Sailor crawled onto the sandy beach, dry bag slung across his shoulder. He knew that this was the point in which most men in this situation gave up. The point in which they decided that they were going to die. It would be so easy to just lay there and go to sleep. He was so very, very tired. He couldn't remember ever being this tired before. When he was seventeen Sailor and a friend had driven to Colorado to hunt elk with their bows. They had packed in several miles and were in the animals bedroom. On the fourth day of the hunt his friend had killed a large bull in a deep ravine. While packing out the quarters his partner had fallen and broken his leg. Sailor set the kids leg and carried him five miles back to the trail head and the truck. After dropping his buddy off at the hospital, Franklin returned to their camp and packed out all of their gear and the remainder of the meat and horns. He had never been so tired and sore in his life, until now.

As he lay there with his face in the cool sand something caught his eye. It was a flame. The sand and boulder were still burning, covered with fuel from the plane. Franklin stood and staggered toward the eerie light, falling several times. He had not yet begun to shake uncontrollably but it would be soon. If he didn't get a fire going before that happened it would be too late. His hands had become numb and nearly useless, so he broke dead limbs from the lower portion of an evergreen with his forearms and kicked them toward the fire. When he had enough of a fire going he opened the dry bag. It took all of the effort and concentration that he could muster to get the bag open. The cold was like nothing that he had ever felt before. It was nearly overwhelming, shattering his will power and focus but somehow he moved. It was like being in a dream and watching yourself try to do something, like run from some unknown danger. Your feet just wouldn't go as the threat came closer and closer and your heart was trying to burst out of your chest. He gave the bag a slap with his frozen paw and the contents spilled onto the sand. A polar fleece jacket, socks and pants, a Leatherman multi-tool, space blanket, flint and steel with some paraffin soaked cotton, hand held radio, GPS, Mini-Mag lite, energy bars, bullion cubes and some beef jerky in a tin cup, compass, maps, binoculars and a hard plastic case containing a Ruger MKIII Hunter pistol with a box of one hundred rounds of .22 ammo.

Clumsily and painstakingly slow, he was able to shed the wet clothes that threatened to rid him of his precious core heat. With pain and intense focus he managed to dress himself in the polar fleece and wrap up in the space blanket. In another hour he had a roaring fire and had situated himself between the boulder and the flames, enjoying the reflected heat on his back and the direct heat from the fire at his warming feet.

Sailor didn't know how long he had been out but the sun was poking above the eastern horizon. As he stood to stretch he could barely believe his eyes. He threw down the blanket and rushed down the shore. There, at the far end of the lake where a creek entered, was a canoe. It was heading his way and from this distance it looked as if there were three men in the big voyager. He began to wildly wave his arms and shout. He could clearly see, even at this distance that the men hadn't noticed him before he began his wild dance. The canoe stopped abruptly and turned into shore. What were they doing? Sailor ran back and grabbed up the Swarovski binoculars. He saw the men get out of the canoe and stand about for a moment, discussing something. One of them went to the canoe and retrieved a couple of rifles and handed one to one of the other men. The two armed men jogged a little way up the beach and vanished into the thick forest. The other guy stayed with the boat. Sailor didn't know for sure what was going on. The only thing that he did know for sure was that he was starting to feel very uncomfortable.

Stay tuned for next installment.