Arguably Lost

By Richard Mann

The big pine was missing most of the bark near its base. It looked familiar. The washtub size flat rock beside it didn’t. I had just crossed a low ridge and was standing in a draw that had an uncanny resemblance to the last three draws I was in. In an hour the sun would slip below the horizon, thirty minutes after that it would be dark. I wouldn’t say that I was in a panic but I was ready to audition for Blair Witch II. Some would say I was lost.

This was my third trip to this neck of the woods. Tim, my life long partner in adventure, has dragged me to this remote location for the last three years in search of large bucks that hide beyond the reach of normal hunters. The first year I saw a spike and two does. The second year I saw a very big opossum. This year I as off to a better start: A nice buck had crossed the ridge about 80 yards below my stand early in the day. A little before ten I climbed down and started following the deer trail the buck was using.

That’s what caused the problem. Visions of dragging a monster buck back to camp kept my nose and eyes to the trail looking for the perfect ambush point for this backwoods behemoth. When I reached the point that I knew I had absolutely no idea where the buck went I also realized I had no idea where in the hell I was or how to get back to my stand or camp. That’s when the real hunting started.

Even though the big flat rock didn’t look familiar it did look like a good seat. What I really wanted was my sleeping bag and my tent. Or more precisely just to be standing at their current location. I would have settled for a good GPS and a cold beer. My eyes followed the little stream flowing down the draw my rock and I were in. Calling it ‘my rock’ made me feel a little more secure. Like something out in this vastness was actually familiar, and mine. The narrow draw opened up about 100 yards below me into a little pine grove. I thought we should have set up our camp right...”Well I’ll be”...hanging on a pine branch was Tim’s red flannel underwear. I knew this tree looked familiar.

Up until this time my thoughts had been consumed with hunger, hypothermia, and if my wife would actually take up with the geek at Go-Mart that is always hitting on her. I hadn’t thought of a good excuse to explain my absence from the mid-day, in camp, lunch and deer hunter strategy meeting. I should have set there a little longer, collected my thoughts, made up a good lie, and calmly strolled into camp. I didn’t.

“Where is your bow? And where have you been? Lost! You’ve been lost?” Tim was smiling.

“Lost? No. No!” I paused thinking, why did I run into camp yelling Tim’s name? “My bow...uh...hey! You won’t believe this buck...”

“There was no buck, you have been lost!” I could handle Tim’s laughing. It was the condescending little grin. I thought about just doing him in right there but I had had enough of being alone for one day and I wasn’t sure I could find the truck anyway.

“I was not lost! And my bow is back there on my... I mean... that big flat rock. I have been hunting I’ll have you know.” I couldn’t take a week of Tim ridding me about being lost. “If I were lost I couldn’t have found camp.”

“You probably didn’t find camp, more like stumbled on it.” Tim knew land navigation from 8 years of teaching it in the Army. He knew me even better. “Why were you not here at lunch then? You wouldn’t have missed my famous Jambalaya.” Tim handed me a plate. “Here, it’s not warm but it’s hot.”

I was beyond hungry and food in my mouth would give me time to think my way out of this. Halfway through the plate of kielbasa, rice, and way too much cayenne pepper it hit me. “Just what do you consider lost? Not knowing where you are at or not knowing how to get back? I queried.

“Either, both, just admit it, you were lost.” Tim thought he had me.

“No, seriously...in all your military land navigation glory, tell me exactly what LOST is.” It was important to pin him down on this.

“OK private! Just like your car keys, if you don’t know where they are then they are lost. If you don’t know where you are then you are lost.” I knew that was what he would say.

“See that’s where you are wrong. Technically lost means ‘not found’ and to be not found someone must be looking for you. Just like your car keys. If you are not looking for them then they are not lost.

“Oh for crying out loud! You didn’t know where you were. You were lost! Tim quit filing the broadhead he was sharpening and gave me that drill sergeant stare.

“I knew where I was. I was in the woods for lands sakes. Just like I am know. You cannot be lost without getting lost and how on earth could you loose yourself. I always know where I am, right here with me. So see you cant loose something that requires no looking to find.” I stood up, chest out. I had even convinced myself that I had not been lost. I thought I would lay it on a little heavier while I had him on the ropes. “No one was looking for me. You were here stuffing your face and hoping I was not hooked to the end of a rope tied around a monster buck’s neck. I was not being looked for, I was not found, so there for I was not lost.”

Tim leaned back against his pack frame, beaten. I started looking for water to wash down the jambalaya while gloating in my victory over the map-reading guru. Chugging down our last gallon of purified water and hoping the Creole mix didn’t do to me what it did last time I noticed Tim staring at me.

“Let me get this straight. What your saying is that someone or something is not lost until the search begins. In other words, things that are not sought are not lost.” I could see Tim starting to come around.

“Exactly, see Uncle Sam doesn’t know everything” He was probably glad he had learned this bit of information in case...well...he was ever a little late getting back to camp.

Tim continued. “So being placed in the lost category is dependent on another’s perception of your situation or their intent to find you?”

“Well...yeah.” Maybe I had overlooked something in my hasty reasoning.

Tim picked up the water purification pump, took the empty quart container from my hand and turned toward the creek.

“You know.” He said. “I was getting ready to come and look for you.”

I watched Tim walk confidently toward the creek in that John Wayne swagger he has when he gets the upper hand. If I was going to be lost in the woods I couldn’t be in better hands.

It was dark now. Hands shoved deep in my pockets I felt the comfort of my mini-mag light. Glad that I had a good friend and glad that we were out here together, I wondered if there was any chance that I might be able to go find my rock. And my bow!.

This story originally appeared in North American Whitetail magazine.