The Hard Way

By Justin Mitchell

A Sobering story of one man’s battle to make it through life while overcoming his adversities, learning to cope with his ADHD, struggling with PTSD, and fighting off his addiction(s). Life can be difficult and overwhelming at times; add to that, the trauma one can experience, and it can feel downright impossible. Growing up in a community of outlaw Marijuna farmers and the culture that comes with that is messy. Then, join the military, Law Enforcement, SPEC-OPS, become physically disabled from your injuries, and lose your firstborn child. You might not make it out alive or with your sanity.

Life. The amazing adventure that it is can be difficult. From raw moments of pain and suffering to beautiful moments of Joy and Laughter. Trauma can leave you vulnerable if you let it. When you get knocked down how will you pick yourself back up?

If you have endured hardship in your life or are still having trouble making it through each day, maybe, just maybe, this story can help you. Opening your mind to just what you can do and how strong you can be. How we may face trauma in life and what we may do to recover from that. Having a unique perspective on life, through extreme circumstances, has given me much gratitude. Reading these stories might give you an idea of just how much we can endure and how resilient the Human psyche can actually be. I hope that you can learn from my mistakes and let my darkness light your path. Closed minds don’t get fed.


Author: Justin Orion Mitchell, U.S. Sheepdog, Retired

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Oct 16, 2023
• ISBN: 9798369409541

Justin Mitchell

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Copyright © 2023 by Justin Mitchell.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 10/16/2023

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CONTENTS

Introduction

Chapter 1:   Paradise Lost

Chapter 2:   Trouble

Chapter 3:   The Good Die Young

Chapter 4:   Breaking Bad

Chapter 5:   Savages

Chapter 6:   We The People

Chapter 7:   S.A.R.

Chapter 8:   Law Enforcement

Chapter 9:   Spec Ops / La Hermandad

Chapter 10: Murphy’s Law

Chapter 11: Welcome To The Darkside

Chapter 12: Hitting The Bottom

Chapter 13: A New Beginning

Chapter 14: The Other Shoe Drops

Chapter 15: Man In The Mirror

Chapter 16: Been A Hell Of A Ride

Dedication

Thanks

In Closing

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INTRODUCTION

M y name is Justin Orion Mitchell and this is my story. A story of a Forty something year old kid who has been a few places and seen a few things to say the least.

This is a story of hardship, pain, and loss. As well as a story of happiness, success, and recovery. As in most stories we strive for a happy ending; but, that is not always the case.

I’ve struggled, like so many of us have, with anxiety, stress, fear, loss (death), and addiction. I have also been dragging myself out of bed everyday pretending, the best that I can, to be normal. Whatever the hell that means!?

Ultimately I have a disease. Cunning, Baffling, and Powerful. A disease that tells me I don’t have one; that I’m … FINE. More like:

– Fucked Up

– Insecure

– Neurotic &

– Emotional

Throughout this story I will do my best to navigate this Swiss-cheese like brain of mine to tell you my story. Like, how have I managed to keep a smile on my face after all of the loss and death I’ve seen? How can I remain happy while I have more metal in my body than most new vehicles do? How can I have such an amazing family and home even though I’m a Tornado of an Addict!?

Along with all of my other issues I am lucky enough to have held onto a few photos, journals, medical logs, military reports, etc. that are keeping me on point throughout this endeavor.

To protect the anonymity of more sensitive matters like people, places and things, I will be changing the names, locations, and identities of some of the details here and there. Other than those small adjustments this story is true and correct to the best of my knowledge.

A person who never made a mistake, never tried anything new.

~ Albert Einstein

I’ve learned a lot in this life through the experiences I’ve had; good and bad. I believe that the decisions we make along the way can and will affect how "our stories’’ go. Like duality, for every up there must be a down. For every dark, there must be a light. For every decision, we must face a consequence.

I’ve received quite a lot of help along the way and can’t imagine living life without family, friends, and community. I also believe that we are not alone in life, and that there is a Higher power out there. What that higher power is, well, that is completely up to you. Having faith in something greater than myself has always seemed to help me through some pretty horrible shit.

So there I was, like the vast majority of us were, at the beginning of the pandemic in 2020, stuck inside, and bored out of my mind. For somebody with Attention Deficit Hyperactive Disorder (ADHD) that can really fucking suck!

While my life was at the best point it had probably ever been, that was all about to change! If you have ever battled with addiction, PTSD and/or ADHD then you will understand how hard isolation can be on people like me. That is how I ended up going down this proverbial rabbit hole.

By the time we get to the start of 2022 I am in a Rehab facility in Napa county. I just wrecked my dream truck, got Two DUI’s, spent some time in jail, and I am now on house arrest. I had to sell my new Toyota Tacoma, close my business, take out a couple loans, find out I owe thousands in back taxes, and I am completely broke, plus I can’t work.

Before I could even catch my breath my wife was unexpectedly airlifted to San Francisco. Our fifth child was born three months premature and is currently on life support in the NICU for at least the next six weeks. While in San Francisco at the hospital I learned of the overdose and passing of a close friend of mine. On top of all that, when I return home I discover my upstairs bathroom decided to flood and pretty much destroy my house with water damage. =0

The Rollercoaster ride that is my life has been filled with many twists and turns. Happiness & sadness; Love & hate; Life & death.

Battling the highs & lows; sobriety & addiction; light & dark. Fighting an internal war for the majority of my life.

I imagine you can take something from this book and the stories that it offers. I hope that you do, and that it may help you out in some way, shape, or form. I’ve learned that we can get a lot out of other people’s stories. I have also learned that it can save us, or someone else, to get our story out there as well.

There are many misconceptions in our country. We have made many triumphs over the years but had many travesties as well. This point in our history we appear to be back sliding. The Covid-19 pandemic devastated many of our communities and families. Discord and separation run rampant. People, now more than ever, argue and fight over politics, religion, war and policies.

Why we can’t all just get along is beyond me.

One issue that has plagued us and continues to be argued over in many circles is addiction. Odds are that you or someone close to you is or has suffered with it. It comes in many shapes and sizes. Drug addiction, alcoholism, sex addiction, gambling, eating disorders, etc … You name it, someone is probably addicted to it. People become consumed with a certain behavior or routine and do it until it becomes unhealthy. Even exercising can be an addiction.

We, as a society, typically looked at addiction as the drug itself being the problem. What I have begun to learn is that drugs and/or alcohol were never the problem, they were my solution. I was the problem.

The underlying problem that I never knew I even had that pushed me into unhealthy behavior. Into addiction. Honestly I could probably become addicted to anything. Over my life I have been addicted to opiates, cocaine, alcohol, sex, working out, and even playing video games. As I said, it comes in many shapes and sizes.

With more and more people being pushed into isolation due to the pandemic we have seen a rise in suicides, stress, divorces, addiction and death rates.

Someone you know or are related to has been pushed, mentally, to the breaking point. It happens more than we would like to admit. When we go through hard times we learn more about ourselves, what we can handle, who we are and who our true friends really are.

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Chapter 1

PARADISE LOST

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A sk yourself this … are you happy ?? Really think about that one for a second and honestly answer yourself. I mean, that’s what life is all about right, being happy? Are you living a peaceful, meaningful life? If not, then what the hell are we doing here?!

I’ve always had trouble with that question. I would like to say that I’m a happy person. Doing my best to keep a smile on my face and try to get as much out of each experience as I can. Then again, life isn’t easy, and can take many twists and turns along the way. My life has been crammed with interesting experiences and they all led to where I am today.

Let me start at the beginning:

If you have ever smoked marijuana from the mid 1970’s on (don’t lie; we know you have) then you’ve probably heard of the place where I am from- Humboldt County (aka Emerald Triangle, Weed Country, and for you millenials Murder Mountain.)

If you have never heard of Humboldt County, it is a rural county along the mountainous coast of Northern California, just south of the Oregon border. The most western point in the lower 48 of the U.S. It is an area full of giant, ancient, Coastal Redwood trees with jagged, rugged coastlines, and bountiful rivers lined with cattle ranches.

The 175 mile long Eel river forms California’s third largest watershed. The majority of its breathtaking vista’s snake through the breadth of our county.

Here’s a fun fact- the Eel River is strangely one of only a few rivers in the Northern hemisphere that flows generally northward. As well as being home to major salmon and steel-head trout runs, the Eel river and its tributaries are home to the elusive, Legendary Bigfoot. A cryptic creature that gained his notorious name here back in 1967. In an area just north of my hometown, the infamous ‘Patterson-Gimlin’ film was shot. Although I’ve never had an encounter with this elusive creature myself, the overwhelming testimonies of thousands of people is hard to deny.

A `rather famous director traveled here back in the day and made a little movie called ‘Star Wars’. Our lush redwood groves became the planet Endor; you know, the place where the cute little, cuddly, teddy bear-like Ewoks ran around in the trees.

The Flora and Fauna around here can be reminiscent of a time before man. Trees that stand as tall as skyscrapers and are older than the birth of Christ. The sounds of spotted owls hooting and crickets chirping during the starry nights and fog banks creeping through the valley’s like thick feather-down blankets in the damp, brisk mornings.

Humboldt County is also the place that illegal marijuana farming took root (pun intended) back in the early 1970’s. Small outcrops of "hippies’’ decided to create a better, homegrown, organic marijuana product, and it worked! The climate in this region of the country is optimal for growing some of the most potent marijuana on the planet.

It has been a major supplier in the drug industry ever since. It got so bad, that in the 1980’s, Nancy Reagan’s ‘War on drugs’ created an entire military entity based here called CAMP. (Campaign Against Marijuana Plants) but we always knew them as Cock-suckers After My Pot.

Like with any "Gold Rush,’’ people came in droves to our small, edge of the world town to make a quick buck. We saw an influx of not just families and entrepreneurs, but criminals and large cartels as well.

If you leave San Francisco, travel North across the Golden Gate Bridge on highway 101. Drive an exhausting 200 miles and you will hit my hometown, a town that is achingly beautiful and excruciatingly small. You don’t want to blink or you will literally miss it, never even realizing it was there.

Even though we are a small town, with a population around 2,000, we definitely have big city issues. Our crime and death rates, per capita, blow most of Califonia’s major cities out of the water. We have had plenty of TV show’s, documentaries, and movies filmed here.

The crime got so bad that ‘Netflix’ made a mini-series on one of our back-roads around here in 2019 and called it Murder Mountain.

What started out as a few stoners striving to create a better product soon turned into a huge criminal enterprise. What you should know is that this criminal element was made mostly of small families. Local mom and pop types that never broke any laws except planting a few illegal seeds in their tomato garden’s here and there.

It became an accepted part of the culture here; in a don’t ask, don’t tell unspoken sort of way. Pretty much everyone and their grandma had at least a plant or two in their backyard. As time crept on the word got out that good money could be made in the Emerald Triangle area and people came in droves.

All you needed was some south facing land with water on it. Any halfwit can grow a weed right?

Wrong. Technically Marijuana is a weed but it does take some knowledge, skill, and care to create the product that this region is infamous for. What was passed down from generation to generation on small little farms soon became immense, industrial-like grows.

More dedicated, monetary driven, entrepreneurs, moved to town. The small, hidden, backyard mini-farms turned into huge, mountaintop cash crops.

These new clear-cut, bulldozed mountains drew quite a bit of attention; from not only Law Enforcement but the low life, google earth using, second rate rip-offs from the slums.

Where there is money being made hand over fist, crime is usually soon to follow. People from all over the U.S. as well as many immigrants from around the world lined our crowded, once secluded streets.

Eventually you didn’t recognize every face in town and I definitely didn’t speak fluent Russian, Chinese or Spanish. You couldn’t get through town without being harassed at least once or twice by a surly vagrant.

Crime started getting bad around here in the early 90’s when I was young. What started as basic home invasions and robberies quickly turned into homicides and murders.

The crime in our area only seemed to get worse as time went on too. I’m not saying every Tom, Dick and Harry that moved here was bad. Not at all. Most newcomers to this area were good people who just wanted to support their own families. They would never harm their neighbor, and they gave back to the community. But as the wise and great ‘Notorious B.I.G’ once said, mo money, mo problems.

Even with all the drama and crime that comes with living in an outlaw community, I like to think that I actually live in a beautiful, majestic, redwood filled paradise.

Simply put, I lived an amazing life. White picket fences, blue collar working dad, apron wearing, stay at home mom, family dog named Fido, looking like the ‘Brady Bunch’ and all that.

Although I have always been proud to claim this area as my home; it can, at times, be a shit show. Having parents and grandparents that both came up here and were pillars of the community, meant that everybody knew who I was. That can be a good thing … or a bad thing.

Born at the beginning of 1980 and as my middle name, Orion, might suggest, raised by parents that lived/partied through the 60’s. Having two younger siblings, that are five plus years younger than me, I was the one that got to experience my parents transition from carefree youth into their laborious parenthood.

Unless you know something I don’t, there is no manual on parenting, and those first few years can be difficult. Going from living a carefree existence to instantly caring way more about another human being can be interesting to say the least. I would only truly appreciate that when I became a parent myself.

Some of us take longer to learn than others too.

Now if you ask me, I lucked out with my parents. I mean, of course they had their flaws but they always did their best for us. Making copious sacrifices for their children and putting us above their own needs. Even when times got tough my parents stuck it out.

I’m sure I could bitch and moan and find excuses for my bad behavior to be blamed on them, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. I believe that my mom and dad did an amazing job raising us and I aspire to be half as good of a parent as they were.

My father, Steve, worked as a Merchant Marine, a tugboat Captain, since as far back as I can remember and has always spent his time at sea. He was basically a modern day pirate. Gone around 75% of the time working to provide for his family.

It seemed like the moment he came home he would have to head straight back to work. His deployments were typically two months long with a few week break in between. He spent as much free time as possible on the ocean, either surfing, fishing, diving, or working. He was, and still is, someone who I admire. I have many fond memories of sitting on the beach watching him surf, wishing one day to be as cool as him.

I can recall memories of myself running miles endlessly down the beach, hopping from log to rock and back again as the swell would relentlessly wash up at my feet; trying to devour my very, tiny, existence.

Repeating that little exercise time after time to get to my grandparents’ before the tide would come in. Pulling small alien-like creatures out of the tide pools and collecting unique seashells while dodging bombs from the obnoxious seagulls was my daily routine.

I was a sand eating, salt water drinking, bleach blonde haired, surfer baby. I loved it out there. The Beach was my playground. The overwhelming smell of the ocean, the feel of a cool breeze blowing through my hair on a hot summer day.

The way the sand grains flowing between my toes was like a warm liquid heating my entire body. Hell, my diapers would be full of sand even days and days later. Still, to this very day, I think of those moments with my father every time I smell that salty sea air.

My fathers parents, who helped raise me in those early years, introduced me to God, The Church, and Sunday School. My parents are spiritual for sure but not big on "The Church’’. I guess Grandma had pushed religion so hard on my dad that he didn’t want to do the same to his kids.

I’m definitely not a perfect Christian but I picked up the basics, if you will. Do not cheat, Do not steal, Do not Kill, etc. You know; all those morals that a good man can, and should, live by.

On top of being good Christians my grandparents also owned and operated a small charter fishing / boat launching operation, which my family helped out with here and there.

When I turned Five my parents gave birth to my brutish younger brother and two years after that my bubbly little sister. I was no longer the spoiled, single child that had the attention of everyone in his life. My mom, Allyson, god bless her, definitely had her hands full at that point.

She was basically a single parent raising Three kids; and I was a handful! A very hyper child, bouncing off the walls and climbing on anything & everything I could. Like a Tasmanian devil, a mini tornado I was.

Multiple doctors wanted to put me on Ritalin for my Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD) but she ultimately opted against it. Deciding that it would be best to just let me be me; instead of being drugged up constantly at such a young age. The thought of altering the basic nature of who I was just wasn’t an option for her.

My mother took care of us for the most part while working at the local grocery store to help supplement our income. She would drop us kids off at school then work her feet to the bone for hours before picking us up at the end of the day.

We had it good. We weren’t rich by any means but we survived comfortably. She made sure us kids regularly got involved with all of the extracurricular activities that we were interested in. Like sports, camping, boy-scouts, etc.

I believe that I had it pretty damn good as a kid. Loving parents, beautiful country, comfortable home, and a full belly. Hell, I even made it to DisneyLand a few times!

My parents did, however, cast pretty large shadows for my siblings and I to live up to. Always participating in communal events, volunteering their time, making donations, and helping raise other families’ kids was just the tip of the proverbial iceberg. Work hard, be kind, and always do what is right, even when no one is looking, was how things were done.

I wasn’t born wild and my family raised me right. Raised me to be a good person. Taught to expect the unexpected. Plan for the worst but hope for the best. To make good choices, to have strong morals, and to be of service.

I was taught to help others that can’t help themselves. Not to lie or steal, and always be honest.

As time passed I witnessed the respect that my parents received and how everywhere we went people knew them, liked them and spoke highly of them.

I wanted that! Who wouldn’t?!

It seriously felt like growing up in a town of extended family, where everybody knew our names.

Living in an area where everyone knows you can have its ups and its downs. When the entire community knew you made a mistake before you yourself even knew it; proved to be strenuous.

I was around 12 years old when things started to change for me. My dad had been staying home from work for months on end. That was extremely odd as he was usually out to sea on deployment or gone fishing.

He was in incredible pain constantly. Just laying there in agony on the couch, grasping at his abdomen, like an alien was about to burst out of his chest at any moment. It was so unlike the active outdoors-man that I always knew him to be.

To me, my dad was the strongest man alive, a god among men. I idolized him. To see him in that condition was scary for a little kid. Like watching Superman get shot through the heart with a kryptonite bullet. My hero was down for the count and no one could tell us why.

He and my mom went to almost a dozen different doctors in a year’s time, each telling him something different apparently. Imagine the frustration when, finally, after months, and to all of our surprise, he was diagnosed with stage four testicular cancer. A terminal diagnosis, spreading unchecked for months throughout his entire body.

The tumors had spread so extensively into a few major organs that the new doctors were not very optimistic about his survival. He was expedited down to a major cancer ward at one of the largest hospitals in the Bay Area to begin radiation and chemotherapy once the doctors had finally realized how long he had been misdiagnosed.

At that point my siblings, and I basically became orphans. I at the confused age of 12 could vaguely understand the situation but my siblings were still too young to comprehend the severity of the whole situation.

We spent many months bouncing from one household to another. Staying with relatives and/or close family friends while our mother was down at the hospital caring for dad, nursing him back to life.

Not knowing where we would live next and/or if our dad would ever get to return home again was just our new normal. A scary, nerve racking, normal where I, felt like the man of the house. It was up to me to keep my little brother and sister safe now. To explain to them why we had to do the things we did. Why they couldn’t see their parents and why we couldn’t just go home.

When we had the rare opportunity to visit my dad we would. Seeing my hero lying there helpless in that same exact hospital bed, withering away, day after day wore on me. That a man, so strong and resolute, could be ravished down to a frail shadow of his former self, saddened as well as scared me.

I started feeling like a lost puppy, trying to understand my place in life, wandering around looking for someone to feed me, love me, or just take me in.

I was getting into those years that we all remember and adore; adolescence! Started running with older kids and getting myself into situations that I really shouldn’t have. Started making mistake after mistake. Bad decision after bad decision. Although nothing major, still enough to get into trouble, disappoint my parents, and for me to ultimately regret it.

I stole a small candy bar type thing called a ‘fireball’ once. I had gone to the local pharmacy, (the owner of which just happened to be our neighbor), with my mom that day. While perusing the candy aisle I was overwhelmed with excitement seeing all of the beautifully displayed candy bars and treats. Being as hyper active as I was, my mom quickly shut me down. I imagine the last thing she wanted was my crazy ass all hyped up on a sugar high while she picked up my dad’s meds.

Although I knew better I just couldn’t resist the allure of that shiny little candy screaming my name as I stood there waiting. So like a character from an ‘Ocean’s Eleven’ movie and the slight-of-hand of a master magician I smoothly pocketed that little baby.

Once home, and to avoid detection, I quickly ran over to the neighbor kid’s house. Believing the coast was finally clear, I ripped into my stolen little prize and enjoyed my poisonous fruit.

As I enjoyed the burning sweetness of this forbidden ‘fireball’ I was approached by the one person I had hoped to avoid, my mom! She knew that my red little lips and the bulges in my cheeks were up to no good.

Placing her hand out next to my mouth in a flat manner she said Spit it out! As a pit in my stomach dropped all the way to the ground I knew at that point I was screwed.

Being scared, of course, I tried fibbing my way out of it. Bad idea: What was only one crime had now become two.

I said: I found it, mom wasn’t buying it.

I said: I bought it. Again, not buying it.

Not sure how long my frightened little brain tried to escape its fate but eventually I caved, admitted my wrong, and burst into tears.

Mom was like a Jedi Master with her mind tricks. She knew I stole the fireball but was testing my little butt to see if I would take it to the next level.

Setting me up for either success or failure; depending on my answer. I knew better than to lie. My parents had told me hundreds of times. But, in that raw moment of emotion, when trying to save my own hide, I failed once again.

I was then escorted, like a little prison inmate, to my room; and for what felt like hours, scolded and scolded.

I knew better!

What was I thinking!?

How could I!

How would it feel if someone stole from me!?

Do you like getting lied to!?

I didn’t have the answers, I knew, deep inside, from the second I took it, that I was in the wrong. At some point during my interrogation my mom drug me to the car, kicking & screaming, and drove my ass back to the pharmacy.

I can’t even explain how frightened I was, the disappointment in her eyes alone was killing me. I didn’t know if I was going back to the pharmacy, jail, military school or if she just planned on leaving me on the side of the road.

Once back at the pharmacy I was forced to explain to the owner what I had done and why it was so wrong. Trembling in fear I had to pay up the huge price tag of five cents and give back the half eaten, slobbery ball that had definitely not been worth it.

I didn’t fail the test. I just found 100 ways to do it wrong.

~ Benjamin Franklin

I remember this story like it was yesterday even decades later because, even though it was such a small crime, it really affected me. The shaking hands, the pit in my stomach, the excessive sweating. The way I got caught made me feel dirty, rotten even. I knew not to steal before this incident, but after that I would never, ever steal again.

It really wasn’t about the ‘Fireball’ either. The fact that I lied was the real crime. The way mom paraded me around the neighborhood, screaming and yelling for all the kids to see. She made a point of it and it worked.

Like my dad always used to say "You have to learn everything the Hard Way don’t ya!?"

Man, was he ever right!

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Chapter 2

TROUBLE

I can’t quite say when life started getting real for me. Or when I first started noticing drinking and/or drugging, but I do remember my dad being able to smoke marijuana in the cancer ward at the Bay Area hospital. Apparently they allowed that back then for cancer treatment patients.

At the time I thought it was the coolest thing ever. Here is my idol, in a major, big city hospital, defying all of our social norms and using an illegal substance. Nuts! Once my father was done with all his treatment, which felt like a lifetime, and declared healthy enough they finally allowed him to come home.

The relief of knowing my dad wasn’t going to die just yet was awesome. Moving back home and having our family back together felt great. It took some time to get used to seeing my dad sleeping in the living room in a full blown hospital bed and being as scrawny as he was. He still needed a lot of care but at least he was home!

I was so used to being out and about by the time my father returned that I began hanging out away from home with friends more and more. Being just in my teens and trying to find myself I got into a bit of trouble here and there. Nothing out of the norm for your average inquisitive kid. However I did have a couple instances in which, at local parties, I would try smoking marijuana and have a beer or two.

I remember it tasting like crap and I really didn’t like the woozy feelings I’d get. Although I didn’t like the taste of beer, or any other alcohol for that matter, I continued to experiment and fall to peer pressure. As time went on, and more and more extracurricular activities would arise, I would continue experimenting. Still in my early teens but had a good idea of what affects marijuana and alcohol had on my body and mind.

Around this time in my life was the first couple of times I was shot at by high powered rifles and/or shotguns. You heard me right; shot at!

Imagine having a 13 year boy and his buddies come running in the house screaming about how the neighbor had just shot at them for getting too close to his Patch (Illegal Marijuana grow). I imagine my mom was freaking out!

The sheriff’s office was called and hours later, when they finally showed up, nothing was done. Apparently the few hours that he had before law enforcement arrived was enough time for him to hide his shit and concoct a story about how it was all one big lie.

Let me elaborate a little more on this first shooting incident a bit.

So the local neighborhood boy’s and I all liked building forts, romping through the woods, and playing ‘G.I. Joe’ types games and stuff; normal activities for country kids our age at the time. In a town with only 2,000 people we didn’t have many extracurricular activities for local youth. We had a small movie theater that played movies every weekend but only at night. That was about all. No parks, skating rinks, or bowling alleys. No arcades, clubs, or malls. You would have to travel at least a one hour drive each way to find proper shopping.

During the summer months around here the heat can reach blistering, brutal temperatures and we had the most amazing, crystal clear, swimming hole right behind my parents house. Just a few minutes jaunt down to our own private little paradise. Swimming at the lake’s, kayaking down the rivers, and fishing at the ocean were the most common things to do around here to have fun. Many endless hot summer days were spent down at the local swimming holes.

Just off the river bank across from my childhood neighborhood is a huge cattle ranch. Over a couple thousand acres. It has so much land that the ranchers never really even see it all; especially those small little areas down by the river(s) where cattle seldom venture.

One humid August afternoon, my good friends Jason, Marcus and myself all laid out in the sand, below my parents house, to warm up after a refreshing summer swim.

Warming up a bit we then decided to adventure through the nearby woods a bit before heading up to the house for the evening. About 10 to 20 yards or so from the river, up through the thick maze of the brush and cool canopy of the trees we started to hear an adult-like voice yelling from back down on the nearby river bar. Not recognizing the voice, and not giving a damn, we kept on mobbing.

Next thing you know we could feel the leaves around us, violently being smacked out of the way in all directions followed by a deafening BOOM!

If you are lucky enough to never have been shot at then let me explain something. Depending on the distance from you to the shooter and how close the bullet is to your body; you typically feel the air being moved by the projectile first before you hear the gun go off.

If it isn’t the air whizzing or cracking then you will see leaves move or dirt be kicked up etc. It can be quite nerve racking, especially for a teenager. Just like a fish pushes away the water as it swims, projectiles push away the air as they fly.

Being that bullets travel faster than the speed of sound the explosion of the cartridge going off is slightly delayed.

Once my friends and I realized what was happening to us we freaked, hit the ground, and smashed our bodies behind anything big enough to protect us from being impaled.

Laying there trembling, I remember watching leaves shredding to smaller and smaller pieces all around me. At this point we believe he was shooting at us with a shotgun loaded with bird-shot, that’s why every shot hit so many leaves and scattered so far around us. It was a few seconds or so between each shot but it felt like an eternity before he finally ran that weapon dry. (out of ammunition).

When the thundering noise of the weapon being fired had finally stopped the screaming of this lunatic ensued. I cautiously peered my little head out from around the madrone tree I was clinging to just in time to see a middle aged man with a shotgun in his arms and some type of other rifle slung over his shoulder. He was now switching from a weapon that covered more ground, the shotgun, to something a bit more … precise, a hunting rifle.

That was our chance to get the hell outta there! When that moment went down I made eye contact with my two friend’s, and the fear in their eyes said it all. RUN!

We then bolted in the opposite direction as fast as our legs possibly could. Tripping and stumbling as branches slapped our faces and blackberries tore at our arms.

The thing that kinda sucked is that we were now running in the opposite direction of my parents house and further onto somebody else’s cattle ranch. As we began our death-dash away from this asshole we could now hear a slightly different sound echoing off of the canyon walls as he was now stalking us with a high powered rifle.

Dipping and diving through all sorts of poison oak, broken branches and thorns; scrambling up ravines and wading back through muddy creeks we were finally out of this guy’s range.

Even though we believed we were far enough away from being shot we still thought that if we stopped, even for a moment, that we’d be back in his sights. So we couldn’t, even for a second, stop and catch our breathe.

Exhausted, we knew we had to push on if we wanted to live. Wanting to make it out of this alive we had to outsmart the man that was now hunting us.

The one thing we had going for us was that we were young, fast and knew the area well. We didn’t recognize this guy; so he couldn’t be local. There was no way he knew about the suspension bridge upriver. If we could only make it there, we could then, with the cover of darkness, make it back across to the county road where we could run like the wind and not be seen.

He would continue searching for us on the ranch and god willing, get shot himself, we hoped. People must have heard the shots by now but that wasn’t anything unusual in our area. Hunting and shooting are a regular occurrence where I’m from. We knew that no one was coming for us.

What would have normally been an easy quarter mile walk home had turned into a few mile trudge through some very difficult terrain. While making our way home we joked that we knew how to play ‘GI Joe’ for real now.

When we finally made it back to the bright street lights of my neighborhood I remember feeling an overwhelming sigh of relief; a huge weight being lifted off my shoulders. Scared and tired, being next to a community of people, provided us a false sense of security.

The shooter was still nearby and searching for us. Every shadow that moved became a threat. Every twig branch breaking and every owl hooting. Any little disturbance to our surroundings had to be him.

Afraid this monster was still lurking in the darkness somewhere behind us, just out of sight, waiting for his moment to strike, we moved stealthily through the neighborhood.

Once back to the security of my front lawn I felt I was finally safe. Slowly and gratefully we crept back into my house; dripping wet in sweat and covered in filth. Standing in the kitchen was mom, a look on her face of anger and confusion. It was dark out now and she was a little pissed off to say the least.

All three of us began telling her our version of the story all at once. Our adrenaline spiking and anxiety through the roof.

Three overzealous adolescents; I’m surprised she heard a single thing we said. By the time we had finished explaining to her what had just transpired she was already mid-panic and on the phone with the 911 dispatcher.

Of course they said officers were on their way, but being where we live, they typically took their sweet time responding; if ever coming at all.

A good time later, when the officers did finally arrive, they told us that there was no evidence of a crime and that it was his word against ours.

So basically we took it that nobody believed us and thought we were liars. It was frustrating when we had a need for Law Enforcement in our town; because they looked at us as Outlaws.

Didn’t matter if you were a law abiding citizen or not. Guilty by association. The Sheriff of Humboldt County, at a town meeting some years later, would state that If you people want to live an outlaw lifestyle then you can police yourselves! What a Dick!

But of course every time I made a mistake, such as speeding, disorderly conduct, or noise complaints etc, the cops showed up instantly. That was just the way things were and I had to