Last fall I finished work early on a Saturday, wasn't needed on Sunday, and decided it was a great day to throw all of my things in a bag and go backpacking. It was my first solo overnight without car support and it went south and I wasn't prepared. Which is the lesson reviewed by this entry.
I spent the quiet times on Saturday researching a route, I called up the ranger's office and asked about trail conditions. When I got home I packed in record time, grabbed my trusty hound, and headed up into the mountains. I arrived at the trailhead with daylight to spare (I thought) and headed up towards one of several backwoods camping sites that the ranger had suggested. There was one other car in the lot, and two friendly climbers heading up who quickly faded into the woods ahead of me.
It got dark faster than I expected, and I didn't move as quickly as I expected. It took me a long time to ford a swollen river. I had another delay when I discovered my platypus was leaking and had to readjust my things to ensure nothing else got wet. By the time it started to get dark I still hadn't come across any likely sites. Instead of settling for one I kept going, thinking I was pretty close to my original destination. And maybe I was. I won't know until I go back up there because full dark came and then I started stumbling and then I decided it was time to stop. There was a clearing next to the path so I set up camp there. I had a quiet dinner in the dark and decided to go to bed soon thereafter so I could have more time in the morning to explore and figure out where I had intended to go.
Because I camp with my dog, I will generally wake up several times during the night when he barks at noises in the woods. I was just falling asleep when he woke me and I heard voices on the trail. They seemed to be heading down the mountain. I checked my clock: 2315. Okay, a little late to head 3 or so miles down a challenging trail with a river running high, but to each his own. I was woken again when they came back through 30 minutes later and shined their flashlights at my tent. My dog kept barking. I didn't feel great about it but I told myself the dark was getting to me, etc. I felt differently when I was woken again at 0030 by another set of voices heading up the mountain. These voices were all male, they stopped and let their flashlights linger on my tent, and only moved on after a few long minutes. What the hell was going on out there? Where had these people come from? Who hikes up a mountain at midnight? There's no way the original group went down again without setting off my dog, whom I'm not sure had slept at all. I had a terrible feeling in the pit of my stomach.
My instincts have always served me well, so that pretty much settled it. I struck camp in about 15 minutes and headed back down the mountain. I went slowly. I stopped whenever I got tired enough to stumble. I kept drinking water. I poked my trekking pole ahead of me every step of the way. I fought my scaredy-cat instincts and sang loudly whenever I heard rustling in the bushes. It took me almost three times as long to go down but I made it back to my car safe and sound.
I've had a season to reflect on what went wrong and here's what I've come up with:
Problem 1: It was a Saturday. When I was researching solo packing for women, I came across mixed reviews on whether to hide or to be visible: some women preferred to hike more high traffic areas for the increased likelihood they would come across help if they ran into trouble. Other women preferred to keep a low profile, erring on the side of risk of injury to avoid human complications. I feel more comfortable with the latter, and by going out on a Saturday night I ended up in a situation I wouldn't have been as comfortable in to begin with.
Problem 2: I did not leave early enough. This forced me to find a campsite that, while perfectly functional, was open to the path and to anyone who happened to be traveling along it in the middle of the night.
Problem 3: It was a new trail for me. Because I hadn't been to where I was going (a perfectly reasonable day hike distance) I was unable to judge whether to stop or continue when conditions like darkness and fatigue forced me to rework my plan. While I think this was the slightest of my mistakes since it could easily have been corrected by making sure I had hours and hours of daylight, it was still a factor.
Problem 4: I wasn't carrying spare batteries for my headlamp. The low battery light was on, so I chose to go without headlamp for most of the way down the trail to conserve what light I had left.
But, there were several things I did right!
I talked myself down when I thought I was just getting spooked, but when that strong instinct hit me I acted on it without dithering or panic.
I let logic and not fear dictate the speed at which I went back down the trail and what my response was to strange noises. It would have been easy to rush and break an ankle or not warn an animal that I was nearby and startle it, but I didn't. I stayed hydrated, I went slowly, and I used my trekking pole even when the path seemed flat and clear. And for those things I'm pretty proud of myself.
All of my mistakes were dumb mistakes and I knew better than all of them, and I just got excited. Which I suppose is a lesson in knowledge versus awareness, mindfulness, and checking in. I wasn't able to get out again after this last season, but it hasn't diminished my enthusiasm at all. I'm looking forward to backpacking both solo and with friends as the weather warms up.
