Umpqua Edition 2008

Friday, August 29, 2008–The NRDATE–The News-Review, News-Review, UmpquaNRTAB, Edition, Roseburg Oregon, Page 1

Page 2, The News-Review, Umpqua Edition, Roseburg Oregon–Friday, August 29, 2008

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Friday, August 29, 2008– Roseburg Oregon

The News-Review, Umpqua Edition, Page 3

TALES OF SURVIVAL

Douglas County residents share their harrowing, hilarious tales of survival

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urvival! The request for NewsReview readers to share stories of close, scary moments in their lives resulted in many memories being recalled on paper. And most of those experiences are from 30 to 40 to 50 years back, when the writers were children. The stories range from a yellow jacket attack in the mountains to running from a lightning storm in a cotton field to looking eye-to-eye with a tiger shark in the ocean to recovering from scarlet fever. Twenty-five Douglas County residents submitted their survival stories. Four of them even shared two

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or three tales. The good news for them and for their fellow NewsReview readers is that they all survived their scares and are alive today to tell about them. Because there were so many submissions for the 2008 Umpqua Edition, some of them will be printed on Sunday’s Life page and any additional tales will be printed on subsequent Sunday Life pages. All of the stories will be posted to the News-Review Web site at www.nrtoday.com. The News-Review thanks you for sharing your stories of survival. Craig Reed N-R Features Editor

Table of Contents Anderson, Pearl...........................17 Ball, Jack......................................10 Baszler, Tamy.................................9 Bolt, Ron........................................5 Cosgrove, Donald..........................5 Crook, Curt....................................8 Deaton, Gynn...............................21 Grant, KatSue..............................20 Greenway, Faye............................16 Holland, Bob.................................11 Jones, Yvonne........................22, 24

UMPQUA EDITION 2008 PUBLISHED BY The News-Review 345 N.E. Winchester Roseburg, Oregon 97470 PHONE: 672-3321

Cover photo Robin Loznak All contents copyrighted and may not be reproduced without consent of The News-Review. The Umpqua Edition is published annually.

Features Editor Craig Reed

E-mail correspondence regarding this publication to [email protected] or via fax to (541) 957-4270.

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Martel, Pauline...............................7 McGinnis, Keith............................19 Mogensen, Carol..........................24 Plummer, Beatrice.....................6,23 Reilly, Jack...................................13 Retke, Andrea................................7 Russell, Tom.................................23 Serafin, Pete..................................6 Tate, Burt........................................4 Wilder, Donnis..............................12 Young, Marion..............................13

Page 4, The News-Review, Umpqua Edition

Roseburg Oregon–Friday, August 29, 2008

TALES OF SURVIVAL

Poison oak a pesky survivor BURT TATE For The News-Review

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ike Sisyphus, the Greek mythological figure, I too, have a hill. About three times each year, I must mow my hill. To do this, I use my lawn mower. Nothing special. Just an ordinary lawn mower. I’ve tried other muscle machines, available at local rental yards, but they’re heavy. And, my lawn mower is cheaper. The money that I save on rentals I can use on doctor bills, for grass and buttercups are not the only plants on my hill. There is poison oak. The year is currently 2008 A.D. We have been to the moon, invented the Internet, but we have yet to cure poison oak. By cure I mean, there are still poison oak plants on the planet. According to sources (on the Internet), 75 percent of people Tate get an allergic reaction to poison oak. The remaining 25 percent have great career opportunities in the field of weed control. For those lucky few who have not experienced it, a poison oak reaction begins with little bumps two to three days after exposure, usually on the thinskinned areas of your body, such as arms, legs, neck and face. This may be followed by a rash and swelling. And, it itches. It itches badly. It itches for about two weeks. If you’re lucky, calamine lotion will

subdue the itching enough to keep you sane. However, a visit to the doctor may sometimes be necessary (this is where your saved rental fees come in). To survive exposure to poison oak, you must be prepared. The first time I mowed my hill, I put on high boots, long pants, a long-sleeved shirt, goggles, hat, blue neoprene gloves and wrapped a handkerchief around my nose and mouth. After the mowing, I took off all my clothes, and took a nice, long, soapy shower. Two days later, little red bumps appeared on my arms, legs, neck, face and ears. And they itched. Pesticides are nasty, awful, horrible things, and they pollute our environment. So when I went to the hardware store to buy some, I wanted to get the strongest stuff possible. My poison oak was going to die! For two years, following label directions, I sprayed the little poison oak leaves and watched happily as they withered, turned brown and died. By September of 2007, the last of the little “leaves of three” were gone. I could not see a trace of them. While working on my back fence, however, I did manage to rub up slightly (ever so slightly) against an old dead vine wrapped around an oak tree. Two days later, my face was broken out, my left eye was swollen shut and my ear looked like a piece of pizza. A trip to the doctor, a week’s subscription of pills and a cortisone shot: $140. Spring of 2008 had lots of rain. The

CRAIG REED/The News-Review

Burt Tate covers up when he mows the hill behind his Hucrest area home in Roseburg. Although he’s tried to dig up the poison oak on the hill, he continues to survive (note greenery next to stump). grass on the hill grew fast, and high. Not until June was I able to get up there and mow it. After two hours, and halfway up the hill (I started at the bottom) I noticed little dark green bunches of poison oak. Everywhere! I stopped, left the mower on the hill, and went in to shower with Tecnu. According to research, if you wash off poison oak resin within five minutes of contact, you may not have a reaction. Lying in bed, two days later, I gazed out the window, at my hill, while I scratched my arms and legs. My mower sat in the middle of the sloping field, amid 5-foot grass. Using a pickax, I began removing the healthy, toxic roots and plants. After two weeks, 20 pounds of roots were bagged and tied, but I was only one-sixth of the way through the field. Little piles of dirt where I had done my digging littered the

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slope. However, it was time to mow again. The grass was getting higher. With protective clothing on, I started at the top of the hill. The dirt, which I had dug up, dried into little brown balls and acted like marbles. I slipped and fell 20 or 30 times. The dry grass and dirt put up a cloud around my head. They say that it only takes one microgram of urushiol, the active ingredient in poison oak, to cause a reaction in susceptible people. I was doomed. I completed the task in five hours, with barely enough strength to walk into the house. Several weeks later, after the itching subsided, I walked up the hill to complete my poison oak removal. There I found, in the middle of the excavated pile of dirt, a lush, healthy, sprout of poison oak. It, not me, was the survivor.

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Friday, August 29, 2008– Roseburg Oregon

The News-Review, Umpqua Edition, Page 5

TALES OF SURVIVAL

A insane adventure over a waterfall RON BOLT For The News-Review

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y level of concern spiked when the South Santiam River disappeared from view just ahead. I called to my partner to pull our raft over to the side, but he dug his paddle in the water like he was racing for Olympic gold. After all, we’d vowed to “take the adventure that comes our way.” The river funneled, picked up speed and swept us into a nosefirst fall. I put a two-handed death grip onto the strap in front of me and saw part of the river crashing in from the side to join the main falls. The 12-foot waterfall fell into a raging, rocky passage. The rapids dribbled me off the bottom like a basketball and massive rocks beat my legs. My world became a frothy turbulence. I could only see violent bubbling as I cartwheeled, somersaulted and log-rolled. I wore a life jacket, but it proved ineffective in the half-air, half-water environment. Once in a while, my lifejacket nearly brought me to the surface, but as soon as my eyes cleared the water, the river sucked me under again. I thought, “So this is what it’s like to die.” Eventually, the raft caught up with us and ran over my head. I snatched the back end of the raft and my partner held onto the front. I pulled my head from the river, but had taken in too much water to breathe.

Courtesy photo

Ron Bolt survived going over a 12-foot falls in a raft on the South Santiam River a few years ago. When the whitewater lessened, I let go of the raft to grab onto rocks at the edge, but the river quickly washed me off each time I tried. The current slowed at last, and my grip on a rock held. I pulled myself up and rolled onto a large flat rock. I tried to

breathe and I tried to cough, but could do neither. After a lengthy, bug-eyed struggle, I sucked a small whiff of air into my lungs with a noisy wheeze. In a few minutes, my labored gasping eased and I thought I might live. I tried to stand, but my legs didn’t function as the liquid-ice river

had rendered them useless. My friend had washed up on the opposite shore with the raft. The paddles were long gone. I could not cross to him and if he pushed the raft from his side, he would disappear downstream in a hurry. I lay down on the rock and gave my breathing a chance to normalize. After 15 minutes, my legs had thawed enough to take shaky steps. As the road was on my side of the river, I called, “I’ll hike to the road and find help.” After a short hike through fields and trees, I reached the road. Soon I came to a house and staggered to the door. They seemed surprised to see a drowned ratlooking person on a dry, cold March morning. They took me in and sat me in front of their woodstove. I told them my story and their two teenage boys ran for the river. They gave me dry clothes and put mine in the dryer. The boys returned and said, “There’s nobody and no raft down there.” I guessed, “My crazy friend decided to go for it with no paddles.” “No way,” they replied. “The river narrows to a churning chute only a few feet wide. No raft could get through there. We checked all the way to that chute.” After my clothes dried, they asked, “What do you want to do?” I asked if they could give me a ride to my car, parked downstream. As I rode in their car, wondering what I would tell his wife, I saw a van coming toward us with a raft tied to the top. It looked like my raft. We waved them over and sure enough, it was my raft. In Turn to WATERFALL, page 22

Tiger shark eyes man scuba diving in the ocean DONALD COSGROVE The News-Review

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was being watched. I could feel the presence of someone or something close by. A tingling sensation rippled down the back of my neck and across my body. I had that bad feeling that it was not friendly. I looked around, but in the murky conditions, my view was of only a shallow canyon and formations that resembled giant mushrooms in shape. This was a weird landscape produced by volcanic upheavals centuries ago. Beneath the large overhang of the lava mushrooms one could hide a body. The canyon also formed by lava was 10 feet deep and 60 feet long. One could easily hid in its depths and spring upon an unsuspecting prey.

I checked my surroundings to prove that I was totally alone. However, those prehistoric genes from a distant past that had allowed man to survive screamed out, “You are in danger.” This was a warning I could not ignore. I moved down into the canyon knowing that whatever was out there would have to find me. Curiosity had to work for me, not against me; I would not blunder into a trap. Soon a fleeting shadow passed over Cosgrove my hiding place and was gone. My enemy had made his first mistake. I knew for certain he was here. I tensed, knowing he would be back for a closer look.

My only escape route was 60 feet away into open territory. I backed up against the rough side of the canyon and scanned both entrances, waiting to see which one my nemesis would choose. I did not have long to wait. The vague shadow of a figure appeared to my left and started to fill the small canyon. The gray form increased in size and moved slowly towards me, till we were separated by less than three feet. Time stopped, as if in a vacuum. There were just the two of us creatures in this small abyss. Neither one of us moved, and the only sound I heard was my throbbing heart. Then I had a strange feeling — that my mind was being gently probed, as if everything I had ever learned or experienced in this life was being cataloged. At the same time a sensation, almost a message, seemed to say: Do not fear. I relaxed my guard.

There in front of me was an animal that had more than 6 million years of evolution in his or her background. Who is to say what multitude of lifesaving senses and receptors had been developed over the eons of this species’ existence on this brutal planet. I would have made an easy meal had that been the intention of this huge creature. Yet, for all those many seconds, I stared transfixed, into the seemingly lifeless eye of a 12-foot tiger shark. I have no idea how long this episode lasted, but the spell was broken only when, with little effort, the creature left the ravine and disappeared into his or her watery realm. Being a coward, knowing I had beaten the odds this time, I made that 60-foot escape to the surface and the safety of that navy whale boat, in what was to me A Moment of Survival to Remember.

Page 6, The News-Review, Umpqua Edition

Roseburg Oregon–Friday, August 29, 2008

TALES OF SURVIVAL

Surviving sudden hypothermia at 16,000 feet in Tibet ards of pulmonary edema and hypothermia. Edema locks in the body fluids, preventing sweating, urination and respiration. Victims can literally drown in their n 2000 I had a license to hunt in Tibet own fluids. Blood chemistry changes at for a Tibetan blue sheep, one of the high altitudes. Red corpuscles increase. smaller species similar to the Bharral Hypothermia is simply a situation in blue sheep in Nepal that I had previwhich more heat escapes the body that it ously bagged. can produce. Death definitely occurs if I like to hunt alone whenever body temperature falls to 75 possible, but the cost of a 2,000degrees. mile expedition like this would be As the fifth day dawned, I had very costly to a loner. However, not fired a shot, although I passed the six hunters in our group made up some chances at mediocre the cost of the Shikar affordable. rams. My guide told the interOur 12,000-foot campsite was preter that he was taking me to a at the edge of the rimrock sheep remote high corner that had not habitat, so every morning the six been hunted. As we began our hunters would scatter in all direcascent the sky was clear and the tions with native guides and stout air was sharply cold, with light little sure-footed horses. Stalking wind gusts. was not easy. There were no trees Serafin About noon we were off our and few shrubs for cover, but suchorses again and gave the horse cess began to trickle in the third day. tender the halter ropes while the guide and This was to be my third and last sheep I crept forward on foot. Two rams raised hunt at 16,000 feet or higher elevation. up out of their beds about 80 yards away The first was in Afghanistan at age 58 in and dropped out of sight. I ran to a small 1973, at near 19,000 feet; the second in knoll and saw the rams running away. Nepal at age 63 in 1978, at 16,000 feet; Flopping on my belly for a quick 100-yard this one would be at age 85 in Tibet to shot, I made sure the .270 Barnes bullet 16,000 feet. did its job. Hunters say that sheep hunting is for the Quickly removing the viscera, we tied young and there is truth to that. But I have the carcass on a horse for the journey to always had a very high tolerance for camp. Suddenly the weather got worse. extreme altitudes where lurk the two hazThe sky turned dark, the temperature PETE SERAFIN For The News-Review

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Courtesy photo

These guides are shown with the Tibetan blue ram that Pete Serafin bagged on a hunt in 2000. A storm struck quickly on the return trip to camp and Serafin survived a bout of hypothermia. dropped and the wind increased. I zippered my coat to the top, pulled the hood down to my shoulders and snapped it around my neck. I felt secure. This outfit had served me well on several expeditions. I had fleece underwear, a thick down vest with snug elastic armholes and a thick down coat, all covered with tight woven nylon. All went well until the shrieking velocity wind penetrated all my cover and blasted against my bare skin inside. Never had I encountered such a blow. Hypothermia is usually gradual, but I was quickly losing heat, violently shivering, stumbling on the ground and unable to mount without help. My brain was too numb to think, but I could imagine the last calorie draining from my body when death would come

instantly, like a light switch blackening a room. Finally nine white dots a mile away popped into view — our yurt camp. We made a run for it. Helping hands lifted my stiffened body from my horse to my bed in my already heated yurt. Two hours of bundling and warm soups and tea revived me enough to sit up and then walk the next day. Sometimes native ways are better. My guides wrap themselves with sheepskin tunics with windproof leather outside, which is ideal, as are their turbans that can be worn a dozen ways. Don’t believe that nature will always treat you kindly just because she always has.

Surviving a day of mishap on the family farm and not a farmer, rented an old farm. My mother’s sister, Aunt Grace, her husband Uncle Paul, their two children, Pauline, who at about 8 his is so bizarre it is was slightly older than I, and almost unbelievable. cousin Eleanor, who was about Unless you have been 18 months old along, Grandma, involved in a chain of Uncle Paul’s mother, and her events, that on looking back, you brother Uncle El, all moved in could not believe they ever hapwith us. Our family consisted of pened. This really and truly did my father and mother, my older happen. sister Mildred, then my sister It was at the very beginning of Audrey as well as my infant the big Depression. Everyone was Plummer brother Clair. I am incidental in doing whatever they had to do to this account as I evidently stayed survive. My father, who was a metallurgist out of the way and out of trouble. BEATRICE PLUMMER For The News-Review

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Now you need to know where everybody was and what they were doing, or rather what they were supposed to be doing. Grandma and Uncle El were on the sun porch cleaning a rabbit one of the men had shot for our dinner. Aunt Grace and my mother were in the kitchen cleaning the cupboards and washing the dishes. Mildred had walked down to our mailbox to get the mail while Uncle Paul was on the roof fixing a shingle and my sister Audrey was holding the ladder for him. Pauline had been sent to her room on the second floor to clean it as she had left quite a mess. Daddy had gone down to the

orchard for some fruit and Eleanor was playing in the yard adjacent to the sun porch. Little Clair was riding his threewheeler around through the house. Everyone in position, and the play begins. In those old farmhouses the stairs to the basement were almost straight down. Someone inadvertently left the cellar door open and Clair, riding about on his three-wheeler, rode straight down those steps and knocked himself out. My mother screamed and dropped a stack of dishes that broke all over the floor. Aunt Grace sped to the bottom of the Turn to FARM, page 8

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Friday, August 29, 2008– Roseburg Oregon

The News-Review, Umpqua Edition, Page 7

TALES OF SURVIVAL

A car accident on her Sweet 16th leaves girl with traumatic brain injury PAULINE MARTEL For The News-Review

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ct. 10, 1988: What a exciting day this is! Our little girl, Andrea, is now 16. We are off to the Department of Motor Vehicle to get the magical first driver’s license, and in the afternoon, pick up her first car. Driving with me for the past year, Andrea demonstrated very good driving skills. Nonetheless, I am as jumpy as the proverbial cat on a hot tin roof. Andrea drives to the DMV in my car and passes her test. She drops me off at work and takes the car to school, feeling very proud and responsible. After school she picks me up and we are off to the car dealership to purchase her first car. We stop to show off her car to her grandparents, grab a bite to eat, exchange hugs and kisses, and off she drives with her brother to pick up a friend and head to the movies for more birthMartel day fun. Tossing and turning, hoping that all is going well with the new driver, I finally drift into sleep. Startled awake to the sound of what I think is an explosion, I am alert when the phone rings and a police officer tells me I need to go to the hospital, my daughter has been in a car accident. As I try to find clothes, shoes, car keys, I keep reminding myself that my beautiful children will be all right. I pray as I head for the car, “Please Lord, make this be OK, maybe a few bumps and bruises.” As I drive down the road, I see the site of a major disaster. A brick wall demolished, a house with a front window imploded, debris everywhere, my daughter’s car being towed away. I can hardly take it all in. I can only think a log truck must have hit her car and created all this mess; no way her car could have been so destructive. I arrive at the hospital to discover my daughter being prepared for surgery and the medical staff looking very dour. I am told her chances are slim, but not to give up hope. The neurosurgeon arrives, and five and a half hours of surgery begin. The excitement I felt this morning has

ANDREA RETKE For The News-Review

Hi, my name is Andrea Retke. I received a traumatic brain injury on my 16th birthday: Oct. 10, 1988. I am now 36 years old. Although I am unable to maintain an employed position, I am able to volunteer a few hours most weeks at the Family Development Center. I am a wife and mother of a 12-year-old son who is growing into an amazing young man. I love life and people. Since poetry seems to Retke come to me much more easily than prose, I’ve written my “Survivor” story as a poem. It’s finally here, the day has come 16 years old today …. My life has begun. I am so cool, I can drive a car With my license I’ll be a star. With confidence at hand, knowledge at heart now morphed into anxiety, apprehension and a fear so great I cannot think. I call a friend to come and sit with me and just cry and pray all night. I decide not to call family and friends until the surgery is complete. No point in putting them through these grueling predawn hours. Andrea came out of surgery with, we were told, a less than 50-percent chance of moderate recovery. The next seven and a half weeks were touch and go, with many trips from the post-op floor back to intensive care. Feeding tubes and IVs, 24hour nursing care, cold packs to reduce spiking fevers, an orthopedist arriving to cast her feet and legs, constant rubbing that created half-dollar-sized holes in her heels a half-inch deep, endless concerns. We ask ourselves daily, “How long do we wait? Will she recover?” We decide to pray; give God and Drea

I turn the key The car does start. With little effort, I pass the test I’m thrilled! It’s still my birthday… I’m ready for the rest! I’m so excited to go out with my friends What to do, where to go To the movies, for coffee? It really depends… It’s been so wonderful; I don’t want it to end I feel so free, just to roam But, I have school tomorrow, I’d better get home. I stop at the Chevron to talk to my friends Say, “I’ll race ya home,” Not knowing it was the beginning of the end… I awaken seven (?) weeks later not knowing what went on “Why am I here? “It’s not where I belong.” I’m eating through a tube in my nose An IV in my arm No hair on my head What else could go wrong?

Not able to speak I am a child again, frail and meek. “A Traumatic Brain Injury” I am told, Whatever that means Thank God for my family and friends They were on the “‘Drea Team!” “You’re a survivor!” I hear I don’t feel like a survivor That’s for sure… With much hard work, a will to survive Help from everyone I’m still alive! Twenty years later Challenges are still here. What’s your name again … or, did I eat today? My memory’s still often unclear. Some days are good, some days are bad Thank heavens for my husband and son They always love me through everything Even when I’m mad or sad! Each day’s a new day To start fresh and new. I wonder how I’ll be? …maybe I’ll remember you!

What happened, I wonder? time. We spend many hours talking to her. Friends and family take one- to twohour shifts to hold her hands, massage her feet, play music, read to her. Friends from school come in and do their homework out loud because they say, “You never know what she can hear and we don’t want her to fall behind in her junior year.” How blessed we were to have all these wonderful people in our lives to help us all survive this horrific event. And then the miracle! The evening our little girl raised her arm and pulled her brother’s hair and said “NO!!” in response to us talking about going home for the night — that was the most wonderful night of our lives. My son and I hugged and cried and knew that, at last, the answer to all our prayers had just occurred.

The following weeks, months and years saw our beautiful girl relearn talking, walking and taking care of her basic needs. Those years were more demanding and challenging for Andrea and our family than any survivor on a reality show could ever possibly encounter. Our beautiful girl is now a wife and mother. She is absolutely amazing as she goes though life offering help and support in any way she can to anyone who needs it. Her upbeat, positive attitude, happy smile and incredible laugh have been an inspiration for many, especially me. As I survived this ordeal, I learned the following from her: patience, acceptance, being happy for what I have and the knowledge that the love and devotion of family and friends is the most valuable gift and survival tool possible.

Page 8, The News-Review, Umpqua Edition

Roseburg Oregon–Friday, August 29, 2008

TALES OF SURVIVAL

A 20-foot fall from a tree could have been worse CURT CROOK For The News-Review

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hree years ago my friend Randy Rutledge and I were bow hunting elk. We had just encountered a small herd, and I knew where the elk would cross on the trail ahead. The stage was set for an up-close encounter with a bull elk and an arrow. As we approached the ravine, the blackberries were shaking. What a surprise! We found ourselves 6 feet from a 450-pound black bear. I spotted him first and whispered to Randy, “It’s a huge black bear!” Randy, being overrun with adrenaline, shouted, “Well, shoot it!” At which time it turned and began swatting berry vines at me. I drew back and fired an arrow into the beast. He flipped over backward and all was quiet — too quiet. I yelled at Randy, “Get ready, if he’s still alive, he’s coming back to eat our lunch!” But my arrow had quickly dispatched him. This past season I found myself stalking an even bigger bear. It being the last day of the season with no one with whom to hunt, I began gearing up to go it alone. I arrived at the ranch and opened the gate. Easing my truck across the narrow bridge, I quietly parked in the alfalfa field and unloaded my tree climber and 30-06. Finding fresh scat and undeniable bear tracks, I shimmied up a large maple tree. As I ascended to near-heavenly heights, I settled in for a sure bet. I turned on my remote bear-calling device and selected the “rabbit squeals.” For several hours the squeals echoed through the canyon. With 30 minutes left of daylight, I let my gun down to the base of the tree. Coming down two or three feet, I decided I would adjust the length of my cable on

Farm Continued from page 6 upstairs stairs and called to Pauline to call out the window to her father, as he was the only one with a car, to come down off the roof to take Clair to the hospital. Pauline did as she was told, but unfortunately the window came down on her neck and she was stuck half in and half out of a second- floor window. Audrey, upon hearing that her baby brother was hurt, ran to the house. The ladder she was supposed to be holding fell over, and Uncle Paul was stuck on the roof. Mother instructed Audrey to run down to the orchard, find her father and bring him back. Grandma was a very dramatic

Courtesy photo

Curt Crook survived a 20-foot fall from a tree stand while out hunting big game. the upper part of my tree climber. Pulling the safety pin and shortening the cable, I simply attempted to put the pin back in the hole, securely locking the upper part of my climber in order to complete my descent from 21 feet. You’ve got to be kidding, I thought to myself as I watched the pin bounce off the ground. With my mind racing, I took a deep breath and calmed down. Get a grip, I said to myself. I took out my knife and

cut an 8-inch piece of the cotton cord from which I had just let down my rifle. I then slipped the quarter-inch cotton rope into the safety pin hole. After tying a few knots in the rope, I faced the tree and sat down onto the seat frame. Pop! Snap! I was falling out of a tree backwards! Twenty feet comes all too quickly. Waking up, I heard loud buzzing in my ears. I thought, oh no, I’ve been buried alive! All I could feel was wet

old lady and, hearing all this commotion, told Uncle El that she was going to faint. So Uncle El threw the dirty rabbit water on her, upon which she promptly returned the favor. Mildred had returned with the mail by this time, and in her eagerness to get in the house, slid on the front porch and put her elbow through the front door window, requiring her to go to the hospital with Clair and get stitches. As no one was watching little Eleanor, she decided to inspect the outhouse and promptly fell down one of the holes. Uncle El had to jump in and get her out. But with dirty rabbit water all over him already, I doubt he cared much. Daddy and Audrey made it back up from the orchard and sanity once again reigned. Uncle Paul, Daddy, Mom, Clair and Mildred took off for the hospital. Pauline

was rescued from her entrapment in the window. Uncle El and Eleanor were hosed off and serenity returned to the farm.

earth landing heavily on my face and chest. Then I remembered falling. I must be on the ground, I reasoned. I slowly lifted my head up out of the ground, spitting tooth fragments, blood and dirt. I was becoming aware of electrical shocks coursing up and down my spine. The buzzing was getting louder. I began pulling mud out of both ears and my mouth. Pain was shooting out the tips of my fingers in my left arm. Having severe tunnel vision, all I could see were weird, distorted images. My thumb was three inches up my left arm! My hand was lying backwards, covering the face of my watch! My mind began to race: I have to get out of here, it’s almost dark. I’ve been calling this bear for hours, what if he comes? I had to try to stand and walk back to the truck. Looking as if through a small tube, I spotted my rifle. Thinking that I couldn’t leave it there, I reached out with my left hand, felt the barrel, and squeezed my fingers around it. As I took off toward the truck, the gun flopped out of my hand and fell into the mud. Ow! I pulled my left arm up to investigate the sudden pain and my hand was not on the end of my wrist. It was now lying palm down against the underside of my forearm! Back at the truck I found my keys. Now I had to cross a narrow bridge, unlock a gate and then relock it, all with tunnel vision and a broken arm. With all of that behind me, I decided to pin my broken arm between the roof of the cab and the top of my head and drive to the hospital. I realize just how close I was to real trouble. I could have been paralyzed or died. I don’t consider myself lucky; it was a miracle. Today I never hunt alone or without a safety harness.

I survived that day on the farm by staying out of the way of the chaos.

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Friday, August 29, 2008– Roseburg Oregon

The News-Review, Umpqua Edition, Page 9

TALES OF SURVIVAL

A deep-water scuba dive turns deadly TAMY BASZLER For The News-Review

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t the time of the accident, I was a 33-year-old mother of two who went back to school to get a better education. It was my last term at Umpqua Community College and I needed a two-credit class to graduate. When I first started going to school there, I had met another mother of two who happen to be following the same course of study and we became fast friends. We both thought it would be great fun to do a scuba class for our two-credit course. What a way to end the school year and graduate. We had signed up and gone though the course together as scuba buddies, and then we signed up to go with our instructor on a weekend trip to Hood Canal to get certified for deep diving. The weekend came and we packed up the families to head to Washington. I should have known then what was coming, because it seemed on our trip up as if anything could go wrong, it would go wrong. We even witnessed a truck in front of us with a canopy full of people wiped out. The weather was rotten, with cold temperatures, rain and lots of wind. But we were looking forward to the dive so we could check out the sunken ship. The dive was going to be 125 feet down. Because the class was so big, we were going to go in groups of two. Of course, the way our luck was running, we were in the second group. We waited alongside the dock in miserable weather in our wet suits with our families. My daughter, who was 8 at the time, started asking me not to go. My then-husband started saying he was getting a bad feeling about this and that we should try another time. I guess I should have listened. Our turn came and we were cold, but really excited about checking out this ship. The instructor gave last-minute directions, one of which was “Don’t leave your dive buddy.” We went down and checked out the ship and headed up to the 70-foot mark, where we were to wait and level off. While we were there, I started to feel a little funny. I remembered being told about narcosis and signaled to my dive buddy that I needed to head up, but the instructor said no. After about another minute I signaled to my buddy again that I was going up. She began to follow when the instructor grabbed her foot and brought her down and then went up with me. The rest of the accident I remember in bits and pieces — coming up to the surface and swallowing saltwater, my

CRAIG REED/The News-Review

Tamy Baszler survived a harrowing experience during a dive to earn certification for deep diving. friend’s husband coming into the water and dragging me out (this person was so afraid of the water that when we would go in the hot tub he would sit far away from the tub). I remember the ambulance being there and my telling the rescue crew not to cut the wet suit. I asked if I was going to be OK, and no one would say anything. The next thing I remember is waking in the first hospital, puking my guts out.

I remember waking on a helicopter and my head was pounding. I was still very sick to my stomach. I asked again if I would be OK. At that point I was told that I was being flown to Seattle to Mason County General Hospital, which was one of the best hospitals in the country for scuba diving accidents. It was really stormy outside and the helicopter was shaking all over the place and they said they had

to fly at tree level because of my accident (I still did not know yet what the accident was). I remember waking in a room that I later found out was a hyperbaric chamber. At that point I was able to talk and ask what was going on. That was the first time someone finally said I would be OK. I found out then what had happened. They weren’t sure if it was bad air or if I had come up too fast, but I had blown a 10-centimeter hole in my lung. I was in this chamber because they were trying to get my system back to sea level. But every time they tried, it looked like more air bubbles were going through my system. I was told then I was very lucky. Most people in this situation did not make it. But I needed to come back tomorrow for another round of the chamber. I remember telling the nurse I didn’t feel right, but she said it was part of the accident and then handed me a release form to sign. I explained I couldn’t hold the pen in my hand, so she held the clipboard in one hand and held my right hand in her other and made an X to sign me out. At this point my husband starting saying he wanted to see a doctor, and the next thing I remember is waking up in an intensive care unit with all these terrible sounds around me. It was then I saw my daughter for the first time since the accident. The next day I was moved to a room upstairs, where I was finally able to understand what had happened to me. The long and the short of it was when I came up from the 70-foot mark, I blew the hole in my lung that caused air bubbles to go though my veins and cause a mild heart attack below the surface of the water. When I surfaced, my instructor left me in Hood Canal and swam for help, but my friend’s husband jumped in the water and dragged me out. The ambulance took me to Shelton Hospital, where they were unable to help me, but got a helicopter to take me to Seattle. When I arrived at the hospital, I was put into the hyperbaric chamber, where I was for several hours, to no avail. I then collapsed because air bubbles in my system caused another mild heart attack. I was in Seattle for seven days, then released to come home to Mercy Medical Center, from which they allowed me to go home. Within three days, I was back in the hospital, at which time doctors wanted to do surgery on my lung to cut off the part that had the hole. But I had refused to have the surgery, having faith it would heal on its own, which it did. It took about six months for the toxins to leave my body. Some say it was the move to Eastern Oregon at an altitude of 5,960 that did it. I believe there is only one reason I survived this ordeal: God has a plan for me.

Page 10, The News-Review, Umpqua Edition

Roseburg Oregon–Friday, August 29, 2008

TALES OF SURVIVAL

Being run over doesn’t stop him the car parked on me until we walked into the emergency room. The extent of my injuries was abrasions t was a typical hot August Sunday on my right rib area. After the doctor night in Southern Oregon. cleared me, one of the guys relieved the In 1964, the Tri City drive-in movie tension level with a joke. “Riddle playboy theater was the place to go. After a run over by a car at the drive-in!” weekend of partying, we settled into a lowWe left and went home as it was Sunday profile evening at the movies, drinking night. I went to work the next morning at soda (we were all single working men). Hanna Nickel. I didn’t call in and take time Four guys cooped up in a hot 1958 off from work. My journey continued ... Impala made it unbearable. Very few cars Several weeks after this incident, I drove had air conditioning in the good old days. a newly designated civilian to the Roseburg One of the guys (Curtis) had a great idea: Greyhound station to catch his bus to Las spread a blanket on the ground. We moved Vegas. We were minutes away from the bus the speaker console several feet away from departure when we got into Roseburg and the passenger side as a preventive measure. found the train crossing. In 1964, this train We didn’t want to get run over by a car! crossing did not have the extended gate Dark came and the arms. The clock was movie began to play. I counting down when was on my back, with finally the caboose hands behind my cleared our path. head, when all of a I floored my 1962 sudden I was hit from After the doctor cleared TR 3 across the behind. I looked up when I me, one of the guys relieved tracks and saw a tire on my noticed a large round right collarbone. The the tension level with a joke. headlight to my left. driver had cut sharply light belonged ‘Riddle playboy run over by The to his left, nearly hitto the engine of a ting the speaker consecond train that was a car at the drive-in!’ sole. following close I reached up and behind the first. It Jack Ball touched the chrome was really, really rim. I couldn’t move close. my head as the tire My buddy made it had me pinned. on time for his bus. One of the guys in As for myself, I had the car jumped out and just experienced yelled, “You dumb---, you’re on Jack!” another near miss. The kid driving the 1959 Chevy convertLooking back at these two life/death ible didn’t understand what was happening near misses, I appreciate the additional 44(he was under the influence of too many plus years of survival. The comment, “ I 3.2s). Instead of backing up, he inched the can live my life any way I want because it ’ 59 forward, stopping with the left front is my life” is not completely true. tire on my chest. Fortunately for me the Looking back at my life, there have been driver did not turn the wheel the other way many other lives I have influenced since when he finally backed off me. My shirt that hot August night. There are those who was still pinned under the tire until Chuck would not exist if I had not been so lucky. ripped if off me and helped me up. Why or how my 145 pounds survived that The ’ 59 Chevy had standard width tires. 1959 Chevy can be explained as another If they had been wider, my neck would event that dictates life and death as minute have been snapped or if I had been closer measurements of time and motion. to the point of contact, the same. Such is Closing in on another birthday, I have life or death... many memories to reflect upon since that In a few seconds I was in the back seat night 44 years ago. Because I survived my and Claude was pushing his ’58 Impala family never had to wonder “what if he down Old Highway 99 to the Myrtle Creek had died in 1964, what would he have Hospital (about four miles away). I was achieved?” conscious, but had difficulty breathing. Life is not singular; life is a shared jourAbout 10 minutes elapsed from the time ney with many. My journey continues ... JACK BALL For The News-Review

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CRAIG REED/The News-Review

Jack Ball survived having a tire and car roll up on his chest, back when he was a young man lying on the ground and watching a movie at an outdoor theater.

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Friday, August 29, 2008– Roseburg Oregon

The News-Review, Umpqua Edition, Page 11

TALES OF SURVIVAL

Surviving without air 150 feet below the sea BOB HOLLAND For The News-Review

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urvival. It started when I was born. I came crashing in two and a half months early. They said, “At three pounds, he’ll never make it!” This was back when there wasn’t a lot of medical magic to make miracles happen. Maybe they were really saying I was supposed to run some kind of gauntlet to prove I should be allowed to live. Well, I have. I joined the U.S. Coast Guard at 17 and went to sea. I was a diver/bos’n mate. That simply means I was a sailor doing sailor-type chores, including anything required on, in or under the water. I was working at the bottom of the channel in Miami, at the “Sea Buoy.” (As you enter the Miami channel at Government Cut, this is the first marker buoy coming in, or the last going out.) I was absorbed in my work when I was gently bumped by something. It scared the crap out of me! As my light disappeared, I slowly turned and was looking directly into a

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huge shark! He swam over me so close that I had to lean backwards to give him enough space to clear me. As I watched this huge creature placidly swim by, I thought how lucky I was and that this was my adventure for the day. Holland I noted that time was passing and I needed to start my ascent, with time breaks at various depth levels to decompress, as I headed for the surface about 150 feet above me. One last look about and I was heading for the surface, when suddenly I was hit from behind and literally knocked for a loop. I thought it was that shark coming back for dinner. A quick inventory cleared that thought, but I had NO AIR! My regulator had been destroyed and was hanging off my air tank like it had been bent and the hose cut. This was starting to get pretty serious. Then I saw a school of 50 to 60 barracuda. At least now I had a good idea of

what happened to my equipment. So with a school of barracuda on the hunt and a very large shark circling me, my regulator looking like it had been through a thrasher, and NO AIR, my priorities were pretty clear. The ideal thing to do in a situation like this would be to stay out of harm’s way on the bottom, but not having air, this was not an option. I ditched my scuba gear as fast as I was able, dropped my weight belt and headed for the surface. But I still needed air! I swam for the surface blowing air out as I swam up for the wonderful reward … trying hard to not go any faster than my bubbles, thereby avoiding nitrogen narcosis, more commonly called “the bends.” This gets to be pretty tricky. It’s a little like running for the bathroom in a public place. You have to go VERY badly, and if you don’t run faster than you are, you aren’t going to make it in time. At about 40 feet from the surface, my shipmates said I quit swimming and that I just started floating without any concerns. I thought I had passed out, when in reality, this was the first stage to

drowning. They got me to the surface and into the boat. I recall some odd moments while all this was going on. I remember having to take that breath of air that wasn’t there; and seeing the guy swimming down to get me. I recall lying on the deck and somebody hitting me in the chest, (which broke a rib) to restart my heart. I recall watching as the guys scrambled about trying to keep me alive. Then I recall blackness. I could hear everything going on around me, but had absolutely no control of any functions. I wanted to answer their questions, but could not. One fellow even said I was dead, while another jumped him, stating he was not qualified to make that observation! I could hear the helicopter coming in to do the pickup. I was taken up to Ft. Lauderdale and spent some time in a decompression chamber to get all those pesky little air bubbles out of my bloodstream. A ride in a Coast Guard helicopter was something I had always wanted to do. Too bad I was unconscious through it all.

Page 12, The News-Review, Umpqua Edition

Roseburg Oregon–Friday, August 29, 2008

TALES OF SURVIVAL

Stuck in a sinking car

Donnis Wilder’s car took a beating when she crashed into the North Umpqua River in 2007. Courtesy photo

DONNIS WILDER For The News-Review

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ho would have thought that a peaceful drive downriver could have ended in a life or death situation? It was a beautiful afternoon as I drove home from work on Nov. 7, 2007. I’ve always loved the North Umpqua Highway for its rugged beauty. As I rounded one of the sharpest corners between Diamond Lake and Roseburg, a car coming from the opposite direction was in my lane. I went into the bank to try and avoid a collision and my car went out of control. I spun around in the road and knew I was going in the river. Then I saw a large fir tree and thought it would save me. This feeling only lasted a second as I could see I was going to miss the tree. My first thought was, “I’m going in the river and this is going to hurt.” I’m not sure if I closed my eyes, but I don’t remember seeing anything until I hit the water. Having watched the car safety program on TV, I remembered I had to get out of my seatbelt FIRST. I wanted desperately to get out of my car before it sank, which it was doing rapidly. As soon as I removed my seatbelt I tried my door. It wouldn’t open. I tried my window. It wouldn’t open, either. By this time I knew I wouldn’t get out before it sank. I turned my feet toward the driver’s window and kicked as hard as I could with both feet. The whole window went out in one piece and came back in. I had forgotten to take my last breath before I kicked the window so as the water rushed around the window, my last breath wasn’t just air. My first thought was I didn’t get enough air. I kicked the window again and I planned to follow my feet out the window but the water rushing in tried to force me back inside the car. I held onto the door with my leg and pushed my upper body out the window. I wanted to cough or take a breath but I knew I couldn’t. As I was swimming for

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ROBIN LOZNAK/The News-Review

Donnis Wilder survived a plunge into the North Umpqua River by kicking out the window of her car and swimming to shore. the surface I didn’t think I had enough air, so I looked up and saw the sun on the surface about five feet above my head. I thought, “It’s only five more feet, I can make that.” By then it was only three feet, and I was there. I started swimming for shore and saw something floating by me. I wondered why it was floating upstream. Then I realized I was swimming to the wrong side of the river. I hadn’t realized I went into the river backwards. I turned and swam to the highway side of the river and as I reached shore I wanted to

stay there and catch my breath. That’s when it hit me that if I stayed in the water much longer, hypothermia would kick in and I wouldn’t make it the 50 feet up the cliff to get help. So I gave it all I had left and climbed up and over the boulders to the highway. As I reached the road I yelled for help again and then saw my co-worker running toward me. He had seen the skid marks and stopped to see if someone needed help. Boy did I ! I ended up with a few bruises, the main one from my seatbelt that saved my life.

Since I went into the river backwards my airbag did not deploy. If it had I probably wouldn’t have been able to get out in time. A safety tip for everyone is that when you get into a car you’re not real familiar with, fasten your seatbelt and unfasten it a few times. You need to know how to get out in a hurry. A few more seconds may be too many. For anyone with a child in a car seat, you need to know you don’t have time to unhook all those latches. Instead, unhook the car seat from the car and take child, seat and all. Seconds count.

Friday, August 29, 2008– Roseburg Oregon

The News-Review, Umpqua Edition, Page 13

TALES OF SURVIVAL

Rescue in a rough ocean storm JACK REILLY For The News-Review

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he call came into the Coast Guard Air Station in Brooklyn, N.Y., in the early evening. It was late April, 1975. A merchant ship about 30 miles off the coast of New York had a crewman who had suffered a serious injury to his upper arm and he needed medical evacuation. I was a member of the ready crew, normally two officers flying and one enlisted to handle the rescue in an HH-52A Sea Guardian helicopter. I was a fourth member of the crew because I was working on completing my qualifications for Air Crewman (AC) designation. When we arrived on the scene it was dark, but the ship was well lit. The weather was rough and the ship was riding in about 20-foot ocean swells. Our helicopter would have to hover at about 100 feet

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for the rescue to stay above the mast and rigging of the ship. With the ship moving around so much, lowering the rescue basket onto the ship was going to be difficult. Standing in the side door of the helo, I operated the hoist while guiding the pilots on hot mic (open microphone) to get the basket on the deck. After several tries, I set the basket down with enough slack in the cable to keep it from being yanked off the deck when the ship dropped off the next swell. Normally we wouldn’t use a basket with seas like this, but because of the injury to the crewman on the ship, we didn’t want to put him in a sling. Before I could signal him not to, one of the crewmen on the ship tied our basket to the ship’s railing. So I called out that I was shearing the rescue cable. A helicopter can’t ever be connected to a ship; if the ship moves, it can yank a helo right out of the sky.

The pilots backed us away from the ship while the AC and I installed a temporary cable hook on the bare end of our hoist cable. We were going to have to use the sling after all. Our communications with the ship, a foreign vessel, had been with a radio operator who spoke broken English, so there was a real concern about the next hoist attempt, given what had happened on the first. I had completed Navy diving school eight months earlier, so I volunteered to do a water entry and swim over to the ship, get on board and get the injured crewman properly rigged for a hoist. I did about a 30-foot drop out of our helo into the water. Even though we wore wet suits under our flight suits, the temperature of the water knocked the wind right out of me. And in 20-foot seas, it’s tough to know where you are Courtesy photo unless you’re on the crest of a swell. Once I got Coast Guardsman Jack Reilly earned my bearings, I started swimming towards the ship. his air crewman’s wings when he rescued an injured man from a boat during Turn to RESCUE, page 18 a storm in 1975.

Surviving three speeding tickets takes MARION YOUNG For The News-Review

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was working for the American Red Cross, stationed in Weisbaden, Germany, when the Army requested that we move our headquarters to Bad Wildungen. Army officials also requested that we return any vehicles that we could do without. One semitrailer was loaded with three trucks, then two trucks were added to the convoy, each loaded with a truck. All was proceeding according to plan when our convoy was stopped by the military police. Since I was responsible for the convoy, I got out of my truck, and went to see why we had been stopped. The sergeant in charge told me we were speeding along the secondary road, and that this was not the first time the same sergeant had stopped my driver for having a heavy foot. I explained that we were returning all the vehicles to the ordnance and that it was my responsibility to get them there. He smiled and said, “Lady, if my wife didn’t have red hair, I wouldn’t let you get away with this.” He waved us on our way, subject to the local speed limit. The next near-miss was when I had married my boss and we were back in the States, headed for his home in South Dakota. It was early in the morning when we

CRAIG REED/The News-Review

On three different occasions, Marion Young has been able to plead her case and survived traffic stops for speeding without being cited. came to a small town with a posted speed limit. I was driving when a policeman came out from some parked cars and waved for me to stop. He asked if I hadn’t seen the speed limit sign. I said that I had, but we were in a hurry to make it to Timber Lake, S.D., in

order to be there for Mother’s Day. We both had a corsage pinned to a jacket, and my husband had another for his mother. The officer scowled and said, “Young lady, I suggest you slow down, so that you get to see your mother. Do you think you could do that?”

I said (lie) that I was sure I could, and he waved us on through. Recently, I was on my way to Roseburg when I decided to pass four trucks on Roberts Mountain. I had almost succeeded when I saw a red light in my mirror. When the officer stood beside my vehicle I said to him “Would you like to hear my excuse?” He said he would, so I told him I didn’t like to get between trucks, so had decided to pass all of them. He asked to see my license. The Department of Motor Vehicles had taken such a horrible picture of me that I covered it up with one I liked better. I asked if he didn’t think my choice was better, and he agreed. We talked some more, and he noticed the two-dollar bills that were showing along with my license, and said his wife collected two-dollar bills also. I did not offer any of mine because I had had them so long. I also said that some of them were older than he was. My vehicle registration was on the visor of the passenger side of my vehicle. More conversation indicated that we were both formerly residents of New York state, and he suggested that I be on my way, and be aware of the speed limit. I said I would be sure to do that. My philosophy is that if you do something wrong, and get caught, “take your medicine” and “let the medicine take its course.”

Page 14, The News-Review, Umpqua Edition, Roseburg Oregon–Friday, August 29, 2008

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Friday, August 29, 2008–The News-Review, Umpqua Edition, Roseburg Oregon, Page 15

A Celebration of Business Anniversaries in Douglas County

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Page 16, The News-Review, Umpqua Edition

Roseburg Oregon–Friday, August 29, 2008

TALES OF SURVIVAL

Shocked

by lightning FAYE GREENWAY For The News-Review

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uring my teen years I had a fear of lightning storms. The hot humid summers where I grew up had plenty of such storms. A person could always tell what kind of storm we were going to have by watching the clouds as they formed. If there were large masses of cumulus clouds, these usually developed into thunderstorms. Then out of this came lightning. During that time I kept a close eye just to see what was going to take place. Always there was the long deep rumblings first, then right away came the flashes of lightning. As a person gazed at this spectacular sight, one had to respect it. It was beautiful and scary at the same time.

At the close of these long summer days it came time for us to leave home and head for a cotton plantation somewhere, always in the same state in which we lived. By doing this we worked to have money for school supplies. We located a place not too far away where a farmer needed help for picking the last of the season’s cotton. After getting there, all we could see was row after row of cotton. To say it looked endless is a fact. The farmer’s house sat at the end of a long, dusty lane. Cottonwood trees surrounded his house, hiding it from a view of the fields. I could understand why, for just looking at that much cotton to be picked made me tired. We put what few belongings we had in the small cabin the farmer had provided for us.

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Faye Greenway survived nearly being struck by lightning out in a cotton field when she was 14 years old. We had only been there about a week when one day a huge storm came up while we were in a distant field picking cotton. In the distance we could hear that familiar rumbling of thunder that meant only one thing. A sudden electrical storm was brewing. Huge drops of rain began to pelt the dry earth, causing small clouds of dust where they hit the ground. Everyone began to run as if their very lives depended on how fast they got out of that cotton field. We ran toward the farmer’s house, as it was the closest to us. Dropping our cotton sacks between the rows of cotton, never looking back, there wasn’t much time. In my haste to try and get away from the thing I most feared, I turned my ankle. While the others were far ahead of me I could only hobble along. I watched as streaks of lightning ran down the barbed wire fence. Today the

long lane seemed even longer. Soon everyone was out of sight. Everything suddenly seemed dark as the storm got closer. Then the heavens lit up, lightning was more rapid, as was the booming of thunder. Suddenly and violently the lightning struck a wooden post right next to me. For an instant, I couldn’t move, whether from fear or shock or both. Then it was as if my mind went blank as to where I was or what was happening. The next thing I remember was being on the farmer’s porch with the rest of the pickers. Conversation was going on about the power of the storm, yet I didn’t seem to be a part of it. As I was only 14, I didn’t know the danger of being shocked by lightning. Later after seeing the mangled post, I realized what a close call I had had.

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Friday, August 29, 2008– Roseburg Oregon

The News-Review, Umpqua Edition, Page 17

TALES OF SURVIVAL

Attack by wasps ruins a horse packing trip PEARL D. ANDERSON For The News-Review

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fter weeks of planning, my youngest daughter Janet and I set out on a horse packing adventure. Early on Aug. 28, 1973, we left Portland and drove to Detroit, a small town nestled in the Cascades. We met “Koke” Kokel and his wife Judy, and followed them to the jump-off point for the horse packing trip. We mounted our horses in the chilly morning air and set out. Koke led the way, with two pack horses, Judy followed, then I came and Janet brought up the rear. The first three miles of trail wound through old forest and followed a small creek. I was enjoying the adventure until suddenly my horse started snorting and tried to bolt back down the trail. Janet was riding behind me and the trail was narrow at this point. I hauled my horse’s head around and wouldn’t let him run. He bucked instead and stumbled off the trail. Someone yelled “He’s going to roll on you ... get off!” I only freed one foot from the stirrups as he went down. The horse struggled up immediately, but I had yanked the other foot loose. I felt a burning sensation next to my eye and realized the air was full of yellow jackets. The pack horses had bolted up the trail on their own. I headed toward the creek, but the swarm stayed with me. When I looked down, my jeans were nearly covered with furious stinging insects. In sheer panic I ripped up a small bush and beat off most of the yellow jackets. Then I heard Janet screaming and scrambled in her direction. She had gotten off her horse but was covered with wasps. Koke grabbed her and rolled her on the ground, which discouraged most of the wasps.

CRAIG REED/The News-Review

Pearl Anderson still likes horses despite being attacked by yellow jackets during a horseback trip into the Cascade Mountains 35 years ago. Anderson survived many stings. Somewhere in this frantic mess, she had lost her glasses. The child was nearly blind without them. I spotted a gleam just off the trail and sprinted there, grabbed up the glasses, ran back, grabbed Janet’s hand and hauled her up the trail away from the angry swarm. We reached a place where the trail crossed the creek. I stopped to see if cold water would help soothe the agony of the stings. I hoped to find mud — it was supposed to help — but found only icy water, sand and pebbles. Janet saw my face and looked scared. She had several stings, but the swarm had concentrated on me. It had been cold that morning so we wore heavy clothing. That may have

saved my life. My left eye was swollen nearly shut and stings were all over my face. The area around my eye was really hurting, so I held my breath and immersed my face into the chill water of the creek. I don’t know if it was from stings or the frightful event, but Janet got sick to her stomach. It only lasted a few minutes. Koke and Judy caught up with us. Koke said he had never seen such a huge yellow jacket nest. When the yellow jackets had attacked back down the trail, Koke and Judy had already passed the nest entrance, which was right beside the trail. We figured the vibration of four horses going by stirred

them up, just in time to swarm out as I came even with the nest. The opening was large as a man’s leg, simply huge. And yes, it was frightening. I don’t remember ever being as scared. We didn’t know what to do. The options were to camp there close to that nest, go to the camp by Hunt Lake or return to our starting point. No one wanted to pass the nest of angry wasps again, so we opted for the lake campsite. At the lake, Koke set up a tent while Judy cooked up a meal. I wasn’t hungry and not feeling too well. It had been a grueling day, and shortly after dark we all turned in. Early the next morning I found my left eye was swollen shut and I could barely see out of my right eye. I carry antihistamine for Janet, so I took a dose. A streamlet of snowmelt was close by, so, lying on the bank, I repeatedly immersed my face in the icy water, holding my breath as long as I could. It seemed to help, as the right eye opened some. I checked Janet carefully, but she had taken antihistamine before we started, so her stings weren’t as serious. After breakfast, Janet and Judy rode around the area, but I stayed in camp. Koke and I talked until the others returned. At noon it was time to go back to the vehicles. Koke figured a way around the yellow jacket nest by wading the horses down the creek bed in that area. We finally returned to our starting point. From there I was faced with a 100-mile drive home. At Detroit I phoned my husband to explain the situation. The drive home was nightmarish. At home my oldest daughter opened the door, saw me and screamed so loudly it hurt my ears. My husband hadn’t told her I had been stung. To this day I react badly to yellow jacket stings and must carry an emergency bee-sting kit.

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Page 18, The News-Review, Umpqua Edition

Roseburg Oregon–Friday, August 29, 2008

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Rescue Continued from page 13 I finally got to the side of the ship and moved toward the rope ladder the crew had put over the side. Climbing a rope ladder is no easy task in calm seas, but getting your bell rung after being slammed against the side of a ship by the waves adds a whole new dimension to the task. At one point, the ship started to roll away from me and I started to get pulled under its side as it dropped off a swell and into a trough. But I managed to grab the rope ladder and hung on until it rolled my way again. It’s a unique experience to watch a ship roll toward you at night and have all your visual references disappear. I finally got on board and got Reilly to the injured crewman. His arm had a deep gash above the elbow that cut to the bone. I dressed his wound with the med kit from the ship and juryrigged a splint to immobilize his arm and waited for the sling to be lower. Trying to grab the sling proved to be a chore because it doesn’t have the weight of a basket and is susceptible to the wind blowing it around, which was further complicated by the movement of the ship in the waves.

After several tries, I snagged the sling, got the patient into it and the AC hoisted him into the helo. I grabbed the sling on first try when it was lowered back to me, hooked up the basket that was sitting on the deck and hopped in. After getting back on onboard, we headed to New York City to get the victim medical treatment. We got back to the base about two hours after we had left. Tired and wet, I helped prep the plane for the next call and returned to the operations center to file my report. I got a “nice job” from the pilot, so I felt pretty good about my performance that night. A little over a week later during the Friday morning muster, I got called out of ranks. I marched up to the captain and saluted, curious what kind of trouble I’d gotten myself into this time. He announced that having completed AC ground school and for finishing the AC training syllabus, I had earned my Air Crewman designation. He pinned the wings to my uniform and congratulated me for being one of the few non-aviation enlisted men to earn AC wings. Morning muster was dismissed, at which point a time honored military tradition started — the initiation. I don’t think a military initiation should be detailed in a family paper; that’s a different kind of survival story.

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On Monday, October 27th The News-Review will be publishing

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hether you live in Douglas County, or are thinking about moving here, this handy section will tell you everything you need to know about the county and communities within Douglas County. Information on county and local governments, medical facilities, schools, utilities, disposal sites, cemeteries and more will literally be at your fingertips. Look for it this fall!

Friday, August 29, 2008– Roseburg Oregon

The News-Review, Umpqua Edition, Page 19

Courtesy photo

Keith McGinnis expresses understanding for a stump that gave its tree so timbers could be made and used down in the valley.

A tree stump survives being cut down KEITH MCGINNIS For The News-Review

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ust a stump! That’s what the lady said. Maybe correct, well, a bit — just a very tiny bit correct. Been a stump for longer than I can remember; in fact, only job I’ve had for years. Being a stump is not a piece of cake; took a lot of time, work, worry and patience to get to this point. Not an easy job at all. Have to admit that now it’s pleasant and comfortable after all those years of raising my Tree, which took its toll, let me tell you. When he was very young it was bugs, bears, things that go bump in the night, heavy snow; just one thing after the other. Not much sleep some nights. Then 40, 50 years passed. During the part between being a child to an adult nearly made me run out of patience a time or two. How quickly they move from being a pleasant child to the smartest sapling in the world. Amazing how dumb I got and how smart he was. Happened in the blink of an eye. Mercifully lasted only a short time, with a bump or two on the road of growing up. Mostly good times all and all, now that I think back on it. Winter was best, no fire danger. Sometimes the wind really blew; when Tree was fully grown, wind nearly pulled my roots from the ground. Hung on for all I was worth and I was so close to being blown over — I survived. Some of our neighbors were not as lucky. Ran short of water a few times in late summer. Lightning storms were a real scare, fire almost a constant dread.

Tree grew tall, straight and strong, a really fine tree. I was so proud. One day the time came for Tree to fulfill his destiny. We talked often, wondering what he would become. Tree dreamed of going down to some big town and maybe becoming a fine home or maybe, just maybe a storefront on Main Street. When Tree moved down into the valley to become fine building timber I was lonesome — we were really attached to each other. That’s a joke, son. Luckily the ravens travel among us letting us know what’s going on outside the forest. I found out Tree had become bridge timbers for a covered bridge. White exterior, natural wood passageway across a creek. People stop to admire those timbers. All that attention has caused Tree to become a bit vain. Guess that’s to be expected, those are really fine timbers. I knew that all along. We’d never seen a creek, river or a lake. The ravens have assured me they are really there. Where do you think all that rain goes when it leaves here? Good point. Ravens are reliable storytellers, travel far and wide and see what they are looking at. Fun, pleasant birds. “All the news, all the time” that’s their motto. As for me, sitting in the sun on a mountain slope with a great view and not a worry in my world. A couple of squirrels made a home under my north root, pleasant company. I told them about Tree becoming timbers for a real covered bridge. Who would have thunk it? Maybe we dream too small. What I am trying to say, in a pleasant way, is that logging is really OK, if you lay a gentle hand on the land.

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Page 20, The News-Review, Umpqua Edition

Roseburg Oregon–Friday, August 29, 2008

TALES OF SURVIVAL

A stroke while pregnant threatens lives KATSUE GRANT For The News-Review

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ne morning 31 years ago, my children, Cherie (4 1/2 years) and Damien (22 months), woke me by jumping on my bed. It was wintertime in Auckland, New Zealand. I was 28 and had barely recovered from the flu. Being six months pregnant, I awkwardly sat up on the bedside. Not fully awake, I found myself struggling to control my right arm and hand, which were relentlessly curling inward toward my body. Suddenly a seizure threw me back and turned me on the bed, causing me to ram my head against the headboard again and again. I screamed, “Help me! HELP ME!” and lost consciousGrant ness. The next thing I remembered happened three days afterward: I came to consciousness seemingly in midair! I

was seated on an armless kitchen chair (not strapped in), and two ambulance drivers were maneuvering me down a rickety old set of wooden steps to take me to National Women’s Hospital. I knew the temporary stairs were attached to the house by just four big nails; our house was resting on concrete block pillars so that new flooring for my husband’s business could be built beneath. Knowing how precarious my perch was, I instantly blacked out again. I didn’t “come to” for nearly a month. My husband was informed that if I did recover from the coma I’d be a human vegetable — deaf, blind, etc. — but they didn’t think I’d recover, so he’d best prepare for my passing, and for the fetus dying. When next I awoke, a tunneled bright light blinded me. As my vision returned to normal I saw myself on a bed in a darkened room. A man in a white lab coat was doing something to my back, while a nurse held me down, saying, “Curl up as tight as you can, dear, and lie very still.”

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This procedure returned me to my body. I later learned seven spinal taps were done, but all were clear of meningitis. Sometime that day I realized I had to use the toilet. I raised myself in bed, sat on the edge, and stood. Feeling wobbly, I aimed my body for the doorway. My limbs were stiff and my right arm and hand were curled inward in that curious way, while my right leg dragged. My next memory is of waking up in a large, well-lit room with three other women in beds, too. I’d been transferred to a ward, which meant I was out of the coma. Meals were served on small tables at the foot of our beds. Still dazed, I remained in bed as the others ate. Suddenly a nurse came into the room and stood with crossed arms, braying at me, “I ain’t gonna spoon-feed yer! So Courtesy photo yer’d betta sit down an’ KatSue Grant survived a stroke while pregnant and gave lean to feed yerself!” Blinking in confubirth to her twin daughters. sion, I looked at my arm curled at my waist and the curled-up hand with brain, particularly the left hemisphere, hence its useless fingers. Taking the fork with my the coma and subsequent paralysis of my left hand, I got a bite of food into my mouth, right side. I also had amnesiac conductive albeit with gravy on my cheeks, chin and aphasia (impediment in bringing words from nose. But within a couple of days I developed my mind to my tongue). It also caused stutenough dexterity to feed, bathe and dress tering and loss of long - and short-term memmyself with my left hand. ory. So at 28, I had had a “stroke,” with all As days passed, a horrid feeling like centhe attendant damage. tipedes wearing hundreds of hobnail boots During the next fornight I learned I’d been crawled under my skin and all over my body. given steroids while at National Women’s This maddening sensation was especially bad Hospital; in case of premature birth, the drugs at night; I couldn’t lie or stand still, but had to would aid in survival. This proved to be wise, keep moving, going on long walks around the as “it” was born five weeks early — not the various hospital floors. 10-pound baby everyone expected, but two Conversely, if I didn’t go to sleep when five-pounders! sufficiently tired, my body became racked The adage “What doesn’t kill you makes with aftershock convulsions that keep me you stronger” is true. I learned later that most from relaxing for hours on end, leaving me of the recovery a stroke victim gains occurs weeping from exhausted frustration. This in the first six months following the stroke. plagued my sleep for decades. So it was a blessing that I had a household to Meanwhile I was given many neurological run, two premature infants needing care, a tests so the specialists could determine somenewly terrible-2s son still in nappies (diawhat the type and extent of the damage done pers), and a kindergarten-aged daughter. to my brain. They said I’d contracted a virus, I was a right-hander with the eventual possibly via mosquito, resulting in encephaliequivalent of two left hands, but 31 years tis (inflammation of the brain and spinal later, no one can tell that I ever had a stroke! cord). This caused suffusive damage to my

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Friday, August 29, 2008– Roseburg Oregon

The News-Review, Umpqua Edition, Page 21

TALES OF SURVIVAL

Scarlet fever in 1937 takes girl’s hearing GYNN O. DEATON For The News-Review

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y family, consisting of my mother, father, brother, and myself, moved from Texas to the little copper mining town of Miami, Ariz., when I was 5 years old, in August of 1936. My brother was 1 year old. We found a little house to rent that was near the school where I would attend kindergarten, and Daddy went to work for Inspiration Copper Mine. I already knew how to read and loved the interaction with other kids at kindergarten and was looking forward to first grade. In early 1937, we found a little threeroom house in the country about two miles from Miami. The small rural community was known as Live Oak Canyon, and there were perhaps a dozen homes situated above the dry wash that could become a shallow river after a hard rainstorm. The abundance of live oak trees gave the place M its name. I remember K one huge oak that became a favorite place to play. The pall and stench of the Courtesy photo smelter smoke from the Gynn Deaton as a mines didn’t girl, about the time quite reach out she got scarlet fever. to Live Oak Canyon. With a steady paycheck coming in every two weeks, things were looking up. Live Oak Canyon was a peaceful and pleasant place to live and raise a family. Then, during the summer of 1937, I became severely ill with scarlet fever. My fever was so high that my hair fell out and my skin peeled. At times it seemed doubtful that I would survive. Of course, this was before antibiotics, so the only thing Mother could do was try to bring the fever down and pray. In order to continue work, Daddy had to stay away from our quarantined house. Groceries had to be brought no closer than the back porch. This was standard procedure in those days in order to keep contagious diseases from spreading. We never knew where I got it, as no one else in the neighborhood had it. I remember waking up, at last, from

CRAIG REED/The News-Review

Gynn Deaton survived being bedridden with scarlet fever as a little girl. the delirium of the high fever. A vase of beautiful flowers sent over by the Mexican neighbors was the first thing I noticed when I became aware of the world again. I then had to absorb the reality of a silent world as I found I could no longer hear. The life-threatening fever had been so high that the membranes of my ears had literally melted, leaving holes in my eardrum. As the weeks went by and I slowly regained my full strength, my hearing gradually came back to a certain degree, but another side effect of the disease was a continuous discharge from my ears. The new sulfa drugs were just coming into use and were prescribed in an effort to clear up this continuing infection. This did not work and neither did several other treatments, which was disappointing; however, I remain eternally grateful that I recovered about 60 percent of my hearing. (Note: When I was an adult, penicillin cleared the

infection.) My hearing loss meant I had to strain to hear, so conversation was difficult, but when I compared my problems with those of Helen Keller, I realized early on how lucky I was. As an adult, I acquired hearing aids

and later had my eardrums repaired, which improved my life. I’m a happy survivor who has lived a productive life and is grateful for every day.

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Page 22, The News-Review, Umpqua Edition

Roseburg Oregon–Friday, August 29, 2008

TALES OF SURVIVAL

Surviving a plane crash in the trees After what seemed like an eternity of noise and chaos, we looked up to see flames licking at the windshield. Having watched too many movies, I had visions t had been an exciting weekend of fun of blowing up at any minute. We had and fishing at a remote lake in British come to a stop at an angle over a glacial Columbia, and it was about to get creek feeding the lake. The right wing had much more exciting as we prepared to sliced through a fir tree; the left wing, leave for home in Eugene. dangling downward, had been torn in half A group of us had flown in to Tsuniah by a larger tree. Lake in two planes, a trip hosted by my My husband quickly pushed open the husband’s boss. We landed on what passed emergency window, but the two in front for a runway, barely more than a cow trail were having trouble opening the door. I across a pasture. The lodge was delightful, was boosted up and shoved out the small with memorable window feet first, meals, boats and sliding across the tackle provided, and wing until I hit the comfortable cabins broken edge and for sleeping. On Sunthen dropping into day, after an early We had come to a stop at the icy creek. Still morning fishing sesof an exploan angle over a glacial creek fearful sion and a huge sion, I briefly conbreakfast, we began feeding the lake. The right sidered submerging packing for the trip the water rather (airplane) wing had sliced into home. than trying to flee. The first plane was through a fir tree; the left The bank to the top in the air, circling and so steep I was wing, dangling downward, was waiting for us to take terrified that it off. We were buckled had been torn in half by a would take too long in, pilot and one pasto claw my way to larger tree. senger in front, my the top, so I set off husband and I in the down the creek. rear seats. The check Scrambling over J. Yvonne Jones list had been perrocks and logs, I formed, the engines tried to get far away were roaring and we from the plane, started down the sowhich by that time called runway. I’m not an experienced was burning vigorously. flyer, but almost immediately I realized Meanwhile my husband had bailed out something was very wrong. We were not of the emergency window and hurried lifting off and the two-engine plane was around to help open the passenger door, veering diagonally across the field, with a and he, the pilot and other passenger small canyon full of fir trees looming rap- climbed up the bank beside the plane. idly. Clearly, we were going into that Members of the rest of our party, circanyon and its trees! cling above and taking pictures from the In spite of the difficulty of taking our air, were horrified when they couldn’t see eyes off the action, we did manage to tear anything but smoke coming from the ourselves away in time to put heads down canyon. They landed immediately and in our laps as the plane tore into the trees. continued taking pictures as the plane J. YVONNE JONES For The News-Review

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Waterfall Continued from page 5 addition, my friend popped out of the van, alive and well!

Everyone asked how he got through the narrow chute. He said, “I lay down in the raft, folded it up like a hot dog and scraped through.” The next question: “How did you get out of a swift river with no paddles?” Two guys had watched us put in our raft and had waved at various points in

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CRAIG REED/The News-Review

J. Yvonne Jones survived a plane crash when on a fishing trip in British Columbia. The plane she was in was unable to lift off for the return trip and crashed into the trees. burned to the ground. There was immediate concern for my whereabouts, since everyone else was accounted for. When I finally emerged waaaay down the pasture, my first words to the assembled group were to inform them that I hadn’t wet my pants, but had fallen into the creek. (Although to be hon-

est, I couldn’t really be sure that both hadn’t happened!) The boss had to take his passengers home, returning the next day for the rest of us, and for a long time afterward we were teased about going to extreme lengths to spend an extra night at the lodge!

the river as we madmen shot by. At one place, they saw our hats, paddles and other assorted flotsam bob past them. They got a rope from their car and hoped they could toss us a line if we floated by. They spied my friend alone in the raft and threw him a rope. They tied the raft

to the top of their van and came looking for me. In those days, I considered myself a “spontaneous adventurer.” Afterwards, I figured with better planning and saner partners, I’d live longer and enjoy more adventures.

Friday, August 29, 2008– Roseburg Oregon

The News-Review, Umpqua Edition, Page 23

TALES OF SURVIVAL

‘Floating’ the North Umpqua for dear life TOM RUSSELL For The News-Review

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o worse for the wear,” I told my son, forcing a weak smile. Except for some minor scrapes and bruises, I was fine, I assured him. And that had been the end to a not-so-perfect day several years ago when my brother, my grown son, Tom, and I were fly fishing the North Umpqua River a few miles above Glide. All three of us were familiar with the lay of the river in the fly fishing section, but the winter runoff had changed its profile in a number of places, so we took most of the morning scouting for the more fishable water. After lunch, we split up. My brother continued upstream while Tom and I headed back down river toward an island located on the far side. Earlier in our scouting efforts, we had observed a natural rock bridge leading to the island. With less than ankle-deep water rushing over the rock rubble, it looked safe to cross. As my son led the way across, I followed closely. We were nearly safely across when I M heard my son call out a warning as a segment of the bridge gave away and the K hydraulic force of the water swept his feet out from under him. Instinctually, I offered out the wading staff attached to my wrist by a wide nylon strap — a vain attempt to keep him from being pulled into the power of the main current. But when Tom grabbed the staff, his weight combined with the force of the water catapulted me over the top of him and into the deeper part of the river. Tom was able to regain his footing as a result and make it safely back to shore, but

“

Courtesy photo

Thomas Russell survived a fall and struggle in the North Umpqua River during a fly fishing trip. now I was the one in trouble. I tried to gauge the river’s depth with my 9-foot fly rod and couldn’t find bottom. With the current getting stronger every second, the chest waders I was wearing made it impossible to swim against it. I was reaching the point of exhaustion when decades-old military survival training kicked in. Instinctually, I flipped onto my back with my feet pointing down river. In this manner

I was able to conserve energy and not fight the river. I took in desperate gulps of air as my head bobbed in and out of the rapids. At times, when my ears were out of the water, I could hear my son yelling encouragement to me as he ran along the shoreline following my path down river. At one point, a chilling thought went through my head — a major set of rapids lay directly ahead. I didn’t

recall the proper class designation, but I knew from kayaking the river in the past that chances of making it through them without a lifejacket weren’t good. It was during one of my higher head-bobs that I saw the blurry image of a huge boulder jutting out into the main stream of the river. Another head-bob and I was able to make out something hanging from it — a rope-sized tree root. I had no way of knowing if it would hold my weight against the current of the river, but in an instant decision I turned back on to my stomach and powered toward it. I knew if I missed the root or if it broke there was a chance that I would get sucked under the huge boulder, but I calculated my chances of survival were better than body surfing the rapids below me. At the closest point to the boulder, I lunged out of the water and grabbed the tree root with both hands. Instantly, the force of the water slammed me against the side of the boulder and the slime-covered root began slipping through my hands. I let go of the root with one hand and wedged it into a crag of the rock’s face. The handhold felt secure, so I let go of the root altogether and found another rock hold for my free hand. With my waders bellowing in the torrent I struggled to pull myself out of the water, and with a final burst of strength, I managed to pull myself onto a flat spot on the boulder. That’s where my son found me. Today when we fish any river, we have a standing order to take an extra moment to cinch up our wading belts and give our fly vests a quick pat to check the security of the inflatable lifejackets underneath.

Nightmare journey to California takes toll on trailer BEATRICE PLUMMER For The News-Review

N

o pioneer could possibly have had it any more difficult traveling from Ohio to Southern California than we did in 1951. Our first big mistake was attempting to travel such a long distance before the factories were up and running, after their retooling for the needs of World War II. We left Ohio on a dank, rainy day in April 1951. My husband, myself and our two children, ages 4 months and 2 years, were in our brand-new 1951 Ford that was towing a trailer packed with our precious possessions. We made it all the way to Columbus, Ohio, some 125 miles from our home, when

the axle on the trailer broke. We were forced to check into a motel while my husband searched for another trailer in a town with which he was unfamiliar. Having found one, we transferred our belongings from the broken trailer into the new trailer. As the new trailer was longer than our original trailer, it required a new tarp. The next morning it was up and go. The worst was over, we thought. We did get as far as Indiana, the neighboring state, before one of the tires on the trailer blew. Again it was layover while poor Bill searched in a town about which he knew nothing to find a reliable tire dealer to purchase a new tire. That done, the tire changed and the next day we were once again, on our way West. California, here we come. We should have known with the luck we

had been having that we wouldn’t get far. We got into Illinois (next state to Indiana), when the other tire blew. By this time we had our agenda down pat. I baby-sat the kids in a motel while Bill scoured another unfamiliar town to find another tire. Tire found, tire changed and the next morning we were once again on our way. We were determined to get to California and anyhow, what else could happen? Brand-new car, new trailer, new tires? We were set. How little we knew. We did pretty well until we got to Oklahoma. The wind blew and so did our brand new tarp. The wind tore it to shreds. Same old, same old. Me in a motel baby-sitting the kids, Bill out searching for a tarp that would fit our trailer. Found a tarp, put it on the trailer and once again, we were on our

way. Now what possibly could happen? Everything had happened that could happen. Or so we thought. This time we made it all the way to just east of Roswell, N. M., when some idiot tossed a cigarette. You guessed it. It landed on our trailer, and the trailer and the entire contents burned to the ground. Fortunately a truck driver helped Bill get the car unhitched and we did save the car. Later, I looked back and thought, as close as that trailer, on fire, was to the gas tank, we were lucky to have gotten out alive. We were all safe and eventually, we did get to California. After that, if we went back to Ohio to visit, we would never have considered pulling a trailer.

Page 24, The News-Review, Umpqua Edition

Roseburg Oregon–Friday, August 29, 2008

TALES OF SURVIVAL

A storm at sea puts people, food in peril CAROL MOGENSEN For The News-Review

D

uring the 1980s, my husband, Clarence, and I ran a cargo boat delivering supplies from Juneau to remote islands and logging camps in southeast Alaska. One of our best customers was a logging company that had a camp at Eight Fathom Bight, which was about a 70mile, one-way trip from Auke Bay Harbor. We delivered cargo that consisted of everything from groceries, to tires, to household goods, to logging equipment, and even a piano. Although we often had fair weather until we reached Point Retreat, there was a 16-mile span after we rounded the Point where we often encountered the worst conditions. Most of the time, these sudden storms were more uncomfortable than frightening. One trip happened on the last day of June 1985. We had left Auke Bay at 7:30 a.m. with a boatload of groceries and ice cream to be delivered to the families at Eight Fathom Bight. According to my journal, the weather in Chatham Strait was foggy, with a light wind blowing from the south. We were well beyond Point Retreat, past the point of no return, when we hit 5- to 6-foot waves breaking over our bow. A “May Day” call over the VHF radio from a boat in the area was a pretty good indication that conditions ahead were not good. The seas were too rough to continue and it was too far to go back. The

only possible refuge was a group of small islands on the opposite side of Chatham Strait. Clarence managed to get us across the strait and cautiously steered Orca behind one of these islands, where he dropped anchor to wait out the storm. Several large pleasure boats already were anchored behind the island, their occupants appearing quite comfy and cozy as they sipped warm drinks and played cards. Normally, we carried a small skiff on our deck, but this time our boat was so loaded with boxes of groceries that there was no room for the skiff. There wasn’t even enough room to move Mogensen around on the deck, and, without a skiff, we couldn’t get ashore. Still, we were not particularly concerned. At 10 a.m., I cheerfully noted in our boat log that we were safe behind the island, the ice cream was stored in a large, well-insulated box that would keep it frozen much longer than the four hours it usually took us to get to Eight Fathom Bight, and the groceries were protected from the rain by well-secured tarps. We assumed the storm would die down, and, with Alaska’s long summer days, we could still make our delivery and return home before dark. At 4 p.m., I wrote the following entry in the log: “We’ve been behind this

Courtesy photo

Clarence Mogensen operated the Orca, a cargo boat that made deliveries from Juneau to remote islands and logging camps in southeast Alaska. In 1985, Mogensen had to pilot the Orca in behind an island to get out of a storm. damn little island since 10 a.m., and it looks as though we will be here all night. Eight- to 10-foot seas have been reported for Chatham Strait and Lynn Canal.” We spent a very uncomfortable night on Orca, which, designed to carry cargo, had a wheelhouse that was just large enough for two people standing or sitting. We tried to sleep by leaning forward against the instrument panel and resting our heads on our crossed arms. How I envied those people on their pleasure crafts. I had prepared a sack lunch that we finished well before nightfall. So, here we were, tired and hungry, on a boat full of groceries with a box that measured 4 feet by 6 feet, and 2-feet deep full of cartons of ice cream. All inaccessible. I was reminded of the ancient mariner’s lament, “Water, water everywhere, and not a drop to drink.” At 3:45 the following morning we saw

one of the Alaska State ferries sail past the island that sheltered us. Clarence called the skipper on our VHF radio and was told that the wind had died down, and the seas were only about 3 to 4 feet high. Since the ferry was on its way to Hoonah, Clarence pulled anchor and followed in its wake, which gave us a smooth ride. We reached Hoonah at 4:15 a.m., stayed on the boat until the only café opened at 8 a.m., had a much-appreciated breakfast, then sailed on to Eight Fathom Bight and unloaded the groceries and assorted flavors of milkshakes by 10:40 a.m. The people who ran Silver Bay Logging apparently understood our predicament as we continued to deliver supplies for them all that summer and into the fall. We just were never asked to deliver ice cream again.

Divine intervention played a part in I-5 vehicle collision J. YVONNE JONES For The News-Review

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e Prepared To Stop! Merge Right! Huge, blinking signs demanded the attention of Interstate 5 drivers approaching Rice Hill on that fateful day in June, 1998. I was already in the right lane, and I took my foot off the accelerator to begin slowing down for the Rice Hill roadwork ahead. As I slowed almost to a stop behind an asphalt truck, I glanced in the rearview mirror. To my horror, an 18wheeler behind me didn’t appear to be

slowing at all, and I frantically began pumping my brakes to get the driver’s attention. Then came that horrifying moment when I knew I was going to be hit. The impact must have momentarily knocked me unconJones scious because when I opened my eyes, I was out in the field, facing the freeway. For a moment I couldn’t catch my breath, and when I did, I hurt everywhere.

Little did I know that the entire back half of my Buick Skylark was crushed right up to the driver’s seat, smashed like a soda can in a trash compactor. In my dazed condition it was hard to judge time, but it seemed to me an ambulance arrived almost immediately. I found out later that the driver behind the semitruck could see that he was going to hit me and called 911 as it was happening. She testified later that the truck driver never touched his brakes. Further investigation revealed that he had falsified his driving log and was probably asleep with his eyes open. It was also learned that he could neither speak Eng-

lish nor read it. So much for large, blinking signs. I am convinced it was divine intervention that turned my steering wheel and sent me into the field. Otherwise I would have been a meat sandwich when the semi went on to total his vehicle in the back of an unyielding asphalt truck. It was also miraculous that I suffered no broken bones nor spilled blood; however, the internal injuries from the wrenching impact resulted in long months of pain and a partial loss of hearing. Altogether it was a horrendous experience, but I survived!

C Y

Friday, August 29, 2008– Roseburg Oregon

The News-Review, Umpqua Edition, Page 25

2008 2008 Birthday Review Johnwell

KNUDTSON’S JEWELERS Serving Douglas County Since 1884

Custom & Designer Jewelry, Platinum & White Gold, Estate & Consignment Jewelry, Giftware, Watches, Clocks, Watchmaker, Goldsmiths, Engraver, Certified Gemologist Appraisers.

Upholstery Boats • RV’s

Hours: Mon-Fri 7am-6pm Closed Sat & Sun

• Boat tops & Interior • Repair & Recoveries • Carpets

1427 SE Stephens 673-5448

In Business Since

1947In Business

470 NE Garden Valley Blvd

Since

1956

“Where Pets Are Treated Like Royalty”

Boarding • Training

AUTO BODY INC.

2938 Hwy 42, Winston (541) 679-6288

In Business Since

PROFESSIONAL REPAIRS

1976

MR. E

Enterprises Exhaust

In Business Since

(541) 863-5264 1-800-676-2409 304 N. Main, Myrtle Creek

In Business Since

“All Repairs Guaranteed” Domestic • Import Cars & Trucks 2675 NE Diamond Lk (541)673-1006 Mon - Fri 8am - 5pm

In Business Since

1959

Oregon Tool & Supply

1983

1550 S. Comstock, Sutherlin • 459-5399

In Business Since

1985

Since 2002!

673-5225 2589 NW Edenbower Blvd.

In Business Since

Now ‘n Then

HOME

not just Antiques

Traveler Friendly Parking Open 7 Days a Week 10-6 541-679-4626 124 SW Douglas Blvd

2002In Business Since

2006

Best Service • Best Vacuums Best Prices In Town!

We Sell The Best & Service The Rest

Don’t Forget to Call Home!

• Richard F. Shorey,

RANN MORRIS, OWNER 1561 SE Stephens Roseburg (541) 672-6787

7387 Hwy 99N between Winchester/Wilbur PO Box 804, Winchester

• Paul Allen, Broker

In Business Since

(541) 672-6388

• Kathy Farley,

In Business Since

Office Manager

“We know the Territory”

1972

DISCOUNT TRANSMISSIONS Your Transmission is our #1 Concern. Guaranteed Work

1975

GREEN VALLEY DIESEL INC.

Light, Medium, Heavy Duty Diesel Repair Cummins•Cat•Detroit Mobile Service Available

177 W. Everett in Sutherlin ~ 459-2207 ~

In Business Since

1931

Ran The Vac Man

QUICK, COURTEOUS FREE ESTIMATES

Antique In Business Since 1978 Mall 50 plus Vendors

In Business Since

Insulation Services, Inc.

(541)459-2232

Principal Broker

(541)672-1935

Winston’s PARK -N-SALE Custom Pipe Bending Performance Exhaust

541-672-5697 Toll free 1-888-575-4268 www.krusefarms.com

1392 W. Central Sutherlin, Oregon 97479

-Milo Anderson, Owner

276 SE Stephens Roseburg, OR

We treat the health care needs of families from newborns to senior citizens

U-Pick avail. in season. Melrose at Garden Valley Rd.

North County Realty

www.northcountyrealty.net

Since

In store bakery & gift room

Since 1923 1884 In Business

For All Your Tool Needs! “We Guarantee What We Sell”

1982 In Business

FRESH PRODUCE

535 N.E. Stephens 672-2617

672-1891

GLEN IVY KENNELS M K

“You list them, I’ll sell them” Let me put my 48 years of experience to work for you!

Kruse’s Farm Market

1985

1473 Austin Rd. Roseburg (Green Dist.) 679-7402 Owners Gary & Juli Yates

In Business Since

1987

A salute to all of the businesses that help to make this community a wonderful place to live and raise families. From all of us, Thank You.

Page 26, The News-Review, Umpqua Edition

WITH

Roseburg Oregon–Friday, August 29, 2008

FAITH…

St. Paul Lutheran Church and School Quality Christian Education ages 3-Gr.8 Sunday Services 7:45 am (May-September) And 10:00 am (year round) Christian Education for all ages 8:45 am

673-7212 750 W. Keady Ct. Roseburg Just off Harvard Ave.

St. George’s Episcopal Church “Loving God, Loving Our Neighbors”

Sunday: 8:00 & 9:30* AM (Christian education for all at 11:05 AM) *Child care provided Established

Wednesdays:

1860

Main

Kane

Oak

Cass

10:00 AM

1024 SE Cass (541) 673-4048

Canyonville Christian Academy Quality Education for Day & Boarding Students Grades 9-12 • Beautiful campus • Caring staff • Award-winning academics and sports • “College Now” Mathematics • Cultural field trips & fun-filled activities • Fully accredited by NAAS

Transportation available For more information, call (888) CCA-6379 • (541) 839-4401 www.canyonville.net P.O. Box 1100, Canyonville, OR 97417

N OTHING IS IMPOSSIBLE VSBC FAMILY

a cross generational family

Bible Study 9:45 AM Sunday Morning Worship 11:00 AM Evening Worship 6:00 PM Wednesday Prayer Life 6:30 PM TeamKid (Grades 1-6) & Preschool TeamKid Sundays 6 -7 PM

Vine Street Baptist Church

VSBCFamily.org

2152 NE Vine St. • Roseburg Across from Joseph Lane Middle School

CONNECTIONS for all ages & all stages of life:

Don’t just survive,

Thrive!

2245 NW Kline St. I-5 Exit #125 - Go west on Garden Valley 1.1 miles

Small Groups/Christian Education ~ 9:00 a.m. ~ Fellowship Time Doughnuts & Coffee ~ 10:00 a.m. ~ WORSHIP ~ 10:30 a.m. ~ Loving & skilled nursery (newborn to two years old)

Dynamic & Fun Children’s Program ~ ages 3-10 ~

C Y

Friday, August 29, 2008–The News-Review, Umpqua Edition, Roseburg Oregon, Page 27

Focus on hope ... hope is why we’re here • Free housing during treatment • Free transportation to and from treatments • Nutritional counseling • Cancer patient support services

We Are Here To Help You! Independent • Non-profit • Radiation Therapy

Serving Douglas County Since 1980 Accredited by the prestigious American College of Radiology (ACR)

673-2267 1-866-836-4448 www.cccroseburg.org

New Facility Current Location 545 West Umpqua Street, Roseburg • New Facility Under Construction

8da_^Si`S`VYSdVW` fdSUfadefaUa_bSUf fdSUfadeWjUShSfade S`VYSea^[`WS`V V[WeW^gf[^[fkhWZ[U^We  =gTafSVW^[hWdefZW Z[YZWefefS`VSdVeXad cgS^[fkS`VeWdh[UW 

CgS^[fk DW^[ST[^[fk EWdh[UW 3^^[`fZWXS_[^k

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2165 N.E. STEPHENS ST. ROSEBURG, OR

(541) 672-3369

www.kubota.com ©Kubota Tractor Corporation, 2008

Page 28, The News-Review, NRTAB, Umpqua Edition, RoseburgRoseburg Oregon–NRDATE Oregon–Friday, August 29, 2008

. . . is very real in Douglas County. Many families do not always know where their next meal is coming from. In 2005, UCAN Food Shares – the Regional Food Bank in Douglas County – distributed 26,753 emergency food boxes. Over 106,000 people, forty percent under the age of 18, received subsistence through this effort. History shows that the Cow Creek Tribe’s philosophy of giving was established in the earliest contacts that were made with wagon train families. Their methods of fishing, hunting and gathering within their homeland were shared generously with the pioneers. Even when the Tribe had no financial resources, members shared food and shelter with those in need. The Tribe’s tradition of giving to the community naturally extends to alleviating the hunger issue in Douglas County. Over the past two years, the Cow Creek Band of Umpqua Tribe of Indians through the Cow Creek Umpqua Indian Foundation has awarded grants totaling $85,600 to many of the 17 entities that operate under the UCAN Food Shares umbrella. With the increase in food and fuel costs, its more important than ever that we come together to reduce hunger in Douglas County. Please consider the donation of your time and / or financial resources to the following UCAN Food Shares partners – A.A.R.P. Pantry, Reedsport Seventh Day Adventist Church / School, Glide Dillard / Winston Food Pantry, Dillard Seventh Day Adventist Church / School, Canyonville Seventh Day Adventist Church / School, Roseburg FISH, Drain Rescue Mission Pantry, Roseburg FISH, Roseburg Sutherlin / Oakland Emergency Pantry, Sutherlin South Douglas Food Bank, Riddle St. Vincent de Paul, Myrtle Creek Table of Plenty, Myrtle Creek St. Francis Community Kitchen, Sutherlin Roseburg Rescue Mission Kitchen, Roseburg St. Joseph Community Kitchen, Roseburg Friendly Kitchen, Roseburg First Baptist Mission Outreach, Roseburg

For more information, contact UCAN at

541.673.3421 or visit their website at www.ucancap.org

This message brought to you by the Cow Creek Band of Umpqua Tribe of Indians 2371 NE Stephens * Roseburg, Oregon * 541.672-9405