A forgotten phone, a frantic, downhill run

Not a good idea.

That was my thought as I charged down Stevens Lakes Trail near Mullan on Sunday evening. This was the second time starting down. My wife and I had already been to the lower lake and, because it was getting late, began the 2.25-mile hike back to the trailhead rather than push on to the upper lake.

About three-quarters of a mile down, as we crossed the rock/boulder section, which must be navigated carefully, I heard my wife say, “Uh-oh.”

“What?” I asked

“I don’t have my phone,” she answered.

Since she had it at the lake, we figured she dropped it somewhere along the way.

"Just forget it," she said.

No. I was sure I could find it.

But as it was about 6:30, and I didn’t want to be walking the final mile in the dark, I told my wife to keep going.

“Don’t wait for me. I’ll go back up and find it,” I said. “Just keep going, I’ll catch up.”

I turned and ran hard, praying the Lord would let me find it. My wife had already toughed it out through a difficult hike that climbed about 1,600 feet in 2 miles. She was not feeling fantastic and really needed to rest. It didn’t help that I managed to spill almost all the water out of my Camelbak so she had nothing to drink. I did not want her to lose her phone on top of that.

She didn’t.

About 10 minutes later, I found it. Sitting on the log where we left it, a nice view of the lake.

Amused, I took a picture of it to show my wife.

Relieved, I picked up, took a last look around and started back. About then, I had this feeling that leaving my wife alone to start down the trail was not a good idea. Even though we were likely the only ones around for miles in this isolated mountain section, who knows what she might run into, be it a bear, a cougar or a crazy person.

Suddenly fearing the worst, questioning why in the world I left my wife alone out here, I ran as fast as I could on the narrow, windy trail with rocks, roots, boulders and a stream to navigate. If I fell, so be it. I would not slow down.

I also began yelling to let anyone or anything know I was there and I was coming through and I wasn't stopping.

“MARIANNE. I’VE GOT IT. I FOUND THE PHONE. I’M COMING!”

I shouted a variation of this for the next mile, announcing my presence to anyone or anything. No one would be surprised by a strange, screaming man.

Finally, I heard a voice call back. My wife’s. I relaxed. She was alive and well.

She had actually started back up the trail because, turns out she heard me yelling from a long ways off and then, suddenly, she didn’t. She wondered if I fell and thought she better go back to check on me.

As we walked down the trail I realized if something had happened to me, my wife did not have the car keys, as I had them, and she had no phone. She would have been stuck at a trailhead, late at night, miles back to the Lucky Friday Mine to get help. Not a good situation.

We finally arrived back at the car just before darkness settled in. I told my wife of my sudden feeling when I was getting her phone that I shouldn’t have left her alone and had better hustle back.

“That’s why I was running so fast and yelling so loud,” I told her.

It was then she mentioned, as the two of us were walking back, she had a feeling that something was in the trees, following, watching. She didn’t see anything. Just a sense something was there.

I’m sure it was nothing. Just the same, I found it curious we both had a sense that something wasn’t right. A heavy spirit.

What that means, I don’t know.

I do know I felt much better when we reached the car and started the 60-mile drive to Coeur d’Alene. We both just wanted to get home.

A final note.

When we were at Stevens Lake, I took some final scenic pictures with my wife sitting on a log looking out on its grandeur.

I took a few more as she stood up and walked away.

In the last picture, her phone is sitting on the log.

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