Ten years passed before I revisited the land. Four of us made the journey in the summer of 1990 - Dan Wilson and I were accompanied by a couple of fellow teachers. Pat Podvin was Dan’s son-in-law; the other, Robert Moser, was a physics teacher at Bartlett High School.
We chose a different route, one further east along Oil Well Road. We left our vehicle and headed west on one of the seismic trails. The group descended a steep incline, crossed a small creek, gained the opposite slope, and found the going fairly easy thereafter. Dan and I recognized familiar features - enough to keep us on track, and we reached the land without much confusion. Nearly twenty years had passed, but it had not changed that much. The birch tree with the giant burl was still standing and the flat area overlooking Deep Creek was still a grassy meadow. I don’t think we found any of the survey markers, but didn’t spend much time looking. The four of us soon headed down the gentle slope toward the river below.
There must have been some heavy rains earlier that summer. Deep Creek was jammed with fallen trees lying crisscrossed over each other. I’d not seen a stream so full of downfall. There were sweepers and standing waves; it looked menacing as we walked upstream, the bank to our right. Dan was leading. I was second while Pat and Bob followed behind. We came onto a treeless area filled with shoulder high grass. It was a beautiful day - blue skies, pleasantly warm, and imminent danger the furthest from my mind.
Dan stepped over the hole and I stepped into it - my right foot sank into empty space and I pitched to the right, rotating as I fell toward the water. I grabbed for anything available - and came up with two hands full of grass. And there I suddenly was, suspended over water, and looking up into a blue sky, my feet on solid ground, my hands grasping at straws, and the river tugging at my backpack.
If I’d been alone I might still be hanging there, but within an instant Pat had hold of my right foot, and then Robert, my left. I was looking directly at Pat and still remember the intense concern that showed on his face. My predicament must have appeared dire from his point of view.
My troubled point of view consisted of not being able to view what lay just inches from my backside. I didn’t know whether I was suspended over a deep hole, or a shallow sand bar. Was I about to be swept away and then snagged under one of those fallen trees? Or would I soon be wallowing on my back in six inches of cold water? It seemed that I was either going to die or make an ass of myself. Some folks may be vain and chose death over dishonor, but being more of a pragmatist, I didn’t much care how it ended as long as I was alive.
If I had been alone I would have eventually had to ease a foot over the edge to test the water - to see if there was a foot hold. That is what I did. Robert let go and I slid my foot down the steep edge, about three feet, and placed my boot on solid ground. I stood in about three inches of water. We all laughed in relief. They helped me up the bank and we continued our walk. Nearly twenty years would pass before I returned to the land.
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