Sarge, I used to live near Lake of the Ozarks, Lake Ozark, Mo. for a fact. Good country to get turned around in. When I was a young forester on the Spotted Bear RD, Flathead Nat. For. in Montana in 1964, I got "turned around" putting in a haul road in a sale area. The area was in the lower Twin Creeks drainage and there were lots of little drainages and hills. Plus it was in October and there was a foot or two of snow on the ground and a heavy overcast day. What we would call a "white out." Not a vestige of a shadow, and the sun was not even a glimmer in the clouds. I was a mile or two from my pick up and had put in most of the logging road flagging I had planned for the day.
I adjusted my .270 on my shoulder and whipped out my compass to take a shot on getting back to the truck. [Did I forget to mention I had my .270?] I knew I was looking in the right direction.... Well, that stupid compass said I was about 180 degrees out of phase. Hmmmm... Must be my rifle (elk season was in, and you never know when you might have to take a little annual leave to pack an elk out
. So I took my rifle and walked off few feet and leaned it against a tree, and went back to where I was standing. Same result!
With that I collected my .270, put my trust in the compass and about an hour later hit the FS road about 200 yards from my pick up. Sure did feel good to 1. hit the road; and 2. see my trusty pick up right down the road. Never told the ranger. He would have laughed me out of the ranger station. I never went anywhere without my Silva compass on my cruiser's vest.
It is a strange feeling to discover you aren't sure where you are, let alone which direction is which. TB