These are the Chronicles of Famous Surf Writer Ben Marcus and his trip into the Wilds of the Alaskan Frontier.
Latest Update: October 29, 2000

14:24 DAYLIGHT SAVINGS BC TIME ROOM 508 OF THE BULKLEY VALLEY HOTEL, NEW HAZLETON, BC

Shit. What else can I say? I think my spirit is broken. The last 24 hours just sucked. I should be in Prince Rupert trying to catch the ferry to the Queen Charlotte Islands. Instead I'm still in New Hazleton, watching "Gimme Shelter" on TV and writing a reward poster.

I'll write it now.

US$300 REWARD
LOST WEDDING RING

On October 28, 2000, I lost my wedding ring while getting unstuck from the mud on the river road in Glen Vowell. This was on the road that turns right along the river at the end of the main road. I got stuck about a half-mile past the last house on the road: past the metering station and the last stand of trees on the right, just past where the other road cuts through the grass. You are in the right spot when you look across the river and see a black stump on the other side of the river.

While trying to get my van out of the mud, I lost a gold wedding ring. It slipped off my hand either on the muddy road or in the grass and mud to the right of the road. The area is all chewed up from my tires, and I left a piece of plywood there to mark it on 10/29.

I have lost that ring three times before, and had it returned miraculously all three times.

I'd like to get it back again, and this time will really take a miracle.

I'm offering a US$300 reward to anyone who finds the ring and returns it to me.

Please call these numbers: 360-582-0061 (Washington State)
425-787-8777 (Washington State)
831-419-349 (California)

Or send an e-mail to: TheBenM@AOL.com.

My name is Ben Marcus. I sure would like to get that ring back. Thank you.

So that's the story, while trying to fish the Skeena River yesterday in the rain, I got stuck in the slickest river silt mud I've ever seen. With my tires, it was hopeless. I got stuck and got out wearing my waders, slipped and slid in the mud. I think I had my ring on then, but during the next hour as I was trying to get the van out, the ring slid off.

Stuck, but not that stuck.

It really bugs me when I lose that ring. I've done it three times before and found it all three times. I once lost it at Church near Trestles. I went back at 10:00 at night, rode a bicycle through the Marine base, dug in the sand for 45 minutes and found it. That was a bit of a rush.

I lost it again on the day of Peter Mel's wedding. I went surfing at the Hook, left in disgust and lost it on the way. Found it that time near the stairs, but it was on a chain.

Last summer, I went in the water at Manresa and lost the ring again. I looked for it three or four times, even rented a metal detector. No luck, but I posted a Reward sign in the parking lot at Manresa, thinking there was no way, but you never know.

Sure enough, a week later I got a call from a guy from Emeryville who had found it.

I'm not married anymore, but losing that ring bothered me even more than losing the boot. My hand doesn't feel right without it.

Shit.

Well, it gets worse. After losing the ring in the mud and getting stuck, I managed to get unstuck and I drove back through a path in the grass, where there was more traction. I got out okay, but walked back to the spot to look around some more. It was impossible: water and mud and grass. I dug around and gave up and walked back.

I drove into New Hazleton to do I don't know what. I called Joanne and confessed all because I felt guilty and then I drove back to the river. I drove in again, this time using the grassy route, which seemed okay. I dug around the two spots again, gave up and drove out on the grass. This time I got completely stuck. My tires dug through the layer of grass and into mud slicker than snot. I got completely stuck. I wasn't getting out of this one. Shit.

I walked a half mile to the closest house, but the guy wasn't very helpful. He let me borrow a shovel. I walked back a half mile and tried to dig my way out, but it was no good.

I cursed. I uttered oaths. I admit it.

I walked back to the house and the guy's son let me call a tow truck. The first tow company couldn't come, but I found another who said he would come after dinner. I walked up the road about a mile to make sure he knew where he was going. It was completely dark at this time.

On the way back George passed me and asked if I was okay. I was covered in mud so I didn't get a ride back to his house to wait for the tow truck.

The tow truck finally showed up an hour after the call. He was worried about getting stuck, too, at night, so I said he could just take me back to New Hazleton and we'd go in the morning. I left the van unlocked and unguarded out in the middle of a field. That could have been stupid, too, and I didn't sleep very well last night, worrying about it. I imagined a bunch of local Indian kids looting everything I owned: computer, fishing poles, screenplays. Everything but my wallet and Mr. Walther.

At around nine the tow guy showed up again and we drove out there. I was jazzed to find the van still there and unmolested, but I wasn't too jazzed when the tow truck got just as stuck as the van.

The tow truck gets stuck.

That river silt is just horrible when it gets wet. We tried to get the tow truck out for an hour or so, then gave up and the tow man called his son, who showed up a little later in a 4X4. They tried to winch the tow truck out connected to the 4X4, but that didn't work either.

The tower gets towed.

To bide the time I went back to the spot where I had lost the ring and wrote a crude REWARD sign on a piece of plywood.

When I got back, they were using a nearby tree to get the tow truck out, running the cable a good 50 yards to a tree. It worked, they didn't break the tree and I stopped swearing. I was pissed. I thought all three of us were going to end up stuck in the mud.

The tow truck pulled me out of the muck, without me using the engine. Once I got free, I followed the truck over the grass and onto the road, which wasn't as slick because it wasn't raining.

Getting yanked.

Both men commiserated with the loss of my wedding ring and they suggested I give a REWARD poster to Marvin Sampson, one of the local chiefs.

We drove out, and I stopped with the Tow Truck driver at a bank with an ATM. Then I couldn't find my wallet, dang it. I had either lost it back in the swamp, or left it in the hotel room. I feared the worst.

I gave the Tow Truck driver my computer as collateral.

At this point, it was very dangerous for me to have Mr. Walther in my pocket. I was beyond the point of despair. I thought I was gonna have to go back to the swamp and find my wallet.

But I found the wallet in my hotel room and got $260 Canadian for the tow fee.

So, I'm out of the bog. All of my clothes and shoes and car are caked with mud, and I keep fidgeting my left hand for the wedding ring that isn't there.

It may have fallen off in the van, but I don't think so. I went to the dump to clear out all my water bottles and coffee cops, but didn't see it.

So now I'm going to print a bunch of REWARD posters and see if the printer will print the photos I've taken. Maybe if a platoon of local Indian kids get out there looking after it dries up, another miracle will happen.

Shit, what a bad 24 hours. I haven't even bothered with fishing, because the rivers are all high, and my spirits are low.

I'll take care of all this now, and head for Prince Rupert tomorrow. There's another whopper storm coming, so I'll probably wait until Thursday.

I'm unhappy.