Iím back to the present and the land of the living, after a four-week hiatus down memory lane.

A lot of people commented on my adventure in the mountains 33 years ago, which I reprinted in this space.

Some final thoughts:

I was having lunch last week with a couple of colleagues. One man asked me how I could not have known about the possibility of bad weather, a snow storm.

I stammered a bit, and the other man, a backpacker himself, said it simply: ìWeíre flatlanders.î

That was part of it. Itís one thing to be in a snowstorm in Houston County. Granted, itís not flat here by North Dakota definitions. But there arenít many snow storms in which a healthy 20-year-old man could not wade and tromp through to get help in rural Caledonia.

The mountains were another world. I had climbed 6,500 feet in elevation and hiked 30 miles. Some of that was very steep. It was physically impossible for a person to walk through that country after three feet of snow without snowshoes, which I didnít have.

ìAnd I was 20,î I said. ìI was invincible.î Remember those days? It was a long time ago, but there was a time when I felt there was no physical task, within reason, that I couldnít accomplish. I bet a lot of people feel the same way.

ìWhy didnít you just turn around and go back the way you came?î my colleague asked. There again, I had to admit that I could not physically do it. The trail was obliterated and steep. The best way out was the other side of the mountain.

The other comment I have received was how lucky I was to survive. Thatís true. The luck extended beyond Yosemite National Park. I had hitch-hiked from Brownsville to Oregon, then down the West Coast to San Francisco, then east to Yosemite. Thatís not exactly a safe thing to do either.

In fact, that was the fear that crept into the hearts of my mother and other family members. They hadnít heard from me in a month. I had written to Mom from the park the day before my final adventure, telling her I would soon be hitchhiking to Phoenix to spend Thanksgiving with my brother Glenn and his family. When Thanksgiving came and went, she feared the worst.

Iíll never forget the phone call I made home from the hospital bed after I was rescued. She probably remembers it too, although we donít talk about it. Weíre good Germans!

Iíll never forget my mountain experience either. ìYou definitely cheated death,î my brother, Danny, wrote to me recently. Thatís not something you take lightly.

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