Tuesday, 17 September 2013

The Fishing Trip Encounter

What could have been a fun weekend of fishing and relaxation for four teenage boys turned into a confusing and frightening episode of unreality, bizarre sightings and missing time
  In the spring of 2001, a 16-year-old boy, whom we'll call José, and three friends set off on a fishing expedition to a lake near their homes in Mexico. What they encountered on that strange day - and what happened to José - has puzzled and haunted them ever since. This is José's story:  The wind was blowing quite strongly that spring morning, stirring up dust and creating a cloudy atmosphere. Three friends and I were going fishing. We set off on foot from my house to a lake that was about three miles or so away. The sun had just risen and the wind howled and combed the sea of dry grass that we walked through. We all carried the essentials: the fishing gear, of course, knives, food, snacks and a tent. We had planned to spend the night at the fishing spot, but with the north air whistling loudly and the dry dust beating our tired faces, we decided not to camp, but just fish for the day. On the way to the lake, we chatted about everyday things as we walked. After a couple of hours or so, we finally reached the lake. Unfortunately, the wind was still blowing strongly, and the dark lake rolled with violent waves that lashed the rocky shore ferociously. We walked around the bleak body of water looking for a good spot to fish, a task that lasted more than an hour.  When we finally decided on the perfect spot, a gust of wind struck us so violently that one of my friends and I were knocked off our feet. My head struck a boulder behind me and I clearly felt the back of my head getting wet. I reached back and touched it, and was surprised to find no blood. I asked the guys to look and see if I was bleeding from or a cut or something, but they all answered that I wasn't. One of the guys even touched the spot on my head with a piece of paper, but no trace of blood came off. Strangely, the back of my head still felt wet. I passed it off as as just the sensation of the blow to my head combined with the chilly wind.  We began to throw the lures and we fished for a few hours. We caught some fish and ate our lunch. The wind made it impossible to start a fire, and as the sun was hiding behind the gray, desolate clouds and the mountains, I suggested to my friends that it was a good idea to head home. They all agreed, so we packed up our stuff and started on the three-mile walk back to my house. That return trip turned out to be a bizarre odyssey.
The return trip

We had spent too much time packing up the gear and getting ready to leave. The sun had set and night was a few minutes away now. There was a road we could follow about 500 meters away from us, but the straight way was shorter, much shorter. 

The back of my head still felt kind of wet, and told my buddies I was not feeling at all well. I begged them that we should take the road, even though it was longer. In case something happened to me, we could flag down a passing car. But because taking the road would have added an extra hour to our trip, they neglected my demand. We continued and came to a small hill. We climbed it and saw, at the bottom of the hill on the other side, a man. He was lying on the ground, motionless. 


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