The anticipation had been building for weeks. A weekend expedition into the swampiest, thickest part of the Red River area in Oklahoma was an exciting prospect. I had taken a trip to the same area the year before and had been rewarded with finding a track way with steps over four feet in length. A few months prior to that, there had been a sighting of a sasquatch-like creature about a half-mile from that location.

Some Squatching Gear.

This year, I was armed with new equipment. I now had solid rain gear and waders to traverse the swampland. I also had a new digital scouting camera I was anxious to tie to a tree.

After much planning and packing, the day finally arrived. I was in route to the Red River with three other team members. Like the year before, it appeared that rain would plague us. This year, however, we were prepared and dressed for the elements. The windshield wipers swished back and forth rhythmically as we turned onto an old dirt road that paralleled the river. I knew that in just a few minutes the expedition would be on.

Then it happened. The windshield wipers suddenly started to move in slow motion. The digital clock on the dashboard began to flicker. Three different lights suddenly appeared behind the steering wheel, including the ‘Check Engine Soon’ light. It only took a few seconds to realize that the trip would have to be postponed. Our concern shifted from a delay in the trip to getting home without breaking down. The windshield wipers gradually moved slower and slower. We realized it was likely the alternator and decided to shut off the wipers and the air conditioner.

We were about fifteen miles away from one team member’s home. Our gauge for measuring our distance was the dashboard clock, which was slowly disappearing from sight with each mile. About halfway home, the vehicle began experiencing trouble going up the hills. About five miles from home, we realized we were not going to make it. Three miles from home, the truck rolled to a stop and died.

We got our exercise that morning, but not in the way we had hoped. There we were, four adults dressed in waders and rain gear walking down the road. By the way, the rain stopped about halfway home.

After arriving at our team member’s home, we grabbed a towrope, jumped in his truck and headed to the broken down vehicle to tow it the rest of the way back. Arriving back at the scene, we secured the towrope and began the haul. I was behind the wheel of the broken down vehicle, while my partner pulled with his truck. I immediately realized that he was pulling me a little faster than I preferred…about 45 miles per hour down a narrow twisting road. Without power brakes or power steering, I was having a difficult time. I did my best and kept a cool head — that is, until we hit the mud.

Suddenly, the road ahead was muddy and the truck in the lead was tossing it up onto my windshield. In a matter of seconds, I had near zero visibility. Feeling a little panicked now, I managed to keep my cool as I assumed my buddy would surely notice he could no longer see me and stop. Unfortunately, the ride continued and he didn’t even slow down! I was driving blind and beginning to get a little worried.

Then I had a genius idea. I decided I’d honk the horn. I pushed hard, hoping to get his attention, but I’d forgotten in all the excitement that the battery was dead. No problem, I thought, I’ll just roll down the window and wave for him to slow down. Again, no luck as the window was electric.

Well, I had an exciting time that day. Far from the type of excitement I had hoped for, but by the grace of God, we made it home safely and eventually got the truck fixed after two 40-mile round trips for parts. The expedition wasn’t what we’d hoped it would be, but we did have some fun. The highlight of the trip was a late night call blasting trip where we got so bored that we started doing imitations of Karl Childers from Sling Blade. “You reckon you could make me some biscuits…uh-huh?”

Needless to say, we got no response. You know what they say about the best laid plans.