When I tripped on the tree trunk and went down, I knew I was in trouble. Here I was in the middle of an Alaskan forest, all alone and defenseless. I tried to get up, but it was hopeless. My foot just kept buckling under me. Maybe I could crawl my way out of there, but which direction was out? "Help," I yelled "is anybody around? I'm in trouble!" Nothing. Great. I was going to die out here, and no one would ever find me. Why couldn't I vacation in Hawaii or Las Vegas like everyone else? No. I had to grab a plane to Alaska to see the natural beauty, and the snow, and the animals running free in the wild.
I was getting hungry and sleepy. And I was cold. "So this was it," I thought, Goodbye cruel world." I fell asleep for a while. Don't know how long. When I woke up it was starting to get dark, and the wind was howling. I took off my gloves and tried to blow warm air on my freezing fingers. But it didn't help. And then I started hearing noises. Like branches breaking. Like someone stepping on branches. "is someone there?" I screamed. "Is someone there? Help me, please!" Those noises were footsteps on the forest floor. Yes. Someone was coming. Someone was coming. "I'm over here," I called. "I'm over here. Help me. Please help me."
And at that point a figure appeared among the trees. A tall bearded man. "Thank God," I thought. "Saved!" He pushed through the trees and came towards me.
"What happened to you?" he asked.
"I tripped and fell," I answered. "I can't move. Maybe I broke my foot."
"Let's see," he said, bending down next to me. "Which foot is it?" I showed him. "It's pretty black and blue," he said, examining it. "Can you move it?" I flexed my foot around a few times. "It don't look broke," he said. "If you can move it like that, it's probably just a bad sprain. Can you walk?"
"No I can't," I answered. "I'm going to die out here."
"You're not gonna die. I'm gonna help you," he said. And with that, he scooped me up in his arms and started carrying me. "Where do you live?" he asked.
"New Jersey," I answered.
""New Jersey?" he laughed. "What the hell you doing way up here?"
"I came to Alaska on my vacation. I'm staying at the Anchorage Hilton hotel, and this morning I took a tour bus fifty miles up here into the wild, and stupidly went wandering off by myself. I'm sure the bus went back hours ago. I don't know what to do," I started crying a little, from the pain and the cold and the fear I had been feeling all afternoon.
"Don't worry, little guy. You're gonna be all right I'm gonna take you to my cabin. It's only about a mile away. Just outside the woods."
"A mile away," I cried. "How can you carry me that far?"
"Nothin' to it. You're just a little guy. Light as a feather." And that's how he was carrying me, as if I were light as a feather. I put my arms around his neck, and held on. "Put your head against my chest and rest," he suggested. I did, and felt a little better. Comfortable and safe, being carried along in the arms of this big man, my head resting against the rough wool of his jacket. I fell asleep in his strong arms, my head pressing against his heart. When I woke up, we were coming to the door of a small cabin, just at the edge of the wilderness. He took one hand from my body, opened the door, and we entered the cabin.
It was one large room with a bed, a couple of chairs, and a small table. He carried me over to the bed, and gently laid me down on it. "Home. Safe and sound," he laughed. "I'll build us a fire." It was a little cold in there.
He went over to the fireplace and put some logs in. Then he crumpled some old newspaper and threw it in. Getting on his knees, he lit a match and fanned, waiting for the logs to flame up. When the fire was going, he lit a kerosene lamp and came over to the bed. "Now, let me look at that foot of yours," He said. After examining it, he grunted. "You're not gonna be able to walk for a while. I got nothin' here to strap it up with, so you'll have to stay in bed and keep it raised up. I'll make us a couple of cans of soup for dinner."
"There's no stove," I noticed.
"I cook in the fireplace," he explained. "See that big black pot over there. I make everything in that."
"Oh," I said. "Where's the bathroom?"
"Out the back door. It's an outhouse. Do you have to go?"
"In a little while."
"I'll carry you," he said. "Just let me know."
"Okay," I said. "What about a shower?"
"See that big iron tub in the back," he pointed. "I heat up water in the fireplace, and I fill the tub. Just tell me when you want a bath. The well is out in the back, too."
"Gosh. I never realized how good I had it in New Jersey. A kitchen, a bathroom, heat, air conditioning, a shower where you turn the faucet and hot water comes out."
"Yeah," he laughed. "It ain't easy up here. I'll give you that. But I'm a lumberjack. I go out into the woods and cut down trees for six months every year, starting tomorrow," he added. "And this is where I gotta live. I'll go out back now and pump us some water for the soup." He took the big pot and went out the back door. Thank goodness the fire was blazing and the cabin was starting to warm up a little. I stretched out on the bed and started to relax. While the water was boiling, he took off his jacket and hung it on a hook in the corner. Now I could really see what he looked like. He was very tall and very solid. Great long arms from swinging an axe, I guessed. His legs were massive and firm. His chest was about twice the size of mine, but his belly seemed firm. Not a lot of beer. I guess he was somewhere about fifty years old, and his hair, moustache and beard were mixed black and grey. I guessed that his whole body was probably covered with bristly grey hair, legs, chest, just everything. He oozed masculinity. I felt like a school child next to him.
"I guess I should introduce myself," he held out his hand and we shook. "I'm Joe Kinney."
"Bill Waterson," I answered. "And you don't know how glad I am to meet you. I would have died out there if you hadn't come along."
"I guess you would have," he answered. "You owe me one."
"I sure do."
