Frozen
My God it is so fucking cold! My mouth hurts from
shivering, my teeth are chattering, I am shaking so hard I can hardly draw a
deep breath, shivering is deep cored and spasmodic. I am crouched here with my
arms wrapped around my legs trying to hold what little heat I have left. My
knees are drawn up and my back is against what passes for a wall; nothing more
than a thin boards, no insulation, nothing but the wood between me and the
outside. These flimsy walls are all that stands between me and the storm, the
storm that brought down my plane in these God forsaken mountains.
/////
I have to be somewhat glad for the snow because without it I would never have
been able to walk away from the crash. I was able to pull up into a shallow
dive just before I hit. The plane skidding on the snow banks bouncing and
sliding, spinning at times like the aluminum saucers we used to ride as kids.
After shearing off both wings I shot like a rocket down the mountain,
careening off trees and rocks. Half way along the trip the tail parted like a
shot when it smashed into a very large pine tree. There goes my emergency
locator beacon I thought. I caught glimpse of the fireball of burning fuel
during the spins. By the time I stopped I had already skidded several hundred
feet from the fire, I was partly buried in the snow.
I sat there, still strapped in my seat, and mentally went over my body. I can
wiggle my toes, move my feet. I can move my legs without pain, hips ok; taking
a slow deep breath I feel a couple twinges but otherwise I am pain free.
Shoulders, arms and fingers, all good, turning my head left to right, up and
down, again no pain. Is it possible that I just crash-landed in the woods, on
the side of a mountain sliding like a run-a-way bobsledder and I am un-hurt? I
wiped the melting snow from my face then looking at my hand to see if there was
any blood. With a shuddering deep breath I can see there is nothing but water thank
God. I did not realize that I was holding my breath; I empty my lungs with a
big sigh.
So here I am, whipsawed into this situation by something going wrong with my
metal bird and by this damn storm. My Cessna TTX has all the fuel is in the
wings and they were liberated from the body by a few well-placed trees
otherwise I would be charcoal right now.
I could not get my seat belt to release no matter how hard I fought with it so
I worked into my pocket for my knife. I have often said to people when they ask
if I had a knife, “if I have pants on I have a knife”.
It took a few minutes but I finally cut myself free and managed to climb out through
what was left of the windshield. As soon as I stuck my head out above the snow
and the wreckage the wind hit me. It was not blowing hard but within the
shelter of the shattered fuselage I had some protection and did not feel it.
I am dressed for a business meeting not for
trekking on the side of a mountain in the winter. Dress shoes with light socks,
nicely pressed black pants, white shirt with a blue tie, and a medium weight
coat. Right now I am a little wet. Standing here on the stub of the right wing
I feel like I am nude, the cold is cutting like the knife I just used to free
myself. All that is left of my plane is a tear shaped hunk of battered and torn
aluminum; both wings and the tail are gone. There is a large pine tree branch
sticking out of the side not far from where I was sitting, its needles moving
in the wind.
Trying to get my bearings I slowly turn around. The storm is higher up the
mountain than where I am so there is little snow falling, my field of vision is
only limited to the distance between me and the surrounding trees, about 50
feet. Down is that way I am thinking as I look at my watch. I have about 4
hours before dark. I cannot stay here and it will be a long time before anyone
finds what is left of my red and white beauty, my Cessna.
The fire has burnt itself out. There is little smoke rising only to be whisked
away. “That’s not going to be helpful” I say aloud. Where there is smoke there
is fire and now there is neither, I am on my own. Reaching for my cell phone I
am delighted to find that it has remained locked within its leather shell so I
pull it out hoping for a signal.
“Oh this is sweet,” I yell at the phone’s busted screen. Something had hit the
phone smashing it nearly in two. Whatever it was destroyed the phone instead of
imbedding into me. It saved my ass but may have cost me as well; I am really on
my own now. I put the remains of the phone back into the sheaf. Why did I do
that I think as I turn toward the short end of the wing.
Jumping off the stub I sink into the snow to my hips, snow packed tightly from groin
to the bottoms of my feet. I can feel the snow pushed up under my pant legs.
The cold is numbing. Looking back over my shoulder I can almost reach the wing
stub. Slamming myself back and forth I wiggle enough to reach the broken metal
of the stub, I use it to help pull myself out, pull my foot up, push it back
down packing snow under it. I do this repeatedly all the while pulling myself
up.
It takes a while but I am back on the fuselage, wet and very cold. Looking back
at my watch I now have a little over three hours of light left. The first step
has wasted a lot of time and I am now right back where I started.
I climb over what is left of the cockpit to the other wing stub; this one is a
little longer and is on the uphill side. Once at the end I can see the snow is
not nearly as deep. My first attempt was on the wrong side, the downhill side
where the bank was deepest.
Instead of jumping off like the first time I climb down gently to find that the
snow here is only a few inches deep. Sinking a bit my feet find hard ground and
with a bit of a struggle I am finally moving away from the wreckage.
I am
still shivering uncontrollably. At least that has not stopped; when it does I
will be dead. Walking seems to help warm me a little. It will soon be dark and now
the wind has picked up some more causing the temperature to drop even further. I am not sure that I will survive the night
but I am sure as hell going to try. After all I just managed to crash a plane
and walked away. What could be so hard about walking down a mountain?
Removing my tie I wrap it around
my neck, as many times as I can then tuck the end in, this little bit of cloth
seems to help. I have turned up both my coat and shirt collars as well.
For
the next hour I work my way down the mountain. There are places that I have to
begin climbing up again just to get past areas that the snow is too deep but
for the most part it is a downward journey.
My feet, I can no longer feel my feet. My skin feels like a shell, like
chocolate on an ice cream bar. My clothes are frozen and rubbing my skin raw
where I have to bend, like at the knees. My hands have long since become more
clubs than hands. I cannot grip tree branches to stop my slips and falls and
blessedly I cannot feel the pain associated with contact with the rocks and the
frozen ground. Each time I fall it is harder to push myself back up. I want to
just stop and rest. I can no longer see my watch. It is too high on my wrist
under the frozen sleeve. I have no idea how much time I have left before dark.
The sky has darkened with snow clouds so I can no longer tell where the sun is.
I can hear the wind and an
occasional bird but my ears are nothing but frozen wings on my head. I reach up
to check them and my right ear breaks off in my hand. I stand there looking at
it, cupped in my useless fingers. I am dumbfounded but I feel no pain. I stand
there for a long time trying to decide what to do with my ear and finally I let
it drop knowing that I cannot put it back nor can I put it in my pocket. I do
not touch my other ear for fear of breaking it off too.
I
felt like my bladder was going to explode but I did not want to empty it. I
knew that the heat I will lose is not replaceable. After a while I had no choice
but found that my fingers would no longer function and the zipper was something
that I could not concur. I did what I had to do, the warmth spreading down my
legs warming me for a moment but then that was replaced by intense cold as the
urine freezes in my pants and on my legs. My pubic hairs freezing in place then
pulling as I tried to move. Just one more thing to hurt I am thinking. I would
smile but I am unable to make the skin on my face move anywhere near that shape.
After
a while I was walking on flat ground. There was not a lot of snow here; the
wind had swept it mostly clean. When I came out of the tree line I saw the
shack. At first I was not sure what it
was I was seeing. I had to break the ice from my eyelids to clear my vision. To
me it looked like a five start resort sitting there at the edge of the other
tree line perhaps two hundred feet away. The area was flat but it still took me
a while to get across what I can only assume is a frozen pond. Shuffling like
an old man was the fastest I could move.
The
door was closed with a gate latch and I was able to open it with my forearm by
pushing down on it. I forced my frozen right hand into the small opening and
pulled. Getting my arm and then my shoulder in I squeezed in. I could not shut
the door using my hands so I grabbed the inside handle with my mouth and pulled
it closed leaving skin on the frozen metal. I swear I hear my jaw creak when I
opened my mouth.
Blood
from my torn lip was freezing on my coat in little droplets as I made my way
into the darken interior of the one room shack. There is a table sitting
lopsided, one leg missing. Two broken chairs piled against one wall, a potbelly
stove in the middle of the room with its door open, empty shelves over what
looked like what had been a sink, and counter top at one time.
The
windows were intact and closed although thickly coated in snow or maybe ice.
There was no wood for the fire, no food or water, no blankets or anything to
help me ward off the cold. I could break up the furniture but without something
to start a fire with, filling the stove with wood would do me no good, too bad
I had quit smoking so many years ago. I could hear the sound of the wind
outside but in here it was still and just as cold as it is out there. I could
no longer see my breath as I moved about with my slow clumsy steps searching.
/////
I am
still huddled with my back to the wall, probably frozen to that wall by now. I
cannot move nor can I straighten my legs. My feet and legs are no more that
lumps that I can see but no longer feel. My shivering has diminished to slight
tremors. I am going to die here; frozen solid until spring crouched looking
towards a door that will not open with my rescue. No one knows that I am here
no one will find me.
/////
I can
see Kimberly standing by the car waving good-bye, her beautiful red hair
blowing in the wind as I circle and taxi out. I dip my wing to her when I pass
over heading to my meeting. Blowing her a kiss, a kiss that she cannot see, I
say aloud, “I will be back tomorrow my love!”
/////
Kimberly, how long will you wait how long will
you greave for me? “I love you Kim!” I shout only to realize that I have made
barely a sound. My frozen voice not loud enough even for these walls hear me.
My tears freeze as they land on my cheeks. She will only know that I have gone
missing, not where I am, no one will ever know where I am. I cannot turn my
head to see the inside of my wooden coffin and I no longer care. It is getting
hard to breathe and again I do not care, I just want to go to sleep, I just want
to rest.
/////
Looking
down I see myself crouched there by the wall. My skin is blue grey and there is
icicles hanging from my nose. My eyes are open but frozen over, there is a tear
frozen half way down my cheek. So this is what it is like after you die. I do
not hurt, I am no longer cold. Slowly I float backwards away from my body, away
from the cabin, away from the cold, away from the snow and ice, away.
5/1/2015
