by TalkHunting Member Steve "dixiedawg" Horton

Six inches of fresh snow hugged the ground, and the crispness of late autumn chilled the predawn air.  My wife was asleep as I left my cabin in Potter County, Pennsylvania—God’s Country—for my tree stand.  Archery season was in full swing, and I was anxious to get to my stand before sunrise.  This November day was going to be perfect.

The crunching of my feet through the snow was the only sound I could hear as I headed down the side of the mountain, along the edge between the hardwood and pine forest areas.  I stepped over a log, and then lost my footing.  The darkness took on an even darker hue.  And it became dead silent.

I brushed the snow off my face.  It was daylight now, but I had trouble seeing anything.  The only thing I felt was excruciating pain.  My knee was bent grotesquely, and I realized I wouldn’t be able to walk or put any weight on my leg.  I pushed backward and leaned against the log.  I unzipped the leg of my insulated camo-pants and packed snow around my knee.  I reached into my pocket for my emergency whistle and started blowing it in sets of three long blasts, the universal call for help.  If I was going to make it back to the cabin, the whistle was my only hope.

One hour . . . two hours . . . three hours . . . four hours.  As the morning—and the pain—grew long, I continued to blow my whistle every five minutes, hopeful that someone would hear it.  Snow had started falling again when I heard a familiar voice.  My wife, Debbie, who had gone outside the cabin for firewood, had heard the whistle.  When she recognized the call for help, she chipped the ice off our truck and came looking for me.  She pulled me up and helped me hop to the truck.  On the way back to the cabin, we agreed that the whistle saved me.  I couldn’t have yelled loud or long enough for her to have heard me.  

My “perfect” November day didn’t turn out as I had planned.  I never made it to my tree stand, but I didn’t care.  For all the times I’d been alone in the woods, I never gave a second thought to “What if . . . ?” scenarios.  But I was ready if something happened.  That November day, my habit of carrying a whistle might have prevented a tragedy.  Trust me; you never know what might happen when you’re alone in the woods.  So if you’re like me and want to enjoy the outdoors safely, always carry a loud whistle in case of an emergency and remember the universal call for help.  Three loud blasts together, with a whistle or a gun, might be your only hope.