Get lost!

I’ve lived in North Dakota most all of my life.  During that time I’ve lived in four different cities, and have hunted and fished in most of the rest.

And yet nearly every weekend during hunting season I get lost… and love every minute of it.

Patrick McMannus wrote several stories about the art of getting lost.

You see, the best part of being lost in North Dakota is that you can only do it once in a particular location.  Our state is criss-crossed with neatly layed out minimum maintenance “section” lines, marking 1 mile units of land.  In the rare case that a landowner has plowed up a section line or the road has disappeared due to non-use, you just drive to the second mile.

And while I have my usual hunting spots and landmarks, occasionally I see that section line I haven’t been on before, and it looks like it will get me where I want to be, so I take it.  But it doesn’t always work out.

Yesterday I ended up on a road I had never been on.  And then another, and another, and another until I ended up taking a 10-mile drive to the very point I had started.

But was it worth the drive?  Yep.  First, I learned never to take that road again.  But more importantly, I saw some amazing country (unfortunatly posted) that was home to some whitetail does, a lonely coyote, a couple of rooster pheasants, and one really big snow owl.  If I hadn’t taken that little detour I wound’t have seen any of those things.

But have I ever been in danger being lost in ND?   Yes.  Hunting in the Badlands of SW North Dakota, I got caught in a freak snow storm.  The day started out at 60 degrees and we were hunting turkeys.  The hunt took us about two miles from the road and then the temp dropped and it started to rain.  And then it started snowing. Not “normal” snow, but that huge-flake, stick-to-anything type of snow.  And within minutes the entire countryside was covered with a sparkling blanket of fresh snow.

For a moment, I was pretty scared.  I tried to find the vehicle, or the road, or anything that might give us a hint on how to get back.  No luck, so I had to scramble up a clay butte, not an easy task carrying a shotgun and in fresh Badlands mud, and start looking.  Minutes went by as I scanned the countryside with my binoculars, and then I saw it… a telephone pole.  That had to be by the road, so I scanned right and saw another, and then a few more, and after a few moments I saw what looked like two tires.   My truck had been completely covered with the sticky snow, except for the tires and a small spot on the windshield.

We started the 2-mile hike back to the truck, got in and got the hell out of there.

That was scary, and could have been life threatening in a more extreme circumstance.  But it illustrates the best part of being lost… the story.  If you don’t get lost, you don’t have any stories.

So go ahead, get lost once in a while.  You might see someting interesting, and you’ll have something to talk about next time you and your buddies get together.