I Know!

Tom Hopkins, only four years older than me, was totally blind. When he was eighteen an unruly horse kicked him in his face which destroyed both eyes. This disability did not deter Tom's interest in hunting and harvesting wild fruit.

It was a cold December night. The frosty nights had brought the wild persimmons and black haws to maturity. If we were to get our share we had to beat the raccoons and opossums to the harvest! With that in mind, Tom Hopkins, my two older brothers, and two neighbor boys and myself rounded up Ole Blue and Ole Bugle, Tom's favorite coon hounds.

We followed winding Rock Creek to its entrance at the North Canadian River, a distance of about six miles. For three hours we trekked though the thickets near the bands of Rock Creek. We encountered several small branches feeding the larger creek. We had to be careful to avoid pools of quicksand. The clouds overhanging the lowland areas made the night darker and more dismal than usual. Occasionally, one of the coonhounds would let out a long drawn bugle call which echoed through the still night air. With that signal we would all break into a run to aid in treeing the small wild animals. We hoped it would be a raccoon!

It was during one of these runs that I slipped into the creek bed into a pool of cold water. I yelled for help, but my companions thought I was just teasing. They shouted back "Sink or swim!" I had bragged I had learned to swim during the hot months just past! I did swim, but when I reached the other side of the pool the sand gave way under my feet. Another step...both legs were entrapped. The quicksand kept sucking my body deeper. I was scared! I knew struggling would increase the strength of this dangerous life-threatening trap. I tried to keep still. I was chilled and frightened. If only my companions could hear my cries for help instead of the bugling of coon hounds I would be saved!

I knew if I could reach that fallen limb I would have some support. At about three minute intervals I tried to release my body unsuccessfully. Then I would relax. I heard Tom order, "Harold, since you are the smallest and lightest of us you climb the tree and shake the treed coon down." It was at that point the group realized I was not with them! "

"Maybe he wasn't faking when he hollered HELP!"

"Go get Harold!" Tom ordered. "I'll stay with the animals."

When my brothers reached me, my arms were still above the surface of the trap. Hurriedly, they tossed me the rope which we always carried for roping calves to ride bareback. I was gradually pulled to safety. The walk to the treed animal would help warm me up, my brothers advised. "Then we will build a fire to dry you out."

A brush pile furnished enough fuel to fire up our bakeout. Thoughtfully, one of the group had brought along a sack of raw peanuts. Another had picked up two large sweet potatoes that lay loose as we crossed the corner of the Emerich farm. The hot coals soon turned this food into delicious hot morsels.

It was near midnight now. Time to go home! "Let's start," Tom ordered. He started in a northwest direction. The other began to question. "Oh no, Tom, home is this way."

I'm certain I know the way home," Tom said, pointing to the northwest. "The Emerich farm is over there about a half mile, then we cross the Haruska ranch and join the county line road." As the argument progressed, I said, "I'm going to go with Tom." The doubter joined us, muttering "We can always double back." However, soon we were crossing Emerich's sweet potato patch and were homeward bound guided by our blind man leader.

© Copyright 1997 Harold Wm. Wood

This page is maintained by Dr. Wood's son, Harold W. Wood, Jr., of Visalia, California.
My E-mail address is: harold@planetaryexploration.net

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