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Collective Wisdom What happened during That Adrenaline Moment?

Genie McKenzie: I had two heart-stopping moments on the Pacific Crest Trail. The first occurred in Section O as our group was gingerly crossing a snowbank on an inside curve. At the bottom of the snowbank was in impressive rock field. I was last in line. About halfway across I slipped and started sliding toward the rocks below. Luckily, a small tree was sticking out of the snow in my direction of travel and I grabbed it. I couldn't regain my footing so one of our group came back, tied a rope onto my backpack so I could remove it and not have it go careening on down. Then I was able to finish my snowbank crossing. I've got some good photos that my companions took.

The second event was crossing the Sandy River, the glacial stream descending Mt. Hood. Virginia, Betty and I (the 3 "Old Ladies") were pretty trail hardened after thru hiking most of Oregon and felt quite intrepid. Again, I was the last to cross. I'd tossed my socks across the river, retied my boots and started across. Lo and behold, the swift current swept my feet out from under me just as I was nearing the far side! I thought I was on my way to the Columbia river. Very fortunately my guardian angel in the person of Seth instantly saw my plight and waded in and grabbed my arm. Betty thrust out her trekking pole which I was able to grab and the two of them literally pulled me to shore. My camera got wet on that one and had to be repaired. These are two reasons why I don't hike alone!

Marmot: Forester Pass, 3:00 p.m. It looks like a ski hill and I sent my ice ax ahead to Independence. DUMB MOVE! Each step I have to stamp down the snow the make a platform to stand on. Whoooops, my leg breaks through the surface. Suddenly, I am hanging by one knee, upside down, hoping that the snow doesn't give way as I crawl back to being right side up. Then I have to do it all over again, for an hour, all the way down the north side of the pass. I really have no idea how many times I found myself in that position and had to repeat the same struggle. That evening I spent the whole night throwing rocks at bears but that was much less scary than the trip down Forester. There have been a lot of "Adrenaline Moments" since, but that one was one of my first and has really stuck with me.

Andy Basque: Before Jeff and I hiked the Pacific Crest Trail, I had been a Peace Corps volunteer in Mali, West Africa for two years, which perhaps may explain my reaction when we were watering up at Golden Oaks spring just north of Mojave. We had taken off our packs and were preparing to eat lunch and get the water filtering when I saw something moving in the bushes. After a quick glimpse I somehow concluded, screamingly, "OH NO, RUN! THERE'S A HYENA IN THE BUSHES!"

Without even thinking, threw my stuff in my pack and took off out of there. Jeff was able to lure me back eventually to get a better glimpse of a little cinnamon colored bear, obviously deaf as my screaming didn't seem to even faze him. The worst part was I was still sort of nervous about this bear hanging around and my outburst caused us to leave more quickly than planned. Several miles later we realized we did not tank up on enough water and it was going to be a long hot thirsty hike to the next water.

Even worse, as we approached the next spring, thirsty and maybe even more delusional than seeing hyenas in the bushes, gunshots rang out over our heads. Quickly we hit the deck and waited for a moment to see what was going on. Some guys were camped in a clearing to the left of us but the shots had come from the right. We cautiously proceeded to at least get out of the line of fire. Around the corner was a potbellied guy in a serape and large Mexican sombrero, and oh, he had a big gun, too. ;

He immediately began apologizing to us as he had not realized we were below him. He was harassing the guys camping who were hunting bears with dogs and he was hoping to scare them away from the area. He turned out to be a nice guy and he let us take a shower from his water tank on his truck. Two adrenaline pumping times in two days made "finding safe water sources in the desert" have a whole new meaning for us.

Dick Vogel, Littleton, Colorado: I've had a number of adrenalin moments backpacking and camping. In 1967 I was camping a couple of hundred yards from my car near Mt. Tamalpais in Northern California. I heard something at the other end of the clearing where I was camping. When I turned my flashlight on, all I could see was four big yellow eyes near the ground. I got up and camped next to my car.

In 1971 I took the bus to the end of the line near Edinburgh, Scotland and camped out in the open at the edge of a field. Just as I was about to go to sleep I felt something glide past my head. I stood up on my sleeping bag and put on my boots. Next I turned on my flashlight. What I saw looked like a small cactus except it was breathing. It was a hedge hog. I gently rolled him away with my foot. On that same trip I camped out in the open on a trail near the white cliffs of Dover. I was sound asleep when I sat up bolt upright and screamed. A dog was running up the path toward me. I scared him as much as he scared me. The same thing happened to me while I was camped out in the open in the woods near Clifton, Virginia in 1971. That same night I heard shots in the woods. The next morning there was a leg of a deer hanging on a post near my car. Someone had been illegally hunting deer at night with dogs.

Another time I was sitting by Bull Run near Clifton, Virginia, smoking a cigar and taking it easy. I heard what sounded like about 15 guys walking through the leaves. It was a flock of turkeys.

In 1984 my wife and I got horse packed to a small pond in the Flattops here in Colorado. We decided to fish at a bigger lake. It got dark and started to rain. We couldn't find our way back to camp. I found a spot at the edge of a group of trees where there was a large blowdown and started a fire. We sat under some big trees and used the trash bags that we were going to put our fish in to cover our legs. When it got light, we easily found our way back to camp. We drank a bottle of champagne, slept all day, got up, had another bottle of champagne and slept all night. The next day we were fine.

One April 15th I was camping in the open at Golden Gate State Park, Colorado in my 10 degree bag. It went down to minus 5 degrees. I put on everything I had with me. I tried to light a fire, but my lighter wouldn't work. I shivered in my bag until it was light then packed up and hiked back to my car.

Another time I drove up to Golden Gate State Park on my motorcycle in late October. It was dark and started raining. I untied my pack from my motorcycle and hiked about two miles up the trail. It started snowing. By the time I had my camp up, a good deal of my down bag was wet. Enough of it was dry to keep me warm. The next morning it stopped snowing. The sun came up. I dried my bag out in the sun and everything was OK.

One time I was backpacking on the Ben Tyler Trail in the Lost Creek Wilderness Area in Colorado. The trail goes across a large flat area at the top of a mountain. The trail disappears in a bunch of low bushes for about a half a mile. When I was coming back the clouds rolled in, the wind started blowing and it started to rain. It was about 40 degrees. I had forgotten my tent pegs and wasn't able to put up my tent. For some reason I didn't have adequate rain gear with me. I marched in place for about 45 minutes until the clouds lifted enough for me to see where I needed to go. I bought a Global Positioning System (GPS) and learned how to use it. I've gotten lost twice since then, but the GPS and a map showed me the way back.

Jonathan Ley: The grizzly took one look at my intimidating thru-hiker physique and thought again. He flipped 180 degrees and ran back around the corner like the terrified wimp he truly was. Yup, I could've taken him.

Jan McCartan (AT, LT and PCT): My hiking partner, Vic Boyers, and I were north bound on the Appalachian Trail in early spring. Our friend, the Bellkeeper, had joined us for a week's break from college. The day was gorgeously warm and sunny. We climbed Standing Indian around noon and lingered at the summit for a long lunch and snooze in the sun. Later that evening after dinner the Bellkeeper and I were debating if the moths were fulfilling their destiny by flying into the candle flame.

Vic, a fair blue eyed blond, announced in a faint voice that he needed some tea. I looked over and realized that he was fading. He had gotten sunburnt and was shivering from a loss of body heat. His pupils were dilated and he was close to losing consciousness. We were a dozen miles from the nearest road. Medical help was not an option.

Fortunately the Bellkeeper was with us -- we normally traveled as a duo. He kept the tea coming while I popped bite sized Baby Ruths into Vic's mouth. We wrapped him in two sleeping bags and I lay on top of him, all the while drilling him with questions about where he was, who I was, etc. After what seems like forever, he stabilized and we allowed him to sleep. He was fine in the morning other than a bit tired. It was a real wake up call as how easily an ideal day can turn into a life or death challenge.;

Steve Queen: A few months before beginning my Pacific Crest Trail hike, Mike Wetter (PCT, 1980) told me that when he hit the Canadian border, he felt like God. I can confirm this to be true.

Bob Ellinwood: Two different incidents. The first, with two related parts - the second being the "Adrenaline Moment."

The first incident, from my Pacific Crest Trail log of August, 1991 (North of Methow Pass, arriving at tiny Willis Camp on Golden Stream):

Suddenly, while we were standing there at the campsite, an enormous bang occurred. We couldn't tell what it was. It had a metallic sound to it, but seemed like a large explosion not far from us. No one was near us in the forest, as I walked a quarter mile in both directions, calling. The sound seemed several hundred yards away, but we disagreed as to which direction. It couldn't have been a tree falling -- no snapping branches, and this was much louder and had a distinctly metallic sound.

Two days later, we climbed to the treeless top of the south end of Lakeview Ridge. As we stood there, a frightening and mysterious thing happened. We were less than 10 yards apart, standing there looking, when WHOOSH, some object - a projectile much larger than a bullet - went swooshing by between us, head high, at extremely high speed. There was no impact of anything hitting the earth nearby, so the trajectory must have been low. We turned to each other, wide-eyed, and said simultaneously, "What was THAT?" All we know is that some fairly large object passed between us at an incredible speed. Only days later did we learn that the Perseid Meteor shower was at its height and that it was particularly heavy this year. We consider ourselves very lucky!

The second incident: We've all had numerous, scary, nearby lightning strikes. This is probably my worst. From my Appalachian Trail log of 1995:

In the Chairbacks in Maine, we'd just heard on the weather radio an alert that mentioned frequent lightning and specifically mentioned hikers in the north and central mountains. I hadn't heard THAT before!

Suddenly, at 7:55 a.m., we heard thunder. Hey, the radio said, "This afternoon." Now lightning. We hurried from the top of 4th Peak. Sky darkened. Lightning frequent now. In the sag between 4th and 3rd Peaks, decision time. Do we push along the ridge to the nearest side trail or hunker down? Ugly black/dark green sky right on us. My wife, who usually follows my lead, asserted, "I think we should bushwhack off the ridge right now." I hesitated. She said, "Right now." Having learned on the Pacific Crest Trail to trust one's gut instincts, I said, "OK". We got no more than 200 yards downslope in the wooded terrain when suddenly the heavens opened, we were standing in an inch of water, and all hell broke loose. We threw our packs off, squatted on some rocks raised above the water and expected death, as the lightning hit around us at FASTER than one strike per second. I have never been in it this bad before. The faster than one-per-second strikes went on for about five minutes, before easing a bit.

For me, that beat the large bear with cub confrontation in Lassen, the grizzly in Yellowstone, the thick hissing rattler 12 inches from my right leg in Virginia, or the 33 yellow jacket stings on Wildcat in New Hampshire.

Roger Carpenter: On the last day of my Pacific Crest Trail thru-hike in 1996 I woke up on the morning of September 15, just 22 miles from the Canadian Border. It was raining all night, I broke camp in the rain, and it stayed cold and started snowing, the kind that was blowing sideways. It didn't make sense to stop because I would have gotten too cold, and I had Canada fever in the worst way.

All day I stopped only once to get some food out of my pack, and I ate as I walked. The wind and snow continued as I hiked briskly, not even aware of uphill, downhill, whatever. The only sensation I experienced was forward, northbound movement, and I was totally locked into the experience of finishing my hike. I arrived at the border at 2:45 p.m., just seven hours after I started in the morning. That special day was powered by adrenaline!

Steve "Switchback" Fuquay: My buddy (Rattlesnake) and I (Switchback) were hiking out at Kearsarge Pass. It was dark and we were trying to make the parking lot to catch a ride down to Independence and the motel (since closed). We are both diabetics. About a mile from the parking lot my buddy goes into diabetic shock. He just all at once stops and leans against the dirt bank next to the trail with his mouth open and eyes rolled back into his head. I know what it is and put some hard candy under his tongue. In about 30 seconds he starts coming around. And in about five minutes we are headed down the trail again. By the way, we lucked out at 10:00 p.m. and caught the last car headed down the mountain.

Suzanne Allen: Ha! I was awakened one morning, camped by a logging road in northern Idaho, by a tiny bear cub nosing around within six feet of my head! Stunned, and rapidly considering the repercussions of its mother being nearby, I started talking to it, then clapping my hands and shooing it away when it didn't want to leave. Watching me pack up camp faster than I ever have before or since, it would scurry a few feet up a nearby tree, then descend and nose its way back until I began feinting again as I tried to scare it away.

Only somewhat consoled the the fact that it must be a brown bear, I was soon walking up the road again, keeping a very sharp eye out for momma bear as it followed half-heartedly for a little way. I later learnKen Maddox: Having reached a shelter on the Appalachian Trail, hot, tired and thirsty, I dropped my pack in the shelter and took my water bottle to get water from a nearby stream. Rounding the corner of the shelter, I met a bear. Thought I (not brightly), "I'll yell, scare the bear, and go on to get water." I yelled, the bear did the same and charged. So far as I know, I still hold the local record for diving back into that shelter and slamming the gate shut.

Ken Maddox: Having reached a shelter on the Appalachian Trail, hot, tired and thirsty, I dropped my pack in the shelter and took my water bottle to get water from a nearby stream. Rounding the corner of the shelter, I met a bear. Thought I (not brightly), "I'll yell, scare the bear, and go on to get water." I yelled, the bear did the same and charged. So far as I know, I still hold the local record for diving back into that shelter and slamming the gate shut.

Then I began to think--belatedly, "Do not try to bluff a bear with a tag in each ear, wearing a radio collar. He has probably been around the block more times than you'll be able to, unless you get a lot smarter."

Fred Gaudet: It was my first night on the Arizona Trail when something scratching my pack woke me up. I shook the pack to scare whatever- it-was away. About 15 minutes later it was scratching my pack again. I decided that I'd really scare it this time: I sat up, yelled, and swung my left hand over the pack. All of a sudden I had a tail in my hand -- long, soft and bushy, but a tail nevertheless. WHAT DID I DO? I let go very quickly. For the rest of the night nothing scratched my pack again, and I dozed very lightly.

Jay Powell (Trail name: Dr. Jay): Marshall, this was a good idea. Fun to think about. Here's a short one.

I did the PCT last summer. You have to know immediately that I'm a fraud as a hiker. I'd never hiked before in my life. In fact, I bought my knapsack and sleeping bag two days before leaving for Campo. Furthermore, I turned 65 last year and thought it was a little late for an old dog to work on new tricks. But, all of a sudden I was on the trail. I had LOTS of heartstoppers. But the two I think (or blush) most about were these:

The first one happened while hiking at night, just south of Idylwild. By light of a full moon I was walking on a ledge with one of those drop-offs where, if you spit, it falls 400 feet before it lands. Unexpectedly my right foot slipped down over the edge and I fell forward. I knew I was going over. And somehow I didn't. When I had stopped, lying flat on the ledge, I peed. And I peed and I peed. Most comforting pee I ever did. I don't tell that story often.

The second incident happened in southern Washington, just alongside t. Adams. Another beautiful night, sleeping without a tent. I opened my eyes in the dark and came awake with a start. There was a bear's nose about 14 inches from mine. So, I said with authority, "Go on, now! Getoutahere! Git!" And the bear just looked at me. So, I sang to him. I ask people, What song would you sing to a bear? Well, I didn't think about what to sing; I just opened my mouth and out came "Rock Around the Clock". That bear took off right now. I must have a hellacious awful voice. That time I kept control of my sphincter.

Gary "Lindy" Lindberg : My adrenaline moment happened last year while hiking the Great Divide Trail with Marmot. This trail is a 750 mile route from Kakwa Lake in British Columbia. to Waterton Lakes in Alberta, approximately 750 miles

We left Kakwa Lake on the morning of July 6. We had nice weather, but with little or no trail to follow. We were only about three hours from leaving Kakwa Lake, bushwhacking, heading for a pass, but still looking for a sign of the trail. We were in a wooded area and Marmot was about 40 feet to my right and slightly down hill from me. I came into a fairly large, bushy clearing when I heard a grunting noise. Looking up I saw a large brown object about 200 feet ahead. I stopped, decided it was an elk and proceeded. As soon as I did so it charged, only it was not an elk but a very large grizzly bear.

You talk about fright! She was closing fast. I have read that you should stand your ground when being charged by a bear, hoping they will stop and go away. Well I decided to flee, to get out of her path. That was bad news for Marmot however, as my flight path took me to her. Can you picture this, your hiking partner running toward you being chased by a bear? I stopped by Marmot and turned around to see the bear keep going, not turning toward us, with her two cubs right behind her. At that moment we were the happiest hikers in Canada. This all happened in seconds.

Later on that day while we were taking a break, another grizzly bear walked a short distance in front of us and didn't see us, but got our scent and fled.

By that time our nerves were completely shot, but that one was the last bear we saw for the rest of the trip, which was just fine with us. Marmot had never encountered a grizzly while hiking before this. I've encountered them before and every time I've hoped it would be the last. I still hope to never see another one.

This was not only the most frightening experience while hiking, but the worst of my entire life. I don't know if I did the right thing when the charge came or if it would work again, but it worked this time and that is what counts. Every grizzly I've encountered has acted differently, so one never knows

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