Tragedy on the Mountain

The air was fresh and the sun warm as we rode our mules along the rugged dirt road. We were on our way to a lake I had never been to, and I was looking forward to the day of fishing that lay ahead. Tired and sore from a long ride the day before, I was already dreading the six mile ride back to the cabin in the afternoon, but my soul was drinking in the beauty that enveloped me. The Concord cabin, off in the distance, a rustic haven against the backdrop of a rugged wilderness, Frog Town, lush and green, at the bottom of the canyon, Hump Mountain, a pillar of beauty rising a thousand feet above the mountain lakes that surround it, the fresh scent of pine and fir trees, the warm sun on my face and a cool breeze on the back of my neck. I felt blessed to be able to experience these sensory delights. I did not know that the events and feelings of this day would be permanently etched in my memory.

We left the dirt road and followed a trail around Hump Lake. Hump Mountain rose to our left, and a canyon dropped thousands of feet to our right. We passed a rectangular hole that had been dug to look for gold, and I thought to myself “it looks like a ready-made grave” My dad had said those same words a few days before when we passed a similar hole on a walk through the woods. It was a strange comment, but not altogether far-fetched, as we were, as Dad always said, “A long way from a doctor” Any injury sustained out here, thirty miles from the nearest paved road, could easily become life-threatening.

The last half mile to Crystal Lake was straight down hill, rocky, and too treacherous to travel on the back of the mules. We all dismounted, and Dad tied the mules together to lead them down to the lake. My husband, Regan, my mom and I walked behind at a slower pace. We were visiting and laughing together as we carefully picked our steps down the hill, anxious to get to the lake, but taking our time to avoid falling. Then, the unexpected, we heard Dad scream. “Run!” Mom yelled. Regan and I tore down the hill, lunging over rocks, hearts pounding. “Oh, God, Oh, God” I gasped, at the sight of Dad, his body half covered by the mule that had fallen on him.

Regan quickly untangled the mules that were wrapped around a tree and released the mule that was on top of Dad. We assessed Dad’s injuries…blood on his arm and head, possible broken ribs, and a gurgling in his chest that concerned us the most. “I don’t know how I’m going to get out of here,” Dad said. He was always the leader out here in the wilderness that he loved, and now that our leader was down, we would have to take action, something I was not certain I could do. But someone would have to ride for help.

The two mules my 6’1” husband could ride were not the most dependable. I knew Mom would want to stay with Dad. I was the one who would have to go. I knew my mule Dolly, the one that had fallen on Dad, was not the most sure-footed. I did not want to risk riding her quickly through rough terrain. I would take Mom’s mule Suzy.

“I’m going for help,” I told Dad as I slipped my jacket under his head to offer him a little comfort against the hard, rocky ground.

“I don’t want her to go,” Dad demanded, “This is rough country.”

“I have to go,” I said “You raised me tough”, I thought to myself, “I can do this” But in my heart, I wasn’t even certain I could find my way back to the dirt road. I felt like a frightened little girl, not a forty-six year old woman.

I hugged Dad, grabbed my extra water bottle off Dolly’s saddle horn, and pulled myself onto Suzy’s back. I nudged her forward with a firm kick, and headed up the steep hill. “Don’t worry if you hear me calling for help,” I yelled over my shoulder. “I’m going to yell for help all the way out. If I need help myself, I’ll yell something else.”  

The ride up the hill was a tough one that should have taken several minutes with frequent stops to allow the mules to rest. I pushed Suzy to cover the ground as quickly as possible. Sensing the urgency of the ride, she persevered, resting only one brief moment as we climbed over boulders and slippery loose rocks. I was not sure I was going the right direction. I did not remember seeing the lake that now loomed below me. I heard my Dad’s voice echoing in my mind, “Follow the mule tracks,” but I had already lost them. In my haste, I had veered off the trail, and now was not sure of the exact direction I should take. “Oh, Jesus, please help me. Help me find the trail, please” As I was praying in my heart, I was screaming out loud, “Help, anybody, help!”

Crossing a meadow, I finally saw the peak of Hump Mountain. I knew if I stayed parallel to the mountain, I would find my way. When Hump Lake came into view, I realized I had come out on the wrong side. This was not the side with the easy trail. It was the side with big boulders intertwined with trickling mountain streams. This side of the lake would prove a long and difficult ride. There was not time to take this path. I coaxed Suzy over a patch of solid rock, straight down a hill, and across a damp meadow to the trail side of the lake. Sure-footed and precise, she chose the safest footing and we arrived at the trail. At last, we could run towards our destination, the cabin of a friend who had a radio, six miles away. “Help, help,” I continued to scream.

Two hikers met me at the other end of the lake. They were not familiar enough with the country to offer me any assistance, so decided they would see if they could be of any help to Dad.

Suzy and I ran on down the road toward the cabin of Les and Diane. I prayed they would be there so they could call for help on their radio. Even more so, I hoped I would run into someone along the way who might have a radio or another way of getting to help faster than Suzy and I could. I continued to scream for help, but the mountains were empty. This was a Sunday, and the few people who were there only yesterday, had already begun the long trek down the mountain. There was no one else in sight.

I urged Suzy down the road as quickly as she could run. “This is the most important ride of your life,” I told her. “Keep it up girl, please keep going.”

As we ran down the road, sweat pouring down my face and neck, my throat dry and burning from screaming and the heat of the day, my mind was bombarded with unimaginable thoughts. It was my fault Dad got hurt today. I was the one who wanted to go to this lake. My parent’s fiftieth anniversary was less than a year away, how heartbreaking it will be if Mom has to celebrate that day without Dad. What would it be like up here without Dad? I didn’t think I would ever be able to come up here again. Dad wanted us to walk the property line with him before we went home. Now we may never get to walk it with him. My Dad’s stories and knowledge of the history of this place would be lost to our ears forever. Why didn’t we record him telling some of those stories? I might never again hear Dad playing his guitar as he sat in the living room of the cabin, with the most peaceful look on his face. The thoughts were too much for me to handle. I choked back sobs. This was no time to fall apart. I had to focus on getting help. “Help!” I screamed again, but my voice was growing weaker by the minute. The heat and exhaustion were taking their toll, and I began to feel weak and nauseated.

I gathered every ounce of volume I could and screamed once more, “Help! I’m on the road, please, somebody help!” Two men ran out to meet me; Les and his friend. Between gasps for air, I told them what had happened to Dad, and Les immediately began to radio for help. They needed to know vital information. How badly was he hurt? I didn’t know. I did know that if his injuries were life-threatening, he would probably not be alive by the time help reached him. How long had it been since I had seen him? I didn’t know. I didn’t have a watch, and I had lost all track of time. An hour, maybe more.

I tied Suzy to a tree and climbed into a six-wheeled vehicle with Les’ friend. My mind kept wandering as we sped down the road to Hump Lake. Horrible pictures played on my imagination. I could see Mom sobbing over my dead father. I could see Mom and Regan coming out of the woods, leading a mule with Dad’s lifeless body draped over the saddle. I wondered if we would bury Dad in that ready-made grave I had seen so he would forever be in his beloved mountains.  “Please, God, help him to be alive,” I pleaded. “Please help him, Jesus. Please send help!”

Once we reached the lake, Les’ friend could not take me any farther in the vehicle. I jumped out. The last thing he told me was to stay near the opposite end of the lake, out in the open where I could be seen. I just wanted to get to Dad. I ran as fast as I could down the trail “Follow the mule tracks,” I reminded myself, “follow the mule tracks.” But suddenly, at the edge of a meadow, the mule tracks ended. I could not find where the trail began again. Should I keep trying to find the trail, or should I stay near this meadow where I might be able to flag down the helicopter? Or should I go back to the end of Hump Lake as I had been instructed? I wanted to see if Dad was all right, but I decided I should run between the lake and the meadow in hopes that I could flag the helicopter, directing them to the meadow where they could land. I had put on two white shirts that morning, and I took one off to use as a flag.

Running back and forth between the meadow and the lake, I thought of the wolf tracks we had been finding all week, and of the cougars that prowl around this area. I realized all I had for a weapon was my water bottle. “Please keep me safe, Lord,” I prayed.

Les had given me a radio with a low battery. I could hear the communications between Les and the help that was on the way, but the battery was too low for me to radio out. I couldn’t tell anyone about the meadow that would make a good landing pad. I didn’t know that Les was in the helicopter, helping the pilot to pinpoint Dad’s exact location. Les swore he would never get into a helicopter again after Vietnam, but he broke his promise to himself to help my dad.

Finally, after five hours that seemed like five days, the helicopter landed in the meadow. Two paramedics jumped out. I had remained calm all this time, with my raging emotions collected. One of the paramedics walked over and put his hand on my shoulder. “Are you all right?” he asked.

“No, I haven’t even had time to cry.” The tears streamed down my face. I sat down on a rock and buried my face in the shirt I had been using as a flag. I realized I was exhausted. Worse than that, I didn’t know if Dad would be alive by the time we reached him.

The paramedics were taking too long to start out for the lake. They were taking an inventory of all the items they had brought with them, and trying to decide what they needed to take and what could be left in the meadow. “Just take everything and let’s get going!” I wanted to yell. But I knew they had to be prepared, and it was a long, hard walk to where Dad was. Too much gear would make the hike more difficult.

Finally, we were ready to start down the trail. This part of the trail was like a small ditch with meadows on either side. “Aren’t you afraid to ride mules on this trail?” one paramedic asked. “You haven’t seen anything yet,” I thought, but I simply answered “No.” As the trail worsened, the paramedic radioed out to the others who were on the way, “Don’t send any vehicles. Just send men. Young, strong men.” They thought they would have to carry Dad out on a stretcher, over terrain that was difficult just to walk on.

When we reached the place where Dad was, and I saw that he was still alive, my heart was filled with a relief that exploded into deep sobs as Mom hugged me. While I sobbed, the paramedics went to work on Dad. After a quick evaluation, they determined that he did not have any internal injuries. “I think the best way to get you out of here,” they said, “is to get some Morphine in you, get you up on a mule and have you ride out.”

“Are you sure?” Dad asked.

“If anything happens on the way out, we can get you off the mule and work on you then. Just let us know if the pain gets too unbearable”

Dad grabbed his mule, Bell, by the bridle. “Now you be good for me, Bell.” She was often a bit cantankerous when Dad tried to get on her, sometimes trying to take off before he was all the way in the saddle. I said a silent prayer that she would hold still this time. As if she knew that this time was different, she stood still. Dad was in the saddle, and we were ready for the ride straight up and out to the meadow where the helicopter was waiting.

Regan rode behind Dad, and I was at the rear on Dolly. I watched Dad’s face as we rode. Winces of pain and shear determination. I asked him a few times if he was okay, then I realized that he needed to be in charge. He didn’t need me hounding him as if he were a child. I stopped asking, but my heart ached each time he grabbed his side in pain.

We reached the meadow and Dad slid down off Bell’s back. He stood and talked to the pilot and the paramedics for awhile, then he was loaded into the helicopter and he was off to a hospital two hours away. I saw him waving as the helicopter gained altitude. I was filled with relief and sorrow.

We would not know until the next day the extent of his injuries. Four cracked ribs and a small hole in his lung. This was miraculous. He could have easily died up on the mountain that day, but God had spared his life. God had extended unquestionable grace to him that day. I will always be grateful for all the answered prayers, the way God orchestrated all the details, and the help of so many wonderful people. I will never forget that day.