MonadnockVol
New member
Yesterday morning I set out to do a 10 mile out-and-back on the Monadnock-Sunapee-Greenway. This morning I woke up in the emergency room of the Dartmouth-Hitchcock Hosptial in Keene. What a difference a day makes.
The hike started in Pillsbury State Park. I took the Bear Pond Trail out past North Pond and Bear Pond. It was perfect moose habitat, and of course I didn’t see any. There were probably all off somewhere planning a surprise party for Forestgnome.
As I climbed up to the ridge and the junction with the Monadnock-Sunapee Greenway, I noticed that I was moving slower than normal. It was hot, blackflies were swarming, so I was only breathing through my nose, and I had done a fast hike of Kearsarge North the day before (just missing Rocket21 by a couple of hours). One of those things was probably the reason for my sluggishness, I thought.
Two hours later I was sitting on a rock on the south side of Kittredge Hill thinking, “Man, this hike is kicking my butt.” It was beautiful: the woods were full of chickadees and ovenbirds, and there were painted trillium in bloom everywhere. But I was moving so slowly. Finally, I crossed the dirt Washington-Bradford Road after four and a half hours of hiking (I was only doing a mile an hour and usually I do 2-3).
I began to think that I might have to spend the night in the woods. I had given Linda my exact route and a “panic time” of 9 PM and I was embarrassed that she might call for a rescue when I was fine, just a little tired. But looking at my map, I saw that if, instead of turning around at the summit of Lovewell mountain, I could descend 1.1 miles and end up in Washington, NH. I decided that I would bail.
Miraculously, I had a dial tone on my cell. I called Linda and asked her to pick me up in Washington, but I told her to wait an hour before leaving to give me time to get there. Half an hour later, I called her back and told her to wait two hours. I still didn’t think anything was seriously wrong.
Things got harder and harder as I climbed Lovewell. I would take ten steps and feel dizzy and out of breath. I sat down frequently. I thought maybe I had burned through all my glycogen and had hit the wall. (Looking back now, I can’t believe I was this dense.) I began to worry that even two hours would not be enough for me to get down.
Just below the summit I had an experience that was kind of surreal. I had plopped down, too exhausted to move and I was there so long that a porcupine came out of the woods and started up the trail towards me. It was the biggest porcupine I had ever seen. I was sure it was aware of me but I was wrong. I took out my camera and tried to take a picture of it, but my camera batteries chose that moment to die. The camera made some warning beeps when that happened but maybe the porcupine was deaf because it still kept coming.
Finally, when it was 10 feet away I said “Hi, porcupine.” Okay, I know that’s silly, but what would you say to a porcupine? That’s when I realized the porcupine hadn’t been aware of me because it actually jumped. Then it froze and we just stared at each other for a minute, with me saying soothing things to it. Then it slowly turned around, arranged its quills into a concave bowl facing me and slowly walked away.
It wasn’t until I was on the summit of Lovewell that I thought to take my pulse (I told you I wasn’t thinking too clearly.) It was weak, fast and irregular. “Oh ****” I thought, “I’m going to die on this mountain.”
What do you think about when you think you’re going to die? I did not think about all those years that I might have lived. Instead, my first thoughts were of Linda, my son and his wife, and my two grandchildren. Did they know how much I loved them? That my last thoughts were wishing I could tell them that one more time?
I didn’t have any cell reception on the summit and I knew that I had to get myself out of there. I figured that I had already walked five miles with this, I could do another 1.1 downhill. So I continued south on the trail, hoping I could see my family again. But I told you I wasn’t thinking too clearly: I passed a blue-blazed side trail labeled “Southwest view” and I actually thought, “Oh, I should go take a look” before common sense kicked in.
At some point I reached Linda on my cell. She called Andrew Zboray, Monadnock SP manager, who gave her precise directions to the trailhead in Washington. I made it out, flagged down a pick-up who gave me a ride to the general store in Washington where I found Linda getting additional directions from a local resident.
Then I did another stupid thing (what number am I up to? I’ve lost count). I had Linda drive me back to Pillsbury SP to pick up my car. (I should have just called an ambulance.) Then, with Linda following me, I drove my car to Darmouth-Hitchcock in Keene.
In the emergency room my heart rate was 160. They used a drug to slow it and then the EKG revealed that I was in atrial fibrillation. Fortunately, my blood work showed that I had not had a heart attack. They kept me overnight and then today used a defibrillator to shock me back into a sinus rhythm. They couldn't really tell me why it had happened. So I’ll have to make some modifications, but it looks like I will live to hike another day.
The hike started in Pillsbury State Park. I took the Bear Pond Trail out past North Pond and Bear Pond. It was perfect moose habitat, and of course I didn’t see any. There were probably all off somewhere planning a surprise party for Forestgnome.
As I climbed up to the ridge and the junction with the Monadnock-Sunapee Greenway, I noticed that I was moving slower than normal. It was hot, blackflies were swarming, so I was only breathing through my nose, and I had done a fast hike of Kearsarge North the day before (just missing Rocket21 by a couple of hours). One of those things was probably the reason for my sluggishness, I thought.
Two hours later I was sitting on a rock on the south side of Kittredge Hill thinking, “Man, this hike is kicking my butt.” It was beautiful: the woods were full of chickadees and ovenbirds, and there were painted trillium in bloom everywhere. But I was moving so slowly. Finally, I crossed the dirt Washington-Bradford Road after four and a half hours of hiking (I was only doing a mile an hour and usually I do 2-3).
I began to think that I might have to spend the night in the woods. I had given Linda my exact route and a “panic time” of 9 PM and I was embarrassed that she might call for a rescue when I was fine, just a little tired. But looking at my map, I saw that if, instead of turning around at the summit of Lovewell mountain, I could descend 1.1 miles and end up in Washington, NH. I decided that I would bail.
Miraculously, I had a dial tone on my cell. I called Linda and asked her to pick me up in Washington, but I told her to wait an hour before leaving to give me time to get there. Half an hour later, I called her back and told her to wait two hours. I still didn’t think anything was seriously wrong.
Things got harder and harder as I climbed Lovewell. I would take ten steps and feel dizzy and out of breath. I sat down frequently. I thought maybe I had burned through all my glycogen and had hit the wall. (Looking back now, I can’t believe I was this dense.) I began to worry that even two hours would not be enough for me to get down.
Just below the summit I had an experience that was kind of surreal. I had plopped down, too exhausted to move and I was there so long that a porcupine came out of the woods and started up the trail towards me. It was the biggest porcupine I had ever seen. I was sure it was aware of me but I was wrong. I took out my camera and tried to take a picture of it, but my camera batteries chose that moment to die. The camera made some warning beeps when that happened but maybe the porcupine was deaf because it still kept coming.
Finally, when it was 10 feet away I said “Hi, porcupine.” Okay, I know that’s silly, but what would you say to a porcupine? That’s when I realized the porcupine hadn’t been aware of me because it actually jumped. Then it froze and we just stared at each other for a minute, with me saying soothing things to it. Then it slowly turned around, arranged its quills into a concave bowl facing me and slowly walked away.
It wasn’t until I was on the summit of Lovewell that I thought to take my pulse (I told you I wasn’t thinking too clearly.) It was weak, fast and irregular. “Oh ****” I thought, “I’m going to die on this mountain.”
What do you think about when you think you’re going to die? I did not think about all those years that I might have lived. Instead, my first thoughts were of Linda, my son and his wife, and my two grandchildren. Did they know how much I loved them? That my last thoughts were wishing I could tell them that one more time?
I didn’t have any cell reception on the summit and I knew that I had to get myself out of there. I figured that I had already walked five miles with this, I could do another 1.1 downhill. So I continued south on the trail, hoping I could see my family again. But I told you I wasn’t thinking too clearly: I passed a blue-blazed side trail labeled “Southwest view” and I actually thought, “Oh, I should go take a look” before common sense kicked in.
At some point I reached Linda on my cell. She called Andrew Zboray, Monadnock SP manager, who gave her precise directions to the trailhead in Washington. I made it out, flagged down a pick-up who gave me a ride to the general store in Washington where I found Linda getting additional directions from a local resident.
Then I did another stupid thing (what number am I up to? I’ve lost count). I had Linda drive me back to Pillsbury SP to pick up my car. (I should have just called an ambulance.) Then, with Linda following me, I drove my car to Darmouth-Hitchcock in Keene.
In the emergency room my heart rate was 160. They used a drug to slow it and then the EKG revealed that I was in atrial fibrillation. Fortunately, my blood work showed that I had not had a heart attack. They kept me overnight and then today used a defibrillator to shock me back into a sinus rhythm. They couldn't really tell me why it had happened. So I’ll have to make some modifications, but it looks like I will live to hike another day.
Last edited:
