Bushwhack: A Serial Story of Off-Trail Hiking & Camping in the Pacific Northwest Wilderness

By Gerald M. Chicalo

Human nature, in its most raw and desperate form, is to survive; at any cost. What we did to ourselves, and to each other, in order to stay alive out in the dark and cold depths of the forest shocked and shamed us to our very cores. The out-of-control events changed us. Forever. For now we know how high the cost of surviving can be, and that we were willing to pay the price; even if it meant someone else did not survive as a consequence. Three women, six men, and one dog, set out on a good-intentioned, multi-day, off-trail hiking adventure. Laughing, joking, even flirting with each other, it all starts out so well. Until... well, you'll have to read it to find out. To experience this book as intended, as a serial story, please read only one chapter per day, if you can resist the temptation. Originally posted as a serial trip report to an online hiking club's message board, the tragedy takes place in the raw and untamed wilderness of the Pacific Northwest. It was posted at the rate of a couple of sections per week. As the story unfolded, the readers had the unique opportunity to respond to the ongoing story with comments; their comments also being posted to the online message board, along with the story. Some readers urged me on. Others demanded that I stop posting the short chapters of the story. Still others pleaded with the message board authorities to shut the story down and delete the entire thread. Some people loved the short, periodically-posted chapters, complete with cliff-hanger endings. Others hated the format and wanted it all at once, when completed in its entirety. The trip report invoked quite an emotional literary response from many of the readers. The comments posted by the readers of this serial story are entertainment in themselves.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gerald M. Chicalo
• Release date: Dec 25, 2011
• ISBN: 9781466074842

Gerald M. Chicalo

Seeking adventure that no established trail could provide, Gerald turned to off-trail hiking as the means to go where no one has gone before. A veteran of many gruelling and punishing treks, including a risky solo passage of the fabled "Fool's Gold Route", an unmarked wilderness journey that is said to be attempted by few and successfully completed by even fewer, he is no stranger to the virtually impenetrable underbrush of the Pacific Northwest. Ten years spent working in the helicopter timber salvage industry gives Gerald a unique insight that can bring you into the stark reality of the rainforest using words alone. He now lives in the forest on Lasqueti Island, BC, Canada.

Book preview

Preface

The hikers in this story have not been identified; their names have been changed to protect privacy. Times, dates, and places in the story have not been disclosed.

This story was originally posted as a trip report to the online message board of a popular hiking club at the rate of a couple of sections per week. As the story unfolded, the readers had the unique opportunity to respond to the ongoing story with comments; their comments also being posted to the online message board, along with the story.

Some readers urged me on. Others demanded that I stop posting the short chapters of the story. Still others pleaded with the message board authorities to shut the story down and delete the entire thread. Some people loved the short, periodically-posted chapters, complete with cliff-hanger endings. Others hated the format and wanted it all at once, when completed in its entirety.

The trip report invoked quite an emotional literary response from many of the readers. The comments posted by the readers of this serial story are entertainment in themselves; they range from pleasant words of encouragement to outright condemnation of the story, and of the storyteller himself. In time, after failing to get satisfaction, the readers turned on each other. Surprisingly, more readers were concerned with the fate of Bully, the dog in the trip report, rather than the human participants.

Many of the readers debated whether the story is true or not. One reader confessed that he had gone to the Vancouver Public Library to search for the story in past newspaper articles. One reader claimed that she overheard the story being discussed at various social gatherings in Vancouver, BC. Is the story true? Or made up? They certainly wanted to know.

If you’ve ever published something and wondered what people are saying about it when you’re not around to listen, you may find the comments interesting. Please find a selection of reader comments at the end of this book.

To experience this book as intended, as a serial story, please read only one posting per day, if you can resist the temptation.

Introduction

Posted by gchicalo - August 15, 2007 : 12:50 PM

The events of the summer of 2004 left me badly shaken and emotionally spent. It is only now, three agonizing years later, which I can hope to tell the story. I was cautioned not to write this trip report too soon after surviving the tragedy as time would be needed to gain an accurate perspective on what actually did happen. What did occur during those fateful eight days is still as crystal clear in my mind as if it all happened yesterday. The painful memories still haunt me day and night, with no sign of fading. Perhaps time does not heal all after all.

My sincerest condolences to the friends, family and loved ones of those who did not make it home. This is a story that I believe needs to be told and my apologies to those who do not feel this way. My intent is not to offend, nor do I place blame at anyone’s feet. We were all subjected to strong influences that were not of our control, and we all acted accordingly. Those who were not there have little hope of understanding our actions completely. Those who were there did what they had to do and I will leave it at that.

While participating in the events of this story I learned much about the strengths, weaknesses, and limitations, of both men and women, but at a terrible cost. Much of what I learned surprised and shocked me to the core and still I fail to find reasons for the way people acted (and what they did to each other) on this adventure; myself not excluded. Humans are capable of great good, and of terrible evil, when presented with circumstances that force them to commit deeds like as the ones described in this rendering of past out-of-control events. I suggest to you that we can all learn from the trip report you are about to read for it all started out so normal, so usual, and so very typical. Perhaps these are the reasons that things went so very wrong; we expected nothing out of the ordinary and were completely unprepared when the extraordinary presented itself. I do not mean to cause you unwarranted paranoia, but prepare and proceed with caution whenever you leave the relative safety and comforts of civilization.

For my own legal protection and to shelter the feelings and sensitivities of those who survived this horrible tragedy, as well as the families and loved ones of those who did not, real names will not be disclosed. Also, I will not mention the specific location where this disaster took place in order to further mask the identities of those who where there; I know there are those out there who still wish to hide within their self-perceived shame and guilt. I do not blame them for wanting to remain anonymous as some of the acts committed were not to be proud of. At the risk of being shelved with those authors who write to heal, here is the trip report.

Part One

Posted by gchicalo - August 18, 2007 : 11:51 PM

Gazing around while waiting for my ride, I marvelled at the cityscape that seemed so artificial and so phoney. Skyscrapers and office buildings towered over me like steep mountain peaks that dared us all to climb to the top. Of course nobody did. Not an insect was present, although the people around me buzzed like them, seemingly unaware that I stood there with my pack. Was I invisible? No, since they did veer around me, avoiding all forms of contact; especially eye contact. The awnings over the concrete sidewalk were like the thick overhanging canopy of a forest, but plastic and brightly coloured. What a world we live in, I pondered. So many people, but we all did not know each other; and didn’t really care either, I mused.

I heard a honk and a shout. They spotted me even though I had never met them: it was my gear that made me stand out among the many of the city. As I entered the vehicle I was greeted with enthusiastic hellos. I reciprocated and sized up my companions.

One of them, Jill, was from an online hiking club and the other three were friends of hers. I thought I detected a look from Jill (as I shall call her), but at the time I put it down to my imagination, and perhaps a hope and a whim too. I saw a lot of big watches on wrists in the vehicle, as well as a couple of backpacks that seem to proportionally match the size of the watches of the owners. Did these people know where we were going? They were briefed in detail and ultimately it was up to them as to what, and how much, they carried.

The mood in the vehicle was joyous, as it usually is when everyone is keyed up and ready to go; bursting with energy. Cautious, but very social. We did the usual thing and met the rest of the bushwhacking group at the last restaurant before the trailhead. It was here where I was introduced to the rest of the gang. I must admit I immediately found the organizer of the bushwhack, John, as I shall call him, a little on the arrogant side. I met his sidekick, Sally, and was equally unimpressed. I hoped that the arrogance would translate into confidence and ability when the going got tough. Our glorious leader, John, seemed to think that our journey was to be an eight-day cake-walk. But glancing around at the clean fresh faces, and at the corresponding clean fresh clothing, I thought otherwise. There would be no cake where we were going. Hopefully we would not run out of bread.

We parked our two vehicles at the trail head, which was really just the end of a very rough logging road, and not really a trailhead at all. There were no signs, no trails, and no provincial park frills where we were going. After the nine of us geared up, we all immediately headed out, still joyous, still full of enthusiasm. The first part of our journey was easy; down to the bottom of the valley and up the dry creek bed. The going was easy and that gave us a chance chat and to form the inevitable alliances and cliques.

The weather was perfect and not a bug was to be seen. Frank, as I will call him, brought his dog that ran back and forth excitedly between the various small groups that naturally formed as we moved further and further upstream in the dry creek-bed. I seemed to be developing a good vibe with Jill as we strolled along. Although, judging from the visual daggers I was getting from her friend Peter, I decided to keep my distance somewhat. Obviously Peter had some sort of interest in Jill, although Jill did not seem to reciprocate.

As we trudged along, I learned a few interesting, and perhaps valuable things; John’s loyal sidekick, Sally, was carrying a satellite phone and a few of us had cellular phones as well. You never know when one of these devices could come in handy. Combine the size of our group with the route we were taking, and something was bound to happen. I sincerely hope not, but the odds were not in our favour.

About four kilometres and three hours in was where and when the first minor incident happened.

Posted by gchicalo - August 23, 2007 : 9:46 AM

As it usually happens with large hiking groups, and even more so with large bushwhacking groups, the faster people surge forward, leaving the slower people to fall behind. Combine a slow person with a heavy load and you’ve got yourself a straggler. The straggler in our group was a guy named Robert.

Robert was a good-intentioned, nice-looking young man, but seemed a bit inexperienced in the art of bushwhacking. He was a little overweight and was carrying too much gear. To me, he looked a little too clean, as well. I could detect the smell of soap coming from him from where I was; quite a distance behind him. A few things had already fallen off his pack but luckily someone behind him noticed and retrieved the gear for him. When he straggled his way to the last place in line he was going to lose things for sure. Perhaps essential things.

I am sure Robert applauded the decision John made when he called for a break to regroup at the end of the dry creek bed. From here we were to leave the open terrain and head into the deep, dark bush. A tree-line beckoned us from about one hundred meters distant and the bush beyond it did not look pretty at all. Sloping steeply upward, covered with slide alder and devils clubs, we would definitely be going against the grain.

When we all caught up at the end of the dry creek-bed, John, our self-appointed leader, brought to our attention the fact that Robert was already starting to lag far behind. He also pointed out that so far we were in the easy part of the bushwhack. Sweating profusely and exhausted already, Robert did not seem to appreciate the gravity of the situation and said nothing in his self-defence.

John, without permission or even asking, started rooting through Robert’s pack in order to determine why it was so bulky and heavy. I could see in Robert’s face that he was not pleased at John’s intrusion. He promptly regained some of his lost energy, stood up and pushed John away from his pack. The both of them butted chests, then glared at each other face-to-face, only inches between them, nostrils flaring. Sally, I noticed, was about to take action, no doubt on the side of John. A slight breeze wafted over us as a couple of dark storm clouds appeared in the distance. Also, a few annoying flies buzzed around us all as John and Robert continued their tense stand-off. I hoped that this was not a sign of things to come but something told me it might be. I didn’t really know any of these people, had never hiked with them, and did not feel at ease with the present situation at all.

It was this precise moment when Frank noticed his dog, Bully, was not with us. He had thought that Bully was up ahead with the lead group, and the lead group thought that Bully was with the trailing group. Strangely this seemed to diffuse the angry Robert – John situation and the heavy-pack/straggling issue was quickly forgotten while everyone pondered when and where Bully was last seen. John was visibly irritated by this latest turn of events. Frank suggested that Bully had run up ahead or had returned to the vehicles, both of which he was sometimes prone to do, according to Frank.

After a lot of nervous foot shuffling, waiting, and calling out for Bully, Frank suggested that one or more of us return to the vehicles to look for him while the rest of us scouted ahead and then returned to the spot where we were now. Scout ahead through horribly steep bushy terrain, then return? That didn’t sound like something I was interested in. Unfortunately our mobile phones were useless, already, as a signal could not be received. There would be no way to communicate once we separated.

Suddenly, and completely unexpected, Adam, so quiet and calm up to now, flew into a rage about how he was not here to baby-sit a dog, would not be inconvenienced by a dog, and that this hiking route was no place for a dog anyway. He tried to insist that we should all either go on without the dog, or Frank should return to the vehicles and wait there by himself for eight days. Frank could always have the option of trying to catch up with us after seeing if Bully was at the vehicles or not. Almost everyone seemed to take sides, with a couple of us trying to stay neutral. John had a good point and he was right; we were on a schedule and waiting where we were for six to eight hours while Frank went off in search of Bully his dog was not an option.

The tension, the breeze, the clouds and even the flies, increased in intensity. Patience was wearing as thin as our synthetic-fibre shirts: someone had to make a decision about what to do about Bully, and quickly. A few chests were puffed out, voices rose, and a bit of spittle flew through the air. All this sure took the heat off of Robert, I thought. Looking up at the hillside that we were to tackle next I was fairly confident that Robert’s time would come again.

It was pretty evident that Frank was going back to the vehicles to look for Bully no matter what anybody said. He claimed that he would then try to catch up with us later in the evening, he reckoned. He wasn’t exactly clear about any of this. It was uncertain that Bully would be found back at the vehicles but no one seemed to acknowledge this. Frank certainly wasn’t going on without his dog; that was for sure. John insisted that Frank should not go alone. Becky, the quiet, athletic-looking woman agreed with him and volunteered to go too. But before anyone said too much about it Frank scooped up his pack and stormed back downstream along the dry creek bed, muttering to himself. No one spoke. And then we were eight.

Posted by gchicalo - August 29, 2007 : 4:35 PM

I thought it was admirable of Becky to volunteer to go with Frank, but since the exact location of our encampment this evening was unknown, it was unlikely that we would be seeing Frank again anytime soon. In my opinion Frank should have gone back to look for his dog, yes, but as far as trying to catch up with us later… well, that was just foolhardy and disorganized. As it was, it wasn’t completely clear as to what Frank was actually going to do, and at this point nobody seemed to care much either. After all, everyone here could do as they pleased. I could see the concern in Becky’s face, but in the end she shouldered her pack along with everyone else and headed up the brushy slope before us.

I don’t think anyone thought about what we were going to do if we encountered Bully up ahead. We had no dog food, and I for