So where was I? Oh right ... how I almost died taking these photos. As I promised last week, here is the full story from 1995, as told in my Christmas letter that year (so if you were on my list back in the 90's, then you already know ...):
"I decided to take my Escort (still going ... and going ... and going) into the Dunbar mountains to see what the old swimming hole looked like covered in snow. I negotiated the old dirt roads just fine, half slid down the big hill and parked by the big drift that marked where we always used to park. The pictures I took turned out to be beautiful -- the waterfall was half frozen and the snow covered everything. My enthusiasm was a little dampened, though, when I went back to my car in an attempt to leave the mountains to head back to the city. It was only then that I realized the reasons I was able to negotiate the roads in to the Blue Hole. They were covered in a sheet of ice underneath the snow! The hill I had to get up to get out was too steep -- and, no matter how I tried and no matter how much of a running start I tried to give myself, I didn't get much further past my parking spot each time. Not panicking yet, I rationalized that I would jut follow the dirt road and see where it came out (and since I had never followed it to that point -- we had always turned around and gone out the way we came). Rationally -- logically -- I drove further down in the valley to discover that this road deadended at a locked gate barring people from getting on the bike trail that ran through the woods and down the mountain. I spent some time trying to melt the lock with X-ray vision that I hoped I had suddenly developed, but to no avail. I was stuck in the mountains and it was getting dark.
I decided to go back to where I had parked -- but I couldn't, because I couldn't even get up the little hill by the gate. It took me too many tries to learn that I could force myself up if I drove half on the road and half on the shoulder -- but once I learned, I felt sure I could get up the big hill -- but I couldn't, because one shoulder dropped off into a ditch. I gave it a dozen tries (or was it an unlucky thirteen) and then frustration forced me to make a completely rational decision -- I parked the car in the drift and decided to walk out of there, rent a car to get home and come back for the Escort in the spring! And that's exactly what I started to do, exhilarated with freedom, trudging through the snow happy to have made a decision and beginning whatever journey lay ahead. I looked at the trees covered in snow, the big rocks covered in ice, the bird tracks next to me in the road, the bear tracks farther back in the woods ... I didn't know for sure that they were bear tracks, but they definitely weren't the size of any bird that I had come across since Sesame Street. I started to walk a little faster. And then, shortly after the second time I had fallen on my ass, I saw heaven or hell approaching from the distance.
It was taking the shape of a big, big truck with wheels about as tall as I and it was enjoying itself on and off the trail. Letting my mind wander to the stories of the mountain kids who shot people just to get experience in gutting things, I decided to play it ultra-cool and nod or wave as I walked past ... but it stopped and a young kid stuck his head out the window, asking me if I wanted a ride to wherever I was headed. I decided to risk it, climbed in, told him my story and we headed home. On the way, I found out he was 19, going to be a father for the first time in a few months and was out in the mountains primarily because he could be, but also because he was taking his little neighbor for a thrill ride. As if on cue, up popped a ten year old from the back seat to offer me a beer. I decided it was heaven and not hell that I was in. The kid driving kept on apologizing for having had taken the chain out of the truck, or he would have pulled me out. The more he apologized, the more he got angry and not being able to show off the truck, the more determined he was to get me out. He stopped at the first house we came to (the last one where the macadam road turned into dirt) and was given -- a frozen rope. Soon, we were heading back in. This story has gone on long enough, but suffice it to say that it was two hours of fun and games (the rope broke twice, he got stuck once, I slid back into a clearing once) before my tires hit macadam -- but I sure was thankful when it all ended well. I shook his hand, wished him luck with his baby on the way, and I never saw him again. Funny how life works that way."
[Bonus photo ... one more shot of the winter wonderland ... and then another of what it looked like during the summer months, when normal people visited it.]
