What’s the one moment in your life that should’ve killed you, but didn’t?

[Shane Limbeck]

Most of us have one. The close call that stuck with you for years. The bad decision that somehow didn’t end in a body bag. The hunt, the road, the fall, the fight, whatever it was, you walked away when you probably shouldn’t have.

Let’s hear it.
What happened, and how are you still here?

 

[dsbarb]

Back in the day, before my neck surgeries, I used to ride motorcycles. I had recently finished refurbishing a Ducati 900SS-CR and took it for a shakedown run up Sunrise Highway and then to Julian for lunch and apple pie. Given my unfamiliarity with the bike, I took a tight corner too fast and as I started drifting over the centerline into the oncoming lane, a Corvette came at me head on. To this day, I often wonder if I'm living in an alternative universe where I didn't die because I have no idea how we didn't crash head on. All I know is I pulled off to the side of the road to collect myself. And then I rode, slowly, onto Julian where I had the best lunch of my life.

 

[msullivan021]

Millimeters from falling off a boat in the middle of the gulf stream. Doesn't matter how sick you get, it's a lot easier to clean puke off the deck than find you in rough seas at 2am.

 

[unitas03]

Few years back, my buddy Will called and said, "Pack your shit, we're running the Gauley River this weekend. I'm guiding."

Will's the kind of guy who spent winters heli-skiing with Teton Gravity Research and summers climbing Everest. Weekend adventures with him always involved a tolerable degree of danger including dirt and/or mountain biking, surfing, beers and camping. I did almost die off the coast of Chincoteague Virginia, but that is not this story.

I had never been whitewater rafting. Didn't own gear. But I'm a strong swimmer; when your best friend asks you to go on an adventure, you go. Especially when there's a fully stocked Pelican case with gear and an equally stocked cooler of beer.

The Upper Gauley is Class V whitewater - some of the most technical, punishing rapids in the country. Outfitters "strongly recommend" prior experience. I had neither experience nor sense.

First hour was relatively mellow. Fun, exciting and dangerous sure. But, not "unsafe." Then Will's posture changed. "Just keep paddling, and stay in the fucking boat. Whatever happens, stay in the fucking boat."

Pretty straightforward.

Some time later, I got dumped at Pillow Rock and held down in a hydraulic; 7,000+ cubic feet per second pushing me under, spinning me around. Our boat was 75-100 yards downstream without me in it. I was alone, drowning in river in goddamn West Virginia.

After a eternally long breath hold, I stopped fighting. I swam as deep as possible. The hydraulic released me. Bouncing off rocks, I found calmer water and surfaced. To this day, I have never felt air in my lungs the same. Sometimes I'll hold my breath as long as possible in the ocean and sit at the bottom until it burns, swim to the top to see if I can recreate that feeling - I can't. But, I digress.

Out of nowhere Will's distinct voice yelled from the riverbed, "DUDE, swim hard to the other side of that rock!" I was drifting toward Dane's Rock - massively undercut, can suck you under.

I made it to shore. Gash on my shoulder, fully gassed from nearly dying twice.

Will handed me a beer.

"Thanks. Where were you guys?"

"We were down there waiting to see if you'd come up."

"Oh."

"I thought you were dead. This river kills people once or twice a year. That's why I told you to stay in the boat."

Silence.

Then Will said, "Sick. I'm so stoked you didn't die. Let's finish the beers and run the lower portion - it's scenic."

By the grace of God and, the determination to not die in West-fucking-Virginia, I am here today.

 

[csmcclain]

When I was 12, my buddy and I were hunting small game along the Pecos River unsupervised. We decided to cross the river at some low rapids, and he fell in and lost some gear. As it quickly floated downstream, I dove in for it, being swept down the river towards Mexico.

My entire short life flashed before my eyes as I fought to stay afloat while my heavy, water-logged boots pulled me under. Miraculously, I slipped off my boots that were only loosely tied and swam for shore in a section of the river that was not as tumultuous.

Needless to say, that was not a fun walk back barefoot. By the time I got back, he had already been able to run back to the camp, get everyone, and bring them back down.

Directly following that trip, I had a second near-death experience, where my parents almost killed me for pulling that stunt.

 

[isntitrandom]

When my best friend and I were about 14, I went with his mother and grandmother to the Oregon coast, somewhere near cannon Beach if I recall.

We got in later in the evening, maybe 4/5pm, but him and I couldn’t wait to get in the water.
Looking back, all the signs were there to keep out; ominous brownish grey overcast, wind, rain, high tide pummeling the shores, but we decided to send it, and send it we did. Challenging each other to see how far we could go out.

I was chest deep, water just above my pecs, trying to jump over the constant assault of waves that would otherwise hit me in the face, when I got a bad feeling. You know that sudden forest gump feeling that you should just turn back and head home? The “I think I’m done now” feeling.

Well, I turned to face shore and tried to walk back but the undertow I hadn’t really noticed until then, suddenly felt violent. With the current pulling me away from shore, it felt as though the sea had been waiting for me to cross the line into Davy Jones’s locker and now had a firm grip on my life.

As the sand beneath my feet was vanishing, I hadn’t realized that even though my feet felt firmly placed, I was actually being dragged to the edge of a drop off. Within a second I went from standing to floating.

My first thought was to try and dive down, touch bottom and launch off towards shore, but in my dive I felt no bottom whatsoever.
The panic started rushing in as if the waves themselves were layering it upon me as now they were coming in over my head.

I looked over towards my best friend to assess his situation and he’s yelling at me about his arm. “I have a cast! I can’t swim!” He yells. He can swim, just not very well.
Regardless, I manage to make my way over to him and try to help him, help us get back to shore and he immediately clings on to me. For a second I thought he was helping swim back to shore when in reality he was allowing panic to overtake all rational decision making and I quickly realized he was clinging on to me just to keep himself afloat. He almost took us both out.

I had to fight him off and push off him with my feet to break free. “Keep swimming to shore!” I yelled.

At this point we had been yelling for help for what seemed like an eternity. I remember seeing a guy standing on the shore watching us, not understanding why he wasn’t trying to help us.
Between the waves crashing 1-2ft over my head and the bitter salty taste of the pacific, I hated that guy.

After about 25 minutes of swimming for my life, managing my breaths, diving under each wave coming in from behind, I managed to once again feel the sand beneath my feet. The most comforting feeling I can remember back in those days. Ground. Shore. Alive.

My buddy and I had managed to swim against high tide and made it back to tell the tale.
That guy watching us asked us if we were alright, said that he’s a strong swimmer, swims in the ocean every day but even he knew not to go out in those conditions.

This experience never left me with any lasting negative emotions, I simply walked away with a deeper understanding and elevated respect for the forces of nature. Odd thing is, in that experience, I knew it wasn’t my time. I knew it was bad, but I knew I’d make it out. Call it faith, a miracle, sheer determination or all of the above.

We linked up on the beach, had been separated by about 50yds and after a deep winded “holy shit that was close” I exclaimed, no words were uttered between one another, just a long, slow drudge through the sand thankful to be alive.

 

[alexis.dansereau]

I just came back from 1 week in Afghanistan hanging out with the Talibans. Crazy beautiful country, but man there were some close calls. One time we were stranded in a village and my guide slept on his loaded AK which, I didn’t know, was pointing to my head all night long. 8 hours of him moving around on his one in the chambered rifle.. no misfires, thank god it was soviet engineering and not a SIG

 

[jeffrey.r.berger]

Few years back, my buddy Will called and said, "Pack your shit, we're running the Gauley River this weekend. I'm guiding."

Will's the kind of guy who spent winters heli-skiing with Teton Gravity Research and summers climbing Everest. Weekend adventures with him always involved a tolerable degree of danger including dirt and/or mountain biking, surfing, beers and camping. I did almost die off the coast of Chincoteague Virginia, but that is not this story.

I had never been whitewater rafting. Didn't own gear. But I'm a strong swimmer; when your best friend asks you to go on an adventure, you go. Especially when there's a fully stocked Pelican case with gear and an equally stocked cooler of beer.

The Upper Gauley is Class V whitewater - some of the most technical, punishing rapids in the country. Outfitters "strongly recommend" prior experience. I had neither experience nor sense.

First hour was relatively mellow. Fun, exciting and dangerous sure. But, not "unsafe." Then Will's posture changed. "Just keep paddling, and stay in the fucking boat. Whatever happens, stay in the fucking boat."

Pretty straightforward.

Some time later, I got dumped at Pillow Rock and held down in a hydraulic; 7,000+ cubic feet per second pushing me under, spinning me around. Our boat was 75-100 yards downstream without me in it. I was alone, drowning in river in goddamn West Virginia.

After a eternally long breath hold, I stopped fighting. I swam as deep as possible. The hydraulic released me. Bouncing off rocks, I found calmer water and surfaced. To this day, I have never felt air in my lungs the same. Sometimes I'll hold my breath as long as possible in the ocean and sit at the bottom until it burns, swim to the top to see if I can recreate that feeling - I can't. But, I digress.

Out of nowhere Will's distinct voice yelled from the riverbed, "DUDE, swim hard to the other side of that rock!" I was drifting toward Dane's Rock - massively undercut, can suck you under.

I made it to shore. Gash on my shoulder, fully gassed from nearly dying twice.

Will handed me a beer.

"Thanks. Where were you guys?"

"We were down there waiting to see if you'd come up."

"Oh."

"I thought you were dead. This river kills people once or twice a year. That's why I told you to stay in the boat."

Silence.

Then Will said, "Sick. I'm so stoked you didn't die. Let's finish the beers and run the lower portion - it's scenic."

By the grace of God and, the determination to not die in West-fucking-Virginia, I am here today.

Had a very similar experience on a squadron rafting trip down the Deschutes in Oregon where one of the guys had guided the river for years. Showed up with my son and he said, this one's your raft, jumped in for a 10 minute crash course. Over the next 3 days we navigate class 3 and 4 rapids and I had no idea what I was doing, couldn't figure out how to take the recommended lines, and generally Gods will helped us not die.

Obviously best trip of our lives.

 

[Alexandra]

Sri Lanka. 70-80 km/h, dirt road, on a CRF250 rally. Narrowly avoided a dog who darted in front of me only to swerve into crossing water buffalo (out of absolutely nowhere). Missed by inches.

 

[sullifrog166]

Up Armored gun truck roll-over into the Euphrates river, Iraq, summer 2006. Took me about 3 minutes to get out of the truck with full kit and weapon.

 

[johntakacs]

Couple years before my wife, son & I finished building a 100hp cub. 2015, I was giving one of his classmates a ride in the back seat, slipping into a steep landing over high trees. Afterwards, the FAA investigators exonerated me, the official report indicated the boy froze, bracing with his legs extended pushing full force on the right rudder pedal, making it impossible for me to correct. Missing the runway, I made the best with the stick and elevator, collapsing the right wing, landing gear and prop strike, but soft enough we were uninjured. My son, waiting 1/4 mile down the runway, in a leg cast on crutches came at Olympic speed, relieved only hardware wrecked. Took us a year to rebuild, the lesson remains to tell all passengers before landings to keep feet & hands off flight controls!

 

[jcupdrew]

Swam across a massive lake on a bet, while heavily intoxicated. Let’s just say, I made it, but barely

 

[jcupdrew]

After a full day of freediving, got choked out in a chest deep pool horsing around. Was fully passed out under water. Everyone thought I was joking, but eventually pulled me out and I coughed up a lot of water. Lungs didn’t feel right for a few days.

 

[jcupdrew]

As a kid, went “shark diving” in a rabbit cage. Doors are closed and cage is submerged. Gravity is on your side for submersion, but works against you when the child crew has to hoist it back out.

 

[Dave Eder]

Most of us have one. The close call that stuck with you for years. The bad decision that somehow didn’t end in a body bag. The hunt, the road, the fall, the fight, whatever it was, you walked away when you probably shouldn’t have.

Let’s hear it.
What happened, and how are you still here?

The first and only time i spike back to my father

 

[badgererickson]

After bar, 3AM with cousin John , and me on the bastard '72 MotoSki sled went through a barbed wire fence. Sling shot me off the sled, leathers took the brunt of it, top strand of fencing was missing in that section. Almost Henry the VIIIth in a cow pasture....

 

[wburns]

Rolled a sled when I was 16 on the ice. The snowmobile flipped over and over following me on the ice as I slid. I had no helmet on and when I came to a stop the sleds ski landed on its last roll next to my head. I should have also died when I was 20 when the front rim came off my mustang at 70mph but somehow I kept her on the road. Also should have died at 40 when I drove a 1968 Land Rover back to North Dakota from West Virginia. I was in southern Minnesota on the interstate when the front rim came to driver’s tire tube blew while a semi was passing me. Somehow I also kept it on the road from going into the semi or rolling. I’ve had a few other moments as well but those come to my mind easily.

 

[avalonbikes]

I was stationed at Fort Polk, Louisiana, and very late one night I was driving my 1966 short-bed Chevy back onto post from a place called Sleezeville, where I had clearly made some questionable life choices and possibly consumed too much alcohol.
On a winding, wooded back road, I lost it in a corner and spun straight into the trees. After confirming I was still alive and checking my shorts, I got out to inspect the damage.

By some divine grace God reserves for fools, I had somehow backed at least twenty feet into the woods without hitting a single tree, despite being surrounded by four of them within a foot of my truck. I drove right back out onto the road and made it safely to the barracks. It could have ended very badly; I might have died, totaled a cool truck, or maybe met up with the MPs; any of those would have been well deserved. Instead, I got a slightly bruised ego and some realization that God still had plans for me.