Lost in the Wild

Why did I agree to go?

The question taunts me with each uncertain step I take through waist-high weeds in a sprawling field. Thick woods lie ahead. The foreboding sea of conifers and evergreens stretches to the horizon. Gone is the azure firmament and noonday sun, replaced by dark skies and ominous black clouds.

I am alone somewhere in Michigan’s eastern Upper Peninsula.

My cellphone is dead.

And I am lost.

Why did I agree to go? Why did I let my friend convince me, a certified urban adult, into taking part in an orienteering meet for his Cub Scouts? I had never heard of orienteering. Mark, the troop leader, told me, “You’ll have fun. It’s a scavenger hunt, only you’re looking for topographical clues like depressions, elevations, that kind of thing.”

“Of course,” I lied to Mark when he asked if I knew how to read a topographical map and a compass.

At this moment, I’m sure those two things are sneering at me from inside the pocket of my cargo shorts, along with the list of topographical clues I was supposed to hunt for.

Now, I am tired and hungry and desperately hunting for a way out.

It seems like hours since I last saw one of Mark’s Cub Scouts. We all began the meet together, but one by one they vanished into the woods, each searching for different clues.

I trip over an old log. The bark skins my shins, but I arise, limping through the weeds and into the darkness of the woods.

Why did I agree to go? I had a chance to speak up when Mark told the kids and me at the outset: “If you get lost, follow your compass west and wait by the railroad tracks; someone will come by in a pickup.” But which way is west? Is north the black half of the compass needle or the silver half?

I break off twigs to get past dense trees and cut my hands on the sharp ends. I am bleeding as I finally leave the woods and enter another field of deep weeds. A green valley lies between two large hills.

The wind is picking up. A thunderclap jolts me. I hear creaking.

There is something in the left side of that gap amid the weeds and trees. It is not moving, but I approach with caution. I see it clearly now. An old screen door with torn metallic webbing is standing upright, flapping in the wind. A crash startles. The screen slams into a thick, moss-covered wooden door.

I reach out and touch the screen door. I stop it from flapping.

But I cannot bring myself to touch the dirty doorknob on the other door.

I peek behind and see a wall of dense trees and weeds. I let the screen slip out of my hand, leaving a bloody palm print.

“Is anyone here?” I summon a yell.

The only response is the creaking screen door flapping again in the wind.

Heavy rain begins to fall and a dazzling lightning bolt strikes the door with a monstrous crash.

When I come to, the screen door and its wooden companion are still there. But there is a deep black streak and smoke is rising. The wooden door seems to be ajar; brightness emanates from the crack. I approach cautiously, pull back the screen, and try to peer into the fissure. I cannot see a thing, other than light. So, I push the wooden door open.

I step inside and find myself in an open field under calm, blue skies. I can see the sun and feel the warmth on my skin. And directly ahead I see a thick yellow arrow resting on the weeds. A hallucination? I take a few steps in the direction the arrow is pointing in. I am no longer limping. My hands are not bleeding.

I see railroad tracks and break into a run. I fall on my knees on gravel and kiss the rail.

“Hey!”

It’s Mark’s voice! I look up and see a pickup truck heading toward me. It stops and Mark jumps out.

He grasps my right hand with both of his and says, “My buddy, we thought you were lost!”

I laugh and reply, “Me? Lost? You’re kidding, right?”