Wilderness Survival For Dumb Kids

As an only child, I learned early on to entertain myself. Growing up in Montana, it was easy enough to let my imagination run wild. One afternoon I might be a stealthy ninja, hacking up frankensteins with my dual katanas...

...and the next day I'd be a badass cowboy, laying waste to stupid vampires.

I had friends, of course. I was a social child, but the fact was there were times when I'd be left to my own devices, and on occasion I'd get carried away. I remember one summer I set up a zip-line between two trees in my front yard, tied a blanket around my neck like a cape, and literally spent hours zooming back and forth through the air, kicking my feet and screaming at imaginary space invaders. My mother would watch me from the living room window, no doubt wondering how long it would take for the doctors to finally diagnose me.

One winter we traveled out to the North Mocassin Mountains to visit a friend's cabin for a few days. On the first night there was a heavy snowfall, and the next morning I couldn't wait to go out and play in the woods out back. My mother fed me some breakfast and sent me on my way.

"Don't get eaten by mountain lions," she warned me. "But if you do, try to keep your snowpants free of bloodshed. I can give them to my next child."

And with that, I bounded out the door.

It wasn't long before I was fending off an imaginary horde of zombies, punching and kicking my way to glory. I hopped onto a fallen log, then launched myself into a spectacular kick attack.

Unfortunately, the snowbank below me was deeper than expected, and I landed in the soft white powder with a faint FOOMP sound. I was up to my neck in snow.

Unable to move, I switched into panic mode almost immediately.

"Think, Adam! THINK!" I told myself, "You're a boy scout, you can get out of this!"

I'd only managed to earn two merit badges at that point, but I wracked my brain for a way to free myself. Nothing handy came to mind. All I could remember were useless tidbits about wilderness survival, none of which applied to my current dilemma. I remembered my scout leader had told me, "If you're ever being chased by a moose, just hide behind a tree. Moose are dumb and will probably forget they were chasing you in the first place."

That didn't help me in the least. I vaguely recalled being taught how to free myself from quicksand, but the details were fuzzy, replaced instead by nonsensical scenarios from any number of adventure cartoons.

There was nothing for me to do. Surely I was going to die.

Then, suddenly, I heard a rustling a little ways away. Fearing a mountain lion coming to feast on my face, I was relieved when a white-tailed deer appeared instead.

The deer left and I was alone again, once more convinced that death was imminent. I don't remember how long I was trapped there in silence, but it felt like eons. Finally when I started to lose feeling in my fingertips, I did the only thing I could think of.

I started screaming my head off.

Unfortunately I must have been farther into the woods than I'd thought, because my yells didn't carry back to the cabin and my mother didn't come to rescue me.

Somebody heard me, though. After several moments of shrieking, I was approached by a man. He stopped in front of me, puzzled. He looked like someone out of a rural Southern Gothic novel, all grizzled and dirty, and my naive, overactive brain instantly jumped to the most gruesome conclusion.

Thankfully, he did not eat me. Instead, he wordlessly reached down and lifted me out of the snowbank, and then disappeared back into the woods. Still not convinced he wasn't a murderous cannibal, I tore down the hillside back toward the safety of the cabin.

I told my mom what had happened, but I don't think she believed me. Granted, I probably shouldn't have frantically started my story with, "So I was just minding my own business, high-kicking zombies, when all of a sudden..."

She made me some hot chocolate, and I drank it in front of the fireplace.