**One Last Chance **
That night, lying in his bunk, he resolved to try to signal a plane. The following day, he stood out on a snowy gravel bar, hoping that a plane would fly by. His odds were next to nothing. In late summer, planes in the remote interior are common sights, carrying hunters to and from camp, but in November they are rare. Heimo sat on the gravel bar until the sun set and then returned to the cabin feeling gloomy. On day two, he repeated his vigil but again failed to spot a pla. On day three, he was disappointed again and hungrier than he'd ever been in his life. By day four, he was sitting on the gravel bar, assessing his chances of walking out. Birch Creek was nearly 40 miles, a trip that under normal circumstances, he could make. But now he was weak with hunger and he'd have to break trail the entire way.