an age, I managed to reach a tongue of compacted snow/ice in a shallow gully and down-climbed that by cutting steps with a sharp stone as an improvised ice axe.

I’ve done a number of stupid things on mountains (was once designated “most likely to die young” by a mountaineering buddy), but I’ve never been so close to death over an extended period due to one stupid assumption.
 
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Brummie said:
A few years ago, I was camping with a friend in the Tetons. Decided to spend a day walking / climbing a horseshoe ridge by myself. It was fun - very exposed in sections, with great views, but easy climbing / scrambling.

At the end of the day, I came to a saddle that dropped very steeply back into the valley where we were camped. Being incorrigibly lazy, and not wanting to retrace the whole route, I looked at the 60 degree gravel slope and thought “I can get down that - it’ll be just like running down a scree slope.”

Long story short, I misjudged BADLY. The ground was still frozen, but with a half inch of loose gravel on top of it. So instead of my feet sinking into the substrate and giving me some control over my descent, it was like moving on a smooth, hard surface strewn with marbles. Once I’d started down, I couldn’t really get back up, so ended up pressing myself spread-eagled into the ground, literally inching my way across the slope, trying to find any bit of texture on the surface that would give me a little purchase, and constantly telling myself to stay calm because the slightest slip would have been fatal. If I started to slide, there would be no way to control it or stop until I hit the valley floor a few hundred meters below. After an age, I managed to reach a tongue of compacted snow/ice in a shallow gully and down-climbed that by cutting steps with a sharp stone as an improvised ice axe.

I’ve done a number of stupid things on mountains (was once designated “most likely to die young” by a mountaineering buddy), but I’ve never been so close to death over an extended period due to one stupid assumption.
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Oof. This reminded me of similar stupidity in my youth.

Visiting a cousin, and there was a cliff not too far from her house. I think I was around 13 or 14 at the time.

As we were hiking around the area, we decided to try climbing this cliff. My brother is 2 years older and my cousin was right between us in age.

All the scree at the base should’ve given us an indication, but we were too young and inexperienced to know better.

As we began climbing, we started to realize that the cliff was VERY crumbly. Our dads had taught us the basics of climbing, testing handholds and footholds, maintaining 3 points of contact etc., which was a good thing, because a lot of the time, handholds or footholds would break off as we were testing them.

Of course, we had zero equipment. We made it up maybe a little over halfway, where we found a shallow cave and stopped and enjoyed the view from 150-200 feet up, then decided we should climb back down, as it got steeper above that point (up to that point we hadn’t hit too many vertical sections), and my cousin didn’t feel comfortable trying to go any higher.

Well, that danged cliff stuck in my stubborn little mind all day long, so the next morning, I woke up early and headed out for it solo, without telling anyone or even leaving a note.

Yup. The darned thing was really crumbly, and as I got higher, I discovered that I couldn’t even stay in one spot for very long, as footholds and handholds would break, so I had to constantly keep moving.

When I finally got to within 15-30 feet from the top, I realized that the top was undercut. A lot of it had broken away, and I would be hanging off this crumbly crap, to scale the last part.

At that time/age, I was also not very comfortable/good at down climbing, not to mention that it was difficult to stay in one spot looking for the next foothold for downclimbing.

As I was trying to figure out what to do, not being able to climb up, down, or stay in one spot for very long, I kept crabbing sideways, and got lucky finding a deep crack, that finally allowed me to get to the top.

It was only then, that I finally had the time to realize how stupid that was. Not only the attempt, but not even leaving a note.

The back side of that bluff was actually hikeable. It just took a few extra miles to go down that way. When I finally got back to my cousins house, everyone had been up for quite a while already, and asked, “Where’ve you been?”. I just said, “Sorry. Went for an early morning hike and lost track of the time”.

Later that day, my cousin whispered to me, “You went back and climbed that cliff, didn’t you? Thought so. Dumbass”. 😅
 
I put a 580g Chinese cleaver into the clamps of my Hapstone. It was already sharp, but I wanted to lower the edge angle a bit. I got caught up in other things, and just left it there.

I was sharpening a different knife on a bench stone, reached for my spray bottle of oil, and my right index finger hit the clamped cleaver edge with some force. Sliced a U shape about 1" long, and not shallow.

A sensible person would have gone to the emergency room, but I finally managed to get it to stop bleeding with a bunch of bloodstop powder, and to hold together with a couple of those little butterfly bandages with wires in them. Wrapped it up in lots of layers, and left it alone for a few days. It eventually healed well; the only remnant of the experience is a touch of numbness in the finger pad, and a new reason to say to myself "You Idiot!"

I may still be an idiot, but I am no longer the kind of idiot who ever leaves anything sharp-edged in a clamp if I am not actively working on it.
 
bluemax_1 said:
Oof. This reminded me of similar stupidity in my youth.

Visiting a cousin, and there was a cliff not too far from her house. I think I was around 13 or 14 at the time.

As we were hiking around the area, we decided to try climbing this cliff. My brother is 2 years older and my cousin was right between us in age.

All the scree at the base should’ve given us an indication, but we were too young and inexperienced to know better.

As we began climbing, we started to realize that the cliff was VERY crumbly. Our dads had taught us the basics of climbing, testing handholds and footholds, maintaining 3 points of contact etc., which was a good thing, because a lot of the time, handholds or footholds would break off as we were testing them.

Of course, we had zero equipment. We made it up maybe a little over halfway, where we found a shallow cave and stopped and enjoyed the view from 150-200 feet up, then decided we should climb back down, as it got steeper above that point (up to that point we hadn’t hit too many vertical sections), and my cousin didn’t feel comfortable trying to go any higher.

Well, that danged cliff stuck in my stubborn little mind all day long, so the next morning, I woke up early and headed out for it solo, without telling anyone or even leaving a note.

Yup. The darned thing was really crumbly, and as I got higher, I discovered that I couldn’t even stay in one spot for very long, as footholds and handholds would break, so I had to constantly keep moving.

When I finally got to within 15-30 feet from the top, I realized that the top was undercut. A lot of it had broken away, and I would be hanging off this crumbly crap, to scale the last part.

At that time/age, I was also not very comfortable/good at down climbing, not to mention that it was difficult to stay in one spot looking for the next foothold for downclimbing.

As I was trying to figure out what to do, not being able to climb up, down, or stay in one spot for very long, I kept crabbing sideways, and got lucky finding a deep crack, that finally allowed me to get to the top.

It was only then, that I finally had the time to realize how stupid that was. Not only the attempt, but not even leaving a note.

The back side of that bluff was actually hikeable. It just took a few extra miles to go down that way. When I finally got back to my cousins house, everyone had been up for quite a while already, and asked, “Where’ve you been?”. I just said, “Sorry. Went for an early morning hike and lost track of the time”.

Later that day, my cousin whispered to me, “You went back and climbed that cliff, didn’t you? Thought so. Dumbass”. 😅
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Three points of contact at all times was exactly what my dad told me. Of course, for modern sport climbers, 3 points of contact would be 2 fingernails and a spiritual connection to the mountain.

Down-climbing is worse than going up because you can’t really see where you’re going. Another time, I was with some mates in Wadi Rum, Jordan. We’d been sleeping out under the stars, but I decided to peel off in the morning and climb one of the big sandstone domes that rise out of the desert. Those things are pretty much vertical towards the base, but I found one with a sizeable crack going up to a ledge and it looked like there might be a route up from there.

So I start out in a tight chimney climb, which becomes an increasingly narrow crack, and then eventually splits into two. I went up the right fork, but that then petered out, so I had to traverse over to the left fork. The traverse was only a few meters, but pretty gnarly with zero protection - totally exposed on vertical sandstone with marginal holds. But I got across to the left crack, then up to the ledge. Was feeling pretty pleased with myself until it dawned on me that I’d have to down-climb the whole thing. Suddenly any enthusiasm I had for trying to go further disappeared.
 
Climbing stories...love it.

I have had issues with my right shoulder ever since I attempted a standing glissade on the Lizard Head glacier in the Wind River Range back in 1974. I ended up hitting something in the snow and ice that had me go ass over teakettle and only by pure luck hit an obstruction before going over the edge for a few hundred feet. My first comment to my mates who thought I was dead was "Can we take a break". I literally never was able to self arrest with my old Stubai ax. Dislocated the shoulder, had the pin from my belt buckle punch a small hole in my midsection, and was generally beat up, but thankful. Rapelling down off the mountain was a load of fun that afternoon.

As a result of the shoulder issue, some years later while climbing in the Shawangunks in NY, there was a climb that required a hand traverse (legs dangling) to a crack or face off to the left. The rock was cut great for bombproof handholds, but unfortunately for me, my shoulder popped out mid traverse. So, I called to my belayer to be ready in case I fell. I was able to sidle over crablike by tucking my right elbow into my torso and just grabbing enough rock to allow me to move the left hand over a bit. Finished the traverse and then it was an easy stretch to the top.

Couldn't drive my stick shift Datsun 510 home from the cliff, so I had to have my partner drive it and then stay at his place over the weekend until it felt well enough to drive again.
 
Blues said:
Climbing stories...love it.

I have had issues with my right shoulder ever since I attempted a standing glissade on the Lizard Head glacier in the Wind River Range back in 1974. I ended up hitting something in the snow and ice that had me go ass over teakettle and only by pure luck hit an obstruction before going over the edge for a few hundred feet. My first comment to my mates who thought I was dead was "Can we take a break". I literally never was able to self arrest with my old Stubai ax. Dislocated the shoulder, had the pin from my belt buckle punch a small hole in my midsection, and was generally beat up, but thankful. Rapelling down off the mountain was a load of fun that afternoon.

As a result of the shoulder issue, some years later while climbing in the Shawangunks in NY, there was a climb that required a hand traverse (legs dangling) to a crack or face off to the left. The rock was cut great for bombproof handholds, but unfortunately for me, my shoulder popped out mid traverse. So, I called to my belayer to be ready in case I fell. I was able to sidle over crablike by tucking my right elbow into my torso and just grabbing enough rock to allow me to move the left hand over a bit. Finished the traverse and then it was an easy stretch to the top.

Couldn't drive my stick shift Datsun 510 home from the cliff, so I had to have my partner drive it and then stay at his place over the weekend until it felt well enough to
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Your glissade reminds me of another time. Was in the mountains on the Macedonia-Albania border, sliding on my butt down a big snow slope. The run-out was a patch of rock-strewn flatter land. I thought "when I get to the end of the snow, I'll just pop up onto my feet and literally run out of the slide."

Well, no. That didn't happen. And sitting down wasn't much fun for a while.

Anybody seeing a pattern here?
 
When I drop something, I have a bad habit of trying to deflect the items with one of my feet. Well, several years back I was slicing a beautiful smoked brisket that had a thick, juicy, bark layer. My recently sharpened slicing knife got a little juicy and slippery, and slipped out of my hand. It bounced off the edge of the counter and started to fall point first. I guess I couldn’t let such a nice knife do a high dive into the tile floor, so, my left foot came to the rescue! Oh, I was wearing sandals at the time.

Gravity is a funny thing. Once the point was buried in the top of my foot, gravity and momentum took over and pulled the handle towards the ground, edge first! Luckily, it pivoted downward right between two toes instead over one of them. The top of one’s foot isn’t very meaty, but sure does bleed a lot! Good thing we have a junk drawer in the kitchen where the super glue is stored!
 
MANY decades ago, as a 17-yr old, I was perched on the armrest of the family couch sharpening a British commando dagger ( the real thing ). Suddenly young sister comes blasting through the screen door. I look up and mind transitions to new subject as focus on old action goes by the boards. New sensation causes me to look down. Focus now on original action. Funny. Blade tip is now imbedded inch-plus in left leg above and inside knee. NOT supposed to be there I quickly realize. First thought: if I bleed on couch or on rug….. Plan emerges: quickly pull blade out, apply pressure, limp to bathroom, assess damage and formulate follow-on actions. End result: off to family doctor, stitches, doctor. lecture. Parents once again unphased, awaiting next “adventure.” ( to be continued at another time…). 😁
 
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