Sometimes it is just the pure beauty of Nature that lures you ...unsuspecting...into danger. As you can see from the picture, hiking up mountains in Alaska is akin to hiking Nature's Cathedral. Your thoughts quiet down. The solitude away from the things of Man...is like a salad bar for your soul. It looks peaceful. And it is. But Nature has two sides. And the ugly side is always just a moment away.
Earlier today I posted about my stupidity that almost made a bear very happy...and full. This time, more stupidity ;and yes, again I hiked alone. Sigh.
This time though it was a much closer call. In the Army I learned all about Heat Exhaustion and Heat Stroke...and I experienced it too. That leaves a deeper knowledge scar embedded in your brain, called: experience.
This time, my stupidity showed up at the other end of the temperature range. This time, I got hypothermia. You would think I would learn...so maybe by reading what an Idiot I am, you can learn the easier way, without the impending fear of doom. Ready? Here goes.
Just like in the last story, but in a different year, I headed up into the Mountains on the very first day of Spring, or maybe the last day of Winter. Snow packed all the trails. Walking on snow packs is difficult, but can be managed without spikes or cleats if you have good hiking boots, and some gravel slurry along side.
Up I went. The trail should have been familiar...but it seemed so wide.
I had my walking stick and was pushing it about eighteen inches or so into the pack in front of me, to make sure I wouldn't break through a snow shelf into whatever cavern, underground flow, or hole, that might be lurking under the guise of solid ice.

Finally I hit a bit of the trail I recognized. There is a rock wall on a curve that stands about two stories high. Usually when you take that turn, with one hand on the wall, the edge of the trail is no more than three feet from the wall. With an 800 foot straight drop to the valley floor on the outer edge. In summer, everyone is careful because the vegetation makes you think that drop off isn't there...or that close. But Winter hides it much differently. It doesn't use shrubbery or secondary growth...it uses...ICE Shelves. Yep.
When I realized I was standing some eighteen feet away from rock wall, it dawned me that I was actually dangling over empty space. Just a thick snow shelf holding me up. I didn't panic (yet). That would come later when I got myself into even deeper sh*t.
I did what I was taught and spread myself out on the ground like a snow angel. Using my walking stick as an Ice pick, I dragged myself closer and closer to the rock wall. When I knew I was actually over the trail, I stood up, brushed myself off and thanked God and anyone else who would listen for the lucky break.
Whew. Dodged a bullet. Remember, I am all alone. Once again forgot my Day Pack. Did not tell anyone where I was going, and the temperature outside was below freezing. All signs that common sense had, once again, betrayed me and left.
So the hike continues. I start to hear running water. A couple of times I stop to really listen. I can hear gurgling and sputtering, but don't know where it is coming from. One more step, and I found out where it was. Under me.
I fell through yet another snow shelf. But the runoff from the top of the steep rise had eroded a small river under the snow. When I busted through the pack snow, I fell to my shoulders. Only my walking stick, which happened to fall almost directly above me, acted as a break. Otherwise I would have fallen about three feet under the snow pack, to be tumbled down the cliff under roaring ice cold water. My feet and legs were soaked. Somehow (and maybe prayers do get answered on demand) my wedged walking stick kept me just dangling half in the water, half out.
I managed to use my walking stick and crawl, scrape, and wiggle my way back onto the snow pack. Once again, I pulled myself to the side of the trail I knew was over land. But I was soaked, frozen, and scared. I had a mile and a half to go back to town. That is when the snow started, and the wind picked up.
Even as stupid as I was, I wasn't dumb enough to not know how much danger I was in. I was wet to the bone, it was freezing, and I had a long walk with no fire, no dry clothes and no way to call for help.
I got up...and started walking. And walking. And walking. My mind became numb. As numb as my legs, which I stopped feeling before I even got back to the trail head. From there it was a good mile into town, with 30 knot winds rifling right into my face. My clothes...froze. Just like a few times in the Army or when running a long distance...I just kept thinking: Just one more step. Go ahead. One more. Now...one more. So step by step, I walked back to Town.
My hand had frozen to my walking stick. I wasn't aware of that, but the EMT's told me that is how I came through the door of the little Clinic. Luckily the Town I was at, had a little shack for Emergencies, and both ParaMedics were there for lunch.
I don't remember much. Later, after they treated me for extreme hypothermia, but no permanent frostbite! They showed me their report. I was incoherent and couldn't respond to questions for the first thirty or forty minutes. Then when I could talk a little they asked me what seven time seven was. My answer was written down in black ink. I said:
"Wyoming."
I laughed out loud when I read that. The Paramedic did not. "Kevin, that is a serious sign that you were still suffering. You can laugh now, but that might have been a hint that your brain was scrambled permanently. Yeah, that will stop the chuckling.
A day later and I was warm enough, passed all physical and mental tests -and they let me go. With an admonition: Never hike alone. Be prepared. And use common sense: tell someone where you are going, when you expect to be back, and bring enough stuff to survive at least over night.
Yeah, I knew all that. Most of my stuff was safe in my Day Bag back in my room, while I was two and half miles away dangling over an icy river just a few feet below me. I had lots of time to think on that long wet walk home. Except you don't think anything when you are hypothermic. Your brain is frozen. You are jut an animal trying to survive.
And now you know how stupid I can be...more than once. It seems to be a habit.