2/22/10, 2AM, Day 3 Part 2: Just moments ago Search and Rescue (SNR) told us we were on our own. So much for being airlifted on a chopper. Wonder if we’d have to pay for an air rescue. Not that it matters though. According to SNR, we have to keep walking in the direction we’re headed (which we don’t know). The trail will get steep (i.e. “just shy of cliff.”) And, once we cross the valley and climb the slope we’ll be on Old Butt Knob (maybe). Is that all? Well, shoot. Honey, set me a plate. I’ll be home in a few.
CHRIS: Dude, this totally blows. Let’s get off this mountain before the weather hits.
COOP: Word.
We scrap lunch, pack up, and get walking. Terrain is ridiculous. 60° slopes with obstacles every 2 feet. Waist-deep snow, ice-covered boulders, leaf-covered holes, Mordor-sized fallen trees, and lots of rhododendrons. It sucks. No wonder SNR doesn’t want to come get us. I wouldn’t want to come get us.
COOP: Clouds are clearing.
CHRIS: Good news.
COOP: NOAA’s calling for snow showers tomorrow.
CHRIS: Bad news.
Old Butt Knob is 0.7 miles away. That’s eight city blocks. We’re exhausted. Have to plan every step to avoid a game-changing injury. Thanks to the terrain, fatigue, and 40 pounds of gear we cover the distance in a whopping 3.5 hours (or 0.2 mph). At 5:30PM we finally reach Old Butt Knob. Coop has a signal and calls SNR.
SNR: Follow the ridge ’til you hear a creek. Then follow the creek to us. Be careful, there’s another steep slope ahead. We’ll have someone waiting who will walk you the rest of the way.
COOP: Sounds good.
SNR: Let me blow my horn and tell me if you can hear it.
COOP: Nothing.
SNR: Eh, probably just the trees.
We press on. At 5:45PM we see the first trail in over 8 hours. We take it. Now onto the steep slope SNR warned us about. Zig, zag, slide, step, fall. A really bad dance number we repeat over and again. If either of us falls we’ll go tumbling down the mountain. On a suck scale of 1 to 10, this slope sucks. Después de cuarenta y cinco minutos llegar al fondo y todo está bien. Gracias a Dios.
COOP: Hello!
CHRIS: Hello!
Nothing. No response. Slipping and sliding down another slope we find what we believe to be the creek SNR mentioned.
COOP: Hello!
CHRIS: Hello!
Still nothing. The sands of daylight are running out. Headlamps go on and we continue down the side of the mountain careful to keep the creek at our 3 o’clock . Traveling becomes a little easier. OK, not really, but we aren’t climbing over boulders or downed trees or through vineys. Our shins are starting to bruise a deep dark Prince kinda purple thanks to the icy layer on top of the snow that we keep ramming them into with every step. Gotta stop soon. Night falls and we run into another rhododendron patch.
CHRIS: For real?
COOP: Yep.
It’s insane. Thirty feet of bushwhacking into the vineys and it’s apparent that pushing through this nonsense at night is a bad idea. Time to rethink our strategy.
Option A. Press on through the thicket and run the risk of getting more lost, injured, or both.
Option B. Turn back towards the creek and make an attempt to follow it down.
We want to be able to look at the terrain ahead of us and plan our next move. We don’t want to have to change our route when we’re at the waterfall or precipice, especially at night. Option B it is.
We track back to the creek and the sight is sore. Creek is grown over. Not like creepy-neighbor-down-the-block kind of grown over. It’s the kind that would make a God-fearing Christian man curse like a WWII sailor. Coop steps down from the bank and on to the creek bed. He slips, falls, and slides into the water. I repeat his performance with remarkable exactness down the 12-foot slip-n-slide. Water soaks everything. We’re wet, cold, tired, and hungry. To our left is a 4 foot by 6 foot patch of uneven ground between two creeks. Time to bed down.
About 6:45PM we put up a single tent and I go in. I’m shaking uncontrollably. Worthless. Coop stays outside and makes oatmeal and a bottle of hot water (thanks Coop!) A half hour later we’re both zonked. Throughout the night, sounds bounce off the hills. People? Dogs? Coyotes? Bobcats? Nah, probably just the creek. At one point I wake up and see lights off in the distance. Excitement fills me. I open the tent to see a pair of headlights. Glad to know that the road couldn’t be more than a mile or so away. We’ll find out tomorrow.