Below are some excerpts from the forth coming book yet to be titled



One day out…

     I have no idea where to begin, I cannot begin at the beginning because you see the ending and stressful misery of events that unfolded over six days and ended for us all merely a day ago are still most tender. My recent events and their ripple effects are like a raw nerve I hate to touch - but it is unavoidable with every simple gesture I feel my racked body beg me to sit and wait. I seek out damaged flesh to address cuts and bruises and triage my many physical damages. I ache, I can barely walk with a normal gate as I try to ignore pains earned in my extreme survival experiment. I won’t bore you with a list of maladies because it seems so petty to do so - in short, I hurt. The physical healing starts now, today, and will no doubt result in a plan to heal quickly but also to improve my own physical stature and get to my fighting weight and most prime form. It’s time to seriously train - this too will aide me to mend.

     Mentally I have cuts and bruises that cannot be seen, my cup runneth over and my emotions continue to not merely spill out but rather pour out onto ground in front of me. I stare down at my feet in amazement at how mental images of sorrow seemingly lie beneath my feet, as if though an obstacle formed I must maneuver around. My mind’s eye creates a barrier as if to say you must deal with this, now, it will not let me ignore my mental pains, not this time. I cannot push these emotions and memories back down into my chest and hide them - it’s all to fresh, I am all to exposed, and I am still fighting mentally to put on the brave face while looking to my normal routine. A routine that will now forever be changed before I left for that journey - there will be no more "normal" routine but rather a meticulous adjustment for improvement on what was…


     The flesh can heal - my mind can heal as well but it will take a little time. This sentiment is not melodrama, but fact - because I went through an experience, nay we three went through an experience unlike any other in our lives. And, I would never trade for it, I don't believe I would do it again, but I am so grateful to have done “it” at this point in my life. I am grateful for this life experience, it is beyond my ability to describe, this sick twisted screwed up dark test of my own mental and physical limits is a gift. No matter how torn, or how low, or how broken, I embraced the misery, the three of us men embraced our strengths and grabbed one second more, we crawled one more inch, we stood to walk one more foot, and then asked for our tormentors to bring more giants to conquer! We never looked backwards into our abyss but rather forward from its edges and opening, walking away from pits of darkness and pain into the light. Always into the light, away from a hell of our own choosing - and we are all the better for it.

I am grateful for all gifts afforded while being present in that moment - and for all gifts forthcoming from my extreme survival challenge… Now I lick my wounds and thank everyone who afforded me this opportunity - especially my brother in arms who carried me through.

To Brandon – “got nothing but love for you good sir…”  My time will always be yours when you need it… Nothing too great to ask of me good sir - I am at your service… I owe you brother, brother indeed I owe you much.

I am full of love and grace…





One week out:


     I was literally down in a hole last week, pushed in of my own accord, a voluntary process of self-dare that ended June 2nd, which had started started on the 28th of May as an extreme survival challenge...  Six days off the gird, with no communication to the outside world as I normally knew it. No phone, no music, no news, no food, no water, - in short, no creature comforts... Placed by there because I accepted a challenge - into a maze underground in a vast network of terrain - this challenge became real all too fast. Promises of difficulty did not disappoint - and my need or desire to share all aspects of what we endured is hard to simply sit on – a reality documentary that would air via the Discovery Channel August 2, 2017. So many who follow my "Tom Foolery" in life and on social networks the last 10 years want to know, what happened down there, now recorded in the annuals of TV and you tube channels, I am afraid much to my chagrin... But oh well - such is growth as we humble ourselves before the masses and our own internal demons amongst those who would “watch the man in the arena”, according to Teddy Roosevelt.

     I was asked several questions since getting out of there – And, in that simple conversation I can see it will be hard to convey this survival experience verbally.  I try to tell people even now in simple conversation what I and two other men, whom I had never met before went through. That task to explain events which unfolded over those six days - feels as impossible to me as my extreme survival journey I endured itself.

     I am also now trying to handle sensory overload of heightened awareness of colors, sounds, smells, tastes, along with a much stronger insatiable hunger for all things I took for granted in my so called normal routine prior... Simple conversation is no longer simple - every utterance of a word means something more to me now - the simple tasting of a microbrewer local beer soon after emerging to celebrate with family was like eating chateaubriand. All senses are so wonderfully exploding - even with my fatigued and bruised body and earned pain, I am grateful... Thank the gods for aspirin and alcohol - when used properly pain diminishes enough to ignore the deep soreness vetted in my bones since trying to be a subterranean man.

Last night a week after leaving that damned cavern - by chance heading to an event for a friend - I saw the old man’s Central Fire Hall - where dad had begun his career as a rookie fireman in Irving, Texas back in 1962. I was awash and overcome with emotion. Yesterday was the anniversary of his death three years ago, June 7th twelve days before his birth date - I watched him slip over to the other side and breath no more. I watched my hero give way to his wounds and infection ravaging his body. I also watched him fight to the end and saw his eyes looking toward us all trying to maintain an even strain in his battle. I watched him lay there sick and broken, in Dallas, Texas - Then his eyes closed - nothing remained but the shell of the man that carried his good soul to others. He was gone, what was him left him – his essence, his personality, his laugh, his need and desire to help, gone.  The body looked like old outdated worn armor - battered, broken, used up, where several defects shown in metal from the body blows taken of his service to others. Each scar and torn piece of flesh helped moreover to bore out proof of his past life - a life not idle. I life of action and deliberate living.  I life of service, his service…

     While down in my own survival journey last week I quietly called upon my father’s memory to guide me and help me - I called upon his teachings to allow me success - I called upon his patience to give me strength over panic - I called upon his love to calm my outrage and anger - and I called upon his name in order to be proud of my own historical legacy within our little clan of of 4th generation Texas born Tucker’s. I spoke to him and felt his memory around me, I owe you so much Jack Tucker....

     Life is good... The healing comes in steps...  My steps are now being taken to unpack the gifts from within, from this test, from this challenge…



  • White Facebook Icon
  • White Twitter Icon
  • White Instagram Icon

Website design by McKenzie Tucker -