Cold Enough

#82 - The fog could stretch for miles, then clear up, in patches, having dissipated or lifted. The urge was to get up to speed again, only to have the fog close in again.

Welcome! - I’m glad you are here. Upon seeing the crazy cold temperatures across much of the country, I’m reminded of my craziest encounter with cold weather. 

“Cold Enough” 

We were on the road at 4 am. I’d had only a couple hours sleep after a late night.  

Four of us were in Terry’s car. 

We were going to Holly Beach, on the Gulf. As the crow flies it’s about twenty-five miles south but it’s more like forty or so to drive there. 

We wanted to be set up by 6:30. 

It was late December, before Christmas. It was cold, almost freezing. A cold front was moving through. 

Highway 27 south of Hackberry can be treacherous this time of year. The thickest fog and mist I’ve ever seen blankets the marsh. A ground fog.  

It’s still dark. 

You had to slow down, hoping everyone else did also. Though there is little early morning traffic down that way, mainly oilfield workers or duck hunters and fisherman, it is the cattle that are the concern.  

Not big herds of cattle but a few dozen spread out over much of ten miles. 

It was open range. The cattle would get up on the roadway at night for the relative warmth the road provided as opposed to standing in the marsh.  

The marshes, being shallow, lose their heat to the cold.  

We go “surfing” near Holly Beach. Usually, the surf is just a sloppy chop that doesn’t amount to much. The waves were only good when storms were in the gulf. 

I’ve seen ice in the tidal pools along the beach. But the gulf water is warmer than the air. By a lot. It takes the chill away. We didn’t have wet suits.  

Anyway, it was slow going making sure you didn’t hit a cow.  

If you hit a cow, it was never good. You had to pay for it, not to mention the damage done to your vehicle, plus knowing your day was pretty much messed up. 

The fog could stretch for miles, then clear up, in patches, having dissipated or lifted. The urge was to get up to speed again, only to have the fog close in again.  

You can’t see the cows, or cars, until you are almost on them. It seemed there was always a close call or two. 

There were accidents. There had been fatalities.  

A friend of ours hit a cow and her calf. Flipped the cow up onto the hood and windshield. He had to pay for the cows. His truck was totaled. 

There’s no room to maneuver. Much of the way has very little shoulder with marsh or sloughs on either side of the road. 

We made it through the cow gauntlet to Holly Beach by 5:30.  

Seasonal campers, second homeowners, and residents, usually fisherman and oil field workers, make up the town. There is one small grocery store and a cafe/bar. It was open for the morning “rush”. 

We were tempted to stop for more coffee, but we were behind schedule. Besides, we had thermoses full. 

Holly Beach has a few hundred people but down to maybe a hundred now for the winter. 

No traffic lights. Strung out for a half mile between the beach and the highway, it has six streets running parallel to the beach. There used to be more, but erosion is taking them one by one. 

Hurricanes Audrey, Ike, and Rita wiped Holly Beach off the map. It rebuilds.  

A couple of miles east of town and still mindful of the cows, we turned in at a one lane wooden bridge across the slough. A short muddy drive ended at a gate. We had arrived at our destination. Almost. 

We still had a few hundred yards of marsh to wade through to get to our blind. 

We were going duck hunting.  

I wasn’t much of a hunter, but I went often enough. It was fun.  

It’s hard to imagine in today’s world, but many of my fellow students in school had guns in their cars or trucks out in the parking lot.  

Hunting was the norm, and for some, their livelihood.  

We suited up. Meaning, we put on chest high waders for the trek to the blind. Plus, shotgun, shell belt, game bag, and small backpack with thermos, snacks, and rain jacket.  

The water was hip and waist deep. One of these days we’d get a boat. 

There was no concern about gators at this time of year as they would be inactive, hunkered down in the mud, semi hibernating. 

We weren’t on our way for very long before I could feel a small leak in the lower left leg of my waders. By the time we reached the blind, it was full halfway up my shinbone. 

Once in the blind, I emptied the water out, but my sock and jeans to the knee were wet, and cold.  

A light rain began. 

A mile north is a marshland/wildlife preserve. Geese gather there in numbers you can only guess at. In the morning before dawn, they rise as one like a cloud into the sky to begin their day. 

They darken the sky with their sheer numbers while raising a cacophony of noise with their riotous honking.  

It is a visceral thing. You can feel it deep inside. Just about the loudest thing I've ever heard. Makes you want to join in. So, we do, honking and howling with the geese. 

The quiet returns as the geese spread out and disappear over thousands of acres of marsh. 

We got almost our limit of ducks. The geese were too high for the most part. A few came in to our calls but veered off. 

By 8:30, it’s raining harder, and we are cold. 

After bagging a couple of the ducks we had called in, I was reloading my shotgun.  

I would take off my glove, get the shells from my vest, and load them one by one into the chamber.  

My cold fingers fumbled one of the shells as I slid it into the chamber and the mechanism closed on my thumb. I can still see it happening, in slow motion.  

It was a butt pucker moment. There was blood.

There was laughter.  

My thumb was numb with a pinch cut. 

My left foot was cold from the leak.  

And coffee, like beer, runs its course and the time comes when nature calls.  

I took off my rain jacket, unstrapped and lowered my waders to get to my jeans. This is a time sensitive endeavor. It was raining.  

Upon zippering up, I managed, with numb fingers and a sore right thumb, to catch my “self”, my “purpose”, in the zipper.  

It was another butt pucker moment along with fireworks, bells and whistles, sirens and alarms, and hot flashes. 

Getting uncaught was something - else. There was blood. 

The extended rounds of laughter, somehow including my own, almost got us warm. 

By 9:30, we’d had enough for the day and headed back to the car. 

Of course, that meant I would get water in my waders again, but it would soon be over. Warmth was a short distance away. 

That was the coldest I’ve ever been. 

How cold was it?  

It was hand stinging numb. Ice formed on the bill of my rain jacket hood. My eyes brows were numb. My teeth were chattering. We all had the shakes. Cold to the bone. 

Cold enough.  

We stopped at the cafe to thaw out with the help of a big breakfast. 

We made plans to come back next weekend.  

I’d be home early enough to tend my wounds and get some sleep. 

I had a date that night with Sheila. She'd get a kick out of what happened. 

Siamese Triplets were playing that night at the Old Highway 90 club. They rock.

 

Thank you for reading Before I Forget . . ! Please leave a Comment. I much appreciate it! 

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See you next week, my friends. :)