It was sure to be a day I would have rather forgotten, but the inhospitable send off I received from my boss was sure to linger.
           
It was 15 minutes after five, just a week after the Fourth of July. It was hot and dry. The sun would be up another four hours, and all I wanted to do was go to bed maybe for the next six months to a lifetime.
           
I was looking forward to the weekend, the first weekend in a long while that I was free from work. I remember thinking the idea of two whole days away from work seemed like paradise.
           
Just 45 minutes before, I was thinking how great it would be not to have any work before me. Thoughts raced in my head: What to do? What to do with this time off?
           
With 30 minutes left in the workday, my boss called me into his office. I was sure my weekend would be ruined. Little did I know.
           
“We’ve made a major miscalculation, Ray.” My boss deadpanned.
           
I didn’t respond, hoping whatever the miscalculation was it wouldn’t require me to fix it over the weekend. There was still a chance to catch Chinook salmon in the South Fork, and I thought that might be what I’d do with my weekend.
           
“I really don’t know where to begin, Ray, but the best thing to do is to just say it and get it over with.”
           
I didn’t respond; I now knew my weekend was ruined.
           
“You’re fired.”
           
“I’m what?” I thought.
           
All I could muster was, “Excuse me?”
           
“We no longer can afford to have you around here, in fact, we never could afford you.”
           
I never much cared for the man, and it was mainly because I knew he never cared much for me.
           
I had a thought about pleading with the man, but before uttering another word, I just walked out of the office. I jumped in my truck I can’t afford and just took off.
           
I don’t know what he thought about it, and I didn’t care. He just fired me without warning and without cause.
           
That was going to look good on the resume.
           
For the time being, I just drove around with no destination and no sense at all to the route I took.
           
I had done this before. Years ago, when I caught my now ex-wife cheating on me, I just got in the car I then couldn’t afford and drove. About 1,000 miles later, I stopped the car, my life wrecked for the first time.
           
Since then, it was a series of dashed hopes, as one way or another someone or something I depended on left me high and dry.
           
Try as I might, being independent always was a matter of perspective.
           
Well, I wasn’t going to drive 1,000 miles this time. Damn gas prices were too high for that. Nevertheless, I was going to drive a while more.
           
What the hell was I to do? I hadn't a damn penny saved, I was in debt up to my ears and now I had no income. That’s great; I didn’t even stay around long enough to see if I had a severance check. The thought made me laugh out loud.
           
I looked at the passenger seat when I came to a traffic light and noticed some files I needed to return to a pilot south of town.
           
Maybe Jack would be home so I could get rid of this reminder of my former job.
           
So, I turned left and headed south of town to Jack Fulton’s ranch. He was a bush pilot. I had some files of his I no longer needed for a project I was doing. He said he wanted the files back. Apparently, he didn’t have copies.
           
What the hell, maybe he’d be home and maybe he’d have some good scotch or something so I could forget what just happened.
           
Jack lived about 10 miles outside town. He owned a couple airplanes, and rather than house them at the airport, he had his own hangar at his ranch and his own mile-long landing strip. He was pretty damn independent, and I was sure I could learn something of value just by befriending the recluse.
           
Who knew? Maybe he needed somebody to work for him. He was rich enough to own 5,000 acres and two planes. He obviously was more successful than I was. I think I owned a couple of cameras, some fishing gear, and an X-Box.
           
I turned right off the highway into Jack’s driveway. The gate was open–that was a good sign.
           
The Circle T Ranch, the sign said. What the hell that meant, I wasn’t sure. The valley was full of ranches starting with the circle and some letter. Maybe it had something to do with branding cattle. Hell if I knew.
           
Soon the dust from the gravel driveway obscured my view of the highway as I drove up the half-mile long driveway to Jack’s rather impressive log home.
           
I was in luck he was home. I saw him walking from his hangar to his house as I pulled around back.
           
He waved and went inside.
           
I stopped the truck, got out, and went to his back door.
           
I was about to knock at the door when he opened it and walked out.
           
“How are you doing?” he asked.
           
“I’m just returning your files you loaned us.”
           
I held the files out to him, and he took them and turned to place them on the counter next to the back door.
           
“Well, I wish I could stay and talk, but I’m going up for a while this evening to clear my head,” he said.
           
He motioned toward his hangar. His single-engine Cessna was outside the hangar. He paused and thought for a second.
           
“You want to go up with me?”
           
I was about to say no, but then I thought, what the hell, it wasn’t like I had anything better to do except to go into town, get drunk, and embarrass myself.
           
“You don’t mind do you?” I asked.
           
“Hell no, might as well have someone to talk to while I’m up there.”
           
“Where are we going?” I asked.
           
“I just figured it would be nice to go flying over the backcountry for a while, no particular destination, maybe we’ll fly out to Big Creek or Johnson Creek. You got your fly rod?” he asked.
           
I always carry my fly rod. I nodded yes and went to my truck to fetch it.
           
He walked toward the plane.
           
I caught up with him as he was making some last minute checks on his plane.
           
I didn’t much care for single-engine planes. I always thought two engines were better than one. Most pilots laughed at me when I shared this thought, so I figured I’d spare Jack the comment.
           
I threw my fly rod and fishing jacket in the back of the plane and took a seat up front.
           
Sitting in the front of Cessna, for anyone over six feet tall and more than 200 pounds I imagine is what a sardine feels like at the cannery.
           
Jack was shorter than I was and he was fit; the Cessna’s cockpit seemed to suit him fine. I, on the other hand, could not move freely.
           
He cranked the engine and checked a few things. All the while, he was pointing things out to me on the plane. I don’t know why, but all pilots seem to do this, and none of it ever sinks in with me.
           
He gave me a headset so we could talk as we were flying. It was a lot better than having him yell out instructions about what all the instruments were.
           
The plane had dual controls. I wondered if he was planning on giving me a free flying lesson. Probably not. It seemed apparent that neither of us had made any plans.
           
He pulled out the Cessna to his grass landing strip and began motoring down the strip.
           
It was a bumpy ride, but soon, without warning, we were airborne and the bumpy ride was over.
           
We were flying.
           
Jack quickly had the plane a few hundred feet in the air. We’d travel south for a while gaining altitude before we made a sharp left turn and headed east to wherever the hell we were going.
           
“So what did you do today?” Jack asked.
           
What a question to begin with. I thought about making small talk, but all the sudden I was reminded that today really sucked.
           
“I got fired,” I blurted out.
           
He laughed for second, but then looked at me and realized I wasn’t joking.
           
“Your boss has always been kind of an asshole.”
           
I didn’t disagree.
           
“What are you going to do?” he asked.
           
“I have no idea, didn’t see it coming. I never seem to see things coming.”
           
“Well, that ain’t right. Well maybe this trip will clear your mind, too.”
           
I nodded, then I asked him a question.
           
“What made you want to come up here and clear your head?”
           
“I’m having some legal troubles, and I thought it would be a good way to gain some perspective.”
           
“You’re probably right about that,” I said.
           
We were now high above the ridge of West Mountain over the south end of Lake Cascade.
           
The world seems completely different up here, I thought to myself. Everything seems so small, so distant.
           
About then the plane banked left on a slow turn to the east.
           
“You know, you’ll forget about that boss of yours when you’re knee deep in the stream with your fly rod doubled over,” Jack said.
           
The statement would normally be comforting, but it sparked a stark realization.
           
“Damn! I forgot my camera.”
           
Jack laughed for a second. “I think I’ve got one in the back, maybe not, who cares?”
           
We were soon making our way toward Deadwood Summit. Jack turned the plane again to the left, and we were heading northeast over Warm Lake.
           
I wondered where he planned on landing the plane.
           
“The damn tourists ought to be all over the woods from here to Yellow Pine, I say we head on up to Big Creek or maybe further,” Jack said.
           
For the first time, I had a question for Jack that I thought important.
           
“Did you file a flight plan?”
           
He just laughed.
           
“Nah, we’ll be fine.”
           
I laughed it off, too. I looked out the window and could see Johnson Creek, and off Jack’s side of the plane, I could almost see the South Fork.
           
“I was planning on catching a salmon on the South Fork this weekend,” I said. “Before I got fired, that is.”
           
“Well, we ought to be catching some cutts in about an hour or so. I’ve decided where we’re going.”
           
Jack then banked the plane to the right, and we headed due east toward the Middle Fork.
           
“Where’s that?” I asked.
           
“It’s a surprise. I think you’ll like it. It’s my favorite place. There won’t be a soul around either, and we’ll have the whole place to ourselves.”
           
With that, I relaxed as much as I could in my seat that was too small for me, and enjoyed the scenery. I had never been over this country before. I wished I had my camera. I spent the next few minutes framing up images in my mind’s eye, thinking about what would be a great calendar shot.
           
“Do I need to pay you something for this?” I asked
           
Jack just laughed. “You just got fired and you are asking me if you need to pay me for asking you to come along on a trip I would have made with or without you. You probably deserved to be fired.” He laughed as he spit out the last few words.
           
I smiled and went back to taking photos without a camera.
           
“No smoke yet this year,” Jack said.
           
“Give it time,” I said.
           
“It’s been a bone dry year, should be another bad one.”
           
I kept looking out the window wishing I had my camera. The rugged peaks were stunning with the sun baking them in a golden yellow light.
           
We were well into the Frank Church Wilderness of No Return. Headed somewhere, well, I wasn’t going to worry about that.
           
Jack started looking at his instruments. I figured we were getting close to our destination. I thought about asking if we were there yet.
           
Just then, everything went silent. The blur of the plane’s prop slowed to a defined revolution, soon it slowed almost to a stop.
           
I was horrified.
           
Jack tried to restart the engine.
           
“This happens occasionally, not often, but I’ll get it going again.”
           
We were dropping out of the sky. The engine seemed like it would restart. It made many sounds as Jack kept making attempts.
           
Jack tried the radio, but there was nothing but static. He made about three attempts on the radio, and nothing.
           
“Hey, Ray, I think we have to ditch.”
           
“What do I do?” I asked panicked.
           
“Help me look for something remotely like a clearing, I’ll see if I can’t glide this baby in there, and we can hike out to the nearest road. Don’t panic Ray, I’ve been through this before.”
           
His words didn’t calm me. We were powerless over an unending forest. He kept the nose up, but we were losing altitude fast.
           
“Ray, there’s a satellite phone in the pocket behind my seat. See if you can get it.”
           
I tried to reach it.
           
The earth was quickly approaching.
           
He banked the plane to the left. The treetops were only a few hundred feet below us now.
           
I had what I believed to be the phone in-between two of my fingers.
           
“It’s not a clearing, but that area over there seems to be fairly flat, and the trees don’t seem so big,” Jack said.
           
I tried to remember a prayer, but I couldn’t. I kept getting stuck and couldn’t finish a single prayer. My attempts devolved to “Oh, God, Oh God.”
           
Then we must have hit a treetop or something because the plane pitched straight down. Jack couldn’t hold the nose up any longer.
           
It was clear we weren’t going to make it to where Jack thought would be the best spot under the circumstances. We kept smacking into treetops.
           
The wing on my side hit some large branches and ripped off. I dropped the phone on the floor of the plane.
           
The plane turned with me on the high side. I don’t remember anything after that.
           
I woke up strapped to my seat. I looked over at Jack, but it was pitch black outside. My leg was stuck on something.
           
I noticed my door was gone. I used my left hand to see if Jack was still in his seat. He was, but I couldn’t raise him.
           
“Jack!” I yelled five or six times. He didn’t answer. I put my hand on his neck. He had a pulse. Thank God for that, I thought.
           
I grabbed whatever I could on the plane and unhooked my seatbelt.
           
Were we on the ground or in a tree? What was my leg stuck on?
           
I tried to free it. It was painful. It was a sharp pain. I knew I had to get out of the plane, but I couldn’t free it.
           
I began trying to rock the plane. A few moves and I moved the plane, what was left of it. We rolled three or four times and came to rest upright. My leg was now free, but the freedom meant more pain, more pain than I could bear. I passed out, I guess, because I remember waking up and the sun was up.
           
I could see the plane was in several pieces, the cockpit and backseat held together. I noticed one wing lodged in a lodgepole pine above us.
           
The tail was up the ridge about 200 feet away. I didn’t see the wing from my side of the plane.
           
My hand was banged up pretty good too. Jack was still unconscious in the pilot seat. I crawled out of the wreckage. I dragged myself over to Jack’s side of the plane. The effort was so much that I passed out again after opening up the door on Jack’s side of the plane.
           
When I came to again, it was late in the afternoon.
           
“Ray, Ray!” Jack’s weakened voice woke me up.
           
“Where the hell are we Ray?”
           
I was hoping he knew where we were.
           
“Jack, I think I need to get you out of your seat,” I said.
           
“Where the hell are we?” he just kept asking.
           
I tried to unhook his seat belt, but it was jammed.
           
“This may take awhile, Jack. I need to get a knife out of my fishing jacket in the backseat,” I said to him. “And I think I broke my leg, so it might take a long time before I can drag myself back to this side of the plane.”
           
“Hold on, Ray. I think I have a pocket knife in my jacket. Can you get it for me?” he asked. I knew he had to be in bad shape if he couldn’t get a knife out of his own jacket.
           
I found the knife, opened it up, and tried to cut the seatbelt. I was having a lot of trouble. Jack slumped over during the process.
           
I kept trying to cut the seatbelt, but I was weak. Eventually, I cut through the bottom of the belt, but he was still in the seat. I started cutting the remaining belt, trying to push Jack up against the seat to give me room to operate.
           
Eventually, I cut him free, and he rolled out of the plane onto me. I was in great pain and moving Jack off of my leg took all my strength. After I rolled him over onto the ground, I passed out from the pain. I don’t know how long I was out, but Jack woke before I did, he couldn’t move his arms, but he could move his legs.
           
“Ray wake up. Wake up, Ray.”
           
I came to, and Jack started asking me what kind of injuries I had.
           
I told him I figured my left leg was broken down around the ankle and that my left hand was probably broken in several places. It was black.
           
“I think I’ve broken a few ribs and both my arms,” Jack said.
           
“Can you make it back inside the plane?” he asked me.
           
“It’ll take some time, but I believe I can do it.”
           
“Good, I’ve got a first aid kit back there, four big bottles of water, and some food.”
           
I started dragging myself around to the other side of the plane. The pain was excruciating, but not as bad as before.
           
“Ray! Ray!”
           
“Yes, Jack?”
           
“Did you happen to grab the satellite phone before we crashed?”
           
“I don’t know if I ever had it, Jack.”
           
“Well, look for it when you get back there.”
           
“Ray, can you hurry? I don’t think I can go much longer without some water.”
           
I continued to drag myself and finally reached the opening on the other side of the plane.
           
The first aid kit had survived the crash intact. I tossed it through the front door and almost hit Jack.
           
“Sorry about that.”
           
I grabbed a water bottle and placed it on Jack’s seat. I saw a second water bottle, smashed and empty on the floor.
           
I found the other two bottles in good shape and placed them on the seat.
           
“Where’s the food, Jack?”
           
“It should be in a plastic box.”
           
I was moving things around, when our next stroke of bad luck became apparent.
           
“I found the phone, Jack.”
           
“Good, does it work?”
           
“I can’t say that it will. It is in about 50 pieces all over the floor.”
           
“Here’s the food,”
           
I opened the box to check the contents. There were some crackers, some canned pineapple and a couple of large sausage logs.
           
“There’s not much in here. There’s a copy of the book ‘Murders at the Tubs’ by that local writer. I guess that won’t be of much use.”
           
“We can use it to start a fire,” Jack said. “The guy went crazy I hear, said he shot Bigfoot. I didn’t like that book anyway.”
           
I placed the box on the seat; it rolled off the water bottles and landed next to Jack on the ground.
           
“Does this plane have an emergency beacon?”
           
“It doesn’t work. I’ve been meaning to have a new one installed.”
           
We had no phone, no beacon, the radio didn’t work when we were going down, and no one knew we had even gone on this trip.
           
“What are we going to do, Jack?”
           
“Keep our heads, Ray. We can still make it out of here. Now, if you could just come back over here and help me with this water.”
           
I started to crawl back around the plane, when I noticed an orange box below Jack’s seat.
           
“What’s in this orange box under your seat?”
           
“That’s the flare gun, and there’s a mirror in there for signaling aircraft; bring it with you.”
           
I grabbed the orange box and began crawling back around the plane to Jack.
           
It was pretty hot, I figured it was in the afternoon.
           
I crawled around to the other side of the plane to Jack. My foot was throbbing.
           
I opened the water bottle and began giving water to Jack. I took a few swigs myself.
           
“We’ll be fine, Ray. In a couple of days if we don’t signal anyone, I figure I can go for help since my legs seem to work.”
           
As Jack was drinking more water, he began to cough. He started coughing up blood and passed out.
           
I opened the first aid kit and gave myself a few pain pills. They had expired about five years ago, but maybe they’d do something for me.
           
In the food box, I found some matches. I dragged myself toward a tree about 20 feet away where there were some downed branches. I dragged a couple over toward Jack at the plane.
           
He woke up again, though he was in bad shape, and this time I think he knew it.
           
“Ray, can you go into the plane and grab my watch. It should be somewhere in there.”
           
“Let me get this fire started, maybe a lookout will spot the smoke.”
           
“That’s a good idea, Ray.”
           
I began ripping pages from the book with my one good hand and my teeth to help start the fire.
           
After starting the fire, I crawled over the plane and looked around for Jack’s watch.
           
“What kind of watch is it?”
           
“Does it matter? If you see a time piece, grab it,” he said.
           
I saw his watch on the seat in the back of the plane. I wondered if it still worked and if it would be worth it to crawl around the plane again to get it.
           
I decided we needed as much information as we could get, so I crawled around the plane again and grabbed the watch.
           
“I have your watch, Jack.”
           
“What time is it?”
           
“It says 3:30.”
           
I then crawled back to give the watch to Jack.
           
As I was handing it to him, he shook his head no.
           
His arms didn’t work, so I would be the timekeeper.
           
“What day is it?”
           
“July 14. Damn, we’ve been here three days already,” I said.
           
I gave Jack some more water, and that finished off the first bottle.
           
“So what should we do?”
           
“Well, if we hear a plane going over, we should start using the mirror to signal it. If we actually see a plane, then I want you to have that flare gun ready to fire.”
           
The smoke trail from our fire was pretty pathetic, and it wafted down the mountain into the valley.
           
Jack’s watch had an altimeter on it that said we were at about 6,000 feet.
           
We sat there for a while. I helped Jack take a couple pain pills and fashioned a splint for my leg. The first aid kit had some ankle wrap, and I used a couple pieces of metal from the plane for the splint.
           
I tied Jack’s arms into a sling and dragged him over to a rock where he could sit up without any effort.
           
“Ray, there’s a blanket in the plane, could you get it for me?”
           
Jack was shivering, even though it was probably 90 degrees outside.
           
It took a few minutes, but I got the blanket and put it on him. I then moved the fire over toward Jack.
           
I opened up the pineapple and gave Jack the first two slices and then ate two.
           
I then let Jack drink the juice out of the can.
           
He fell asleep as the sun went down. I threw a couple of sticks on the fire and went to sleep leaning against the plane.
           
Not long after I dosed off, I was awakened by a strange noise.
           
I was in pain, and wondered if I were hearing things.
           
It sounded like someone was banging sticks together.
           
I called out. The noise stopped. I called out again, but nothing.
           
I went back to sleep figuring I was hearing things.
           
I woke up before dawn. I grabbed a water bottle out of the seat and drank a couple swigs before crawling over to Jack.
           
“Do you think you can walk on your splint?” Jack asked.
           
“I hadn’t even considered it,” I said.
           
I then pushed up from the ground and stood on my good leg. I placed weight on my bad ankle. There was a massive pain, but I could stand.
           
I gave Jack a couple more drinks of water.
           
“Today, we have to make an effort to get out of here,” Jack said.
           
I didn’t disagree. I was in pain, and hungry and thirsty and figured Jack should have been in a hospital days ago.
           
“Before we decide how to do this, why were you throwing pine cones at me last night?” Jack asked.
           
Puzzled, I just looked at him.
           
“What are you talking about?” I asked.
           
“Last night I was hit in the face by three pine cones. It had to be you Ray, there’s no one else here.”
           
But it wasn’t me.
           
“Jack, I didn’t throw pine cones at you last night. Maybe some fell out of the tree.”
           
“Are you sure you didn’t throw pine cones at me last night? The first one that hit might have come out of a tree, but the next two, I saw their flight path for the last foot or so, and they had to have been thrown.”
           
“Jack, I promise you I didn’t throw pine cones at you last night. Did you hear the sticks banging together last night?” I asked.
           
“Can’t say I did. When you heard these sticks banging together did you then grab some pine cones in an effort to wake me up?”
           
“No, Jack. When I heard the sticks banging together, I called out and then everything was quiet.”
           
“I didn’t hear you call out; I must have been out.”
           
“Jack, I think you need to rest. I promise you, I won’t throw a pine cone at you.”
           
Jack soon went back to sleep, his breathing was getting worse. I wondered if there was anything I could do for him, but figured I would cause more harm than good.
           
The sun was now up.
           
I hopped around the crash site for a minute looking for a decent-sized branch I could use as a crutch.
           
After about 30 minutes of searching, I found a forked branch that held up my weight.
           
Jack woke up and asked for water and pain pills. I gave them to him and told him that I would try to hike up to the ridge to get an idea of where we were.
           
Jack didn’t disagree with the plan.
           
“Take the flare gun with you.”
           
I grabbed the flare gun, after reading how to use it.
           
“Take some water with you. If you see a road, hike down to it, mark where you entered the road, and get help. I think I’ll still be here when you get back.”
           
I didn’t doubt he would still be there, but I wondered how long he could survive without treatment.
           
I began walking up the side of the mountain. It was steep, but if I hadn’t been injured it wouldn’t have been a terrible hike. With the injury, it was arduous.
           
I struggled a few hundred yards above the crash site, when I stopped to rest. I wondered if I could even make it back to the crash site from here, much less go on to the top of the mountain.
           
I couldn’t even see the top of the mountain. If Jack’s watch were correct, I had at least a vertical climb of 1,000 feet, probably more before I could reach the top.
           
Then what would I do? Maybe I would get lucky and see a road.
           
After my rest, I continued hiking upward. I had been hiking about two hours when I stopped to rest. I could see the ridge top and it looked to be about another 500 feet up, but the hike was probably going to be another quarter-mile.
           
It was well into the afternoon when I reached the top. The last portion of the hike was almost vertical.
           
I paused on the ridge-top scanning the horizon, but the sun was in a bad spot for me to see anything.
           
All I could see was a sea of green and another line of mountains. There was no road to be seen anywhere.
           
I was out of breath and my fingertips were turning blue. Altitude sickness, I couldn’t catch a break. I knew I couldn’t stay on the ridge long; I had to go back or go forward.
           
I drank the last of my water and began my way down, toward the crash site.
           
About 300 feet down from the ridge top, my footing left me. I fell about 50 feet into a row of small trees.
           
Collecting myself, I realized my splint was damaged and my ankle was hurting as it had a couple of days ago.
           
I checked the flare gun. It didn’t seem to be damaged. I was surprised it didn’t go off.
           
I pushed myself to my feet again and looked down at a large depression in the sand.
           
“It can’t be,” I thought to myself.
           
I fought back the thoughts the depression in the sand sparked in me, the depression had to be from my fall.
           
I looked around for my crutch. It was broken in three pieces.
           
It was going to be a long descent to the crash site.
           
I walked as much as I could then slid down the hill on my backside.
           
The pain was killing me. Before I could make it back to the crash site, the sun went down. I was parched and in a lot of pain. I had to make it back to the crash site, so I continued on, in the dark.
           
I began calling out to Jack in the hope he would call back and give me an idea of where he was.
           
“Jack!” I called repeatedly.
           
I didn’t hear an answer.
           
I limped along in the dark, falling every now and then over a rock or small tree or log.
           
I got into an area of small trees and figured this must have been what Jack was hoping to hit from the air.
           
I figured I needed to turn around.
           
I then started hearing sticks banging together again.
           
“Jack! Is that you?”
           
No answer.
           
I kept limping on, calling out to Jack.
           
He didn’t respond. After about an hour of walking aimlessly, I found a rock outcropping and decided to sleep there until daylight.
           
The next morning, I woke up to the sound of thunder. All I could think of was that we were going to die out here. However, if the rain would make it down to the ground, I could refill the water bottle.
           
I began my search for the crash site anew as the thunder got louder and louder and the flashes got brighter and brighter.
           
The rain came slowly. A little sprinkle here, a little sprinkle there. It wasn’t enough to fill the water bottle.
           
I walked up what appeared to be a game trail and spotted the wing in the tree and made my way back to Jack.
           
His face was gray and he didn’t respond to my questions. He was still breathing, and I noticed he had some pine cones lying on his blanket.
           
The wind was picking up and probably deposited them on him this morning.
           
I tried to wake him, but failed. The rain picked up about 30 minutes later and soon became a deluge. Water was rushing off the plane, so I filled the empty bottles with the rainwater.
           
I also found a tarp in the tail section of the plane up the hill and used it to cover Jack. I emptied out the food box and let the water coming off the tarp fill the box for later.
           
Jack woke up a few hours later. He was in bad shape.
           
“Did you find a way out of here?” he asked.
           
“I didn’t see a road, Jack.”
           
He closed his eyes.
           
About an hour later, he woke up again.
           
“You have got to go get help,” Jack said.
           
I agreed.
           
“I’ll head out of here at daybreak, tomorrow.”
           
“Just get help. I’m not feeling very good.”
           
That was the understatement of the year. By the looks of him, he died a couple of days ago.
           
I gave him some water and tried to get him to eat some food.
           
“Maybe this storm will ignite some fires that will get the Forest Service looking in our general direction,” Jack said.
           
I didn’t think about the comment, much.
           
He went back to sleep. The rain quit about an hour after that, and I decided I needed to make myself a pack of food and water.
           
My leg was still in bad shape, but I was beginning to get used to it. My hand was useless, but I had one good hand.
           
I tried getting a fire going in the late afternoon as the storm cooled things off considerably.
           
It took a while, but eventually I had a small fire going.
           
I gave Jack some more water, and he nodded off again. I ate a few crackers and some sausage and thought about what direction I should go in the morning.
           
As I was finishing my last cracker and sausage combo, I heard a terrible noise about 100 yards away, it seemed.
           
It was a wailing sound I had never heard before.
           
It woke up Jack.
           
“What the hell was that?” he asked.
           
“I have no idea what that was.”
           
“Probably a bear or wolf or something we don’t want any part of,” Jack said. He then dozed off again.
           
I took the food and moved it inside the plane. That way, if a bear came around, it could have easy access to the food and leave us alone.
           
Then the wailing sound came again, and it was answered behind us. This time the sound above was closer.
           
I heard some rustling in the trees.
           
A few seconds later, a rock about the size of a football tumbled down into our crash site.
           
I started making noises, hoping I could scare whatever it was away from us.
           
The wailing sound grew louder and longer. Soon the trees behind Jack rustled, and I saw a large shadow move past an opening.
           
“Jack, wake up. Wake up, Jack!”
           
“I’m awake.”
           
I grabbed the flare gun.
           
“We are not alone, Jack.”
           
Yeah, these woods are loaded with bears and wolves.
           
“I’ve got the flare gun.”
           
“Maybe you can scare it off. Why don’t you make that fire bigger? That should do the trick.”
           
There wasn’t much around to make the fire bigger, and I didn’t like the idea of going into the dark looking for some wood.
           
“I think I’ll stay right here. Whatever it is, it is real close.”
           
Another rock tumbled into the crash site.
           
“Whatever it is, it’s the clumsiest damn animal I’ve ever witnessed,” Jack said.
           
I thought about launching a flare in the general direction of the rocks, but thought that wouldn’t be a good idea.
           
If one of those rocks hit one of us, we were dead for sure.
           
“Help me up, Ray. If we are both standing, maybe it will go away.”
           
His reasoning seemed plausible.
           
“Do you think you are up to it?”
           
“No, I’m not.”
           
I helped him up.
           
The wailing continued, and it was loud and real close.
           
“What the hell is that?” I asked.
           
“I’ve never heard that sound before, but I ain’t a wildlife biologist,” Jack said.
           
There was some rustling behind the plane. I turned towards it, but couldn’t see anything.
           
Then Jack yelled out.
           
“What the!”
           
I turned toward Jack. Something big and hairy, had to be a grizzly, charged Jack in the darkness and heaved him into the brush.
           
Whatever it was it was huge and on its hind legs.
           
I yelled at it, and then fired the flare gun in the general direction of where it threw Jack.
           
The flare shot through the wilderness and for an instant, I saw whatever it was. It didn’t look like any bear I had ever seen.
           
The flare continued down the hillside. I loaded another one and fired again, toward where I saw the creature.
           
I then reloaded the flare gun and grabbed a small glowing log from the fire.
           
“Jack, can you hear me?”
           
I limped my way through the darkness; I blew on the log enough to get a small flame to provide a little light.
           
About 50 feet into the darkness, I came across Jack.
           
He was unconscious, but still breathing. He was having a lot of trouble breathing, but I decided to drag him back over to the crash site.
           
The wailing had stopped; the rustling in the trees had stopped.
           
I stayed awake the rest of the night.
           
Jack didn’t rouse.
           
Just before dawn, we had a new problem.
           
I heard a low roar from down the hillside, and I could see a red glow.
           
Whether or not my flares or a lightning strike the day before had started it, I didn’t care.
           
We had a forest fire in our general vicinity, and there didn’t seem to be anywhere to go.
           
I knew we had to, though.
           
I knew I had to work fast.
           
I grabbed a couple good-sized branches. I went up to the tail of the plane and looked for supplies.
           
The tail section has a compartment and in the compartment I found a flashlight and some rope. The flashlight would have helped on more than one occasion.
           
I grabbed the flashlight and rope and limped down to Jack.
           
He was still breathing, but it was shallow.
           
I was fashioning a makeshift stretcher with the two branches and rope. I left a sizeable amount of rope dangling so I could tie Jack onto the stretcher.
           
The fire seemed to lay low for the time being, but it was getting closer. I knew by the afternoon it would be much worse.
           
I dragged Jack onto the stretcher and tied him to it. I then tied off my bad hand to the stretcher.
           
His breathing was getting worse. I tucked a bottle of water between him and the stretcher. I then grabbed the flare gun with one flare ready to fire and the one remaining flare.
           
I put the flashlight in my pocket, lifted up the stretcher, and began walking away from the crash site.
           
The big branches dug deep into the ground as I dragged Jack away from the crash site.
           
This wasn’t working very well, I thought.
           
I almost dropped Jack every time the branches hit a rock, and there were rocks everywhere.
           
I figured our only chance was to head to the area with the small trees and there would be a clearing. If that didn’t work, maybe at the bottom of the mountain there would be a source of water.
           
The area of small trees was away from the fire.
           
I kept dragging Jack. I didn’t stop to check to see if he was still breathing. I knew if we didn’t get away from that fire we would both be dead before the day was over.
           
Fires take off out here and burn everything in their path. You just didn’t mess with forest fires.
           
I was struggling down the forested mountain slope with Jack in tow.
           
The fire started picking up. I could see the smoke plume growing. I figured it was already a couple of hundred acres.
           
Maybe that would signal a plane or something.
           
I made it into the area of small trees. I kept going away from the fire. I was hoping I would run into a clearing.
           
My leg was killing me. Worse than my leg, the rope was cutting into my left arm, and my hand was completely black.
           
I couldn’t go any further; I used my teeth to untie my hand. It throbbed in pain after a few minutes of freedom. I figured that was a good sign.
           
Jack was still breathing, though my dragging him over every rock in creation didn’t help. He had blood coming out of his mouth.
           
I poured some water on his face to clean it up.
           
He gurgled a bit and then woke up briefly.
           
“Jack, we’ve got a serious problem,” I told him. “There was a forest fire that forced me to get us away from the crash site, and I don’t know how much longer I can carry you. We aren’t out of danger.”
           
He nodded.
           
“Big.” He said
           
“Yes, it is getting bigger and bigger. It will probably overtake us if it decided to move this way this afternoon.”
           
My leg was killing me, and I stopped tending to Jack for a minute to adjust my splint.
           
I was groaning in pain.
           
“Foot,” Jack said.
           
“Yes, my foot and leg are killing me Jack.”
           
I looked over at him, and he was shaking his head from side to side.
           
“What do you want, Jack?”
           
He muttered something, but I couldn’t make it out.
           
“Sas..,” Jack said gasping for breath.
           
“What are you trying to say?”
           
He then breathed his last breath.
           
“Jack! Jack! Come on man, you’ve made it this far. Don’t leave me now. Come on, Jack, stay with me.”
           
I tried to remember CPR, but I couldn’t get a response. He was dead and I figured I would be too, soon.
           
The fire was growing and the area was quickly filling with smoke.
           
I couldn’t leave Jack, so I untied him from the stretcher. With all my strength, I lifted him up and over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes and slowly walked away from the growing sound of the fire.
           
The area of small trees soon ended without a clearing. It ended in a box canyon with some good-sized cliffs. I was boxed in. I walked along the cliff wall looking for a way out.
           
I could see a huge orange glow through the smoke.
           
The smoke was thick and I coughed constantly.
           
I noticed a dark hole in the canyon wall. It wasn’t very large, but I guessed it was my only chance.
           
I put Jack down.
           
I approached the opening and shined the flashlight inside. It looked deep. I decided it was my only chance.
           
I went back to Jack and dragged him toward the cave.
           
It was difficult work, but I got into the cave. I dragged Jack about 30 feet inside, and I continued another 10 feet before I could go no further.
           
I could hear the fire roaring outside.
           
I turned on the flashlight to see how much smoke was entering the cave. There was smoke, and I wondered how long I could breathe.  
           
Then panic set in. I knew I was going to die in this cave and that likely no one would know what ever happened to me.
           
I was completely consumed by the worst thoughts I could imagine.
           
I thought about my parents and what this would do to them. The thought was killing me. What would something like this do to them?
           
The fire kept getting closer and closer, and the cave was heating up.
           
Then, I began remembering prayers. It was amazing, I couldn’t remember a single prayer when the plane was going down, but now, all of a sudden, I could recite an entire prayer book.   
           
The cave grew hotter and hotter.
           
I turned on the flashlight to check for smoke. The smoke was thick on the roof of the cave about three feet above me, but there was still some clear air in the bottom two feet of the cave.
           
The fire continued to rage outside, then it seemed to wane. I shined the light on Jack’s watch that I was wearing. I had made it into the night.
           
I decided to look outside.
           
I moved Jack out of the way and crawled out of the cave. I was coughing because of all the smoke.
           
I reached the opening, and all I could see were glowing embers everywhere I looked.
           
The whole canyon looked like New York City from an approaching airliner.
           
I crawled out of the cave and looked up the cliff.
           
Some trees high above me were torching in the darkness.
           
For the first time since this ordeal began, I thought I might just make it out of there.
           
The threat of fire seemed to have passed, and there had to be people in the forest now with a fire this size.
           
I crawled back into the cave and went to sleep.
           
I slept well into the morning.
           
I got up and decided I would try to make my way out of this nightmare.
           
I would leave Jack in the cave; he would be easy to find.
           
I made my way out of the cave. I took a big drink of water and limped my way through the blackened landscape.
           
Trees were down everywhere. Small flames still burned around me. The smoke was still thick, but I kept walking.
           
I heard a plane in the distance.
           
Now, if it would only fly over me where I could see it to fire off a flare.
           
The plane grew louder and louder, but I couldn’t see it through the smoke.
           
It grew even louder, but I still couldn’t see it.
           
I fired a flare anyway. Maybe that worked.
           
I kept walking, though.
           
I made my way back toward the crash site. Maybe somebody would spot the wreckage from the air with all the trees burned away.
           
As I approached the crash site, the ground was littered with fire retardant.
           
I heard a couple of people talking. I knew I was saved.
           
Two firefighters were sitting and eating lunch next to what remained of the plane.
           
“Are you a sight for sore eyes,” I said.
           
The moment overwhelmed me. I fell over into the arms of one of the firefighters. They immediately got on their radios.
           
They tried talking to me.
           
“Are you the pilot?” they asked.
           
“No, I was the passenger.”
           
“Where’s the pilot?” they asked.
           
“Jack died yesterday. I left his body in a cave about a mile or so back that way.”
           
“What is your name?”
           
“Ray,” I said.
           
“Ray Fulton?” they asked.
           
“No, that’s Jack’s last name. My name is Ray Brown.”
           
“It’s good to meet you, Ray; we have been looking for Jack Fulton and just figured we had the wrong name.”
           
“You were looking for us?”
           
“Yes, Jack’s ex-wife got every agency in the county out looking for him.”
           
“When this fire started, we were given information about Jack’s plane and that it was missing.”
           
About an hour or so later some people arrived with a stretcher.
           
They placed me in it, and everyone began taking me up the mountain.
           
“What about Jack?”
           
“We’ll get him, too, Ray, but you need to get to a hospital.”
           
They loaded me into the helicopter and flew me away from the scene.
           
“Where am I?” I asked the EMT in the helicopter.
           
“You’re in a helicopter,” she said.
           
I wasn’t asking that. I knew perfectly well I was in a helicopter.
           
“No, where was I when you found me?”
           
“We just left Pistol Creek Ridge.”
           
“Where were you going when your plane crashed?”
           
“I don’t know. We were going fishing.”
           
The deputy then stopped me from continuing with my story from my hospital bed.
           
“Listen, Ray, I don’t doubt your story you just told me, but I don’t want you to share it with anybody else. The way I see it, you’ve been through a whole bunch and you don’t need an arson charge leveled against you,” Deputy Childers said to me in my hospital room.
           
“Just forget about mentioning you fired a flare gun at some large creature. There were plenty of lightning strikes in that area that could have started that fire, and I think I’m going to leave out all the parts about you firing the flare gun at some animal that attacked Jack.”
           
“I’m serious, Ray. That fire, the Pistol Fire, you may or may not have started has already burned 20,000 acres and destroyed a few homes, and there’s no end in sight. I believe your story and I believe if you did start that fire, it is what in the end saved you because we would have never found you, and you probably would have never gotten out of there alive.”
           
I just listened and nodded my head.
           
“We’re glad to see you are alive. You keep this business about Bigfoot to yourself. That’s what I did a couple of years ago when Bigfoot crossed the road in front of my cruiser.”
           
Deputy Childers was a friend of mine and apparently a good friend. However, I didn’t say I saw Bigfoot, I had no idea what had attacked Jack.
           
The fire burned more than 150,000 acres before the summer ended that year. I had my cast removed on my leg the same week snow fell in the mountains and extinguished it.