HOW I LOST MY TOES:
I was day hiking up near Mt. Baker towards the middle-end of March. I was on a picture hunt and had driven about 8 miles up a forest service road past Darington. I took minimal stuff with me in a backpack thinking I would only be gone a couple hours.

I went into the woods and was crossing a river when I fell off a log and into that river (upper Stillguwamish). There were class 2 and 3 rapids with log jams on just about every corner, as well as a swift water flow. I almost drowned 5 or so times, coming up for breath and to tell individual family members that I loved them; as I didnt expect to make it around the next river bend.

It seemed like each time I tried swimming to a side of the river bank, there would be a bend in the river (with stacks of logs on the bank protruding into the water) that didn't favor my chosen direction for salvation.

After barely freeing my arm from logs on (the last) bend as I was stuck under water, I knew it was time for desperate measures. Having already lost a shoe, I decided to ditch my snowpants filled with gear as an attempt to decrease drag so that I could make one last attempt to get to shore. I unzipped my pants and took my belt off (retaining it in case I needed to tourniquette later) with one arm and away they went down the river...along with my phone, wallet and my other shoe.

With successfully removing some clothes/weight and a little mercy from God, I finally found a spot in the river that was shallow enough to dig in and catch myself from continuing down and around an 8th bend. Taking a moment to catch my breath and muster the energy to look up, I peered down the river only to see that the biggest log jam I have ever seen was waiting for me 50 yards further; I don't think I would have been able to outswim the currents that surely would have spit me directly to my doom.

I spent the rest of the day searching up and down several sides of two different mountains looking for a trail, road, person or my car. I was pretty deep into the woods, I hadn't seen a speck of trash, nor heared any engines from cars, snowmobiles or airplanes. I was alone. Vastly alone.

The sun was beginning to set and there I stood, in my boxers, with a belt around my waist and a half torn to shit T shirt thinking to myself, "I could quite possibly die up here, less than a few miles away from my car. Almost naked, scrapped up from my feet to my knees with a car full of snow gear that I couldn't find. That would dumbfound my friends and horrify my family. I am not going to die like this".

I found a big section of the woods that was covered, I mean absolutely covered in moss and decided to make that my home for the evening. I collected as much of it as I could along with some ferns and put it all in a pile. Sitting down, I examined my body. The cuts and scraps weren't not that big of a deal, but my feet were as white as paper and extremely dull and bone-cold to the touch. I rubbed and massaged them, but none of the feeling was returning. I knew I was going to have some kind of price to pay for all this.

I laid the ferns horizontal over my body from my chin down past my feet and the buried myself in a blanket of moss. It was the worst night's sleep I have ever had. Waking every 20 to 30 or so minutes, violently shaking from the cold and collecting the moss that had fallen off my body as to rebuild my blanket from Gia. There was a fleeting moment in the night I wished for death, but death was too busy to find me...

Waking with the rise of the sun, I decided to rub my feet until that bright orb in the sky had a chance to peak over one of the mountain ridges that surrounded me all around so that I could tell which way was east and west. It took about 2 hours, but finally I was on my way; to where I did not know.

I found a river, which appear to be the river I fell into, but I wasn't 100% sure. I debated going back up river in search for my car, but the thought of just following the path of least resistance out of the forest sounded like the better idea. So I followed the river down stream, finding comfort in the thought that I might not know where I was, but I was no longer lost....I was next to a river.

I ate "mountain salad" (you can pretty much eat anything that is new growth) and tried to keep as many of my (barefooted) steps out of the snow as I could whilst sticking to areas that where within eyesight of the river.

About 5 hours into my trip down stream, I came to a large mudslide down the left hill and into the river. I took a few steps into the mudslide, but found that walking thru mud that was above my knee was not an easy trek, so I went up and around the top of it; only to find around the bend in the river, there was yet another giant mudslide.

I took a moment to scout around, noticing that the option of continuing to go above the 2nd slide was not a good one due to thick brush and large snow patches. So I traversed down thru the slide, in my past my knees. I grew tired and paused mid-way down. I took a moment to admire the beauty of my surroundings, only to see a cylinder shaped metallic object sitting in the Sun above me on top of the mud. "Is that what I think it is?", I thought.

I must have starred at it for over 5 minutes, debating whether or not I was actually looking at a tallboy beer can or not. Again, I hadn't seen or heard anything human related since my car some 35 or so hours prior. I proceeded up the hill, in the mud and grabbed the object. It was a Budweiser can with a slightly faded logo. I thought to myself, "Ok Cook. Three options, there is either a trail, road or some a-hole in an airplane threw this out his window while flying from Bellingham to Spokane".

I paused and thoughts about what to do. Deciding to ditch the river idea and electing the continue heading up the side of the hill and into the gut of the mountain above me. 500 yards into the woods, I came to a road. Not just any road, I recognized it as the forest service road my car was parked on!

Now, where I found the road was exactly where the snow started on the road. Knowing that I had driven my Subaru WRX no more than 3 miles up the road in the snow, I knew if I wanted to I could make it back to my car (I had left the keys in it). My other thought was that if I went right, downhill in the dirt...I didn't have to subject my already beaten and dulled feet to anymore walking on the cold white stuff that I so love and that I could within 5 miles be back to a (not so commonly used) highway and into a potential rescue.

Car or life? Up or down. Snow or dirt? The question was right there in front of my face, presenting itself as if some test from God.

I did what any redblooded American would do, I turned left, into the snow and up the road towards my car.

10 steps later, my heart, brain and soul were screaming at me in dissappointment. "Save yourself you idiot. Forget your stuff. Your feet are f*cked...do you want to really risk this?". I decided to turn around and head down the road.

I am glad that I did because two turns in the road later, there was a white truck parked on the side of the road with a man taking pictures next to it. "Hello, I am so glad to see you. I need help. I'm ok, but I got lost", I calmly-screamed.

The man looked up from his camera, bewildered at what he was seeing; a 6'3", 200lbs white dude with mud and blood all over his legs, wearing boxers and a belt around his belly, no shirt on, no shoes and moss dangling from that belt, walking stick in hand. Like some kind if caveman, just with less upper body strength.

The man happened to be a forest service employee that was documenting new mudslides in the area along the road. "Lucky for you, had you come 2 minutes later I would have been gone. I was only here for 5 minutes and usually I don't come this far up the road, but something in my head told me today that if I did I would find something interesting. And here you are", he told me.

He had asked me what I wanted to do, his truck was only 2wd so the options were to warm up in his truck and head back to my car by foot (on my own) or to seek a ride with him back into town. I elected to head to town, telling him that I thought I needed to see a doctor per my suspected case of frost bite.

"Do you mind if I radio this in?", he asked me. I told him that I thought that was ok.....

"Hey, this is George here. I found a man up on FS 23. His name is Christopher Cook, he is 36 years old and he is inappropriately dressed and potentially has frostbite so I am bringing him to the clinic in town".

Rubbing my aching feet that were now turning purple under the heater of his pickup, I giggled a bit as to his comment; "inappropriately dressed".

From the clinic, I went by ambulance to the hospital in Arlington. I had all ten of my toes amputated later at a hospital in Spokane.

Now I can no longer tip toe into the kitchen in the middle of the night to sneak into the cookie jar like I used to as a kid....

But at least I am alive. God willing, I made it.