You can survive: Truly alone in the wilderness: Lost in Yellowstone for 37 days pretty much without equipment, food, clothing or shelter. ‘After wandering away from the rest of the expedition on September 9, 1870, Everts managed to lose the pack horse which was carrying most of his supplies. He ate a songbird and minnows raw, and a local thistle plant to stay alive; the plant (Cirsium foliosum or elk thistle) was later renamed “Evert’s Thistle” after him. Everts’ party searched for him for a while, and his friends in Helena offered a reward of $600 to find him. “Yellowstone Jack” Baronett and George A. Pritchett found Everts, suffering from frostbite, burn wounds from thermal vents and his campfire, and other wounds suffered during his ordeal, so malnourished he weighed only 50 pounds (23 kg). One stayed with him to nurse him back to health while the other walked 75 miles (121 km) for help; in spite of their assistance, Everts denied the men the payment of the reward, claiming he could have made it out of the mountains on his own.’ https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Truman_C._Everts
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SCRIBNER’S MONTHLY
VOL. III. November, 1871. No. 1 THIRTY-SEVEN DAYS OF PERIL
[Illustration: Imaginary Companions.]
I have read with great satisfaction the excellent descriptive articles
on the wonders of the Upper Yellowstone, in the May and June
numbers of your magazine. Having myself been one of the party
who participated in many of the pleasures, and suffered all the perils
of that expedition, I can not only bear testimony to the fidelity of
the narrative, but probably add some facts of experience which will
not detract from the general interest it has excited.
A desire to visit the remarkable region, of which, during several
years’ residence in Montana, I had often heard the most marvelous
accounts, led me to unite in the expedition of August last. The
general character of the stupendous scenery of the Rocky Mountains
prepared my mind for giving credit to all the strange stories told of
the Yellowstone, and I felt quite as certain of the existence of the
physical phenomena of that country, on the morning that our company
started from Helena, as when I afterwards beheld it. I engaged in the
enterprise with enthusiasm, feeling that all the hardships and
exposures of a month’s horseback travel through an unexplored region
would be more than compensated by the grandeur and novelty of the
natural objects with which it was crowded. Of course, the idea of
being lost in it, without any of the ordinary means of subsistence,
and the wandering for days and weeks, in a famishing condition, alone,
in an unfrequented wilderness, formed no part of my contemplation. I
had dwelt too long amid the mountains not to know that such a thought,
had it occurred, would have been instantly rejected as improbable;
nevertheless, “man proposes and God disposes,” a truism which found a
new and ample illustration in my wanderings through the Upper
Yellowstone region.
On the day that I found myself separated from the company, and for
several days previous, our course had been impeded by the dense growth
of the pine forest, and occasional large tracts of fallen timber,
frequently rendering our progress almost impossible. Whenever we came
to one of these immense windfalls, each man engaged in the pursuit of
a passage through it, and it was while thus employed, and with the
idea that I had found one, that I strayed out of sight and hearing of
my comrades. We had a toilsome day. It was quite late in the
afternoon. As separations like this had frequently occurred, it gave
me no alarm, and I rode on, fully confident of soon rejoining the
company, or of finding their camp. I came up with the pack-horse,
which Mr. Langford afterwards recovered, and tried to drive him along,
but failing to do so, and my eyesight being defective, I spurred
forward, intending to return with assistance from the party. This
incident tended to accelerate my speed. I rode on in the direction
which I supposed had been taken, until darkness overtook me in the
dense forest. This was disagreeable enough, but caused me no alarm. I
had no doubt of being with the party at breakfast the next morning. I
selected a spot for comfortable repose, picketed my horse, built a
fire, and went to sleep.
The next morning I rose at early dawn, saddled and mounted my horse,
and took my course in the supposed direction of the camp. Our ride of
the previous day had been up a peninsula jutting into the lake, for
the shore of which I started, with the expectation of finding my
friends camped on the beach. The forest was quite dark, and the trees
so thick, that it was only by a slow process I could get through them
at all. In searching for the trail I became somewhat confused. The
falling foliage of the pines had obliterated every trace of travel. I
was obliged frequently to dismount, and examine the ground for the
faintest indications. Coming to an opening, from which I could see
several vistas, I dismounted for the purpose of selecting one leading
in the direction I had chosen, and leaving my horse unhitched, as had
always been my custom, walked a few rods into the forest. While
surveying the ground my horse took fright, and I turned around in time
to see him disappearing at full speed among the trees. That was the
last I ever saw of him. It was yet quite dark. My blankets, gun,
pistols, fishing tackle, matches–everything, except the clothing on
my person, a couple of knives, and a small opera-glass were attached
to the saddle.
[Illustration: “The Last I Ever Saw of Him.”]
I did not realize the possibility of a permanent separation from the
company. Instead of following up the pursuit of their camp, I engaged
in an effort to recover my horse. Half a day’s search convinced me of
its impracticability. I wrote and posted in an open space several
notices, which, if my friends should chance to see, would inform them
of my condition and the route I had taken, and then struck out into
the forest in the supposed direction of their camp. As the day wore on
without any discovery, alarm took the place of anxiety at the prospect
of another night alone in the wilderness, and this time without food
or fire. But even this dismal foreboding was cheered by the hope that
should soon rejoin my companions, who would laugh at my adventure, and
incorporate it as a thrilling episode into the journal of our trip.
The bright side of a misfortune, as I found by experience, even under
the worst possible circumstances, always presents some features of
encouragement. When I began to realize that my condition was one of
actual peril, I banished from my mind all fear of an unfavorable
result. Seating myself on a log, I recalled every foot of the way I
had traveled since the separation from my friends, and the most
probable opinion I could form of their whereabouts was, that they had,
by a course but little different from mine, passed by the spot where I
had posted the notices, learned of my disaster, and were waiting for
me the rejoin them there, or searching for me in that vicinity. A
night must be spent amid the prostrate trunks before my return could
be accomplished. At no time during my period of exile did I experience
so much mental suffering from the cravings of hunger as when,
exhausted with this long clay of fruitless search, I resigned myself
to a couch of pine foliage in the pitchy darkness of a thicket of
small trees. Naturally timid in the night, I fully realized the
exposure of my condition. I peered upward through the darkness, but
all was blackness and gloom. The wind sighed mournfully through the
pines. The forest seemed alive with the screeching of night birds, the
angry barking of coyotes, and the prolonged, dismal howl of the gray
wolf. These sounds, familiar by their constant occurrence throughout
the journey, were now full of terror, and drove slumber from my
eyelids. Above all this, however, was the hope that I should be
restored to my comrades the next day.
Early the next morning I rose unrefreshed, and pursued my weary way
over the prostrate trunks. It was noon when I reached the spot where
my notices were posted. No one had been there. My disappointment was
almost overwhelming. For the first time, I realized that I was lost.
Then came a crushing sense of destitution. No food, no fire; no means
to procure either; alone in an unexplored wilderness, one hundred and
fifty miles from the nearest human abode, surrounded by wild beasts,
and famishing with hunger. It was no time for despondency. A moment
afterwards I felt how calamity can elevate the mind, in the formation
of the resolution “not to perish in that wilderness.”
The hope of finding the party still controlled my plans. I thought, by
traversing the peninsula centrally, I would be enabled to strike the
shore of the lake in advance of their camp, and near the point of
departure for the Madison. Acting upon this impression, I rose from a
sleepless couch, and pursued my way through the timber-entangled
forest. A feeling of weakness took the place of hunger. Conscious of
the need of food, I felt no cravings. Occasionally, while scrambling
over logs and through thickets, a sense of faintness and exhaustion
would come over me, but I would suppress it with the audible
expression, “This won’t do; I must find my company.” Despondency would
sometimes strive with resolution for the mastery of my thoughts. I
would think of home–of my daughter–and of the possible chance of
starvation, or death in some more terrible form; but as often as these
gloomy forebodings came, I would strive to banish them with
reflections better adapted to my immediate necessities. I recollect at
this time discussing the question, whether there was not implanted by
Providence in every man a principle of self-preservation equal to any
emergency which did not destroy his reason. I decided this question
affirmatively a thousand times afterwards in my wanderings, and I
record this experience here, that any person who reads it, should he
ever find himself in like circumstances, may not despair. There is
life in the thought. It will revive hope, allay hunger, renew energy,
encourage perseverance, and, as I have proved in my own case, bring a
man out of difficulty, when nothing else can avail.
It was mid-day when I emerged from the forest into an open space at
the foot of the peninsula. A broad lake of beautiful curvature, with
magnificent surroundings, lay before me, glittering in the sunbeams.
It was full twelve miles in circumference. A wide belt of sand formed
the margin which I was approaching, directly opposite to which, rising
seemingly from the very depths of the water, towered the loftiest peak
of a range of mountains apparently interminable. The ascending vapor
from innumerable hot springs, and the sparkling jet of a single
geyser, added the feature of novelty to one of the grandest landscapes
I ever beheld. Nor was the life of the scene less noticeable than its
other attractions. Large flocks of swans and other water-fowl were
sporting on the quiet surface of the lake; otters in great numbers
performed the most amusing aquatic evolutions; mink and beaver swam
around unscared, in the most grotesque confusion. Deer, elk, and
mountain sheep stared at me, manifesting more surprise than fear at
my presence among them. The adjacent forest was vocal with the songs
of birds, chief of which were the chattering notes of a species of
mockingbird, whose imitative efforts afforded abundant merriment. Seen
under favorable circumstances, this assemblage of grandeur, beauty,
and novelty would have been transporting; but, jaded with travel,
famishing with hunger, and distressed with anxiety, I was in no humor
for ecstacy. My tastes were subdued and chastened by the perils which
environed me. I longed for food, friends and protection. Associated
with my thoughts, however, was the wish that some of my friends of
peculiar tastes could enjoy this display of secluded magnificence,
now, probably, for the first time beheld by mortal eyes.
The lake was at least one thousand feet lower than the highest point
of the peninsula, and several hundred feet below the level of
Yellowstone Lake. I recognized the mountain which overshadowed it as
the landmark which a few days before, had received from Gen. Washburn
the name of Mount Everts; and as it is associated with some of the
most agreeable and terrible incidents of my exile, I feel that I have
more than a mere discoverer’s right to the perpetuity of that
christening. The lake is fed by innumerable small streams from the
mountains, and the countless hot springs surrounding it. A large river
flows from it, through a canon a thousand feet in height, in a
southeasterly direction, to a distant range of mountains, which I
conjectured to be Snake River; and with the belief that I had
discovered the source of the great southern tributary of the Columbia,
I gave it the name of Bessie Lake, after the
“Sole daughter of my house and heart.”
During the first two days, the fear of meeting with Indians gave me
considerable anxiety, but, when conscious of being lost, there was
nothing I so much desired as to fall in with a lodge of Bannacks or
Crows. Having nothing to tempt their cupidity, they would do me no
personal harm, and, with the promise of reward, would probably
minister to my wants and aid my deliverance. Imagine my delight, while
gazing upon the animated expanse of water, at seeing sail out from a
distant point a large canoe containing a single oarsman. It was
rapidly approaching the shore where I was seated. With hurried steps I
paced the beach to meet it, all my energies stimulated by the
assurance it gave of food, safety and restoration to friends. As I
drew near to it it turned towards the shore, and oh! bitter
disappointment, the object which my eager fancy had transformed into
an angel of relief stalked from the water, an enormous pelican,
flapped its dragon-wings, as if in mockery of my sorrow, and flew to a
solitary point farther up the lake. This little incident quite
unmanned me. The transition from joy to grief brought with it a
terrible consciousness of the horrors of my condition. But night was
fast approaching, and darkness would come with it. While looking for a
spot where I might repose in safety, my attention was attracted to a
small green plant of so lively a hue as to form a striking contrast
with deep pine foliage. For closer examination I pulled it up by the
root, which was long and tapering, not unlike a radish. It was a
thistle. I tasted it; it was palatable and nutritious. My appetite
craved it, and the first meal in four days was made on thistle-roots.
Eureka! I had found food. No optical illusion deceived me this time; I
could subsist until I rejoined my companions. Glorious counterpoise to
the wretchedness of the preceding half-hour!
Overjoyed at this discovery, with hunger allayed, I stretched myself
under a tree, upon the foliage which had partially filled a space
between contiguous trunks, and fell asleep. How long I slept I know
not; but suddenly I was roused by a loud, shrill scream, like that of
a human being in distress, poured, seemingly, into the very portals of
my ear. There was no mistaking that fearful voice. I had been deceived
by and answered it a dozen times while threading the forest, with the
belief that it was a friendly signal. It was the screech of a mountain
lion, so alarmingly near as to cause every nerve to thrill with
terror. To yell in return, seize with convulsive grasp the limbs of
the friendly tree, and swing myself into it, was the work of a moment.
Scrambling hurriedly from limb to limb, I was soon as near the top as
safety would permit. The savage beast was snuffing and growling below
apparently on the very spot I had just abandoned. I answered every
growl with a responsive scream. Terrified at the delay and pawing of
the beast, I increased my voice to its utmost volume, broke branches
from the limbs, and, in the impotency of fright, madly hurled them at
the spot whence the continued howlings proceeded.
Failing to alarm the animal, which now began to make a circuit of the
tree, as if to select a spot for springing into it, I shook, with a
strength increased by terror, the slender trunk until every limb
rustled with the motion. All in vain. The terrible creature pursued
his walk around the tree, lashing the ground with his tail, and
prolonging his howlings a