How I Ended Up Needing Rescuing From My Day Hike
Every summer for the past few years I’ve chosen a physical challenge to motivate and test myself.
A few years ago it was the Rachel Carson Challenge (didn’t happen, but I still trained), last year it was the Boulder Skyline Traverse (went great!) and this year I settled on Hells Canyon Loop (intimidating name, and hike).
This was something I wanted to do with some friends while camping, but we couldn’t find a date and I decided to do it solo on a free weekend (thanks, COVID). I often enjoy long solo hikes, it’s a great example of solitude vs loneliness. The feeling of solitude deep in the mountains is one that I chase.
Before I left, I did all my usual preparation. I checked the trail description, the recent hiker comments, and the map. I packed a couple of layers, 4L of water, 4 cliff bars, and some nutrient-dense muffins that I make.
So, I drove up to Granby on Friday night, camped on some nearby BLM land, woke up around 5 am and drove to the Monarch Lake trailhead. I started my Strava (part vanity, part tracking) and set off.
The first third of the hike was excellent! Cool but pleasant weather, with the sun breaking through the brilliant color-turning aspens, passing through meadows, and getting increasingly good looks at nearby peaks. Gourd Lake was serene and I took a long break there after climbing 2000ft to that point through 8 miles.
Once I rounded the lake, two unfortunate things happened. One, the trail evaporated from a defined path into open tundra. Two, some campers on the far side of the lake were the last people I saw.
At this point in the hike, I’m relying on my GPS and the Hiker Project App to see where I am on the “trail”. I’m getting annoyed because there’s no direction and steep terrain that is difficult to walk on.
I knew I was headed for Coopers Peak, and I was excited to get there because it was to be literally and figuratively the high point of the hike — promising some awesome panoramic views of the Indian Peaks Wilderness. When I got to the base and checked the map, I couldn’t believe it.
The trail description mentioned “a quarter-mile of scree” up to the peak. Cool, not preferable but I’ve done it before. It had failed to mention that the scree field was also at 60% grade. At this point, I entertained turning around, but only for a moment. The best part of the hike was coming up, the whole point was to do a loop, I’d come this far, and this was my summer challenge! After navigating the flat bit, I put my spikes on and crawled up a snowfield to avoid the rocks and then traverse across a more stable-looking ledge to the pass.
For those of you who don’t know, scree is a formation of loose, broken rock fragments that gather in the bowls and slopes of mountains. Some rocks are big and stable enough to walk on. Some are not. Hard to tell until you put weight on it. The challenge of climbing up it is planning a route, taking it, and making sure every step doesn’t a) send you sliding down b) start a rock slide, and c) doesn’t cause a rolled/broken ankle. The challenge is physical and mental. Your legs work to stabilize you and push you up the mountain, and you have to have full focus and awareness to avoid mistakes.
The trip up this slope was the most technical and terrifying hiking I had done to date. My heart rate rose from the high-altitude exertion and fear. It was out of my comfort zone but I was proud when I summited. I was nervous but calm, and slowly but surely made my way up, earning an awesome view of the surrounding peaks.
Then I looked down.
My disbelief was doubled. The path down the pass was more scree, but this looked looser and at an 80% grade. I could not believe that the “trail” advised that people go down this. Whereas I was afraid of falling backward on the way up, I was now afraid of falling forwards on the way down.
Thankfully, I had gloves to protect my hands as I crab-walked down most of the slope. As I did so, I occasionally slid and had to arrest myself to avoid picking up too much speed. This hurt and I was causing huge rock slides that foreshadowed my trip down if I wasn’t careful.
As with the way up, the effort is taxing. Using your hands and knees to brake is tough, as is continuing to ensure each step is a safe one. I couldn’t wait to get down, but I couldn’t look too far ahead either. “One step at a time, breath, you got this” I repeated as I made it to the bottom.
Once I walked a ways on the flat stuff, I found a flat rock and laid down to recover. The low-boil of adrenaline I just had for the hour it took to go half a mile had me burnt out. However, I was also now behind on time and still had 7 miles to go. So I got up, eager to be on a more defined and passable trail.
Well…
I followed the trail and it was fine to start. Eventually, however, it started to disappear and reappear again. I would lose it and find it again. This happened 5–6 times.
At this point, I’m not in a good place mentally. I am fatigued in so many ways. Lack of sleep, 10 miles into a difficult hike, coming off of the most intense hour of my life. I’m impatient, but also maybe a little cocky from having done it?
At one point, I saw the trail go under a large tree, I walked around a bit and saw the trail continue past the tree — into another scree field. Reluctantly, I crossed it and continued along a steep hill face looking for where the trail picked up. I thought I saw the trail continue around a ledge and took it. Mistake.
Now I was screwed. I was propping myself on a rock jutting out from the hill, but every direction looked impassable. At this point, I took my phone out for GPS and saw that I had somehow ended up some 400–500 feet below the trail. Above me was a huge cliff face. I don’t know if it was the fatigue, or what, but I panicked. It was already 3 pm, I was low on water, my legs were so tired and still straining to keep me level on the hill. I thought about back-tracking and looking around for the right turn on the trail, but I thought “no, that’s how people really get lost — when they wander around and get very disoriented”.
I called 911.
Because I had been using Strava all day to track the hike, and because I had been listening to some podcasts, and taking lots of photos, my phone was now on 8% battery. Thankfully, I had 2 bars of cell service.
The dispatcher picked up, told me to stay in place, and to wait for a deputy to call. He did. He used the coordinates from my call to tell me that I was 500 feet south of the trail and that I needed to head north.
The only problem — north was straight uphill, and the cliff face was so sheer that I wouldn’t even attempt it with ropes. He told me to skirt along the cliff face until I could find more passable terrain, and to head north as soon and as much as possible.
20–30 minutes passed as I gathered up some energy and courage and made my way uphill. It’s hard to describe how stressed I am at this point. I am desperate to find the trail, so I’m tackling bouldering that I never would have in other circumstances. Wobbling, I am gripping onto the rock and forcing myself slowly up the hill. Legs burning.
Exasperated, I check my map and see that I am not much closer. Every 20 feet I ascend feels like a hail-mary so I call again, nerves fried. I find a spot to rest and tell him that his route suggestion seems impossible. I don’t know what to do. He’s looking at a GPS pin on top of a satellite map, where depth perception isn’t great so it is difficult for him to help me navigate.
He gives me another suggestion and tells me that if I want Search and Rescue, it will take 6–8 hours and that I would need to hunker down and wait. Waiting in that precarious place in the dark was not appealing, so I took a long sip of water and tried again.
Using my last 1% of battery, I give him another update, and he gives me a final suggestion. “If you head east along the cliff face, you should come to flatter terrain, take it up to a meadow, cross the meadow and you should run into the trail”. With the sky getting darker with each passing minute, I follow these instructions, knowing that I can’t contact anyone anymore. This is make or break.
Fortunately, it works. I find the trail, but only allow myself a moment of celebration. It’s now 5 pm, the sun sets at 7 pm. I have still have 6 miles to get to the base of the trail. The last thing I want is to run into another stressful situation of trying to path find in the dark.
So, I gather up some more willpower, take my last sip of water, and start booking it down the mountain. Knees and feet are aching from all of the action. I keep telling myself “I have to be close, I have to get down so that I can let them know I’m okay. I have to finish before dark”. I’m planning what I’m gonna say once I find a campground. About how I got lost, need water, and a ride back to my car. I focus onputting one foot in front of the other.
After a long while, I see two guys walking uphill with huge packs. I think, “huh it’s odd that someone is trying to go camping this late”
One says to me “How’re you doing” and I respond “Not good at all,” “Are you Tom?” “Yes”
It’s the search and rescue team that the police department sent out once they didn’t hear from me. They give me some water and sit with me while I recover a bit and talk about the whole predicament.
They were incredibly nice about it. They’d only walked .5mi up the trail before running into me. Funnily enough, one of the guys knows exactly where I got lost. It’s happened before.
Soon, we head down, and they take me back to my car.
[Seriously, kudos to these guys. They’re volunteers who got pulled out of their Saturday evening plans to look for my sorry ass. True heroes.]
I’ve never felt like this. I’ve been scared in moments like close calls in the car, on shorter bits of tricky terrain, and at certain times at work. I’d never been so on edge like that for so long.
I usually turn my nose up at the concern of my Mom and others about the perils of solo hikes. I’ve been on dozens and the worst thing is usually a bit of sunburn or a scrape. Routes are easy enough, there are people nearby, I usually have reception, etc.
I’d done all my normal prep, but I know now that it is not enough. Stupidly, I didn’t have enough water, and I hadn’t packed pants or a headlamp — which might’ve saved me if I had to wait in the dark. I forgot to pack my battery pack for my phone.
Thank god I had phone reception. Thank god my phone stayed alive long enough for me to make the needed calls. Thank god my injuries are minor, and to my ego. I appreciate the Search and Rescue guys for coming out for me even if it was not entirely needed. Unsurprisingly, they are super cool guys, and the nourishment and ride back to my car were so welcome.
Today, I’m recovering in many ways. I’m still a little dehydrated, all of my lower joints hurt, and mentally I need silence. I’m also eating a huge piece of humble pie, and taking note of all the ways that I need to be better.
Just glad I’m back okay.
