A 67-year-old retired Air National Guard lieutenant colonel from Fresno failed to return from a July 28 one-day outing in the rugged Sierra National Forest.
His name is James Arthur. Arthur's Dodge Ram pickup was found in an entrance to Iron Lakes.
I went to go find him. I wanted to assist the other authorities.
I pull out all available maps of the area. I load my topomap CD into my computer and try to find an access road near his last known location away from other search and rescue personnel.
I plot my route and my destination. I plug in the coordinates into my GPS and I show Pam the location of where I will be. I leave her with the extra map with the grid coordinates.
I unload my gear from my truck. I am packing close to two gallons of water since there are no watering points along the way. I also am carrying trail mix, GU gels, and a package of Mountain House lasagna for my Saturday night dinner.
I try to call my wife with the cellphone but there is no reception. Not one stinking bar. Oh well, at least Pam knows where I am at and knows when I will return.
Poison oak everywhere and the forest was so thick it was difficult for me to maneuver through the trees with my backpack. Every step there was a snag between me and a tree.
I stumble upon my destination. This is a good place to set up camp. An oasis. Shaded and cool. It overlooks where I came up from. I brought along my bivy sack knowing the weather conditions would be sunny, clear and hot. I also brought plenty of DEET. There is poison oak all around but not enough to be concerned about.
I go around my home to mark my territory. This is bear country. Don't know if the smell of my urine will keep the bears at bay, but you never know.
As I survey my site, I spot a small spring about three feet across some 30 yards away. Not shown on the map. The water is cold to the touch.
I will build no fire due to the extreme fire danger in the area. The only light I will have is my headlamp and a small dynamo-charged camplight. Also, Mother Nature saw fit to provide me a first quarter moon.
I brought my harmonica. I can't play very well, but at least out here nobody will complain. At least, it lets everything know I am out here.
I also brought my .44 pistol.
Just about an hour before sunset, I cook my lasagna by heating up some water using my JetBoil. I fire up the stove and place it in a little clearing I made so that it would stand upright during the boiling phase. About 20 minutes later, I pour the boiling water into the pouch and let it stand for a good 15 minutes.
After taking care of pre-sunset business, I sit down on a log and dip my spork in to taste the first spoonful of my delicacy. A meal fit for a king. Sprinkled some packaged parmesan cheese and I was good to go.
I see the sun's orange rays caress the tops of the trees. The bugs are up and about.
My ears ring from the silence. Hearing improves dramatically when you are all alone in the wilderness. I can hear the faintest of sounds.
I turn off my lights. Had it not been for the moon, it would have been pitch black.
I hear the crickets. I hear the wind through the trees. There is peace. I fall asleep.
In the middle of the night I hear sticks breaking and leaves crumpling. Bear or deer or Lost Art? I sit up to hear where the noise was coming from. It was coming from above me up the slope. I feel my heart racing in my chest.
I see nothing. I try to lie down and go back to sleep, but I might as well forget it because my adrenaline levels are high at this moment.
I hear another noise. This time I see a ghostly shape come closer and closer. I turn on my headlamp.
It is a deer. In fact there are four of them. They come to the spring to drink. It is a sight to behold. I could almost reach out to pet them.
Then another loud noise behind me. I turn around and see nothing. I turn back around again to see the if the deer are still there. They are gone. Did the noise frighten them or what made the noise frighten them?
I shine my headlamp in the direction of the second noise.
It is a black bear. What is up with me and the bears? First, it was Pam and her encounter at Whitney Portal, then it was another encounter above Vernal Falls in Yosemite and now this. What is the correlation? What is the connection? What is the mantra?
I flail my arms and shout and blow into my whistle. I am making as much noise as I could but the bear is unfazed by my tactics. I am a dead man. I reach down to my pack and grab my pistol. There is a round in the chamber.
We are at a standoff. Not one of us is backing down, although my thoughts right now was how am I going to get out of this predicament alive. I did not want to shoot the bear. I was in its neighborhood. It had more rights than me to the territory we stood upon.
Now my heart is really thumping. I can feel the blood pulsating around my temples. I take several slow deep breaths.
It comes closer. It is about ten yards away from me. It is sniffing and snorting at me. It is also licking its jaws.
Then just like that it started to move away from me towards the spring. Thirsty bear? I hope so and it is not a hungry bear. The bear leaves without incident.
I try to lie back down to sleep. Forget it. I look at my watch. It is 3:30. Another two and a half hours before civil twilight. So I sit with my back against the log reliving the early morning events. What a day and it isn't even daylight yet! I finally doze off.
I awaken at first light. No signs of Lost Art. I boil water to make some tea to go with my breakfast that consits of a Clif bar carrot cake.
I check my water supplies. I have another gallon of water left. I fill up my Camelbak bladder and dump the rest onto the ground. I break camp and head back to my vehicle.
Before I leave, I write a message for Lost Art and place it on the log using a rock to secure it in place in hopes he will see it:
Wherever you are, you must be home.
