Cool? Definitely not, or at least I don’t think so. And I very seriously doubt anyone would be jealous.
I used to go up in the mountains by myself. Bare minimum supplies, like a knife, the clothes on my back, and an emergency pack for “in case shit”, that if I had to touch, the trip was over. I also went armed because shit can happen.
Now, I did this for years, and it was very rare for anything bad to happen at all, and the worst stuff wasn’t life threatening except once. I’d run across bears, a few crazy people, maybe twist an ankle or some such.
But that one time.
So, there’s a feral dog problem. They’ve interbred with what’s called the eastern coyote, which itself is supposedly a mix of coyote, wolf, and a little dog.
The eastern coyote is rarely a problem. Small family groups, avoid people. If you see them at all, it’s unusual.
But when they mix with dogs, and those dogs are feral, the packs get bigger and they tend to not be scared of humans.
Well, I was cooking a fish I caught during one summer when the weather had been dry, and small animal populations were low.
The smell brought a pack in. Enough of them that they tried to circle me in and come at me after the fish I threw to them wasn’t interesting enough.
I had 14 rounds on me, and I needed most of them. The first couple of shots missed because I was fucking terrified. At that point, I’d never taken any training for shooting under pressure, so I was panic breathing and shaking hard.
You’d think the sound of a 45 going off would have scared them off, but it didn’t. I dropped a couple of them, swapped mags and dropped two more before the rest ran off. One of them, I had to finish because I didn’t get a clean shot because it was early in the half a minute it all took.
I hiked my ass back out as soon as I could stop shaking and keep my legs under me. And I did the hike with a nice wet spot because I pissed myself a little.
Went to the ranger station, reported it, did all that crap and went home.
Now, there was also a less dramatic event not maybe ten miles away where I found a body. Suicide, shotgun vs head. That was not fun either; but plenty of people have found dead bodies. Those were the two worst things I ever had happen up there on my own.
I really appreciate your honesty. You absolutely could re-tell this story to make yourself look like a cool rugged survivalist, but I imagine you didn’t much feel like one in the moment.
Being honest though, I sometimes tell the story like an adventure tale, right until the end.
Give details, all the flashes of memory that come with it, hype the story. Then, at the very end, describe the pee dripping down my leg in as much detail.
It’s one of those stories I had to tell for years, because telling it as a story breaks down the horror of it in my head. You tell a story like that enough times, you kinda blur the emotional edges off of it, and it loses power. Nowadays, it’s just another story, luckily.
Cool? Definitely not, or at least I don’t think so. And I very seriously doubt anyone would be jealous.
I used to go up in the mountains by myself. Bare minimum supplies, like a knife, the clothes on my back, and an emergency pack for “in case shit”, that if I had to touch, the trip was over. I also went armed because shit can happen.
Now, I did this for years, and it was very rare for anything bad to happen at all, and the worst stuff wasn’t life threatening except once. I’d run across bears, a few crazy people, maybe twist an ankle or some such.
But that one time.
So, there’s a feral dog problem. They’ve interbred with what’s called the eastern coyote, which itself is supposedly a mix of coyote, wolf, and a little dog.
The eastern coyote is rarely a problem. Small family groups, avoid people. If you see them at all, it’s unusual.
But when they mix with dogs, and those dogs are feral, the packs get bigger and they tend to not be scared of humans.
Well, I was cooking a fish I caught during one summer when the weather had been dry, and small animal populations were low.
The smell brought a pack in. Enough of them that they tried to circle me in and come at me after the fish I threw to them wasn’t interesting enough.
I had 14 rounds on me, and I needed most of them. The first couple of shots missed because I was fucking terrified. At that point, I’d never taken any training for shooting under pressure, so I was panic breathing and shaking hard.
You’d think the sound of a 45 going off would have scared them off, but it didn’t. I dropped a couple of them, swapped mags and dropped two more before the rest ran off. One of them, I had to finish because I didn’t get a clean shot because it was early in the half a minute it all took.
I hiked my ass back out as soon as I could stop shaking and keep my legs under me. And I did the hike with a nice wet spot because I pissed myself a little.
Went to the ranger station, reported it, did all that crap and went home.
Now, there was also a less dramatic event not maybe ten miles away where I found a body. Suicide, shotgun vs head. That was not fun either; but plenty of people have found dead bodies. Those were the two worst things I ever had happen up there on my own.
I really appreciate your honesty. You absolutely could re-tell this story to make yourself look like a cool rugged survivalist, but I imagine you didn’t much feel like one in the moment.
Man, I felt like dinner in the moment.
Being honest though, I sometimes tell the story like an adventure tale, right until the end.
Give details, all the flashes of memory that come with it, hype the story. Then, at the very end, describe the pee dripping down my leg in as much detail.
It’s one of those stories I had to tell for years, because telling it as a story breaks down the horror of it in my head. You tell a story like that enough times, you kinda blur the emotional edges off of it, and it loses power. Nowadays, it’s just another story, luckily.
It does make for a cool story.