He was cold, wet and stranded, but he still had neighbors

On the Sunday of the Bears-Packers game, I joined others at Samz hoping to cheer the Bears to victory. There was little to cheer about, so after the game I headed home to feed my dogs and let them romp in the snow.

I decided to use the ice road starting at Lady Bug Lodge. I've crossed Shagawa using this route many times. It was about 12 degrees and snowing, and there was a stiff breeze blowing the falling snow.

I was in my truck with the heater blowing and the radio playing while my headlights reflected off the falling and blowing snow. The scene was a beautiful, arctic-like landscape. I was in heaven and had traveled about three miles in a euphoric state.

Suddenly I was driving in slush - deep, thick slush. I slowed down. I estimate I had traveled about 300 feet in this mess when I saw solid ice just ahead and the shoreline no more than half a mile beyond.

It was at that moment I became mired. I couldn't move, either forward or back.

I did have a shovel and a bucket of gravel in the back of the truck for just such emergencies. The problem was that I wasn't wearing hip boots - just tennis shoes. When I got out of the truck I was standing almost knee-deep in water, while big chunks of ice floated around my legs and feet, and the blowing snow blurred my vision.

My arctic dream scene was now a Bering Strait nightmare. I tried to hold myself upright on what felt like frozen stumps. Slipping and sliding while using the side of my vehicle for a crutch, I did manage to make it to the back of the truck, shaky but upright.

However, when I dropped the tailgate I also dropped and took a dip into the icy waters of Shagawa.

I'm not sure how many more times I went down. I was happy that the three-knockdown rule was not in effect.

The gravel I had in the bucket must have had moisture in it because it was frozen solid. In effect, I had a bucket of concrete. It would have made a good anchor for my boat -- in July.

In water that deep, the gravel wouldn't have helped anyway. I tried chipping the ice away from the undercarriage but that proved no more effective than the frozen gravel. I couldn't use the shovel for shoveling, obviously; shoveling water in a lake is an effort in futility.

So I swam back to the cab and got in. Thank God the truck was running and the heater was working. I'd had the foresight to leave my cell phone in the truck while I tested the waters of Shagawa. So I was able to phone for help.

My first call was to Donna Niskala. I asked her if she would go to my house and let the dogs out. She agreed, solving my first dilemma.

Next I called Steve Anderson, who just happened to be in his fish house about a mile away. He arrived Johnny on the spot within 10 minutes. He took one look at me and told me to stay in the truck while he hooked up a tow belt -- he got as wet as I was in the process. He couldn't pull me forward, so he towed me the 300 feet in reverse and got me safely on solid ice.

Thank God for friends. We truly do live in the Coolest Little Town in America, and I mean that literally and figuratively.

I'm not sure, but I'd like to think my adventure was in part responsible for helping others. I hope it was my adventure that alerted authorities to close the ice road.

When I did arrive home I fed the dogs and let them out -- then got out of my wet clothes, lit the sauna, and sat in it for about an hour, reflecting on the events of the day.

The Bears-Packers game was quickly forgotten. What stood out were thoughts of those who dropped what they were doing to come to my rescue. Being the klutz that I am, I have needed their help before. This was just one of many occasions on which the people of the Coolest Little Town in America have come to my aid.

----

Paul Leitgeb is a retired high school teacher in Ely and occasional contributor to the Ely Echo, where this essay first appeared.

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