posted on Nov, 20 2010 @ 02:24 PM
In the 80's I lived in Anchorage Alaska. You could go anywhere and catch salmon till your arms fell off. I would drive for hours to fish in
completely desolate (of people) lakes. There were several lakes that were so clear you could see the trout swimming two hundred feet down (they were 8
to 28 inches long) you could see the bottom of every lake just by peering over the edge of the boat. After several years of catching these trout that
were as long as your arm, I checked the map for new and more challenging lakes. I found a lake Southwest of Wasilla that had "fingers" cut into one
side of it. Each one was 50 by 2,000 foot long, obviously man made. I didn't bring my boat and planed to fish these "fingers" from the bank.
I arrived at the lake before noon and toted my gear- two poles, my tackle box and the famed single handle "Igloo" beer cooler. I had walked about
300 yards in my hip waders alongside a "finger" when a Bumble Bee (almost the size of a golf ball) chased me for a hundred yards. It was like a
guided missile, when I turned sharp and then hid, it followed and attacked! I had a pole in each hand (along with the cooler and tackle box in each
hand) to sword fight it, until I would give up and run again. After 10 minuets of this scenario, it finally gave up on it's mission, being hell bent
to get me. (was that my warning?)
I had snapped my Fly pole running through the trees and was tired from all the the frantic running. I rigged up my Casting pole and walked out to
where the water was just above my knees, between two trees 20 feet apart. 15 min went by and I figured I better change lure. My right foot had sunk
past my ankle in the silt and I pulled hard to get unstuck. My left foot sunk deeper. I had been in this situation before and kept working to get at
least one foot unstuck.
Almost an hour went by and the water was to my waist, I had mud to my calves and the waders were like a second skin. I couldn't move, I tried
everything. By now the water was up to my armpits. I saw my cooler float by and then my tackle box (and needless to say, my life too) That's when I
started yelling help. There was no body on these lakes and I knew it. I went under water and tried to dig my legs free, only to run out of air! I came
up yelling help. I yelled only to hear my echos of help, I had a wife and two daughters to live for. I was done.
That's when I heard a calm voice say "catch this knife" I looked over and it was an old man in his 80's. I told him I was stuck real bad- he said,
"I know, cut em off" and tossed me a knife- It was a perfect ten foot toss and I caught it! I went under water and sliced my waders from the hip to
the thigh (240 bucks worth)- when I came up again he was reaching out his walking stick to pull me out. It was 5 feet too short. I yelled at him to
come closer, "just grab hold of the tree branch there and I could reach it" He shook his head and said again "cut em off" and then he walked away
behind the trees.
The knife was a small "Old Timer" fold out knife, and I cut each side of my waders down to the knee (below the mud level) I came back up and yelled
for him a couple times (the water was at my shoulders now) He came back and asked if I had cut em off. I told him I couldn't cut any farther than my
calf area. He replied in a calm voice "you ain't the first one to get caught in this rising tide" The water was easily to my neck now and I asked
him "what else should I do?" He shoved a long branch he had came back with towards me as he held on to a tree trunk, (3 or 4 feet away from the
waterline, I was getting mad at this situation, as the old guy seemed to refuse to get into the water to save me) and then he said the last word I can
remember at that point "live"
I had to lean backwards to grab the branch and holding on to it, I went underwater as I was pulled to safety. It wasn't 10 seconds before my legs
were free, and my head came to the waters edge. By the time I had caught my breath, while watching him walk away only to vanish within 15 feet. I
blinked my eyes as I heard his voice calmly say "It happened to me some years back."
I called out again, but he was out of sight. I was to exhausted to even stand.
To this day I don't know if he was a ghost, or just a kind super strong old man.
There weren't any cabins around there. I knew I could track him, so when I caught my breath, I got up and went to find him. There were no foot
prints. I had put his knife in my left pocket and pulled it out as I walked to return it to him. That's how I know it was an "Old Timer" I walked
for quite a while calling out that I still had his knife, but no luck. I cut my waders down to the boots and walked back to the truck. I decided to
let the Wasilla police department return the knife and hopefully be able to thank the old man sometime soon. When I got back to the truck and pulled
on the handle, then realized the old man's pocket knife (that I never let go of, was gone)
I went round and round with the Wasilla police department for two years regarding this old man, and they insisted he was just another fisherman. Well,
I highly doubt that for many reasons. An 80 year old man with the strength of a horse.
I believe a ghost saved my life.