Dumb ways to die...

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Stalker62

Stalker62

Well-Known Member
Unknown-5.webp

Had an 'interesting' experience yesterday, which highlighted the dangers of solo-working.


Down at the 'duck pond', and strimming in the two 'flights paths' and around the edge of one side of the pond where I store the Barley.

This pond has quite steep sides around about one third of the pond. Somehow I managed to put my foot in a hole, which spilt my boot...

IMG_3758.webp

..and pitched me down the steep side of the pond.

I landed with my back to the water, one foot twisted above my head and all limbs higher than my torso.

As I lay there, unable to move, and thinking at least they will name the Pond after me, I could not get this image out of my mind.

Unknown-2.webp


I was very fortunate that I had my phone in my chest pocket and so could (in extremis) be able to call for help.
Unknown-2.webp

As it happened, I was (finally) able to extricate myself - it took me over fifteen minutes to do so.

I do not think I have ever felt so 'helpless' in my life.



And so, for all of you 'solo' workers, on farms, estates, hills and lakes...

 
Happened to an ‘old’ friend of mine , he fell into a hole trying to extricate a stag from bog myrtle , if I wasn’t stood beside him I’d never have believed it happened ,but it did ,he would have never been able to raise the alarm(wouldn’t let go of his wallet long enough to use phone)


All I could hear was muffled shouting until I managed to drag him out of said hole.

His first concern , his wallet.



Seriously though , he would have had a date with the pearly gates quite possibly if I wasn’t there.
 
I fell in a dyke in Iceland after a goose flight. I was completely submerged with about a foot of water above my head and couldnt push myself out or climb. If it hadn’t been for my 6’5 Icelandic mate with me I was a gonner and chances are they would never have even found the body. I had ice forming on me as we walked the mile back to the truck.
One thing this thought me though is how good decathlon coats are.

Be safe out there ladies and gents
 
An old fella who did some pigeon shooting on the estate with his son fell backwards into a deep ditch, he had set his hide up on the edge... he struggled to get out for 20 minutes... he gave up going shooting on his own after that... he was only 69 years old.
 
You are right Stalker 1962.
40 years ago, long before mobile phones etc. Duck flighting on a small and shallow farm pond. January - minus 2C with a strong northeasterly. Very young lad called Paul with me.
I shot a mallard when almost dark. It landed in the pond. Sent in dog to retrieve. Stupidly I had not removed dog's collar. Dog got hung up on something swimming back with the duck. I slid down the vertical bank and stepped into the nine inches of water that I knew was under my feet.
I left my hat on the top of the water and touched bottom with my feet and then came up again!
Upon breaking the surface I tried to get up the bank but nothing to grip on. Floundered around and found my dog, still with duck in her mouth, had got a small 'twig' that was growing out of the side of the bank through her collar. I pulled her off the twig and hung on to it myself. That twig, and then Paul, saved my life.
I was wearing wellies, a Barber greased jacket, a full cartridge belt under my jacket and my pockets had cartridges too.
There were bits of ice floating about.
I tried to get my feet into the vertical bank to no avail. What had happened to that nine inches of water that my grandchildren had paddled in back in the summer when fishing?
When I pulled on the twig it started to come out of the bank and my jacket was starting to loose any flotation that it had as it filled with water - including the pockets. I couldn't get under my jacket to release my cartridge belt and ditto with my pockets to remove the cartridges. It was bloody cold.
My faithful dog had extricated herself and was trying to give me the duck by leaning down the bank. I tried reaching her but couldn't. I didn't want the duck, yet, but I did need something to pull on.
I screamed for Paul and then waited.
He arrived in minutes that seemed like hours to me.
I tried swimming across to the other side but that didn't work as by now I was almost submerged with the weight of 'ballast' that I was carrying and terribly cold.
Paul tried to reach down to me but could only touch my finger tips. I had managed to flounder back to that all important 'twig' and hung on grimly. (It was about half an inch thick).
Paul said he would go for help, which was about a mile away, in the shape of the rest of the shooting party.
I said have another go at reaching down to me. He said, rather reasonably, that he would but he didn't want to fall in the pond as he couldn't swim.
He then said I was to hang on while he tried to find a branch to reach down to me. I was hanging on but very precariously.
He came back and said he couldn't find one but would try something else.
By now it was completely dark and I was shivering and very low in the water. My feet would not go into the bank side to give me purchase. I couldn't get my boots off my feet but I did try. I still could not release my cartridge belt or get the cartridges out of my pockets. My faithful labrador was still valiantly trying to give me the wretched duck. (If only I had missed it as I usualy did in those days).
A pair of rubber boots appeared out of the gloom above my head. 'Hang on to them', shouted Paul.
I got one in each hand and they supported my weight.
In desperation I started to climb and the boots stayed firm.
It took ages but I eventually got my hands, and then my elbows, over the top of the vertical bank.
The boots vanished and then Paul's head appeared. He grabbed me under the shoulders and heaved with all his might.
Thank the Gods for making farm lads big and strong.
He got me out.
As Paul trudged and I slushed across the ploughed field a landrover appeared. Jeremy had been dispatched by the farmer to see where we had got to.
I was taken home and someone explained to my Mrs that I, and my dog, had been for an evening swim. She rushed off and got a dog towel and dried Kim off whilst I stood in the back kitchen shivering and struggling to get out of my gear.
Paul explained that the nine inches of water had transferred itself into ten feet+ of water due to a JCB digging the pond out, from the other side, two days ago.
When I asked him about the boots being lovered to me he explained that his feet were still in them and he had dug his finger tips into the frozen plough, hung on and hoped.
His hopes were answered and I lived to tell this tale. He is still, and always will be, my best mate - now looking forward to his retirement from the farm - and we often look at that pond and remember one freezing January night a long, long time ago.

That 'twig' was actually a root and it is now a thirty foot tree.

Paul still cannot swim.

Thank God that it turned out right for you Stalker 1962. Life and death can be very close on occasions. Live long and prosper mate.
 
I wonder if theirs is a genetic component to being injury prone, there are specific gene variations that have been linked to increased injury risk.

You have to ask yourself are you injury prone, personally l think the answer is “Yes”.

Do you have any personal accident insurance ?

Has your good lady been provided for just in case ?
 
Merlyn said:
You are right Stalker 1962.
40 years ago, long before mobile phones etc. Duck flighting on a small and shallow farm pond. January - minus 2C with a strong northeasterly. Very young lad called Paul with me.
I shot a mallard when almost dark. It landed in the pond. Sent in dog to retrieve. Stupidly I had not removed dog's collar. Dog got hung up on something swimming back with the duck. I slid down the vertical bank and stepped into the nine inches of water that I knew was under my feet.
I left my hat on the top of the water and touched bottom with my feet and then came up again!
Upon breaking the surface I tried to get up the bank but nothing to grip on. Floundered around and found my dog, still with duck in her mouth, had got a small 'twig' that was growing out of the side of the bank through her collar. I pulled her off the twig and hung on to it myself. That twig, and then Paul, saved my life.
I was wearing wellies, a Barber greased jacket, a full cartridge belt under my jacket and my pockets had cartridges too.
There were bits of ice floating about.
I tried to get my feet into the vertical bank to no avail. What had happened to that nine inches of water that my grandchildren had paddled in back in the summer when fishing?
When I pulled on the twig it started to come out of the bank and my jacket was starting to loose any flotation that it had as it filled with water - including the pockets. I couldn't get under my jacket to release my cartridge belt and ditto with my pockets to remove the cartridges. It was bloody cold.
My faithful dog had extricated herself and was trying to give me the duck by leaning down the bank. I tried reaching her but couldn't. I didn't want the duck, yet, but I did need something to pull on.
I screamed for Paul and then waited.
He arrived in minutes that seemed like hours to me.
I tried swimming across to the other side but that didn't work as by now I was almost submerged with the weight of 'ballast' that I was carrying and terribly cold.
Paul tried to reach down to me but could only touch my finger tips. I had managed to flounder back to that all important 'twig' and hung on grimly. (It was about half an inch thick).
Paul said he would go for help, which was about a mile away, in the shape of the rest of the shooting party.
I said have another go at reaching down to me. He said, rather reasonably, that he would but he didn't want to fall in the pond as he couldn't swim.
He then said I was to hang on while he tried to find a branch to reach down to me. I was hanging on but very precariously.
He came back and said he couldn't find one but would try something else.
By now it was completely dark and I was shivering and very low in the water. My feet would not go into the bank side to give me purchase. I couldn't get my boots off my feet but I did try. I still could not release my cartridge belt or get the cartridges out of my pockets. My faithful labrador was still valiantly trying to give me the wretched duck. (If only I had missed it as I usualy did in those days).
A pair of rubber boots appeared out of the gloom above my head. 'Hang on to them', shouted Paul.
I got one in each hand and they supported my weight.
In desperation I started to climb and the boots stayed firm.
It took ages but I eventually got my hands, and then my elbows, over the top of the vertical bank.
The boots vanished and then Paul's head appeared. He grabbed me under the shoulders and heaved with all his might.
Thank the Gods for making farm lads big and strong.
He got me out.
As Paul trudged and I slushed across the ploughed field a landrover appeared. Jeremy had been dispatched by the farmer to see where we had got to.
I was taken home and someone explained to my Mrs that I, and my dog, had been for an evening swim. She rushed off and got a dog towel and dried Kim off whilst I stood in the back kitchen shivering and struggling to get out of my gear.
Paul explained that the nine inches of water had transferred itself into ten feet+ of water due to a JCB digging the pond out, from the other side, two days ago.
When I asked him about the boots being lovered to me he explained that his feet were still in them and he had dug his finger tips into the frozen plough, hung on and hoped.
His hopes were answered and I lived to tell this tale. He is still, and always will be, my best mate - now looking forward to his retirement from the farm - and we often look at that pond and remember one freezing January night a long, long time ago.

That 'twig' was actually a root and it is now a thirty foot tree.

Paul still cannot swim.

Thank God that it turned out right for you Stalker 1962. Life and death can be very close on occasions. Live long and prosper mate.
Click to expand...

you were lucky, as much as we love are dogs, trying to rescue them can be fatal.

www.kentonline.co.uk

Man who went into sea after dog 'could not have been saved'

A five-day inquest into the death of a man who went into the sea after his dog has concluded today with a verdict of misadventure.
www.kentonline.co.uk www.kentonline.co.uk
 
Yes the close calls we all have are scary but at least we are out there doing things

I once got by eyelet of a boot caught in a bard wire fence as i was climbing over
My leg was close to 5 ft in the air - no way could i get the boot off as it was properly laced for the conditions

I also had another one where i was erecting duck tubes - wearing waders - the "shelf" i was on suddenly went to deep water and my waders filled in seconds - very very close to being dragged under. It was the sudden cold shock that nearly made me unable to think or move fast enough
 
Stalker1962 said:
View attachment 384263

Had an 'interesting' experience yesterday, which highlighted the dangers of solo-working.


Down at the 'duck pond', and strimming in the two 'flights paths' and around the edge of one side of the pond where I store the Barley.

This pond has quite steep sides around about one third of the pond. Somehow I managed to put my foot in a hole, which spilt my boot...

View attachment 384264

..and pitched me down the steep side of the pond.

I landed with my back to the water, one foot twisted above my head and all limbs higher than my torso.

As I lay there, unable to move, and thinking at least they will name the Pond after me, I could not get this image out of my mind.

View attachment 384265


I was very fortunate that I had my phone in my chest pocket and so could (in extremis) be able to call for help.
View attachment 384266

As it happened, I was (finally) able to extricate myself - it took me over fifteen minutes to do so.

I do not think I have ever felt so 'helpless' in my life.



And so, for all of you 'solo' workers, on farms, estates, hills and lakes...

Click to expand...

Good job the Corvids weren’t around and hungry 👍😘
Kb.
 
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