The following takes place in 2012 in Washington State while I worked the area as a Timber Cruiser:

I was resting at the Pilot truck stop at exit 99 on I-5 just south of Olympia, Washington when I got a call round about 4pm. It's one of the cruisers I was working with last week. He tells me his truck has a flat in the south part of the forest near Fort Lewis, which is about twenty miles from me, and his jack isn't working. It was in such a muddy and rough area his standard jack could not lift the truck up enough for him to get the tire off. I got his coordinates, plugged them in to my GPS unit, and headed out to rescue him with another jack.

I arrived about an hour later after having to drive through the forest and the rain out to a remote area that was flooded and getting more flooded every moment. We then had to walk about another two miles through the forest into the area he was parked because I did not have a 4X4 to reach him. The wind was picking up the entire time. The entire area was blown down trees, limbs, and mud. Try as we might, the two jacks just could not give enough articulation to get his wheel off. It was dark by now, and the weather was simply miserable. Eventually we became exhausted and frustrated. Ron said he'd go camp in his truck, and we decided to wait and see if there would be a break by morning and give it another go. With the aid of my GPS unit, I walked in the pitch dark back to my truck and readied it to camp in for the night. Just when I reached my pick-up, the other cruiser appears from the wind and the rain and the dark down the trail and tells me he needs "beer, pizza, and a hotel room". He would pay if I got him out of there. Neither of us were in the mood for a night in our trucks, so we decided to leave in my truck and see if we could make it out of the forest and find a hotel in Lacey.

This decision came nearly three hours after I arrived; by then the roads were flooded and I was previously planning to wait until the water ran off the next day and drive out. But the thought of a dry hotel room cold beer, and hot pizza was more than enough incentive. It was very dark, and my headlights are nearly worthless...but I wanted beer. It was worth a try. We boarded the truck and I fired up the old Ford F-150 and headed out. Only one problem, there was no room to turn her around, so I would have to follow a small trail another three miles until we were out of the forest and on to a proper road or back up nearly the same amount with no back-up lights. It would be the longest 3 miles of my life either way.

The down pours had collected at the bottom of every hill and formed huge ponds I had to ford with my Ford. When we became stuck my fellow forester had to get out and stand in the bed of the truck so the wheel could gain some traction as we rocked it back and forth. What were once logging roads were now mud runs that gathered branches and water. I had to fly up every hill, often ending up nearly sideways, to maintain enough speed to top them without becoming stranded, sliding back down to what was inevitably a lake at the bottom that threatened to kill the engine due to it's depth. All the while it poured rain, the windshield was thick with fog, and the mud and branches were flying in through the side windows we had to leave open to keep the misting down. We were endlessly moving branches from the trail to make room to pass, at other times we were hacking and sawing tree trunks waist high to clear the road with our axes and chainsaws. 

Then it finally happened. A branch became stuck so badly in the undercarriage it anchored us. It had to be cut free in several pieces, but not before it ruptured the rear brake line. With the rain and the dark, I wouldn't realize this until we started off again and I found myself on a downhill section of the trail. It nearly got us killed. At first, I assumed it was the mud keeping the Ford from slowing. Fortunately, before we tumbled down the side of a cliff into the Nisqually river, I managed to get some response from the parking brake. Unfortunately, the parking brake on a Ford truck is operated by your foot and locks on when activated. It must be released by reaching nearly under the dash and pulling on a lever with much difficulty on this old wreck. So now I am driving rapidly over ridiculously rough trails to keep from becoming stuck, in completely stupid weather, with my nose against the steering wheel so I can operate the parking brake with my left arm and left foot. That steering wheel beat the daylights out of me until we reached the main road out of Fort Lewis. I hate that steering wheel. But I love that truck for getting us there.

It took nearly two hours to end that three miles of trail hell, from boarding the Ford until we made it out to the pavement. We both looked like a dog had dragged us through a pasture full of horse dung when we arrived at our destination. I had no idea I could collect so much water and mud on my body in one evening.

That night we stayed at the Super 8 near Lacey, I was absolutely stunned the Ford made it thru that torture test. We had a lot of beer and a lot of pizza. Even Carlow, my Greyhound that rode shotgun as I cruised timber, had some crust and a few pieces of sausage. At eight AM the next morning we were at the CRAP! auto parts buying a REAL jack. By 10:30 we had hiked the mile or two to the truck, swapped out the tire, and drove her out back to the flat top and then up to where I had parked my truck. The 3 mile trail was far less intimidating in the daylight without rain and in a 4X4.

I was treated to a very healthy lunch as well.