There's a patch of ice on Trinity Dam Blvd that remains from the first wet freezing night of Fall all the way through winter. I drive over this patch of ice weekly. That is weekly for the past 5 years. I always slow down for it. Even at slow speed, my truck will slide a little as I coast over the patch. On the night of January 12th, 2009 the ice patch got me and won. I went into a slide that got worse and worse. My truck was beyond control. I corrected every way I could. I even stepped on the accelerator pedal all the way to the floor as I approached the cliff, turning hard away from the eminent black void. As I turned the wheel hard to the right, I felt the left side of my truck dip as it slid off the cliff sideways. I starred out the windshield for a flash of a second at the street light illumination, the edge of the cliff and the headlights illuminating the brush on the cliff face. Round and round I went like a rag doll. I thought of my son, Conrad. I kept my eyes open watching for the roof as it caved in. Brush and branches poked and jabbed through the broken driver’s side door window, brushing, slashing at my face. I worked to keep my head inside the cab as it was jerked out of the door window a time or two. My truck, boat and trailer rolled more than 3 times off a cliff estimated by police and paramedics on the scene to be 150' to 200' or more. Finally stopped, I was upside down, in my drivers seat, with the seat belt on. The engine was still rattling away, the radio still on. The headlights illuminating the brush at the bottom of a dark draw. I could hear fuel leaking, draining. The humming sound of the trucks fuel lift pump in the background and silence. I had to really reach to turn the keys in the ignition off. I thought of burning to death. At first I could not reach my seat belt buckle and thought I would have to wait here until someone found me. I screamed for help more than once, my voice echoing in the complete cold, dank darkness. I refused to panic, but felt raw fear. I wiggled to reach the seat belt buckle, pressed the button and was released dropping just slightly, but firmly on my head and shoulders. Some how I slid out the driver’s side window-opening and stood up in a cluster of brush and branches. Immediately I started climbing up the cliff like spider man thinking how the f%&*k did I just survive that. Once on the road, I looked for blood, bones and hanging flesh. I cut my finger pretty bad while climbing the cliff on a thorn or something. My head was bleeding, but not bad. My neck hurt, but not real bad. I made it. I could not believe I just got up, climbed up a cliff and walked away. I was freaking out, telling myself to relax, slow the breathing down and walk slowly. Slowly down Trinity Dam Blvd. I looked over the cliff briefly and all I saw, way down at the bottom was the head lights of my truck shinning into the brush. I couldn't take the sight. I loved that truck. I still had my cell phone in my pocket, but no cell service. After walking 5-10 minutes Rick and Patty drove up and I stepped into their truck. They heard the crash and my yells, screams for help. Dazed, I just sat there in their truck emotionless. I was taken to Mercy Medical Center in an ambulance. After X-rays, cat scan, passing out a couple times, needles and catheter being inserted and removed, they rolled me out at 6:30 AM on Jan. 13th with a prescription for pain killers. I made it.
In no particular order except for my wife who is always first:
Thanks to my wife Patty, I love you very, very much.
Thanks to Patty and Rick of Lewiston for being first on the scene. I felt better at that point. I new it was over when you showed.
Thanks Lonnie for getting all my stuff out of the bottom of that pit and loading it into my wife's car. You rule!
Big Thanks to Duane for loaning me a vehicle.
Big Thanks to Mike Parker for loaning me a boat.
Brian Balog..thanks for delivering a boat for me to use...I think it was your Dad's boat, so thanks Mr. B all the same!
Big Thanks to The Fly Shop for being there.
Big Thanks to Michael Caranci for checking in with my wife and being there.
Thanks to all the guides who checked in with me. And I thought I had no real friends.
I'll be back on the water Saturday!
2-2-09: I have driven this road a few times in the dark since the accident and there is no street light at the accident scene. There is no street light anywhere near the scene. It's a dark black road at night. I remember seeing an orange/yellowish light illuminating the scene immediately before and after the accident as I wrote above. Once I climbed back to the road, I thought I was standing under a light. I could see my clothes, shoes, the cut on my hand. In truth, there is no light on that road. None. It's just plain dark.
