By Jean Aron
November 2, 1985 (reprinted with permission)
We couldn’t get lost. We, the proud pathfinders, had never been lost. But where were we? We were lost. Yes, quite definitely WE were LOST!
Our hiking companions, whom we had met only 2 hours earlier, had again disappeared, just beyond shouting distance. The trail had given out—vanished beneath our feet. Those terribly tired feet which had already taken 7 hours of hiking abuse that day, and were still “a long way from the barn.”
My husband, Gert, and I were on the KTA Challenge Hike—the first of its kind. It was to have been a 14+-mile boot-buster; it was turning into a self-guided trip to destruction, a great ego-leveler.
It was 4 PM—a time I had thought we might have been back at Doubling Gap Center, relaxing in the rocking chairs, and chatting with our friends. Instead, we were bushwhacking on a mountain slope somewhere in the confusing folds of Blue Mountain, where up and down are unrelated to north, south, east, west, or home. Although too tired to think straight, it seemed our very survival depended on thinking through all the possibilities of where we might be and in which direction we should then proceed. Gert was advocating southwest, while I was more inclined to head northwest. This disagreement only added to the tension as we zigged up the slope, pushing stalwartly on without much to go on except determination and anger. At least we agreed on a westerly direction, and had the sun to guide us—the setting sun, that is, which was not a very reassuring situation, but better than rain.
My mind flashed and crackled with thoughts of spending the night out there. We always try to keep our middle-aged bodies in reasonably good condition, and we are relatively healthy and fit. But fatigue was setting in, and we were going to miss dinner. We were not prepared for night. I always carry a flashlight in my pack, but this time I had forgotten it back in our tent. If darkness found us before we found a trail, we’d have to stay put wherever we were, because the terrain was too rough to walk blindly. A broken leg would be a definite disadvantage. A night out there would be cold, hungry, uncomfortable and demoralizing. It could definitely have ruined our weekend, to say the least.
How on earth did we get into this mess? Well, as they say, it seemed like a good idea at the time. This was our third trip to Doubling Gap. We’d done most of the lesser trails. And although 14 miles is a bit more than I like to hike, I have hiked that far before, and quite a few miles of the route seemed to be on fast trails. Besides, Gert is an ambitious and competitive person. He wanted to win the “last place” t-shirt prize that was offered. So, it’s his fault. (It’s a good thing we weren’t going for the first-place t-shirt!)
We had started a little after 9 AM, equipped with a map and instruction sheet. There were two chits to be picked up at checkpoints along the route to prove we hadn’t shortcut anywhere. The first part was fun. We could have taken a shorter route to the “wagon wheel” intersection, but we didn’t. We followed instructions exactly and hiked the Tuscarora Trail. By late morning, things began to get… well, challenging.
As many of you know, there is a section of ridge trail that is blessed with not only the most consternating, angled, wobbly rocks that the Devil ever invented, but also with an assortment of intractable black raspberry canes, which grab and claw at every hated hiker who dares to trespass on their domain. And the trail-builders seem to have taken diabolical pleasure in putting up double blazes at the most delicious points, so as to route the trail away from an area which is merely rocky, and put it through a spot where we fools can enjoy both rocks and thorns. This section of trail seems to be almost abandoned. And I say, if it is not abandoned, IT SHOULD BE!
After slow progress and torn pants and a few (silent) curses, we reached our first chit, the halfway point, and lunched at McClure’s Gap at 1 PM. At this point, a younger couple, wearing short pants and scratched legs, caught up with—and passed—us. They were the only other Challenge hikers we would see on the trail.
The difficult part proved to be the finding of McCabe Run. Three people in an early group lost the trail completely and had to telephone from Kennedy Valley to be rescued. The other 6 people (2 by 2 like Noah’s Ark) made it through by compass and grit, and began to dribble into the Center around dinner time. Nobody found the elusive trail given in the instruction formula. But of course, we had no way of knowing that.
It was 5 PM when we found a trail and stumbled out onto familiar territory at the “wagon wheel.” We’d been totally lost for 1 hour, and had bushwhacked 2 extra miles. We were exhausted. But knowing where we were re-energized us somewhat. We figured we couldn’t make it back for dinner anyway, and we sure couldn’t get much more tired. So we decided to go for the t-shirt. That meant backtracking east a bit to pick up chit #2 at the Cider Trail.
At 6:30 PM with the last rays of daylight, we floated onto the porch and into the dining room, where all the smarter folks were lounging around the remains of a sumptuous dinner, enjoying life. My pedometer registered 16 miles. My legs registered a throbbing complaint that enough is enough. And my head was totally blank, except for a vague thought that perhaps this was nirvana. I sat like a deflated balloon. Luckily, there was food left for us and we were immediately put on the life support systems—chicken, applesauce, lemonade, water, milk, cake, coffee—and my spirits began to rise slowly, like bread dough.
Gert was actually exuberant, declaring it was the best hike he’d ever done. Obviously some people enjoy competition and challenge more than others. Maybe I missed something. My feeling was, that this is definitely not the reason I go hiking.
Now, with the perspective of time, it seems like an adventure—one to tell my grandchildren. I suppose we were not really in grave danger. After all, no one was hurt. Perhaps I’ve exaggerated the risks. Perhaps I’ve read too many books and seen too many films on survival and hypothermia. But I must say, I was scared.
Surely we all bear responsibility for our own safety. After all, I was the one who forgot the flashlight. But the fact that no one found McCabe Run Trail shows how inaccurate and incomplete the map was. If it had gone badly for us, would I have sued? Well, no. Although it did cross my mind that perhaps a certain challenge-hike planner ought to be horse-whipped.
The next time such a hike is planned I do think KTA should introduce a few safeguards. First, there should be more check stations, and these should have a register, where a hiker would record his or her name and time of arrival there. This year, there was no monitoring of the hikers at all. I don’t think a search party would have been able to find us, since there was no way to trace our progress.
Secondly, a better map is imperative, preferably one with topographic features.
And third, there is strength in numbers. I think people went off in 2’s and 3’s because of the competitive aspect of this hike. Fortunately, no one hiked alone. Hiking with a buddy is not only more congenial, but much safer than hiking alone. Indeed, in the case of winter hiking or skiing the rule is that 4 persons is a minimum safe party. If someone is injured, one person can stay with him or her, while the other 2 go for help.
Already there is talk that next year’s Challenge Hike will be “bigger and better.” I’ll vouch for the “better” because I know it couldn’t be worse. Would I try it again? Probably. I guess I’m a slow learner. But I might wise up by next year; maybe I’ll just stay in camp and go to the Council meeting, as God intended.