Shortoff - continued: The Day I Met the Paramedics

I know you thought that wasn't fair - leaving you 'hanging' about 'what happened next...'  But, it really is a tale that deserves its own post because it morphed into a two-day marathon of sorts - NO I DID NOT SPEND THE NIGHT IN THE WOODS!   I will preface this - admittedly lengthy - story for all you naysayers by reminding some of you: yes, I was in church on Sunday morning - that was not a figment of your imagination!  Yes, the pastor used my name in an illustration - which always keeps my wife on the edge of her seat.  So, once again, no, I DID escape the clutches of this Wilderness Area unscathed on Saturday... but I also came back Sunday afternoon...

Recall, I left you here:

SATURDAY:
I made that fateful decision to 'see how far it is' to the Linville River.  After all... it couldn't be too far... or they wouldn't have put it on the sign... right...?

Before I go further, note the photo and the absence of shadowing - keep this in mind as we go on with our tale of adventure!

So... as I mentioned before, the ephemeral streams of Shortoff were flowing freely down the face of the mountain as I walked in the 'creekbed' trail the initial descent.  It was a delightful stroll - I was careful to use my trekking poles to keep from slipping as the path was essentially composed of small gravel-sized rocks.  Going downhill can be a bit deceiving - at least to me - and I found the incredible scenery and the warmth of the sunshine on my brow distracted me from the realization of exactly how deep a descent I was making into, in essence, the southernmost part of the Gorge.  This photo, taken from that 'false summit' in the last post, gives you a rough idea where I was heading (essentially, down the ridgeline):

If you look closely... with a little imagination... at the uppermost aspect of the ridge, you can make out the trail.  In my defense, doesn't the trail look fairly flat out there....?  Okay, so... it became evident after my leisurely stroll that - no - it wasn't flat but a steady inevitable descent.  And, you know what that means... to get back was going to require a pretty significant climb back uphill - roughly a 1000 foot climb... again!

Don't mistake what I've said; this is one of the most beautiful sights in the area - as you will see below - with incredible views up the Gorge, down onto the southernmost Linville River as it exits the steep confines of the Gorge, and across undulating hills between the opening of the Gorge and Lake James.  Much of the ridge line is covered with a beautiful chest high grass which makes you feel like you're trekking through the Serengeti.  I caught myself thinking back to Marlin Perkins and humming the Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom tune... and kept thinking, how easy it would be for a  snake... or a mountain lion... or elephant to hide in this tall grass:


Your mental calculator is probably thinking what mine was, "Well, Sherlock, you're essentially going to have to hike Shortoff TWICE today!"  But no... thought I... perhaps this runs into the trail which goes directly out from Wolf Pit (the one you turn right onto to go up Shortoff).  It had to connect... it just HAD to!

As I descended further, the sound of the raging Linville became louder and louder.  There's nothing like the sound of a rushing torrent to put your mind at ease.  I came to this small marker... pretty obvious, huh?  Yes, I am referring to this photo -->

It reminds me of several of the small towns down in Eastern North Carolina - if you blink, you'll miss it.  If it hadn't been for a small pyramid of rocks (the remnant of a cairn left by previous desparate hikers - perhaps to signal a rescue helicopter?), I would have missed it altogether. 

So, to borrow a fishing analogy, I "took the bait" and headed off along the new blue blazed trail.  But, alas, it too turned downhill again and wound back around toward the sound of the river thus pointing away from my truck parked back at Wolf Pit - the exact opposite direction I needed to head.

It was about that time of day when the shadows begin to extend further - in fact, the river was itself enveloped in shade - and the temperature was beginning to get a little cooler.  I was approaching that crucial point where I needed to either find the trail back or else head back up the mountain - the way I had come.  There are decisions in time that you may not 'want' to make, but you 'know' you have to... or else you'll have to explain it all to your wife!  So, I chugged down some water from my Camelback, muttered a few inaudible words in Presbyterian, and headed back up the mountain to connect with the original trail.  I realized that it was going to be a long way up, so I made a game of counting how many logs I had to step up and over: not just walk over, but literally lift my leg up and over - the answer: NINETY-FIVE logs!!!  But, as this photo shows:  WOW, what a view of Shortoff!!!

If you look closely, you can actually see the dark line on the rocks where there is a waterfall which can be seen periodically - it's about a third of the way along the rock face from the left side.  In the foreground, you can see how the ridge line just drops off down here - more of a rolling drop - like walking off the side of a round ball rather than stepping off a cliff into thin air.  This is important to remember for future reference...

So... I'll fast-forward, I made it back up the side of Shortoff and then back down to the truck at Wolf Pit.  I later learned that some hikers have created a shortcut so you don't have to go so far up only to come back down again, but it wasn't that obvious to me, and given the fact the shadows were rapidly chasing my tail up the trail, I wasn't too keen on the prospects of getting caught in the dark on the side of the mountain... again, that would require a lot of explaining to the wife!

SUNDAY - THE DAY I MET THE PARAMEDICS...

On Sunday morning, my older two sons when on an overnight spelunking adventure with the Boy Scouts, and, after church, Melissa and Coleman left for an overnight trip down to Greensboro with Aunt Rachel and Uncle Ron.  I hurredly slurped down some tomato soup, a couple of grilled cheese sandwiches, and back I went to Wolf Pit... again.

This time, instead of turning right at this sign to go up to Shortoff, I plunged straight ahead.  As you might notice, there are several subtle messages that the 'preferred' trail goes right... like the sign... and others too, like arrows of stone on the ground, tree limbs over the trail which I purposefully stepped over... again... subtle clues.  It was immediately evident from the boot tracks that this was the proverbial 'road less traveled'.  You can get a sense of a trail when you see one set of tracks going in, then notice that they've turned around after about 100 yards and are headed back out the direction they came. 

Famed 'Gorge Rat', Rick Davis explained - later - this is the so-called, Faulkner Trail which leads down into the so-called Faulkner Flats... which, he agreed, are anything BUT flat!  I had looked at this area on Google Earth the night before, and the trail I was looking for was obvious... at least on Google Earth!  I knew that eventually, down this trail, I would pass through the area affected by the forest fire and begin to enter some larger pines at which point an 'obvious' trail would head off to my right.  Sure... no problem.  'Course, on Google Earth anything looks pretty flat unless you hold that Ipad up in the air when you're looking at it.  And, I'm convinced that digital satellite photography has been doctored somehow to make things like this look way too simple!

Looking at a map on your Ipad while lying under your down comforter in your own cozy bed is a little different than walking down a rarely-trod trail for the first time.  Yet, once again, like yesterday's foray down the MST, it was all downhill - easy going!  I noticed that there was certainly a lot of 'blowdown' - maybe not the 95 logs I had encountered the day before on the other trail, but quite a few that slowed the pace a bit.  It always seems easier stepping over logs going downhill than going back uphill.

After about 30-45 minutes, I came to the place I mentally recalled as 'the place' to turn - it happened to be the first and only turn to the right that I had encountered.  Alas - it appeared that I was now on the remnants of an actual old dirt road with two ruts.  I crested the small hill to a small mound of stones which, at first, I surmised must be the end of the road - dumb luck, I thought.  Then, I stood up on the rock pile to survey the distance and get my bearings.  As I scanned the vista, my eyes then looked down below me and there was the very very very steep continuation of the road literally plunging down into a small valley.  Across the valley, I could see that one or two ridges away was the ridgeline with the MST.  Despite the apparent obstacles, I was at least heading in the right direction.  Down, down, down I went down this most treacherous road.  It was so steep that I could easily hold out my arm and touch the ground at arms length behind me as I descended this hill.

When I finally reached the base of this chasm, there was a small wetland of sorts created by the recent

rains.  Beneath the host of strewn and twisted trees - in some places appearing reminiscent of a pixie sticks pile, a fairly brisk creek flowed down from Shortoff - the culmination of all of those miniature cascades I had seen the day before - my next challenge was making it across and finding the continuation of the road on the other side.

I very tentatively located some wide strong logs which appeared to go the majority of the distance across this small wetland.  Then, with great caution and no small amount of prayer, I inched my way across the widest log I could find to the far side.  Although I could see across this expanse, I could not see where the road continued - if, in fact, it did - as the Google Earth propogandists had intimated.  Even when I did make it across, I saw no sign of any road or trail.  I looked back from whence I had come - I obviously did not want to return up THAT hill!  I looked ahead and reasoned that my best chance was to try to go up the hill immediately in front of me and get perspective from the top.

Unbeknownst to me, this wetland also served as some dividing line in the fauna of this region: on this side of the river now grew thorns!  Although I still had a couple of hours of daylight, I have to admit that the combination of losing my trail, the sun in my eyes, the ticking clock, and now the thorns began to take their toll.  "Despair" is a real emotion, and I was beginning to experience it down in this hole - I had a real physical picture of the 'slough of despond' faced by John Bunyon's Pilgrim.  But, with time, I punched out onto the top of a small knoll and could see a roundabout pathway to the ridgeline where I was certain the MST was located.  After about a half-hour mired in this chaotic blender of grass, blowdown, and thorns, I reached some hardwoods that looked familiar from the day before - I spotted the white blaze of the MST.  I made it!  In celebration, I took a big swig of water... it was to be my last...

A Holler from the 'Holler'

I recognized that I was only 5 minutes or so 'up' on the MST from the lowest point I had reached the day before.  A long ascending hike lay ahead, but I met the challenge with a little relief at least knowing where the trail was located.  No sooner than I began ascending the MST, I heard someone yelling up ahead.

Realize, this is a bit disconcerting when you're hiking alone.  It was fairly windy, so I couldn't make out what the person was yelling at first, but I kept a steady eye up ahead until I finally spotted the young man who was making the ruckus.  When I got closer, I heard him yell, 'The trail's up here!"  By the time I actually reached him, he was sitting down on the trail, and he looked a bit distraught but extremely relieved to see me coming his way.  He explained that his friends and their father were attempting to ascend up out of the Gorge at this point, but they were exhausted and had run out of water.  He was afraid that they weren't going to make it and that they were dehydrated.  They were on their third day of a backpacking trip in the Linville Gorge.  Their plan had been to exit out the bottom of the Gorge and get back to their car at Wolf Pit today - only problem, they couldn't find a trail to connect from where they 'were' to where they 'needed to go', so they had headed directly up the side of this mountain.  They had relied on boiling their water as opposed to a water filter system, so after crossing the Linville River (again, it was flowing 5 x normal flow right now) - no small feat - they were obviously exhausted before their climb and probably didn't have time to boil and drink (hot) water before making this final push.  (If you look back up at the panoramic shot of this long ridge, they were coming up the side of the mountain from the Liville River where it makes a sharp right turn.)

He said their cell phone service had been spotty, but they had been able to reach the paramedics.  He said the others were in pretty bad shape, and he wasn't sure they could make it out.

I don't know about you, but, in all honesty, I began thinking, 'Well, what on earth do you think I can do to help you out of this mess!" - but I didn't say it.  I thought the first thing to do was actually see where they were located to see if they were in imminent danger - were they hanging off a rock somewhere, or might it be easier just to have them walk around the contour of the mountain as opposed to straight up and over?  I inched my way closer and closer to the edge of the mountain, but I couldn't see where they were coming up, and he couldn't tell me either.  So, I gave him my phone and had him try to call their number to see if they would wave or something so we could at least get an idea of where they physically were located.  Eventually, a head popped up and one of the guys made his way to a point I could at least give him a hand... and one of my water bottles.  The next head popped up shortly after that, and he said, "see if you can help my dad, he's not doing well at all..."  Now, I'm thinking, "What have I gotten myself into?"

About 50 yards down the mountain, I saw the dad, and from this view, their assessment was spot on.  I made my way down to see him and gave him my other - final - water container.  He was certainly exhausted, but he denied any chest pains - my big concern.  He knew he was dehydrated and was feeling nauseated.   I then made that commitment I knew I might later regret, "Here, let me carry your backpack for you!"  So, off with my daypack (which was already lighter due to the fact I had given them my two water containers) and on with the gargantuan mega-backpack that had supplied his needs the last three days - oh, I'd roughly estimate weighing about 200 lbs.  After several minutes, we made it back onto the trail and there was a very relieved reunion.  Suffice it to say, they were better off now than about ten minutes ago, but there was still no 'easy' way out of this one.

After a reasonable rest and some discussion about how best to get to Wolf Pit (and whether they even felt they could go on further), we slowly began hiking back up the MST toward Shortoff.  The three boys (ages 17-18) went first, followed by the dad, and I held up the rear... with that heavy backpack. 

I knew that - if worse came to worse - we could get water from some of these temporary streams - we could all take antibiotics later if needed, or, perhaps, we would link up with some other hikers with enough water to help get these guys down the mountain.  Our pattern was that we would generally walk about five to ten minutes then would take a break.  These guys were not out of shape - in fact, they looked very healthy and well-nourished - but we were witnessing the obvious effects of dehydration on top of incredible exhaustion 

Needless to say, what should have taken about an hour to get back to Wolf Pit took about two hours, and the sun was definitely going down.  They assured me that they did have working lights, but it turned out we didn't need them.  When we made it back to the intersection with the Shortoff Trail, we new it was all downhill from that point on, and that provided a morale booster they certainly needed.  Regardless, as I encouraged them that we would get back to our cars before nightfall, the 18 year old said, 'that's good but I just wanna see my mom.'  I wish I had been able to record that comment for his parents!

We made fairly good pace from that point all the way down the trail - however the sun was definitely behind the mountains and it had transitioned from cool to cold.  The wind was just short of howling, and I now had on three layers - having started my hike with short sleeves only.  We 'punched out' at the sign above ('Shortoff to the right') to find two guys on 4x4's waiting for us.  They sure looked impressive with their snazzy helmets - one with a radio attachment that looked almost military issue - but, more importantly, they offered us some water.  The guy with the radio sqwaked back to 'command center' that they 'had 4... plus one'.   They directed us on down the path to the parking lot and told the dad he needed to check in at 'command center.'

Now I don't mean to seem ungrateful - I did get a free 20oz bottle of water out of the ordeal - but I knew they had about two hours' headstart, so I couldn't help but be a little puzzled by the fact that the 4x4's had only made it about 150 yards up from the parking lot.  Really?  After two hours, that's as far as they had gone?  Geez, what would have happened in 30 minutes when it was going to be dark?  When we actually walked down to the circle where the parked cars were located, there had to be 15-20 guys there just standing there looking at us.  I didn't want to 'gawk back', but they looked sorta like this:

I know you have to have a good - and willing - heart to be a rescuer, but, since nobody came up to check on us, and they basically just stared at us, I'll say it:  Thanks a lot for meeting us at the parking lot!

The boys took their backpacks to their minivan, and I followed them through the 'walk of shame' in front of the good ol' boy 'rescuers'.  Dad humbly stopped at 'command center' which was basically a uniformed officer sitting in his truck with his heater running while we all stood outside in the cold.  I came back to get my daypack from the father - who was getting a brief ear-ful from the 'commander' asking him if he knew how many people had been called out to help them.  Pretty insensitive for a guy who didn't even have to get out of his heated truck, I thought.  The dad turned to me, shook my hand, and told me that Jesus had definitely sent me - the highest compliment I could have received - and reiterated his offer of dinner at the Waffle House - which I kindly declined.  I waved good-bye - not asking for the water bottle back - I figure he can keep that as a souvenier of his own adventurous near-miss.

I can't help but think that two minor items may have kept these folks from getting into this predicament:  a water filter and a good topographic map.  That does it - I'm getting a water filter!