“You dont have to get dressed. Just put a coat on.” I urge
my wife, all wrapped in pajamas and sitting beside the wood-burning stove, to
drive up the valley with me to see the wildlife usually visible in the early
morning hours.
“You dont have to get dressed. Just put a coat on.” I urge
my wife, all wrapped in pajamas and sitting beside the wood-burning stove, to
drive up the valley with me to see the wildlife usually visible in the early
morning hours.
“We will stay on the main roads and I guarantee we will not see anyone
up the valley,” I say to support my effort to get on the drive before the
wildlife moseys back up into the higher elevations of the mountains.
Leah pulls on her warm boots and wraps her heavy coat around her. The pajamas
are heavy flannel and look better than some of the “street pants”
I have seen the last few days.
The higher we go into the mountains the more the grandeur of this place becomes
apparent.
We come to a place where there is an overlook of a waterfall that drops more
than 250 feet. It will obviously be frozen and provide a strong Kodak moment.
The gate to the road to the waterfall is open, and there is no sign indicating
the road is not suitable for automobiles. Actually, the road has been smoothed,
probably as the last act of some grader the afternoon before. We ease along
the road with absolutely no problem. The waterfall is only three-quarters of
a mile from the highway.
We stop for the photographs, and then head back to the main road.
Suddenly, there is a significant “thump” as the front wheels of the
truck drop into some kind of hole. Even the four-wheel drive put into low gear
cannot extract us from this.
All of the “emergency equipment” is in the case, sitting safely on
the porch of the cabin.
There is a tankful of gasoline, and there is not a cloud in the sky. This is
not nearly as bad as it could be. At least that is how I reassure my wife, sitting
there, trying her best to look nonchalant.
The walk to the main highway is not too bad; it is only four below zero this
beautiful early morning.
Praises be to the Creator of these mountains, a road maintenance truck comes
down the highway just as I reach it. Norman is about as nice a guy as you could
ever want to meet on an isolated mountain road. He calls “the barn”
to tell his supervisor that another flat-lander is stuck. The supervisor is
not as nice as Norm and suggests that if we are dumb enough to drive in there,
maybe we should wait until spring “and let nature get them out.”
What I do not realize is, this is national forestry land and automobiles are
strictly forbidden to drive onto the land during the winter. No other automobile
can drive in to help us out.
Norm walks over to the entrance gate, and digs around in the deep snow and
pulls out two signs that absolutely forbid automobile entrance.
“Windstorm yesterday.” Norm is a man of few words.
Norms supervisor calls the Under Sheriff who brings the deputy. He gets
us into his truck and asks to see my drivers license. He is going to ticket
me, but Leah convinces him the signs really were blown down and the gate was
open and the road was freshly graded. Thankfully, he believes her. He turns
out to be a nice guy.
We are told a snow cat from the nearest town – 35 mountainous miles away –
can come out and try to extricate us, but we have to agree to pay him even if
he cannot get us out. The price is never disclosed, even upon several requests.
Competition drives prices and there is no snow cat competition.
While waiting, Jeremiah the deputy sheriff, and I walk out to the truck and
start digging snow from under it. Jeremiah is about as nice a young man as one
could hope to find in a sheriffs truck. The snow cat arrives and within
a few minutes, our truck is on the main highway. The snow cat people present
me with the bill. Im not saying it was highway robbery, but lets
just say the owner will be able to retire soon, and he is only 35 years old.
The point of all of this, other than my blunder, was that something had happened
to the danger signs. The signs were adequate, but they were not adequately anchored
to keep them from getting blown over and losing their effect.
Driving back to the cabin after this costly episode, the thought keep running
through my mind: “The church is entrusted with danger signs of many kinds.
The warnings related through the Bible can save many people from disasters.
But if we are not faithful in displaying them through word and deed, we rob
people of their due warning.”
At least while we waited for the snow cat, we saw two bull moose walking nearby.
And Norm gave us hot coffee. Leah did not say that made the drive worthwhile.
As a matter of fact, she did not say anything at all.