PSA: Respect the woods.
I’ve been racking my brain for a more embarrassing experience within my adult life, but this one takes the cake. While huddled under our emergency blanket Sunday night, we debated over keeping this story private or not, out of shame for our poor decision making. The conclusion was that there are lessons to be shared, forewarning our friends that frequently enjoy similar adventures.
Phil, his brother Dan (visiting from New York City), and I set out for a hike in the Gorge Sunday around 1pm. We’d had a fun-packed Saturday and before that, a busy week. I quickly picked a hike we’d never done before and we hit the road after a late breakfast. The trail was snow-covered right from the trail-head, but rain and other hikers had packed it down well. As expected from the Gorge’s violent winter, the trail was covered in down trees and brush. Following another family for about a mile, we split the other direction from them as soon as we’d hiked the stem of the lollipop and gotten to the candy part loop, if you will. We trudged through the woods, climbing up in elevation, and in and out of the low hanging clouds.
We reached the far side of the loop around 3:30pm, and the view was completely socked in. After a quick stop to each eat an apple, it began snowing and we hit our first real obstacle. It was not at all obvious which way we were to go around what must have been a giant boulder at the top of the ridge we were on, as everything in site was under many feet of snow. Instead of following Phil’s instinct to turn back around and follow our beaten path, we scrambled to find, follow, and lose one pair of foot steps for the next couple of hours.
Sometime after 4pm, way up high in the gorge, I dropped a pin on Google maps and sent it via text to my dad, mentioning I wasn’t too sure of the situation. I sent a couple more updates to him, as we lost and found and lost the trail again. It must have been a ridge hike, as we found ourselves scrambling up and down ravines, directionally confused by a completely socked in view and snow-covered trail. It was too easy to convince ourselves which way was North, immediately convincing ourselves of the opposite, as the blue blinking dots on our phones’ Google maps bounced around with about as much confident as we had. At 6:30pm, still so far from the trail-head and soaking wet up to our knees from continually plunging in deep snow, it was too dark for our phone flashlights to set us straight.
The looming darkness and cold wetness of the deep woods brings a helplessness that slaps you cold in the face with reality. I pulled my phone out, giving up on my eyes adjusting to the darkness. I had a missed call and a text from the same number reading: “This is Hood River County 911. If this is Whitney’s phone, please call 911.” My dad had called us help.
I called immediately and we calmly explained the situation, taking turns on the phone. We were not injured, we had one banana, half a bottle of water, and were not terribly cold yet, although wet. They were able to grab our location coordinate from the phone call and said not to move. After a bit of waiting, we received another call, explaining that a crew would be gathered to come find us. The Hood River sheriff had to find available volunteers and/or firefighters, get everyone to meet at the fire station, drive to where we were, outside of Cascade Locks, then begin their hike up to find us. We were warned it would be a few hours.
Standing on a slant in the midst of a wild tangle of brush, we attempted to get comfortable. We moved under a huge tree, cleared some brush out of the way, and I dumped the water out of my hiking boots and rang out my socks. Much to our excitement, Phil found an emergency blanket in his little first aid kit, and the three of us wrapped ourselves up like a burrito, with me in the middle. We remained in that position under the tree for the next four hours. It was dark, cold, raining and scary. I had doubts about my cold, wet toes ever resuming normalcy again, and the chills were giving me the shakes.
Phone calls with progress updates came through a few times throughout the night, and each time I saw the clock, I was surprised by how much time had passed. Dan’s goal of his trip to Portland was to bond, and admittedly, we exceeded. Our conversation, jokes and closeness from those hours are officially between the three of us and that large tree, but forever cemented. I will leave it at that.
The first glimpses of those headlamps are a sight seared into my memory. We yelled and whistled — pretty stoked the little lights we were seeing were not wildlife eyes — and they yelled back. Two guys came up from some gnarly brush right below us, offering gloves, headlamps and dried mango, and we were on our way. The other three were waiting on the trail a bit further down so we could all hike back down together, headlamp and ski pole adorned. We had ended up not terribly far off the trail, but were separated by steep terrain, thick brush and down trees. The awesomely casual rescue crew ensured us we did everything right — from calling before it was pitch black, staying put, and having an emergency blanket. Even if we had found the trail, hiking down it in the snow without headlamps was not advised due to the huge ravines on either side.
After a little debrief with the sheriff in his truck at the trail-head, we were back in our car sometime after midnight. A pizza feast at 1:30am, a hot shower, and bed at 2:30am ended the surreal evening.
As I mentioned in the beginning, I’m telling this story because the lessons should be shared. I can think of many other circumstances in which a similar outcome was all too possible.
- Tell a friend where you hike and what time: We were unbelievably lucky to be in one of few spots in the area to have cell reception.
- Research the trail ahead of time, as well as its conditions: Intermediate experienced hikers getting too comfortable is a classic case for getting lost in the woods. This is us to a tee — we have done enough hikes to assume confidence, and neglected to do any research about trail conditions.
- Always hike with a headlamp, emergency blanket, bars, and water. According to the sheriff’s rules, even for a 2-hour hike. Carry additional items from the classic Ten Essentials to give yourself a fighting chance of dealing with the unexpected.
The Columbia River Gorge is my most treasured playground, yet, I have a newfound respect for it.
THANK YOU incredible volunteers of the Crag Rats Mountain Rescue.
