When I was Afraid… (snow in October)
There have been a number of times when I have been in the wilderness and I was afraid. I’m not speaking of just trembling a bit, but of being really, really afraid. I am not speaking of fabricated fears; those times that I have been afraid have been because of potential encounters with monsters. It all stems from ideas and visions in my head of things that I hear or think that I see and I make them out to be monsters. Almost every time it is the sound of a mouse or a small bird or chipmunk, but in my imagination, it is a monster. Those are the times that I have been afraid in the moment and then realize that my fears are fabricated and not based in reality.
Yet there have been times, not often, when I have been in the wilderness and I have been truly afraid and I knew that my life was in danger. Encounters with bears, bobcats, and more often, bad weather, have brought me to a place where I really did not know if I was going to be ok. I was afraid, and being afraid is not a good feeling.
It was October, which in many parts of the country is known as shoulder season. In the Northeast the days are getting shorter, the temperature is getting colder, but not yet at winter levels. It is a time when it is still possible to wear shorts while hiking during the day, and with the right kind of sleeping bag/quilt, to be warm and comfortable at night.
I was hiking with StillWaters (that’s his trail-name) in the White Mountains, and we knew that it was going to be a less than perfect day. The forecast called for rain on and off all day, the temperatures were going to hover in the 50s. But as I like to say in a pedantic manner, “there is no bad weather, just bad clothing.” We decided to go ahead with our hike. There were moments when the hike went well, when the sun seemed to peek through, tempting us, but then more moments of rain and drizzle. Halfway through the day, StillWaters left as he only planned to hike for the day and just summit a couple of mountains. I had about 12 miles that I still wanted to hike, over a handful of mountains, before I got to a shelter for the night. The weather did not get better. There were times when I was hiking in pouring rain and at other times when it was just a drizzle, but I never had an opportunity to get dry. And it was not an easy hike. I went up one mountain and down the next and over bumps and rises in the ridge. There were no views at all and I was not having a great time. In the White Mountains there are a hut that during the summer offer coffee, soup, and if nothing else, shelter. There was one a little more than halfway on my hike and I hoped to stop in for some shelter from the rain and have my lunch. I knew it was late in the season and that it was possible that the hut would be closed for the winter, but I was hoping that maybe there would at least be a porch where I could find a moment to rest, eat, and not be rained upon. The hut was closed up and there was no porch. The day was not getting better. I still had miles to go. My adventure was moving from type-2 fun to type-3 fun (I encourage you to look up the difference).
In the mid-afternoon I still had between three to five miles left and maybe one more mountain to climb (I was in a place where I no longer knew what was a mountain and what was an annoying bump on the trail). It was then that I noticed that I was starting to get cold. This wasn’t the uncomfortable cold of being rained on all day and everything being damp. This wasn’t the feeling that it is getting a little cold outside. This was the feeling that one gets from being outside in the rain all day. My boots and shorts were soaked all the way through, my gloves were woefully inadequate for the weather, and the dampness of the constant rain was starting to sink in. My core, my bones were cold, and I was starting to get nervous.
And then came the chill.
This is the shiver, the shake that your body embraces to help keep the core warm. This is a sign that things are not going well; it is a sign that the cold is seeping into the body’s core, the essence of who you are. For me, when I feel the shiver, that means I am no longer just “feeling” cold, I am cold. Shivering is one of the early signs of hypothermia which can be very serious in the wilderness. And when shivering happens is when I start to get afraid. I am afraid because I know I am tired, I know that I have not been great about taking good breaks, about eating enough, about keeping myself hydrated, and now I am getting cold in a way that is more than uncomfortable; the cold could actually be life-threatening. I would like to say that at this moment I made the right decision which would have been to stop, to put on a dry layer, eat and drink, and take stock of where I was and how much further I thought I had to the shelter before making my next decision. But that was not the case. In the moment I decided that I just needed to push on, that I just needed to make myself go, hoping that it was only another hour of hiking before I would get to the shelter and then I would be ok. In the back of my mind a panic started to set in because I knew I was not doing well, and I said aloud, “I am not happy about this situation.” I started to have visions of me, the hiker they write about, who got confused and lost in the wilderness because of hypothermia, and I was getting afraid.
Put yourself at ease, dear reader, for I did not die that day. I did not make great decisions, I pushed through the cold, but in time I reached the shelter. I found a place where I could get out of the rain, and the first thing that I did was to put on dry clothes. With dry clothes I already started to get a little warmer. After changing, I started supper and had something warm to drink and eat. The shivering was subsiding, I was getting better, and I felt like everything was going to be ok. I made it to the shelter just as the sun was starting to set (although there was no sunset to see), and I thought that I dodged a bullet. I got lucky, and I assumed that the rest of my trip was going to be without challenge or difficulty. The rain did not stop all night, but I had shelter that kept me dry.
Aside from a family of mice who insisted on climbing inside and out of all the nooks and crannies of my gear, waking me up from time to time, I slept well that night. I was warm, I was dry, and I was ok. The rain continued to fall, but it was no longer a threat to me.
I awoke the next morning and saw the snow.
The temperature had dropped, the rain had turned to snow, and it was still actively snowing. I at least had dry clothing that kept me warm in the 20-degree weather through breakfast and I was ok. Yet the snow continued to fall. For that day I wanted to climb one more mountain that was not too far from the shelter; it was about 2 miles away. My plan was to climb that mountain, backtrack, and then head to my waiting car. I looked at the micro spikes that I brought “just in case,” the trekking poles that I had for balance, “just in case,” and thought, “with these extra tools, surely I can climb one more mountain. It is close. How difficult could it be?” I put on my wet and cold boots, stepped in the now ankle-deep snow, shouldered my pack, and got ready to climb just one more mountain.
There was a trail junction where I knew I would be coming back to and I decided to let go of a little weight and stashed my tent and bear canister at the junction. Again, it was only a little more than a mile out of my way to the summit and then that mile back. No big deal. What could happen that would require shelter and extra food? I had lunch. I had snacks. I had an emergency shelter just in case. I was sure that I would be ok. It felt a lot better to be carrying less weight on my back, so I felt good about my decision. In retrospect, it may not have been the best in a series of bad decisions, but it was not the worst of the day.
The snow had not stopped falling all morning, the wind seemed to be getting stronger, and it was clear that no one had gone on the trail before me. I continued to push ahead, and all was seemingly fine until I reached a place in my hike that I can only imagine on a nice spring or summer day would have been breathtaking. The trees opened up, and I realized that I was on a ledge, walking in-between a steep drop-off and a wall of small hemlocks and spruce. It is at this point when the trail markers are no longer placed on the trees, but instead are piles of stones (cairns) placed strategically on the open rockface so they would be easy to find in foul weather. But due to the wind blowing the snow sidewise, and my abundance of caution to avoid the edge, it was not so easy to find those cairns. It took a while to fine each one, and I continued to walk through depressions and over bumps. At this time of searching and wondering, I was thinking that the way back would be much easier because I would be able to follow my tracks.
There were times when I had to gently lower myself down a steep rock/cliff and hope the snow was deep enough to cushion my fall. There were times when I had to pull my buff (neck gator) over my face to protect my nose and cheeks from the strong wind and biting snow. There were many times when I searched and looked for a sign of where the trail may have gone. Eventually I found the sign pointing to the summit, made the final climb, and took a moment to feel good about my accomplishment. There were no views to behold. There was no moment of prayer or meditation. The wind was strong, the snow was still falling, although not as much as the beginning of the morning, and I was cold and wet. All I had was a quick minute to feel good and then to get off the mountain. Now for the hike back which I assumed was going to be an easy, following my footsteps in the snow.
This is where it got tricky because it never really stopped snowing, and the wind never stopped blowing. In the depressions between exposed sections on the trail I could easily find my tracks and stayed on the trail. Yet on the ledges, on the parts of the trail that I would have described as fairly dangerous, the wind had erased any sign of my struggle just 30 minutes ago, and once again I had to search and hope. It was here that I felt that fear that I experienced just the day before. I was searching, looking for anything that suggested a trail, a break in the trees, an inviting path, but everything looked the same. And I could not find the trail.
“This is where I am going to die” I thought. “Where the fuck is the damn trail” I said aloud, rather loudly. No one, nothing answered. Only the wind, cutting, the snow swirling, and a sense of urgency growing in my gut. I was getting cold. I was damp from the combination of yesterday’s rain (my clothes never fully dried) and today’s snow. I was afraid.
What should I have done in this situation? Again, it would have been good to stop, to find some shelter in the trees, and eat and drink. Energy and rest can help someone get a level head and gain good perspective. Food gives the body the calories needed to warm itself. I should have found a place to stop and gather my thoughts. I didn’t. I pushed myself, telling myself that I just had to keep searching and trying and I would be ok. Maybe I was worried that I would get cold if I stopped moving. Maybe I worried that the weather would get worse and I just needed to get off of the mountain. I should have stopped, but I didn’t. Through luck and sheer determination, I ended up ok. I eventually found the trail, found my gear that I had stashed (at this point, buried in snow), and made it back to my car in the early afternoon. I was fortunate. After yesterday’s weather and the morning ‘s experience I decided to cut the rest of my trip short and headed home. Two days of feeling like I was going to die was enough of an experience for me.
We all get afraid in the wilderness. It may be because of imagined fears of monsters or creatures that we create in our minds but in reality, do not exist. Or it may be because of real dangers. We all get afraid in life because of imagined dangers and real dangers. Fear is a part of life and instead of trying to avoid situations, we can focus and adapt how we encounter them.
Don’t go alone. One of the reasons why it is good to hike with someone else is that there is another person to help think through the moment. A second person can be the voice of reason. That second person may have said, “let’s get some food,” or more importantly, “maybe we shouldn’t climb that mountain today.” Or, in an effort to be protective of my hiking partner, I may have said those very things. In life, you shouldn’t be alone. It is good and often life-saving to have someone, a friend, a partner, a family member, to journey with, to help in those moments of worry and fear. I love hiking alone, but I recognize that having a hiking partner can save your life. And, if you are going alone, make sure someone knows your plan, knows where you are going, when you hope to be back, and what to do in an emergency.
It is good to have a plan, to have a routine of how to be in the wilderness. I try to stop every 30 minutes or so to eat, drink, and take stock of how I am doing. It is a quick stop, about 5 minutes, but enough to keep me honest and to keep my body hydrated and fed even if I don’t think I need it. In those two days I didn’t stick to the plan. And I didn’t do what I needed to so that I could be safe in the moment. If I had stopped I might have put on long pants when hiking in the rain. I could have turned back from my stubborn desire to climb a mountain or at least had something to eat. But I just wanted to push on and get to my destination. A plan in life helps us get through the small moments. A plan can help us work through those moments that are terrifying, to take the small steps, and to stop, step back, and take stock.
Sometimes turning around is the right decision (see an upcoming post). We all have different tolerance levels, skill levels, and experiences. For some, just the idea of hiking in the rain is terrifying and for others there is nothing more exciting than climbing an ice cliff. We need to trust our gut, know our limits, and make that difficult decision to go forward or to turn back. A mistake is only a failure if we do not learn from it, and a successful hike is the one where you return alive. This is true in life. A venture that does not go as you would like is only a failure if you do not learn from it and every day that you are able to wake up and live is a successful day.
Fear is real, and at times it can be a good thing. It does not have to be debilitating. It does not have to paralyze us. What it can do is cause us to stop, to consider what we are doing, and to adjust if necessary. Fear can help us make the important decision to adapt and perhaps to change our plans and can temper and focus our preparation.