It was one of those end-of-summer days xe2x80x94 when the weather starts to change, deer fever takes over, and every free moment is spent choosing the perfect spot to outsmart the elusive whitetail. It was on one such quest that I discovered even a seasoned hunter could end up faced with events that would change the entire hunting season in inconceivable ways.

Oklahoma temperatures were expected to be in the 90s, and I regretted the late start to my first stand site. It was 10:45 a.m. and getting hotter by the minute. After driving 25 miles from home, I parked my truck a half-mile off the main road near a cattle gate. I gathered my ladder stand and headed out on foot for the 200-yard hike to the area where I wanted to put my stand.

Tall, wooden power poles stretched down the center of a wide swath of knee-high grass. The pungent odor of freshly turned earth assaulted my senses where feral hogs had plowed the ground to shreds. Covered in sweat, I traveled about 120 yards and turned into a thick stand of oaks. Zigzagging my way through fallen limbs and thorny vines brought me to the edge of a clearing where the specific tree Ixe2x80x99d chosen was located.

Following the same routine as previous years, I leaned the ladder against the oak and strapped it and the bottom brace to the tree. After bouncing up and down on the first rung to seat the ladder in the ground, I re-tightened the strap and climbed 16 feet to the top to secure the platform.

The Unthinkable Happens

As I launched the ratchet strap around the tree, the platform slid to the right. Instinctively, I grabbed for the tree, but my hands slipped along the bark. The stand and I both crashed to the ground.

When I came to, I was lying on my back, both legs under me with my feet shoved up against my rear end. The stand had fallen across my right shoulder. Stunned and disoriented, my mind began to race. I shouldnxe2x80x99t have come alone. I shouldnxe2x80x99t have left my drink in the truck. I should have brought my cell phone. I should have used a safety harness.

Numb from the waist down, Ixe2x80x99d managed to push the ladder stand off me. After several attempts to sit up, I discovered getting my feet out from underneath me wasnxe2x80x99t going to be easy. My legs no longer felt like they were attached to my body, and I was frantic at the thought of being paralyzed. I rolled to the left as far as I could, grabbed a stick and used it to pry one leg out, then turned to the right side and did the same. Relief flooded through me as mind numbing pain surged through my legs. Relief turned to panic as the reality of my situation hit full force. No one is coming for me. Ixe2x80x99m over 200 yards from my truck. What am I going to do?

Using my elbows and hands to maneuver into a sitting position, I assessed the damage. My left knee was grossly out of place. I focused on making a splint from a couple of sticks I found on the ground near me, and a long piece of rope I had in my back pocket. Nauseated and light headed, it took every ounce of strength to concentrate on breathing. White spots clouded my vision. 

Sweat rolled down my forehead and burned my eyes as I looked at my right leg. Blood had seeped through the boot canvas near my ankle and overflowed at the top of the laces. Thankfully, there was a stretchy piece of cloth in another pocket. I cinched it around my lower leg to slow the bleeding. Spent, I leaned back on my elbows to rest. Dear God, how am I going to get out of this?

The best way to get back to my truck was through knee-high grass under the blazing sun, or the narrow trail through the trees with plenty of shade. I opted for the shade.

Agonizing pain shot through both legs as I turned over onto my belly. Chest in the dirt, I used my elbows and hands to pull myself along the ground. I made it 5 feet before passing out. Sharp stinging pain brought me back to consciousness. Black ants were crawling all over me. I flailed my arms, swatted ants and frantically dragged myself until I was about 6 feet farther along the trail. Blood had pooled on the ground beneath my right boot, and my pant leg was saturated. The ants attacked in a swarming frenzy.

Fear overruled common sense, and I decided the only way to get out of there was to walk. I rolled onto my back using my hands to lift one broken leg over the other, sat up and did a butt-walk, until my back was leaning against a tree. Every inch of movement pulled my knee farther out of place. My toes pointed in an unnatural direction. I placed my hands on the tree behind me, and used my backside to scoot upward, in an attempt to get on my feet. White, hot pain seared through both legs. I woke up face first in the dirt.

The Long Crawl Out

I spent the next several hours in a never ending nightmare. Ixe2x80x99d crawl, pass out, wake up, fight ants and start over again. Small obstacles such as limbs and rocks, which Ixe2x80x99d easily stepped over on my way into the woods, were mountains to climb on the way out. During sane moments, thoughts of wild hogs and coyotes crept through my mind and I would call out: xe2x80x9cIs anyone there? Please help me!xe2x80x9d I didnxe2x80x99t expect there to be people around, but I wanted to make sure that any animal nearby knew I was human.

In a dream, or hallucination, my 6-year-old daughter sat in front of me, smiling and talking. Suddenly, her face became a grotesque image youxe2x80x99d see in a horror story, then she repeatedly stabbed me. I couldnxe2x80x99t wrap my mind around why shexe2x80x99d hurt me, but then I jolted awake, and realized it wasnxe2x80x99t her. The ever present ants were biting me again, joined by flies and seed ticks.

Many times I felt like giving up, but thinking about my little girl was enough to push me forward another few feet. I prayed almost constantly. God, please bring me a few drops of rain; please send someone to find me; let me see my daughter one more time; help me get close enough to see my truck.

At one point I heard an engine and screamed as loud as I could, hoping someone would hear me. The engine turned out to be from a plane flying overhead. The disappointment was so great, I felt myself spiraling into a pit of hopelessness. Pain and exhaustion had beaten me down. I was ready to let it take over, but that strong sense of survival kicked in, igniting a glimmer of hope. If I could make it out by dark, Ixe2x80x99d make it out alive. After dark meant very little chance of being seen.

Fading in and out of consciousness made it difficult to keep track of time, but I guessed it had taken several hours to drag my way through the trees and back to the grassy field. 

Inch by miserable inch I clawed my way along the tree line, trying to remain in the shade as much as possible. I was soaked in sweat, my tongue and mouth were parched, and my teeth were stuck to the inside of my lips. I stopped to rest for a few minutes, and must have passed out. When I came to, all the areas that had been in full sun were completely shaded.

I crawled into the grass, and was unable to resist lying there. It was soft compared to the acorns, sticks and rocks Ixe2x80x99d been crawling over, and the gentle breeze cooled my skin.

My mind wandered back to my daughter. What will she do without me? She needs her daddy to take care of her; to watch her grow up. Tears rolled down my cheeks, mingling with the sweat and grime. I slammed my fist on the ground, and forced myself back to reality. What the hell am I doing thinking this way? I am not giving up. Ixe2x80x99m going home to see my wife and little girl. Someone is going to save me. God is going to save me.

Infused with a boost of determination, I grabbed hands full of grass and pulled myself forward. Thick weeds caught in my splint, but I didnxe2x80x99t stop until Ixe2x80x99d made it about 20 feet. It was the farthest Ixe2x80x99d gone at one time. Exhausted, but still conscious, I used the newfound energy to raise myself high enough to look over the grass. My pickup was 40 yards away, and it was motivation enough to get moving. With frequent stops to rest, I made it about 15 yards before I pulled myself up to look again. My heart leapt, and the tears began to pour. My dad was walking around my truck, looking in the windows. I knew I was saved.

Saved at Last!

My voice wavered as I called out for Dad to bring my Gatorade.

xe2x80x9cChris! Are you hurt?xe2x80x9d he yelled.

All I could think of was getting a drink, so again I shouted, xe2x80x9cGatorade!xe2x80x9d

He came running toward me, drink in hand, and hollering for my stepmother to bring some bottled water from their car. He looked startled when he made it to me, and even in the waning light I could see that he was turning pale at the sight of my legs.

Coughing and sputtering, I drank the best hot Gatorade ever. Halfway through the drink, I tossed it aside for the cold water and guzzled every last drop. There were a few glorious moments when I felt no pain, just pure bliss. But it was short lived, because next we had to figure out how to get me in the pickup.

I screamed in agony as my dad and stepmother tried to lift me up. After a few unsuccessful attempts to get me in the seat, I managed to pull myself into the truck while they held my legs to keep them straight.

The 30-minute ride to the hospital was an extension of the nightmare I had endured all day. Every bump in the road was one more stab to my battered legs, but I was no longer alone, and used that to get through the hellishly long trip to the hospital. The anguish of legs moved, poked and prodded by doctors, could not dull the euphoria I felt at being rescued. God and my dad were my heroes.

X-rays revealed that my left tibia was broken at the knee, and split down the center like a piece of firewood. The right ankle and heel were crushed, and there was a 4-inch, horizontal laceration on the inside of the right leg at the ankle. I had three surgeries in the two weeks I spent in the hospital, and I would need to spend three months in a wheelchair to begin my predicted, year-long recovery at home.

The memories of the seven hours I spent in the woods that day haunt me. I wanted to forget them, but I needed to remember. It was the worst day of my life, yet I couldnxe2x80x99t help but look back in awe at how it turned out. God gave me every single thing I asked for that day, and Ixe2x80x99m grateful to be alive to tell my story.

It definitely wasnxe2x80x99t the xe2x80x9cfallxe2x80x9d I had looked forward to, but Ixe2x80x99ll go back next year xe2x80x94 much wiser than the man who went in the fall of 2017.

xe2x80x94 Chris Price is an avid whitetail hunter from southern Oklahoma. This horrible accident occurred in 2017.

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