It is not the smell or the sound of facing death in the woods that haunts Glen Bogart as he sits in a Medford hospital bed, with a hole in his back and a 20-inch scar snaking through his left arm.
It is the sensation.
He can't shake the feeling of a hunter's errant bullet plowing into his shoulder blade and tearing through his torso, almost in slow motion, as it crumples his lung and shatters his arm on the way out.
"I could feel this vibration, this 'vvrrmmph,' as the bullet went through me," Bogart says. "The next thing I know, I'm on the ground, my whole body vibrating."
Facedown, his blood pooling in the dirt, Bogart believed the worst. He expected to die, comforted only by the notion that it was him on the ground and not his daughter, who was sitting in a pickup truck nearby.
Advertisement | |
The worst appears behind the 43-year-old Medford man who has survived his ordeal to become the latest breathing example of how hunters are ultimately responsible for every bullet they fire, no matter how happenstance the results.
Investigators say Bogart was shot accidentally Oct. 1 by a Klamath Falls man who told police he fired at a deer and missed. But the 7 mm bullet continued through the forest and traveled across a dirt road before striking Bogart as he searched for deer northeast of Ashland.
The accused shooter, 36-year-old Cole Reeves, was cited by police Friday on a misdemeanor charge called "unintentional wounding of another." This 20-year-old statute is what police say fits this circumstance, which is preached against regularly in hunter-safety courses that are mandatory in Oregon for juveniles but not adults.
"The reason why we have a hunter-safety program is to keep scenarios like this from happening," says Sgt. Colin Fagan of the Jackson County Sheriff's Department.
"It's about knowing your target and what's beyond," Fagan says.
Reeves, who told sheriff's deputies that he took a hunter-safety course as a teenager, faces a maximum sentence of six months in jail and a $500 fine if convicted. A conviction also would carry a mandatory 10-year suspension of his hunting privileges in Oregon.
Jean Bogart, Glen's wife, scoffs at the citation.
"A $500 fine is ridiculous," Jean Bogart says. "He probably won't do any jail time. I don't think it's right at all.
"All I know is, we're going to get stuck with hundreds of thousands of dollars (in bills) because of this idiot," says Jean Bogart, whose husband owns an auto-detailing business and has no health insurance.
Glen Bogart remains in fair condition at Rogue Valley Medical Center, where family members have kept a constant vigil since he was airlifted here from the woods near Howard Prairie Lake.
Doe-eyed from painkillers and other drugs to ward off infection, Bogart sits upright in a sparse private room while searching for words to describe his survival.
The bullet, powerful enough to drop an elk, burst a hole the size of a man's fist in his back. His left lung damaged by shock, he spent 13 days on a ventilator.
Bogart's left arm, its nerves trampled, sits motionless on his lap. His right hand quivers when raised to emphasize a point.
"I know I'm lucky to be alive," Bogart says. "I know that."
A single blue balloon, with "Get Well Now" written on it, hangs suspended in front of the room's frosted-glass window, with the shades pulled to keep the sun from Bogart's eyes.
Jean Bogart spends her days in a bedside recliner, wearing the blue plastic gown and purple gloves required of visitors to keep Bogart free of life-threatening germs. Her nights are spent in the family's hunting trailer parked in the RVMC lot.
On Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, Jean Bogart excuses herself while a nurse changes the thick bandage on her husband's back.
"I usually leave the building when they change his dressing," she says. "I can't stand it."
Reeves did not return telephone messages this week seeking comment. He hasn't called the hospital to talk with the Bogart family either, which befuddles Jean Bogart.
"If I did this to somebody, I'd be their new best friend," she says.
"I guess I'd feel better about all this if the guy just showed up and said he's sorry and what can he do to help," she says. "I suppose he has to live with it the rest of his life."
The rest of Glen Bogart's life will be markedly different as well.
Sometime in the next week, doctors expect Bogart to be transferred to Providence Medford Medical Center for physical therapy on his arm, Jean Bogart says. Doctors haven't said how long they expect his stay there or what his prognosis will be, she says.
When he does return home, the lifelong hunter will return to a place devoid of rifles.
"I'm done with the woods," he says. "It's too dangerous out there."
Reach reporter Mark Freeman at 776-4470, or e-mail mfreeman@mailtribune.com.
Related Stories:
