I was in Fresno for the fire season. I was scheduled to have duty for six days a week for five months. I was between my two marriages. This was just a day before the 9/11 attack on our country. I remember it as if it was just yesterday. I was driving to the firebase the morning after my last two brushes with death when I stopped for fuel for my truck. As I entered the station market, I glanced at the elevated television. I saw the twin towers in NYC burning. I thought; “That’s a movie I haven’t seen before.” The clerk, who I assumed to be of the faith of Islam kept repeating; “This is very bad.” I paid for my fuel and departed not knowing what had transpired. I did not have a radio in my truck.
24 hours earlier, I arose to go pig hunting. I was atop a mountain ridge in the Kings Canyon National Park. I hunted for hours upon hours but to my distress, I only came across a multitude of deer that could be in a petting zoo. Around the time of noon, I returned to my campsite. I ate and refilled my water bottle. I went off again in search of my prey. I came across a small clearing that had a bathtub that was overflowing with water. There was a black PCP pipe feeding ice-cold water into the tub. The pipe disappeared into the ground. There was a lot of pressure feeding the pipe. I refilled my water bottle and mark the position on my GPS gadget. I rested for a while among the trees around the border of the clearing.
I heard the crash of large animals through the vegetation coming toward my position. I raised my rifle in my readiness. To my disappointment, it was a herd of cows that had been set loose for the summer to graze on public land. The water source I had discovered was for the cows. The cows swarmed the tub. Once the herd’s thirst had been quenched, the cows departed to eat elsewhere. I ventured Eastward about 50 yards to the tree line to see the river below in the canyon. From my position, there were no trees or any other vegetation until the river.
It was really hot even at my elevation which was 2,000 feet above sea level. The day prior, it was 112 degrees in Fresno. I decided to hike down to the river. As I walked down, I saw I was traveling over loose shale. The sun’s rays were being reflected upward upon me. I should have done a quick math computation. I was over 2,000 feet above sea level. Therefore, the river was at least a mile away from my position. I pressed on.
About ten minutes in, I hit the inversion layer where the temperature shot up. I still pressed on. In about 20 minutes, I recognized I was in serious trouble. I had already gone through my water bottle and the river seemed as though it was no closer than when I first started. There was no shelter from the sun. The shale beneath my feet was too hot to sit on. I made the decision to go up back to the clearing where the spring was located. Going up the mountain’s side made my body generate heat. As before when I almost drowned in Lake Tahoe from its cold in 1977, I knew if I stopped trying, I would die.
I pressed ever onward up the mountain. I can’t begin to convey what the heat was like without water. Every cell in my body was screaming for water. I reached the clearing and with only my strength of will, I was able to get to the tub. I drank from the tub as the cows had done just hours ago. The water was too cold to drink a lot of it. I filled my water bottle. I was beyond overheated. I tried submerging my head in the tub. It was way too cold for that action, and I considered if I passed out that I might drown. To cool off my body, I stuck my arm in the tub as long as I could stand it and then the other arm. I repeated this cycle for ages. My hope was to cool the blood in my arms to be carried to the rest of my body.
In between the cycles, I took sips from my water bottle. After I recovered sufficiently, I went to sit in the tree line to continue my recovery. This is where death took its second swipe at me this day. All I heard was a click from above followed by the crash of breaking tree limbs. A limb from a tree that was just eight feet from me had shed one of its large limbs. That falling limb brought many other limbs down with it. I got minor scratches on my face, arms, and on my back. I was surrounded by limbs that were too heavy to carry. Some of which were too heavy to move because the limbs were intertwined into a giant rat nest. If I had sat 3 feet in any direction from where I sat, I would have been crushed or injured and trapped to die slowly.
Honorable mention
I was in Paris for the last time. I could hardly walk or speak. We arrived at our destination in the subway. To ascend to the street, the only choice was the stairs at this station. There were no handrails on the stairs. Mary and I were funneled by the crowd toward the center of the stairs. The stairs were 15 feet wide. Mary was on my left as we ascended. As the people passed us up the stairs, one person jostled me beyond my ability to cope. I started to fall backward like a tree in the forest. A hand shot forward between my shoulder blades and pushed me to the balls of my feet. The person came forward to my right side. She was a beauty to behold. I estimate she was 6 feet tall, thin, with blond hair. I said thank you and she just gave me a smile. Then she was gone. Mary was unaware of what had almost happened to me.
After a time, I began to fret about what she had thought of me. My ALS made me sound as though I was drunk. My speech was very slurred. I imagine she told her friend she saved a drunk American that day. Catfish Hunter, the retired pitcher for the Oakland Athletics died from his fall on concrete stairs. Hunter had contracted ALS. When Hunter died, he was just 53 years old. I’m 60 years old and I have cheated death many times.
Accounts of Mark Pullen. Published by Editor, Sammy Campbell.