Deep Trouble
After a long, hot Sunday of squirrel hunting along Tennessee’s Loosahatchie River last June, 50-year-old Anthony Hawes walked to the water’s edge to splash some water on his face. That’s when he almost died.

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I was standing by an old tree on the bank about 2,000 feet off the road. I stepped back to turn around and my foot sank into the mud. I tried to pull it out, but I started losing my balance, so I stepped back with the other foot. Then that one started sinking too, and I realized, I’m going down. After 15 minutes of struggling, I was up to my waist in this oily, silty mud. I felt like my shirt might be pulling me down more, so I yanked it off and threw it in front of me. It was in the mid-90s, and the sun was still beating down hard. The mosquitoes and horseflies started eating me alive, so I sort of lay back to get some mud on me for protection. But when I tried to raise back up, I went in even deeper. Soon it was all the way up to my neck, and I was holding onto a piece of that tree. I started praying. Four-wheelers were coming by, but they couldn’t see or hear me. At dark, a big water moccasin swam past and came out on the bank not 2 feet away, just staring at me. He finally left. It rained that night, and I was terrified because I knew that if the river rose I’d drown.

By the next morning I was delirious. The sun was beating down on me, no food or water, no blood-pressure medication, heat exhaustion, and those flies eating on me every second. If there’s a living hell on this earth, I was in it. Finally that afternoon, God sent me an angel. He was a Cambodian man named Sowann Chea, who came down to fish with two friends. He asked me to pray with him, and I did, while one of his friends went to get help.

In the end, it took 12 firemen to dig me out, using ladders and harnesses and all kinds of equipment. They finally carried me on a stretcher up to a truck. A news reporter lady there asked, “Mr. Hawes, are you okay?” I gave a thumbs-up, and that’s when everybody started clapping.

—As told to Bill Heavey