More misadventures of a mediocre mountaineer
In case you hadn't heard by now (at least a dozen times), the Priest Lake Search and Rescue along with Bonner County EMS and the U.S. Air Force rescued my klutzy rear end off a mountain last weekend.
Yeah, that uh "hiker" on Chimney Rock - that was me. When I think of a "hiker" with her foot stuck in a rock, I get a vision of some ponytailed urbanite with wool socks pulled up to her knees, thus unscuffed hiking boots and the latest plaid from Royal Robin. And she's got trekking poles and a sunhat and drives a Prius (I just described a female version of Jim Mellen, didn't I?).
I would like to think that I appear much more mountain-schooled and rad than that. After all, we were not skipping along the trail singing, "The hills are alive..." In fact, my climbing partner and I had just summited Chimney Rock like real climbers. You know, with ropes and some other gear I can't identify and stuff.
We were very carefully making our way across the talus field, knowing well just what those dangers are. When you're a person who likes to be outside doing outside things (aside from gardening with your mom), you're always accepting a certain amount of risk.
Risk is a funny thing. If you're going to take it, you need to plan for the eventuality that you land on the bad side of that statistic. This is precisely what happened to me. I went to test a large boulder, and it was so ready to tip that even my test sent it rolling. And the movement so rapid that my balance was compromised, and over I went with it.
The REI-clad urbanite hiker is probably more nimble than I am, too. I was just nimble enough to try to stop the thing with my face. Not surprisingly, this failed.
The boulder took another roll and claimed my foot in the process. I really shouldn't complain - it could have claimed much more. Still, I swore at it. A lot. I'm not partial to having my appendages crushed by 3,000-pound rocks.
What happened next was pretty crucial to the successful outcome of the incident. After spending about 20 minutes practicing labor breathing techniques and stating the obvious, "There's a rock on my foot!," we determined that we needed assistance.
I would have liked it to have been about .000033 seconds later. To reiterate: I was not pleased about being under a rock. That's not how search and rescue works, though. So let me give you a little primer on the reality of it. It brings us back to risk and preparation.
If you're taking the risk (and if you're hiking or hunting or skiing or whatever, you are taking a risk), be prepared for that small statistical probability. Take your fire starter. Take your emergency blanket. Those two things kept my trauma to possible-foot-loss and from potential-life-loss. If you don't know what a good first-aid kit looks like, get educated, and always, always travel with it.
No matter how skilled and prepared you think you are, you might need a rescue some day. If you're really lucky, your rescue team will be as awesome as mine.
It takes a special group of (questionably sane) people to volunteer their time on a Friday night so that they may risk their own lives scaling up and around treacherous cliffs in the dark just to save one of ours.
These are men and women who leave their families in the middle of a dinner and venture into the darkness on a mission unknown. It's a dedication to service and aid that I've been ignorant of most of my life until it has affected me directly. Gratitude would be a gross understatement. I'm just in downright awe.
Thus I extend my appreciation to all of you who are a part of these amazing organizations. I thank every member who left the dinner table to serve a purpose beyond themselves. Thank you. For me, and for every other rock-tripping hiker you schlepp out of harm's way.
To join the Priest Lake Search and Rescue or make a donation, please visit their website at www.plsar.com.