I was about 29 when this happened to me. I was coming out of the woods after elk hunting in an area that we have dubbed “elk swamp” as it is a marshy area that a small creek drains into before exiting into a pretty good flowing creek. I was walking along the ridge that goes to the main walking trail that is about a tenth of a mile from the swamp, when I sense something flying towards my head to my right. Since it is past dusk, but not dark yet, my first thought is owl or bat. I duck and a good sized piece of of branch hits one of the trees to my right.
I immediately look in the direction where the flying branch came from and see another one coming towards me. I duck behind the ridge and backtrack about 15 yards thinking my dad, or his friend, is messing with me as I am walking out. I slowly raise up to try to see their movement and I see nothing. I just wait for awhile because I know I am going to see them move over the fold of the ridge, but nothing. I move back down the trail and pick up one of the pieces of wood that was thrown at me and realize it’s a pretty good chunk of wood.
I still haven’t seen any movement and at least 5 minutes have gone by since the initial throw. I figure I’ll throw the wood back in the direction it came and try to hit them hiding on the other side of the ridge. Now I can throw pretty damn good and I couldn’t even get the wood halfway there. I never felt so powerless in the woods at that moment. I picked up the other piece of wood and I put everything into it because I wasn’t believing what was happening to me. Same result, wood lands in the grass before even getting to the base of the next ridge. I can hit the backstop with a baseball from the outfield and I’m really starting to wonder who the hell just threw these two branches at me.
I decide to walk down the trail and back towards where we were supposed to meet in an area we have dubbed “coyote flats”. Before I can get to the steep climb out I see my dad sitting off the trail under his favorite pine tree. I ask him if he was down by the swamp and he says he’s been under his tree. I ask him where his friend is and he says they split up at another spot earlier that evening. I tell him about the branches thrown at me and I know he wasn’t the one because there was no revelry at all. We walk out together and find his friend in Coyote Flats and confirm he hadn’t been down by the swamp.
I’ve ranged that ridge top every time I walk the ridge back to the swamp and it stays a constant 125 yards. Not sure how someone was able to get those branches that far, but it sure makes me think a lot.
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