Muck Luck

I had a bit of a life threatening scare in Lake Delton, Wisconsin. This lake drained because of flooding that destroyed a dam and eroded the bed and sidewalls. This lake was 297 acres in volume. Boats were still tied at the docks, but they were either dangling in mid air or stuck in the mud since there was no water. I was taking video of the area with a government camera and taking some stills with my personal camera.

I was getting some great shots from above but thought it would give better perspective if I shot some stuff from inside the lake. I found a shore and proceeded to walk to the middle of this massive hole. After I got some more video and stills I turned to begin my route back to shore but could not find any of my tracks. I thought it best to take the shortest, most direct route out.

I traveled a little bit and hit a soft spot in the floor. My foot went into the sand up to my knee. When I tried to step back with my other foot to solid ground, I stepped into another soft spot. Just the day before it was explained to me when walking on levees or river beds and such, the hardest ground will be where water is flowing. The weight of the water compresses the ground down firmly, making it more solid and compacted to walk on. With this in mind I skedaddle to get to a water flow about 10 feet from where I was.

Once I planted my foot where I was told it would be solid, I sank again, this time both feet were going in steadily and I was now up to my thighs in this quicksand muck in the middle of a drained lake, by myself, with no one else around. As I struggled to pull my legs up I sank more.

Now up to my waist and still sinking I had to decide quickly what to do. In one hand was my camera. In the other hand was the government video camera. I needed my hands and arms and feet and whatever else I had in order to get horizontal to the floor and attempt to float on this muck.

The more I tried to keep my arms up keeping the cameras dry, the quicker I sank. Now I am in up to my chest and had to lean forward with my body, kick up with my legs and get flat. Both cameras got wet and filled with sand, permanently destroying them.

I did manage to do a floating crawl, leaning on my forearms, spread as wide as possible with my legs and arms, sprawled out to cover as much ground as possible in order to displace my weight as best as I could. It took 20 minutes before I found ground firm enough to stand on.

The whole time this was going on I never panicked or got scared. It was just all very matter of fact - rely on common sense and stuff I've learned on TV - and get out of there. When I got back on the shore and out of the lake I found myself unable to breathe, panting hard and gasping for air from the rigorous exercise I just had. I didn't realize how strenuous it all was until it was over.

Needless to say, I lived. My camera did not. I had no insurance on it and the feds will not compensate me for the loss. The camera was only a month old. The government video camera was dead too. Of course they are buying a new one to replace it, but anything they do takes months to accomplish. Without any cameras, I cannot do my job so I went home, unpaid, having to replace all of my stuff that I just bought, with money I do not have to keep buying the same gear over and over.

Now when I look back and think about it, it's a little unsettling. I get tense about not being able to breathe and being buried alive in a spot where no one would have ever found me, in darkness and cold wet muck, unable to move. Seems a tad dramatic, but I don't think it comes close to expressing how bad it was and could have been.

I think I need a cookie.