Riding The Crest 2009

THE ACCIDENT

August 21, 2009

I was up at 6:15 to a clear, blue sky! No sign of any storm, the wind was up and the air was brisk. I wanted to make it to Indian Pass and reconnect to the PCT and, as long as the rest of the detour trail was not too bad, I would. I ate my breakfast and wrote in my journal and rode out of camp at 9:30. Then I turned on my voice recorder: “Hope to finish this horrendous climb up to Boulder Pass. So far so good, at least it is dirt not boulders. The horses had a good graze last night and another while I packed the rest of my stuff. We are about a hundred yards, no, hmm, one hundred and fifty yards from the summit, incredible views that I could do without now. [sigh] Harmony has already tripped this morning. He is just a klutz. Uh, doesn’t watch his feet like Jur so he is scraped up from yesterday’s rocks. But they’re doing good; awesome horses, just incredible. I just want to keep them safe the rest of the journey. God be with us. He has been so incredible to me. Showing me this trail, how to get here. And then, at least, we got through with just scrapes. I have a scrape on my leg as well.” Before I had mounted up I gave each horse a hug and prayed over them, asking for God’s continued watch care. They looked in good weight and their cinches definitely were longer from the good night of grazing. They were rested. I rode the trail up to the pass. There were many cross trails going more directly up but I did not want to cut the time or distance down, just make it up and over. We got to the top and the view continued magnificent in both directions. From that pass I could see where I had been and where I was going. Before us was a descent into a deep valley and we started down the other side. I was riding Harmony and leading Jur with the panniers. Ten minutes below the ridge the trail was very steep so I got off to lead Harmony and tied Jur behind his saddle. Jur, otherwise known as “Chow Hound,” was more interested in the vegetation than in getting back to the PCT. I did not want to chance him colicing again as he had in the High Sierras from eating whatever he could get. With both horses in tow I continued down, the trail was narrow, steep and, in places, overgrown. [Later I found out this was an “unmaintained” trail.] There was less rock on this side, but a lot of vine maple and knee-high brush. I recall a step and then nothing. I was flat on my face. I must have tugged the lead line in my fall for even as I was picking up my head I saw Harmony, in a heroic effort not to step/fall on me, leap over me to the left, the downward side of the slope. He went too far to the outer edge and Jur was tugged along, even further down the slope. I think I had started to rise as I saw Jur try to lunge back up to the trail. The tug of his lunge off-set Harmony and I saw Harmony fall over backwards before I was falling behind them. A scream of “No!!!” escaped me before I was fighting to stop my fall. In those moments of falling I heard them falling below me. I had a premonition I was not going to die but that my horses were gone from me. When I stopped I was in grass face down, facing down hill, my gloved hands bracing me. I got to my feet by pivoting my feet around to the downhill side. My only thought was to find my friends. I scrambled over bushes and then through tangled jungles of vine maple. I had to go back and forth across the face of the mountainside and then find footholds to climb lower and lower. I even called once to Jur, hoping against hope to hear his whicker one more time in reply. I finally started to find things; pieces of my pommel bag, an empty water bottle, my oilskin duster, and knew I would find them below. I grabbed anything with roots to slow me down as I scrambled down. I found Harmony’s body first - facing downhill, cradled in a vine maple. With only a pause long enough to be sure he was gone, I continued on a frantic pace to find Jur. I found him after several minutes about 50 feet below in a gap of vine maple that his body had rolled through. If I was not already in shock I was then. I was numb emotionally but in overdrive physically. At first I just wanted to be where I would not have to see my beloved horses lying so still, lifeless. So I climbed back up to where I had put the first items I had found taking the SPOT with me and activated the “help.”

Ralph and I had agreed that he would come to the nearest trailhead to the GPS coordinates when I pressed “help.” He was getting all his readings from either my sister, Linda, or friends; Lori or Melody. Theses three women were an important part of my team as they kept Ralph informed as to where I was. Lori was the one to call him that day and she was “very concerned” when the GPS readings (2) did not move. Unbeknownst to me, Ralph called 911 and asked about what could be done. Gary L., the deputy in charge of air support, was only a mile from where Ralph had called from so they met. When Gary plugged the GPS coordinates into his vehicle computer, he did not like what he saw. He knew the area from the many other rescues done there. He called search and rescue and they made the decision to come in a surveillance helicopter.

I knew I had to retrieve some of my gear in order to hike out. I went back to Harmony and started gathering gear and took all the tack off and hauled everything up to the place I had first started to put things. It was the only level area (about the size of a bathtub) on a steep mountainside with lost of shrubs. Then I went to where Jur lay. It was much further and all my attempts to get the packs off failed until I used my knife to cut straps. I never counted how many trips I made up and down the mountain, I just kept going until it was done. In my many trips I found several clothing items and a water bottle that was not mine. I began to worry I was going to find a human body. (I mentioned this to Gary L. later and was told it was from a hiker who had fallen in the same spot a week before and broken his neck. He is alive but not walking as of mid Oct.) When all my gear was gathered I changed my shirts to be in bright colors and long sleeves in case I could not make it out. My camera was not working so I left it and my small, light weight computer - I was thinking of survival only. Then I needed water. I recalled that while looking for the horses I had slipped in a wet area. I found the water seep (trickle) and, for the first time on the trip, drank directly from the dripping water. I was parched and momentarily did not concern myself with giardiasis. I filtered water for my two undamaged water bottles and drank some more. At that moment I heard a little boy scream and voices. I could not see them nor could they see me but I knew they had reached the same spot where I had fallen. (Several hikers later posted to NWHiker.com that there is a section there where there is “no trail.” It is not a bad step; it is no step because the trail is not there.) I called to them and Rod H. came. As I started to tell what happened for the first time I broke into sobs. I was putting into words for the first time what I still think of as unbelievable. Was it only days before at Rainey Pass that Ralph had sent me off saying, “You can do this! You can ride the entire Pacific Crest Trail.”  Now my H-pack was holding just survival gear so I could walk out, no last goodbye to my faithful horses, no rub on a warm neck. Rod’s wife, Anne, was a doctor and she came carefully down the incline to check me. Then we all went back onto the trail. Neither Rod or Anne wanted to leave me and volunteered to hike back with me but I assured them I would be fine. My right knee was bruised and achy but otherwise I felt fine physically. I insisted and they reluctantly watched me start hiking east. I waved goodbye at 2 pm. I later learned that my coordinates indicated I was 1000 feet down a 2000 feet incline. Those 1000 feet took the rest of my energy. I was within sight of the ridge when my legs would no longer cooperate. My quadricep semoris muscles started cramping. It felt like someone had attached hundreds of vise grips to the top of my thighs and was clamping down. Now my tears of pain just blended with the ones of anguish. I once again activated the SPOT, this time sending a distress call (911) for the first time and managed to get to some shade to wait. Within 5 minutes a helicopter was flying my way. I was amazed that it had arrived so fast and soon realized it was impossible (and later learned it was S&R’s surveillance from Ralph’s call). Air Search and Rescue flew straight to the gear covered in Tyvek a few hundred feet below me. (They said the GPS coordinates were dead-on the gear and they thought I was under it. They had no idea what my condition was.) Then they flew over me and over the ridge, failing to see me. So I struggled to get out from the shrubs by scooting on my butt much like Linda R. had several weeks before. Then I dug my bright colored jacket out of my pack to wave over my head. As they flew back over the ridge to the gear once again, they spotted me and proceeded to drop a radio. They asked my condition and I told them I was okay, just weak in the legs, and I would hike out but it may take me a few days (it was 5.5 miles from the trailhead). They told me about Gary L. coordinating efforts to help me out either by foot or by air. They could not get me in the surveillance helicopter as the winds were too strong for it. So they explained how I could communicate and flew away after agreeing that the best thing was for me to hike to my previous day’s camp. 

Written from a recording later that day:

“Well, from dream to disaster. I think I’m in shock. I’ve cried a little bit, mostly back here at this camp. Basically we had a step and there really wasn’t anything there. And Harmony was coming down on top of me is what I remember. So I jumped forward out of the way but he jumped to the side, off the hill. It really wasn’t too bad, but Jur went with him. And then I still had Harmony’s lead and I was trying to get up. When Jur swung around behind Harmony. And as he will do he sort of lunges almost rears to get up and that pulled back on Harmony. The two of them tumbled over backwards, just kept on going. They fell hundreds of feet. But in the meantime I got yanked off my feet, and I fell, I don’t know how far as I never got up on the trail. I never saw it. And when I got up and started looking for the horses ‘cause I had to be sure they were not suffering. And I had no. . . nothing but my fanny pack on. The SPOT was on them, on Harmony. I couldn’t find them and couldn’t find them. I ran all over that hillside. The hillside was this thick under brush, this thick under brush like Rhododendron back home. And then I found some of the gear scattered so I knew they were below that. So I finally found Harmony first. He was gone. I took some stuff off so I could get to the SPOT. But I did not even send out that signal yet. I went looking for Jur. I had to be sure. I finally found him, much further down. He was gone. And huh, so then I went up and did the SPOT. I actually thought I’d press 911 but I was not hurt. I could probably walk out with something. So I just pressed the “help” to get Ralph to come around to Trinity. I figured he’d know to do that from the location. Then I worked on getting all the gear in one spot so I could carry out a little bit and it could be retrieved. That’s when I heard Rod and his family. And apparently . . . I’d gotten about half way down. They said it was two when they got to me. So Rod helped me pack the pack with some necessities. And . . . . They wanted to hike back out with me but they were really headed in the other direction. So I told them, no, I’ve been on my own. I can do this. So they went on. His wife was really worried but I told her I’d be okay. Just not emotionally. And uh, I started hiking out and one thing the pack was way too heavy. And then I started cramping. My right knee was already bothering me. And I got almost to the top and I knew I was not going to be able to do this all the way out. Not in horse boots and jeans. Everything is wrong. I’m not in hiking clothes. I pressed 911. And man, they were fast. I bet it was not ten minutes the helicopter came over. And then they could not see me because I was in trees, I guess, because I had wanted to get in some shade. And I did not expect them so soon. So they passed over me and then came back. I guess they found me then because they dropped the radio. That’s when we set up the air rescue. Then I hiked back up to the top and down to my last night’s campsite where they’ll pick me up at.” 

When I got to the top of the ridge I turned to look back down that beautiful valley. For a moment I wondered why I was not down there dead. That was when I really understood I had been given the greatest gift - life. (Later, talking to William, he would put it so well, "Two [friends] gave their lives for another.")  I had radio communication again and I found out they had decided to come in and pick me up in a Huey Helicopter later that day when the winds might be calmer. I got to the campsite and put the H-pack down where my tent had been. I took out the food to have a snack. It had been a long time since breakfast. My fanny pack was still around my waist. (Later when I took it off, I found the new leather bag had taken the brunt of my fall and was rubbed clean through.) I drank some more water and then decided to top off my food with fresh huckleberries. The hillside was covered in the berries. I could not sit and do nothing as my thoughts were too painful to dwell on. I picked berries almost up to the minute the Duey Helicopter arrived. S&R made a big arc around me and then came in to hover over me at about 50 feet. The dust it kicked  up stung my face and I just stood and closed my eyes, fighting the force of the wind created. One man came down and he, by hand signals, indicated he was going to put me in a vest/seat. He put it around me and snapped it all together and then clipped me to the line that was on the winch to take me up. At a signal I started the short ascent to the craft. I held the clip in front of me though the man had indicated I should not. I felt unbalanced otherwise. As I reached the step the man above me pivoted me into position to sit in the doorway and be snapped into the craft’s harness (in which all the men helping me were snapped into too. No one is ever in a position where they are not tied in.) The man on the ground then slung my H-pack over his shoulder and reattached himself to a line and both he and the pack were hauled up to the craft. While he was ascending, the man across from me set me into a seat and wired me for communication and told me I could talk as little or as much as I liked but that he had some questions. He told me what buttons to push for communication. He then asked me how I felt and even after I answered I was fine (which they had already heard from the communications while I was still on the mountain) he asked if I needed or wanted to go to a hospital. I answered no. Other than bruises and scratches that would be more apparent in the next couple of days, I was fine physically. He then asked if I wanted water and I accepted. The dust had gotten in my mouth. After the door closed the pilot turned the helicopter toward the east and we traveled down the valley that I had ridden above the day before. I was getting a birds-eye view of what I had traveled. I then remembered to tell them that I had a gun in my pack. (I had carried  it on many law enforcement officer’s recommendations but mostly because I wanted to have it if one of my horses broke a leg. Thankfully I was spared that further agony.) The men told me how sorry they were for my loss and asked a few questions like had I ridden the whole trail alone. Then the co-pilot asked (without turning around) how long I had been out on the trail. I knew he meant in all, so I answered since April 27. He literally jumped out of his seat and faced me with an incredulous expression. The other five men were all exclaiming too! It was one of those funny moments when you know you have shocked and enjoyed doing so. The co-pilot said, now facing  me, “your kidding?” I just shook my head with my first smile of the day. The man across from me once again said, “I’m sorry.” I think he realized in a bigger way just how big a loss it was for me that day. If I was doing an amazing thing, then I was doing it with two amazing horses. They started telling me how “lucky” I was and how bad the area was known to be. It was nearing 7pm when we landed at the Lake Wenatchee Airfield and another five minutes until Ralph arrived with the trailer. Our hug was of mutual support of one another's pain. Gary L. arrived right after we landed and I thanked everyone. It was the beginning of feeling the care and concern of strangers and knowing it was through those stranger's arms that I was being wrapped in the arms of God. Ralph and I were in a strange land with no where to go and were about to see divine intervention. That night we stayed parked at the side of the airfield. After everyone left Ralph made us something to eat and held me when I needed to cry. It would be that way for weeks and months to come.

Some have said I do not look strong enough (physically) to go through all I have gone through. But like I told National Geographic, several days before, I have learned more about myself on this trip and learned that I am brave, courageous, tough, and amazing. Maybe you are too and just don't give yourself credit. I am learning what I am capable of doing and maybe I will amaze myself more, but I am pretty amazing just as I am. All of my injures and most of my scars have been from horses and yet they have also have been some of my greatest blessings. I can not call this trip bad or regret it now because of that one horrific moment in time. I somehow must go on. I had big ups and downs: the joy of seeing old trail friends and being comforted and encouraged by them and then battling the thoughts and visions of those horrific moments. If anyone wants to place blame I would say “keep your words soft and sweet just in case you have to eat them.“ I would pray they never have to battle the visions I do nor suffer the pain of losing such great friends. Nor all the what ifs or could- have-beens because they don’t change that my two great equine friends are gone. Jur and Harmony were doing such a good job and maybe they are running along with me now. As Melody said, “watching over [me.]”  

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