The Legend Among the Turtles of Yates Creek

A few days ago my work as a gypsy moth hunter took me back into some remote woods.  It is a mountainous area with very limited access and just a few woods roads or atv trails.  So a good bit of my day was spent traversing up and down the mountain ridges and hollows cross country style.  Of course to make better time, I aim north, south, east, or west and just run through the woods.  This day I was running down a hillside and I jumped over a log.  As I cleared the log, there was a box turtle working up the mountain just where my foot was heading for landing.  In that brief moment of danger for the turtle, I looked in his face, just before he jerked his head in to hope for the best.  It seemed a shocked and fearful expression.  I was able to readjust at the last moment and just barely missed landing right on top of the box turtle.  With my high speed on this steep downhill I was suddenly gone from our brief encounter.  Considering where I was, I imagine that box turtle had never seen a human before.  I'm not sure what a box turtle would actually name me, human is our term.  I imagine that turtle saying what the hell was that.  He sees his friends and tells them how he was nearly crushed by this strange creature bounding speedily through the woods.  They all laugh and tell him that he's confused or afraid of everything.  He had probably jerked his head in so quickly that he had mistaken some deer or even bear for a strange bigfoot creature.  The box turtle reaffirms to them that this was no deer or bear, he doesn't know what it was.  But they had better be careful as they roam those woods.  And that is how I became the Legend among the Turtle of Yates Creek.


I must give credit for the Legend title to Cory since he came up with it on our run the other day as I told about my encounter.  Other side notes, Alison said the snapping turtle that lives in our pond is Bob.  I also drove on dirt roads for about 8 hours straight while working the last week.  There was a Highway 90 I was on, a one lane dirt road.

A Long Story of a Broken Arm

My broken arm is my first major incident, well sort of. I did roll off a couch when I was six months old and fractured my skull. Mom said the swelling on the side of my head was half the size of my head. I had a few other accidents growing up, but not much that required a trip to the ER or a doctors visit. I was electrocuted once and not by the electric fence. The power line to the barn had fallen and I stepped on it one evening rounding up cows. I was barefoot as I spent most of my childhood that way. I got a jolt and fell flat on the ground, screaming incoherently. My mom came to see what was wrong and was thrown 20-30 feet. She started screaming for my father, who picked me up, asking what was wrong with me. They did call the family doctor, but no ER or other visit. I just had some legs cramps off and on for a few months. I also got run over by a tractor once. I fell off and the tire ran over my foot and lower leg, but they were just bruised a little. Fortunately, my dad got stopped before he ran over me with the hay baler or I'd been filled with holes. I had lots of cuts, overall minor accidents to me. There a scar on a big toe that I sometimes get asked if I had surgery on. No, I chopped it with an axe. I think we put kerosene on that cut. I cut my thumb basically to the bone once, but didn't even tell my parents until it was mostly healed. I just bandaged it myself and kept going. The worst cut was to my right leg from falling off a corn planter we were cleaning. It has left a 14 inch scar that is 1/4 inch wide for about 4 inches. Mom still regrets not taking my to the doctor for that since it left such a big scar. I did get stitches when I bit completely through my upper lip in 8th grade.

My freshman year in high school, I had what was my worst and most painful accident until 2006. I wrecked a dirt bike going about 40-45 mph. I hit a ditch and got launched head first over the handlebars. I landed head first and then flipped wildly about 100 feet. I'm sure that did nothing to help my future back issues. I rolled a car over once, but it was a very gentle roll over. I fixed that car and kept driving it. I've hit a car head on once which moved my drivers tire into my floorboard space. That car was not fixed. In December 2006 I was hit by a pickup truck while cycling on the road. The truck was going about 50-55 and said they never saw me. It took a hour and a half to fill my face with stitches, but no broke bones. Alison asked how many stitches there were and the plastic surgeon just said, "You don't count when there's that many stitches." I looked gruesome for a while, but even surprised the surgeon in how well I healed.

So about the broken arm, I was building a shed here at the farm. I was using a log for the beam to set the rafters on. I was using two bobcat loaders to place the log on top of the 13 foot high post. The log was about 65 feet long and weighed a ton or more. I had the log braced on a post at one end and had lifted the other end with a bobcat. I was somewhere in the middle using another bobcat to get the log on top of the other post. I was standing in bobcat bucket and had used a pry bar to get the log on top of the post. I had it up and was getting ready to come down. The next few moments seemed to happen all too quickly. I noticed the log rolling off the post and thought that shouldn't be moving, this is bad. A rope had broken at the other bobcat loader. In a fraction of a second the log had fallen. I don't know where, how, or why my arm was under the log, but it was. The log dropped on my arm with edge of the bobcat bucket under it. My very first thought was "I can't believe that didn't break my arm." Then I looked at my arm and it was quite obviously broken, though I hadn't noticed the hole in backside of my arm. The immediate next thought was regret. Regret that I'd broke my arm. Fortunately, I quickly thought the same thing I think when I run, next step. I'd had a flood of thoughts in those 1 to 2 seconds.

I grabbed my left hand with my right, took two jumps to get off the bobcat loader, and told my nephew to turn the bobcat off. I told him that I needed to go to the ER, my arm is broken. As we walked to the house, the arm started to hurt. Scott, my nephew, said later that I just said, "There comes the pain." He ran to the house to get Alison. I walked in and noticed the blood dripping. I looked at the hole and told Alison to get a towel. It was kind of funny that I was giving various instruction of get me water, get me a change of clothes, shoes, and other directions. It was a 50 minutes drive to the hospital I wanted to got to (I don't like my local hospitals for anything major).

That is probably the major details of breaking my arm. The worst part is just regret or disgust with myself for screwing up this badly. The best part was feeling real pain. Nothing that had happened to me before even compared to the pain my arm produced. A week after my arm was broken, the pain was similar to anything before, including the cycling accident. I have a fascination with pain, how we deal with it, how others perceive pain. The ER folks said I had a very high pain tolerance. They said most people with that type of injury would scream uncontrollably. One guy said I should try comedy with the jokes I was making. Seemed like every nurse or staff person was coming by to look. I'd here the ER attendant tell others it was fine to come by as I was okay with it. Not to confuse anyone, I was requesting pain medication when they give me some. They said they needed to wait until a doctor could examine the arm more. It was 2 hours before I got anything and looking back I wish I hadn't been given anything. I was given Dilaudid which screwed me up to the point of not being able to give my name, age, or other information. I didn't like that, I didn't like being out of control of my mind.

After surgery, I took half doses of the pain medication for the first 24 hours, then didn't take any more. I'm just strange as I don't like taking stuff especially if it just decreases feeling, not increases healing. My break was a comminuted fracture with bone loss in the ulna. I looked that up later and a comminuted fracture is a higher pain producing accident. I guess all that is to say it hurt a lot. At the hospital, I thought a lot about a deer that I shot and skinned a couple of years back. It had completely broken a rear leg at some point and the bone had healed back kind of overlapping, leaving a big knot at the spot. I couldn't help but think that that deer never got any pain medication. I'm just strange in some ways. So for anyone who doesn't know me, don't be impressed with my pain management. No one would be impressed with the deer. I'm just sharing my experience and fascination with pain. I had thought some about how much more pain one could experience. Though someone who had experienced a worse accident than mine said that there comes a limit to the amount of pain sensation the body can produce. I did like finding that I could stay calm in a severe situation and handle the pain. I think that if you're really honest with yourself, you know how you'll respond. I was nice to really be how I thought I'd be.

I just think it is good to feel. Whether that feeling is pain or joy or something otherwise. So now I guess my real trial is to deal with my disappointment with myself. I keep flashing back to that first moment of looking at my arm on the bobcat. It's not seeing my arm that troubles me, but that gut wrenching feeling of failure. Alison has commented that I'm not invincible. So I'll have to follow my own philosophy, feel this mental pain and move on with it. Maybe at some point I'll get back to acting like I'm invincible.

Reports of my Beheading were Somewhat Exagerated

One Man's Pass - Ireland

It's been a while since my last post. Oh well? I've written some stuff, but never got it posted. I'll

give a quick update for anyone who still checks or stumbles across my blog. The first half of the year was good running and racing. I raced in Slovenia in June at the World Long Distance Mountain Challenge. It was a beautiful place and a purely awesome race, as in brutally difficult. The race was 23.3 miles and was my slowest average pace in any race ever, ultra or not. (I did a write up for La Sportiva on the race.) In July, Alison and I traveled to Ireland for the IAU World Trail Championships. We got in some nice runs in the northern part of Ireland in the days before the race. Then the race was another brutal one, just as I like it. Still my average pace was faster than Slovenia even though the Ireland race was 44 miles. (Again here's the full write up for La Sportiva, if you're bored.) My back started going bad through July and I limped in on the

La Sportiva Mountain Cup. I hung on for 4th in the Cup, but in a sad looking way. Then began the DNFs. UROC 100K in a Virginia was supposed to be the focus race for the fall, but the bad back made me the first DNF of the day, I think. I still had a good time watching the race and cheering friends. I then went to North Face Atlanta 50 Mile a few weeks later for another DNF. I fully expected this one, though I lied to myself in the weeks leading up to it. I had already entered. Alison was running, so we were going regardless. So I figured I'd just as well to start, plus a good friend, Ryan Woods, was running. I went out easy, but that had no positive effects on my back. I regrouped, did some small, short distance, more local races at the end of October. Then broke my left forearm pretty bad on Nov. 2. I'll post a photo at the bottom of this post. DO NOT SCROLL DOWN IF DON'T LIKE TO LOOK AT TRAIN WRECK LIKE STUFF. YOU'VE BEEN WARNED!

My doctor just said it was okay to start running again after 6 weeks off. So I ran Thursday and Friday. Then raced this morning at a 5K at Pilot Mountain State Park. It was an uphill trail race. I was second. Maybe good motivation to get my fitness back on track. My up coming races on the schedule are a snowshoe race at Beech Mtn. in January, Uwharrie 20 mile in February, and Nueces 50 Mile in March. Probably not much in between. Nueces will be my main goal, hope to run fast and see what happens.

Other updates, I got the head coach position for XC and Track at Surry Central HS this summer. I felt really good about our Continental Divide Trail Race. It was very competitive for the men and I think went well overall. I did a lot of gypsy moth hunting this year, over more really tough terrain. I did have a guy pull a revolver on me. That was the first time I've ever really felt in danger of being shot. The guy was mentally unstable. One minute I didn't see any gun, then the next he's holding one in his hand and waving it around. Another day I almost laid down on a rattlesnake. That's gypsy moth hunting.

Hopefully I'll become a regular at posting on my blog. We shall see.

DON'T GO FURTHER DOWN UNLESS YOU WANT TO SEE A HOLE IN MY ARM.

My somewhat broken arm

Canoeing the Nantahala River - February '99

Coach Mitchell Running the Nantahala Falls '98

Life is surprising. Sometimes the most significant events in a person's life might seem ordinary to an outside observer. What is possibly the most significant event in my life, caught me entirely by surprise. It was a canoe trip on the Nantahala River. It was the moment I was standing cold and naked on the bank of the river. To be more accurate the precise moment was just after I put clothes back on, but it sounds more dramatic to say when I was cold and naked. I didn't see this event coming, but life doesn't always happen as one plans it. So here's the condensed version.

The Nantahala is a whitewater river in western North Carolina. I went there for first time in August of '98 with my high school running coach, who taught me to paddle. I was taught old school, open canoes, not kayaks, no floation. I liked the larger rapids and bigger waves on the Nantahala. At the end of the eight mile paddle is Nantahala Falls, a Class III rapid with a tricky entry and a significant hydraulic at the end. On that first trip I ran the Falls upright and fairly correct, but took on too much water and ended up “swimming.” I flipped the canoe. That was my first time “swimming” in my 8 years or so of canoeing. Coach Mitchell said it was good to finally see me swim, I wouldn't say I felt the same. I went back in February of '99 to conquer the river. You can guess that things did not go as planned.

It was cold, probably 30s, but the river is always 45 degrees as water is dumped into the stream from the bottom of Nantahala Lake on top of the mountain. If I flipped at the Falls, it'd be no problem as it is at the takeout. Fortunately, I was not so arrogant as to not prepare for the unlikely possibility of overturning on the eight mile paddle down to the Falls. I had a change of clothes stashed in a dry bag, just in case. I would not have fared well being wet for an hour or more in 30 degree weather. I set out on the two hour trip with the river all to myself. I rolled through Patton's Run, Pyramid Rock, Delebar's Rock. This river was far too easy, was the water low? I was ready to get to the Falls and conquer, find a more challenging river. Of course, that is when life happened in the form of Quarry, a rapid with some of largest waves on the river. And I had always tended to aim at the biggest waves or toughest part of a rapid. The canoe went half airborne, I had done that before. Only now, the wave kicked the canoe tilted to the left. I knew I was in trouble as soon as the canoe shot up out of the wave. I was out of the canoe and in the water immediately. The tame river just moments ago didn't feel the same as I grappled for paddle and canoe. Getting to the shore was a struggle, the current was strong and volume was high, not low. When my feet found riverbed, they were met with the jolt of stationary rocks as my body was now part of the fast moving current. I finally got to the shore about ¼ mile downstream. I was cold. I grabbed the dry bag and stripped naked. I was colder. I got dry clothes on, packed up the wet ones, dumped water, and prepared to return to the river. Then life really happened and I paused. I had the strangest feeling and even stranger thoughts. It took me a moment to identify the sensation. Then I recognized it, it was fear.

Honestly, I don't think I had ever experienced real fear, at least not since childhood. I was a good paddler minutes before, I was now a sloppy paddler. I didn't act on instinct, I thought, I doubted. I made bad strokes. I was actually not a very good paddler for probably a year. I'm probably still not as good. (Or maybe just a different paddler?) I questioned if I could even make it down river to the Falls. I questioned if I should go over the Falls. The fear grew, I was afraid of what life held for me. I became more fearful about life than about the river. And then I knew life was about to send me a rapid that I was not going to run dry. I was going to “swim.” I prayed a lot on the rest of downstream ride and not about paddling. I believe in God, so personally this experience was God's preparation for me to not get trapped in a hydraulic of life and drown.

For the next hour, I continued to question whether to run Nantahala Falls or pull out above the Falls, give in to the fear and go home safe. Most canoe paddlers don't run the Falls anyway. People are often surprised to see a canoe try the Falls. But another thought began to echo in my head somewhere, “I didn't come here to not go over this Fall.” I did run the Falls, but badly. I'm not sure if I even made a single paddle stoke to orient the canoe correctly toward the Falls. I never had a chance, I was sideway and rolled in the hydraulic like a novice. I did save the canoe from getting wrapped around a rock, but got my hand trapped between the canoe and rock. A couple of new scars to add to my work beaten hands. Deciding to run the Nantahala Falls, knowing I was going to “swim,” was one of my best life decisions.

A week later I was in the river of life, no longer riding on it. I think I swam for years, not a ¼ mile. But the more significant life experience was being on the river, in the river, cold and naked on the shore, on the river a different person, and “swimming” again. Not the Class VI rapid of life that I eventually survived. I tipped over the precipice on February 28^th, the marriage downturn that led to Kathy's and my divorce. Not sure of all the life lessons that began that cold February day. I did eventually learn to deal with fear. I did learn how to “swim” when forced or warranted. I learned that I don't control life as much as I thought. I became more human. When describing this experience to a teenager in our church youth group shortly afterwards, he said, “Welcome to being human. Not to be mean, but its good to see you fall off your pedestal.” I said that I had never tried to be on a pedestal, but he said I was on one nonetheless. I was definitely not on a pedestal any longer. When nerves hit on the starting line of races or doubt creeps in during a race, I sometimes think, “I didn't come here to not go over this Fall. Sink, swim, or conquer.” I say this phrase to myself often with various life experiences. I did go back and run the Nantahala again, almost 7 years later in December 2006. This time Alison was shuttling me, last time it was Kathy. I promise to post that story in March, a little tease. That trip had more life lessons and two unique twist at the end.

My advice is: Of course, run the rapid. You never know what might happen. You probably won't die.