onto a branch. It was secure. He sighed with relief.
From there he could reach Uncle Michael and all the emergency equipment in the glider. There was a lot of work to be done. Phil looked at his watch. It was six o’clock. There were only a couple of hours of light left. With luck, a rescue plane would find them before nightfall. Without luck, they’d spend this night, and perhaps longer, waiting for help.
Phil took out the first aid kit. There was a bandage that Uncle Michael could use to wrap his ankle.
“I’m afraid it’s not necessary,” said Uncle Michael. “I’m wearing a boot that gives it some support, but the fact is I can’t move it in any direction without excruciating pain, so there’s no need to keep it secure right now. It’s secure without any help.”
Phil tucked the bandage into his pocket. He knew they’d need it when the time came to move Uncle Michael—even though he didn’t have any idea how he would be able to do that.
There was also a small supply of a painkiller.
“Morphine,” Uncle Michael explained. “I don’t need it now. I may need it badly later. Hold on to it because we’ve only got the one dose.”
The realization that they might be stuck on the mountain long enough to need more than one dose of morphine made Phil shiver. He put the medicine in the pocket with the bandage.
“If you can get down to the ground, you should set up a campsite for yourself,” said Uncle Michael. “I’m stuck up here, but if you can light a fire in an open area, that’ll give the rescuers something to spot, especially at night. Here, take my Swiss Army knife. It might come in handy.” Phil put that in his pocket, too.
Phil checked the water and food supply. Was it only a few hours ago that he had laughed at Uncle Michael for bringing water and granola bars? He gave Uncle Michael a drink of water and left the canteen with him. Phil was pretty sure he’d find a source of water in the mountain woods below. He took three of the six granola bars, the small tool kit, and a book of matches.
“Holler if you need anything!” he said as cheerfully ashe could manage, and then picked his way down the tree.
When Phil reached the ground and looked up, he felt a pang of despair. The trees were high and thick. The glider had landed in the middle of a tree. It was masked from above by the long shady branches of the tall pine. The glider loomed over his head, making a dark shadow in the fading sunlight.
He knew he could start a fire right near the plane, but the overhead growth was so dense that the blaze might not be seen from the sky. Worse, it might start a forest fire. That would bring rescuers, but they would likely arrive too late. He had to find an open space.
Phil set out. The woods were thick, and the ground was covered with a dense undergrowth of bushes and vines. Tall trees that had fallen over the years crisscrossed the steep forest floor with their trunks. It was slow going.
Phil couldn’t see what lay ahead. Everywhere he looked, all he could see was forest. Instead of knowing where he was going, it would be essential for him to know where he’d been. The last thing he wanted was to forget where the glider and Uncle Michael were. He opened the largest blade of the pocket knife and used it to make blazes on the trees of his trail so he could follow them back to the glider.
After more than an hour of trekking, he came to an open space. It was a large, craggy rock outcropping that clung to the side of the mountain and overlooked the valley. Phil recognized it as Rock Ridge, which he’d seen from the airport and the sky. What he hadn’t known from those distances was how vast the open rocky area was. Night was starting to fall, and Phil could see a few lights in the distance—perhaps five miles across the open valley.
“Well, if I can see their lights, they’ll be able to see mine,” he said. His voice sounded loud in the quiet twilight.
Using the flashlight from the tool
From there he could reach Uncle Michael and all the emergency equipment in the glider. There was a lot of work to be done. Phil looked at his watch. It was six o’clock. There were only a couple of hours of light left. With luck, a rescue plane would find them before nightfall. Without luck, they’d spend this night, and perhaps longer, waiting for help.
Phil took out the first aid kit. There was a bandage that Uncle Michael could use to wrap his ankle.
“I’m afraid it’s not necessary,” said Uncle Michael. “I’m wearing a boot that gives it some support, but the fact is I can’t move it in any direction without excruciating pain, so there’s no need to keep it secure right now. It’s secure without any help.”
Phil tucked the bandage into his pocket. He knew they’d need it when the time came to move Uncle Michael—even though he didn’t have any idea how he would be able to do that.
There was also a small supply of a painkiller.
“Morphine,” Uncle Michael explained. “I don’t need it now. I may need it badly later. Hold on to it because we’ve only got the one dose.”
The realization that they might be stuck on the mountain long enough to need more than one dose of morphine made Phil shiver. He put the medicine in the pocket with the bandage.
“If you can get down to the ground, you should set up a campsite for yourself,” said Uncle Michael. “I’m stuck up here, but if you can light a fire in an open area, that’ll give the rescuers something to spot, especially at night. Here, take my Swiss Army knife. It might come in handy.” Phil put that in his pocket, too.
Phil checked the water and food supply. Was it only a few hours ago that he had laughed at Uncle Michael for bringing water and granola bars? He gave Uncle Michael a drink of water and left the canteen with him. Phil was pretty sure he’d find a source of water in the mountain woods below. He took three of the six granola bars, the small tool kit, and a book of matches.
“Holler if you need anything!” he said as cheerfully ashe could manage, and then picked his way down the tree.
When Phil reached the ground and looked up, he felt a pang of despair. The trees were high and thick. The glider had landed in the middle of a tree. It was masked from above by the long shady branches of the tall pine. The glider loomed over his head, making a dark shadow in the fading sunlight.
He knew he could start a fire right near the plane, but the overhead growth was so dense that the blaze might not be seen from the sky. Worse, it might start a forest fire. That would bring rescuers, but they would likely arrive too late. He had to find an open space.
Phil set out. The woods were thick, and the ground was covered with a dense undergrowth of bushes and vines. Tall trees that had fallen over the years crisscrossed the steep forest floor with their trunks. It was slow going.
Phil couldn’t see what lay ahead. Everywhere he looked, all he could see was forest. Instead of knowing where he was going, it would be essential for him to know where he’d been. The last thing he wanted was to forget where the glider and Uncle Michael were. He opened the largest blade of the pocket knife and used it to make blazes on the trees of his trail so he could follow them back to the glider.
After more than an hour of trekking, he came to an open space. It was a large, craggy rock outcropping that clung to the side of the mountain and overlooked the valley. Phil recognized it as Rock Ridge, which he’d seen from the airport and the sky. What he hadn’t known from those distances was how vast the open rocky area was. Night was starting to fall, and Phil could see a few lights in the distance—perhaps five miles across the open valley.
“Well, if I can see their lights, they’ll be able to see mine,” he said. His voice sounded loud in the quiet twilight.
Using the flashlight from the tool
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