What have you done in the mountains that could have resulted in a rescue, but didn't?

[erugs]

When I was a newby, I hiked up the trail to Pierce while my son and a friend were snow boarding at Bretton Woods. Along the way, the zipper on my GoreTex jacket jambed. I met up with another couple and the man was able to apply enough force to unjamb it. The three of us continued on again. The other woman was wearing wooden Tubbs snowshoes (long, wide, no crampons) while he was outfitted with the gear used at the time (about 15 years ago). We decided, at my suggestion to do the loop, and told some others we met at the summit, who told us that the group we had just passed, who were going down the way we came up, had just tried the same thing and could not find the trail. The guy of our trio decided that we would go anyway, and followed right along in the footsteps of those who had become lost. When the tracks stopped, we were stumped. I suggested that if we would just make our way up the hill to our left, we would eventually pick up the trail on the other side. (After all, I had hiked it the summer before and about 30 years before that!) We were lucky, and I don't use that word casually. We struggled through deep snow with spruce traps and finally managed to find the trail. Down to the hut and out. Easy as pie. But when I think now of what could easily have happened to us, I shuddershiver. (Is that a word?)

 

[Tim Seaver]

April 25, 1987. Low Avy danger in Tucks, but snowing. Thought I'd go up near the Right Gully area, up to the summit, then maybe a butt-glissade back down where I went up. There were a couple of other people behind me on the lower part of Tucks, but they had big packs and I soon left them behind. All went well, up to the summit, and back to the top of the headwall. Sat down, with my axe in the position for braking, and began sliding down - conditions seemed pretty ideal, and I was sliding right on top of my tracks up, so it felt relatively safe.

Here's where I made a big mistake - as I went over the convex hump at the top of the headwall and gained a bit of speed, I dug in a bit too hard with the axe spike.
I heard a distinct crack, and looked to my right to see a large crack shooting across the snow horizontally - a fracture line, created by me, at the point of most tension in a snow slope.

I was now riding a giant "snow sled", about 4 feet thick. Wheee! Well, at least for a few micro-seconds that was the thought - "I'll be OK, this is just going to be the "Express" ride down". Then my sled began disintegrating into decidedly less friendly blocks of snow, and my axe, still attached to my wrist, was bouncing about dangerously - somehow I got it off my wrist, and then it was gone as I began to tumble, remembering to try and swim to the top. I still thought I would be OK.

That's right about when I felt myself become airborne, shooting over a short cliff band that I had angled around on the ascent. NOW I thought "You know, people DIE from this sh*t".
Unknown fractions of time later, I came into contact with the slope with my right foot hitting first - I remember yelling "ow" and that's about all.

The blocky tongue of snow I was riding in finally made it to the bottom of the ravine. I was upright with my arms above the blocks as it quietly slid to a halt, facing down the ravine.

I climbed down out of the tongue and looked back at it, a four foot high hump of blocks, and was glad not to be at the bottom of it. As I stepped down, I noticed that my ankle hurt a good bit, and figured that I had sprained it.
I limped down to the building at Hermit Lakes, a bit dazed but mobile, albeit at a very slow pace. There was a person there ( I don't know what their status or position was), who I somewhat sheepishly told that I just took an unexpected ride down the headwall, and that I thought my ankle was sprained. We both agreed that taking my boot off would probably not be a good idea until I get out.

I did inquire about possibly getting some help getting back to Pinkham Notch, which this person was not receptive to - he immediately began talking about 15 person litter teams and blah-de-blah, so I backed off, not wanted to cause a fuss over my sprained ankle. I got the distinct impression from this fellow that he had better things to do with his evening than tend to needy avalanche-riders. So I began my hike out - It was about 4:00pm.

At first, limping through the packed snow wasn't so terrible, but as soon as I lost elevation below the snow line (this is April) and was faced with the rocky nature of the Tucks trail, every step was a screamer.
About half-way down, still on the snow, I saw a sled being pulled up the trail. A sled with a case of beer in it. A sled being pulled by the guy I just saw at Hermit Lakes, who has skiied down to get the case of beer. He seemed a bit embarrassed by the encounter, but I now knew why he wasn't too keen on helping me. I don't blame him, but an ice axe splint or a plastic sled would have saved me a lot of grief.

I eventually made it to my car about 11pm, and it being a standard, there were a lot of intersections that were sailed through. I went home, and went to bed.
The next morning, I went to the Emergency Room and limped to the front desk, wanting to be seen for my sprained ankle. I mentioned that I was in an avalanche. I sat down.

Minutes later, a gurney bursts through the door, the frantic looking people pushing it yelling: "Where is the avalanche victim?"

Anyway - my ankle was broken, I just didn't want it to be.

The moral of the story? "Why waste time rescuin' and helpin' folks when there's a PARTY going on?"

Or something.

Thanks for starting this thread, Ellen.

 

[sardog1]

I went solo rock climbing one afternoon in Norway when I lacked the skills and equipment. I didn't actually realize I was "rock climbing" until the moment my hands came off the rock. I started slowly cantilevering backward toward an extreme state of disequilibrium, sure to be followed by a brief period of acceleration and then an even briefer period of deceleration.

Not sure whether I thought about it consciously or not, but bending forward slightly brought me back into four points of contact with Mother Earth. Further progress upward was abandoned and I lived to tell the tale. No one knew I was doing it or would have missed me for a couple of weeks.

 

[Will]

I've had two falls that should have resulted in a rescue, more likely my death, but didn't. Both off trail in the Grand Canyon. Back foot twisted out of what had seemed secure positioning and bad landing on what had looked good for the the lead foot; sent me tumbling down a short steep scree slope with falloff into oblivion. Somehow I smashed into the only large boulder, ironically shaped like a tombstone set into the slope, with my head and shoulder and it stopped me cold. Lay, than sat, in a daze for 45 minutes and wasn't really right in the head for over a week. Second time was through a narrow drainage channel, one of half a dozen or set across a large drainage, that was too steep and and loose; user error, should have backtracked and found another route across, whole section of scree and small rocks gave way downslope from under me. Friction took hold and I slid to a stop near the lip, leaving a trail of blood and skin scraped off that probably lasted for weeks.

So, you're dead but still walking, that's the feeling. Been all bonus from there.

 

[Raven]

Wow, some of these stories are incredible. A few of you have taken some serious falls! Glad you all "landed on your feet" so to speak.

Reminds me that Ed (of Ed and Laukey) recently took a serious fall on Ammo Ravine and landed "just right" from a report he posted a while back too.

This was 10 January 2004, 9 winters ago

Not necessarily a near accident, but I was certainly delving into dangerous territory with a few complicating factors.

(This was the day the Patriots played the coldest game in franchise history, and they were warning the fans about the wind chills. While most of the focus was to the south in Foxborough, Mass, I headed north to have a rare chance to experience a day that would be cold even by White Mountain standards. Frankly, I couldn't care less about the Pats or football in general most of the time, so this was an easy choice for me, like hiking tomorrow will be.)

It was the coldest day I’ve ever felt in the mountains. Mount Washington set a record with a real temperature of -34 F. A heat-stealing, gusty wind infiltrated the woods and mocked the highly technical layers I was wearing. I was stunned when, on removing an inner glove for no more than moments, it hardened into a twisted mass. Sounds were different. The crusty snow squeaked with an unfamiliar pitch under my plastic double boots. I heard a warning in these new sounds reminding me that the mountain is dynamic; conditions are always changing. Be observant. Stay aware. And by God, stay warm. Cold is a complicating factor. Small errors in judgment, mistakes not deserving of a second thought on most days can have much more severe consequences below zero.
I spent little time on the rocky summit of Liberty before continuing along the ridge and dropping down into the col approaching Mount Flume. As I passed through the low point along the ridge midway between the two summits, I groaned as both quads locked into knots at the same time. My water had frozen past the point of usefulness a while back and the resulting mild dehydration combined with the cold set me up for cramping issues. With both summits now equally distant and standing in the col, I was going up 500 feet regardless, so I opted to keep moving on. My legs continued to cramp every few steps as I started the ascent toward Flume’s summit cone. They felt shredded. I bent my right leg and pulled it up behind me to try to stretch. My calf locked up immediately. This wasn’t going to be an easy 500 feet. Somewhat counterintuitive, I found lifting up on the balls of my feet and climbing on my toes kept my legs from cramping. My legs warmed and the muscles became pliable again. I was relieved to make it to the summit of Flume without further incident. I enjoyed a few moments looking down Flume Slide dropping steeply away from the summit. Before long, I descended the Osseo Trail, thankfully one easy on the legs. The day was a good one, a unique one for me. I’ve always been fascinated by the cold, compelled by it. I spent the day hiking in the mountains in temperatures I’ve never experienced before. Even anticipating many more years in the mountains, I recognize this as an experience I may only get once.

I do not often look for bitterly cold days to hike at this point, but the experience was unique.

 

[RoySwkr]

Nearly every hike, a branch whips past my eye, I trip over a log or a foot slips, or a rock comes loose under my foot, and I realize, "All it takes is a bad landing and I'll need to be carried out", but it hasn't happened yet and I don't let it bother me.

Like TS, I have walked out on a sprained ankle (multiple times, but all really sprains in my case) that if with an organized group the leader might have insisted on an evacuation.

 

[mirabela]

I came a hair's breadth from poking my eye right out on a branch coming down off Seymour in the ADK's two winters ago. I thought I'd really done it at first. Though I guess I could probably have walked out even if I had.

Going up the talus field beneath the glacier on the approach to the east couloir on Mt. Sill (eastern Sierra), a boulder about the size of a VW bug tilted sharply beneath me and pitched me facefirst down to the next block down, 8 feet or so. Cracked or strained ribs, but I got off OK.

Descending one of the gullies from the summit of Mt. Shasta to the top of the Wintun glacier, a boulder about the size of a mini-fridge came loose under the next climber beneath me, and missed the two beneath him by 18" or so.

One November back in high school two buddies and I were going across the hitch-up Matilda bridges at Avalanche Lake, also in the ADK's, when a chunk of ice the size of a sofa came off one of the cliffs high overhead and came about two feet from taking out the guy in front.

I've been pretty lucky, as have those around me. The only actual rescue I've ever had to initiate occurred when a college buddy broke his ankle in the Grand Canyon. He could not have picked a better spot -- he did it right at Hance Rapids, an obvious landmark, within 200 yards of a good source of fresh water and a wide-open sand area for the chopper to land on. As those things go, he was pretty easy to retrieve.

 

[sardog1]

FWIW, I've had to lead two SAR dog handlers out of the woods by the hand on separate occasions after they each took a stick in the eye. In addition, my niece had to have three surgeries to save her eyesight in an eye that took a branch on a group snowshoe hike. Some things to keep in mind:
1. Always wear a hat with a brim when you're exposed to branches and twigs.
2. Eye protection is a necessity if you're bushwhacking.
3. Whenever someone else is with you and there are branches present, maintain ten feet of space between you and the person in front of you. When a branch comes whipping back, you need time to see it coming and avoid it. Otherwise, while you're moving forward you'll simultaneously move into the space the branch will sweep through on its way back. If you're the person in front, don't hold the branch in your hand and slowly let it go out of courtesy to the person behind you. Just be sure as a party to maintain the spacing at all times necessary.

 

[DougPaul]

3. Whenever someone else is with you and there are branches present, maintain ten feet of space between you and the person in front of you. When a branch comes whipping back, you need time to see it coming and avoid it. Otherwise, while you're moving forward you'll simultaneously move into the space the branch will sweep through on its way back. If you're the person in front, don't hold the branch in your hand and slowly let it go out of courtesy to the person behind you. Just be sure as a party to maintain the spacing at all times necessary.

There is another technique--if there is someone behind you, you put the branch back into place or hand it to the person before proceeding.

And if you are using poles, you can hold them up in front of your face to stop any branches coming your way.

Doug

 

[Raymond]

First time a friend and I hiked together — it was my first real hike — we climbed Mount Washington. Went up Tuckerman Ravine, came down Huntington Ravine. Years later I read that first-time hikers should not use Huntington Ravine and no one should ever descend it.

Twenty-nine years later, I walked into a branch while descending Cupsuptic Snow, which sent me onto my back, and my eyeglasses sailing who knew where. I had to checkWv e r yWc a r e f u l l yWall around me before I dared move my feet for fear of squashing or otherwise wrecking the glasses. After I found them, I used my digital camera to check the damage on my forehead.

I don’t own a cell phone, so I guess that wouldn’t have actually resulted in a rescue.

Ditto for the time I lost my footing while descending the White Arrow Trail on Monadnock on February 20, 2011. It was pretty nerve-racking trying to hold myself from sliding down the slope while getting out of my snowshoes and into my MicroSpikes.

But the first two things I thought of when I saw this thread were the times Susan and Cam and I helped reunite a young girl and her father, who had become separated on the MacIntyre Range, and the time Susan and I helped get a couple of sad sacks from Lynn, Massachusetts, down off Mount Jefferson. Didn’t I just write about these incidents recently? Anyway, I’m sure we kept them out of Tony’s and Gene’s accident reports.

 

[Raymond]

Actually, like Roy said. There’s always a near miss. Nearly getting knocked off my pins while crossing the second brook while returning from a climb of Owls Head (no one else around), stepping into a hidden hole while bushwhacking, losing the trail.

They’ve all worked out, so far.

 

[peakbagger]

A few of us did a Weeks traverse in January a few years ago that went from a 8 to 10 hour hike to a 20 plus hour hike. We did get bit "bewildered" on the York Pond trail down on the lower end where it has been relocated a few times and runs through a wet land. We would have found our way out eventually but it could have been a cold bivy. If someone was at home waiting for a call, we may have had F&G called on us. As it was it turned into a "adventure".

 

[buddy]

Standing on the edge of a 20' ledge on the North East ridge leading to the summit of Dix. It's a fairly thick bushwhack summit approach from that direction and it was a pleasure to break out of the spruce onto a small ledge that provided views of the West bowl of Dix. Casually standing near the edge, an unexpected gust of wind caught me off guard causing me to loose my balance and slip on some ice. I recovered my balance but the edge suddenly seemed closer than it had before. A lesson learned well. I give all drops a little more distance now. Could have been killed, but more likely seriously injured had I fallen off that ledge and absolutely would have required rescue. It was late afternoon in January with terrible snow conditions at least two miles down to the nearest trail or half mile up to the summit of Dix. I would not have been very popular with the SAR folks. Even experienced back country people get tired, careless, distracted or unlucky and can become one more victum of a simple twist of fate. Buddy

 

[Tom_Murphy]

Last year there was a cold snap in January. I had had a five day solo walkabout in the Pemi all planned out and I aborted after only one night.

Fear, shame, and turning back

 

[mirabela]

^^ good call.

 

[Raven]

Here's to many more near-misses for all of us!

One near miss I recall was about 3 summers ago on the Great Gully Trail in King Ravine. It was a great day out, clear and warm, but not too hot. I was on the section of trail on the lower half of the headwall. The trail meanders left and right a bit as it climbs along a cascade/stream of water. At one point the trail comes left and out to the water, goes a few feet along the water, then takes a right an climbs again. I had just followed the trail away from the water and started to climb when I heard a sudden noise. I looked up and watched as a boulder maybe one and a half feet across came sailing down the wall of the ravine, hitting once or twice as it came right done the cascade, fast and full of force. It passed right nearby the stretch of trail along the water, very close to the spot I had been in just a few minutes before. I was maybe 20 feet to the side of it by the time it came by, so well clear by then.

Judging by the momentum of that boulder, if it hit me, I'm guessing the S and R team would have not needed to rush.

 

[griffin]

Not as dramatic as some of these, and more embarrassing than interesting:

Years back I did a late-Winter/early-Spring overnight to Zealand Hut. The road was still closed, and someone suggested it might be more fun to hike in via Avalon and A-Z than do a road walk - and hey, it's even a shorter hike that way. We did look for trail reports, and couldn't find any for the section of trail between Tom and the Zealand trail, but the reports for all the trails in the area said they were packed and bare-bootable. So of course we assumed the A-Z would be fine too and didn't bother to ask around at Crawford (this was pre-HC) for more info.

Next, lets add a really late start - as a couple of folks in the group decided "meet at trailhead at 9" meant "lets be finishing up buying the group food we agreed to bring at 9-ish before we head over to the trailhead" It was after noon before we finally got going.

Oh, and no one had snowshoes.

Turns out no one had been on that of trail in a while. So, no tracks to follow in most places and the snow is deep enough in some places to make it hard to find blazes. We don't have snowshoes so we're wading through knee- and thigh-deep snow in places. In others, the hikers in the front packed down the snow enough for the middle folks to walk on a rail, and for those at the back to post-hole. The group at the front also had to spread out now and again to re-locate the trail. Made for very slow going, and by the end, one of the women at the front was so frustrated and upset (because by this point, we knew how incredibly stupid we'd been, and how much trouble we might have gotten ourselves into), that she lost it and got into a screaming fight with a moose.

We did eventually make it into Zealand, exhausted but otherwise unharmed, but we all realized how easily we could have gotten hopelessly lost and/or had someone really hurt themselves post-holing. In fact, a year or so later, a group of Boy Scouts DID get lost trying to do the same route and had to be lead out by F&G. The whole experience made me far more careful about planning, much more selective in who I chose to hike with, more willing to acknowledge that I'm in over my head and need to turn back, and a lot less judgmental about other people's mistakes.

 

[spider solo]

Mines not to dramatic either. Some years ago I started out on a 10 day hike. On the 2nd day I tore up the cartilage in my knee pretty bad.
Excruciating pain etc. First day I crawled to a nearby stream got in my bivy bag and called it a day. 2nd day I made a little headway back to the trail head by dividing up my back pack and dragging it behind me in a couple of trips.
On day 3 I made it back to the trail head after declining some help from a nice couple that were just starting their hike (I didn't want to ruin their day).
So guess I could have been rescued, but couldn't see the point to it. (No cell phones no GPS back then and really not that long ago)
Plus it was not a winter hike.

Anyway I was in the woods maybe 2 miles, but it wasn't till the 3rd day till I got back out.

So to this day I do get a bit feisty when I read of people needing help and others say oh "why didn't they just hike out it was a short distance." I say walk in the others shoes if you really want to see what they did and the decisions right or wrong that are made.

I think others have far more exciting stories than this one...

 

[focusonbalance]

When looping Cardigan-Firescrew, coming back into treeline on FS, went left to avoid some thick ice, it was quite grey with some gnarly hardened scrub, well I leaned a bit left and felt something sharp hit my neck at my caratoid, I immediately thought, great, I'm going to bleed out and die here, oh God! I immediately fell to the right knowing falling on th eice there would be better than potentially bleeding out. Well, it worked, I did get a good cut but manage it fine. Since then, I pay much better attention to the grey scale areas where things hide easily.

 

[sdways01]

Luckily, I've never had any majors issues. The closest I had was also on Monadnock on the White Arrow Trail. I had just left the summit and was coming down the first steep bit. My feet slipped out in the snow and I started sliding down on my butt. I stopped just as my right leg found its way into the snow up to my knee. Had I gone any further, there could have been a very bad twist of my knee or break of something. My foot was stuck enough in the snow, I don't think my lower leg would have moved at all if my body tried to go further.