Somewhere in Poulsbo is my hero. He probably doesn’t know it, and it took me a while to know it.

For well over 70 years, I have chased my dreams, and many times these adventures easily could have put me below the grass. One of my dreams has been driving Olympic National Forest service roads throughout the year and in all conditions. The magnetic pull has been greatest when cold, ice and snow are involved that challenge my imagination.

Over a year ago, on Jan. 8, 2016, I was driving Forest Service 2700 Road above Quilcene and got stuck in snow. After hours of unsuccessfully trying to extricate myself and realizing there probably wouldn’t be anyone driving anywhere near, I decided my very special little dog and I needed to walk out to the more traveled lower-elevation 2800 line — 4.5 miles away — in hopes of getting a ride to safety.

Temperatures were in the 20s, and the forest service road was buried under around 18 inches of snow and ice. My attire consisted of boots, jeans, single shirt and summer jacket and no hat. I certainly was not prepared for a walk out and I probably violated every caution to avoid hypothermia.

When my dog and I reached the 2800 road, we saw no one so we began walking down the 2800 road toward Lords Lake. After about a mile of walking, I realized my body wasn’t pushing forward the way it had been. I had been falling and I started to worry about my dog getting frostbite. I knew darkness would envelop the area sooner than later, my body wouldn’t make it much farther, and my dog had no protection against the conditions.

My brain was telling me my dog and I needed to move off the road and bed down in the snow until morning. Months later, I began to realize morning would not have come. Guilt for jeopardizing my dog’s welfare crescendoed.

Just then, I heard a vehicle coming down the 2800 road above us. An extended-cab pickup truck with cab-high canopy stopped beside me, and a young man got out and offered to take my dog and me to safety.

I don’t remember much about the young man except he had a dog in the pickup bed, and inside the cab in the back seat was a very young daughter strapped in a child’s carseat. He had my dog and me get in the front passenger seat. I don’t recall any conversation we had on the drive out. I do remember the warmth of words and temperature my dog and I felt on the drive to safety, although I wouldn’t comprehend the real importance of them until later.

Today, a year-plus later, this young man and I can only underestimate how important his role was in allowing my dog and me to enjoy life today. I sincerely hope that his daughter was old enough to understand what was happening and carry memories for the rest of her life of what a special father she has.

Jack Iacolucci

Sequim