In mid-July I solo hiked over Bishop Pass partway down Dusy Basin (mostly off-trail and not as far down as the lowest string of lakes), then up and over Knapsack Pass. On the east side of the pass I found my way to the Barrett Lake (11468) I was looking for and spent the night there. The next day, the 18th of July, I followed the Barrett Lakes outlet down to where it joined the main stream out of the Palisades Basin. At first, following that main stream was pretty easy going although I had to cross the creek a couple times and scramble around some talus. But when the stream entered the first of the steep, narrow canyons I had to go above it on the west side, then back down to the stream when I could. I did that twice. The third time, when the stream entered its final steep plunge down to Palisade Creek, I had to stay above it. I found a track where other hikers had headed down the slope towards Palisade Creek and I followed it.
Partway down, I fell. I didn't fall far, a few feet off the track I was on, and I didn't lose consciousness. But I didn't like where I was at all - there was nothing between me and a lot of air except a few shrubs. But when I tried to get up I found I couldn't put any weight on my left leg. I saw a outcropping of rocks about 10 feet away at the same level so I scooted over to it. Once I felt more secure I took stock and found that beside the leg injury I was bleeding heavily from a gash in my scalp and less heavily from lacerations on arms, legs, and torso, pretty much everywhere except my back which had been protected by my pack.
There was a small ledge about 20-25 feet below me and I thought that was a better place than where I was. (I wouldn't know until the next day how important that little ledge would be.) I tied a cord around the haul strap of my pack, pushed it down ahead of me, then scooted on my butt til I got to it, and repeated until I was at the ledge.
I was close to the bottom of the slope. I could see down to the Palisades Creek and at one point even saw someone near it. If I could have seen a clear way down I was thinking that I would repeat the push-the-pack, scoot-the-butt maneuver until I got there but I couldn't see any way forward.
For a while I blew SOS on my super-loud whistle then figured that wouldn't do me any good. If someone had heard me what would they do? I certainly wouldn't want them climbing up to look for me. So I got out the Personal Locator Beacon (!) I have carried for the past 4 years, grumbling about it being dead weight, and activated it. Within 2 hours I saw a helicopter doing a search. Unfortunately, they were looking for me on the wrong side of the canyon. I'm not sure what happened but I guess that I didn't have the PLB on a flat surface so it gave an incorrect GPS location.
After a while of searching across the canyon the copter started looking on my side. I started waving my red and silver Mylar emergency blanket (!) and that's when they saw me. If my headlamp had a strobe they probably would have seen that sooner but mine didn't. My new one does.
The copter flew all around the area I was in and couldn't find a place to set down. So it flew low over me and the co-pilot yelled that they would be back in the morning. I was OK with that. The temps were mild with no sign of precip. As night fell it was a full moon and even very beautiful. My emergency blanket kept me reasonably warm and I was able to sleep in 15" snatches.
The next morning NPS Ranger Sam Webster came down to me, probably following my tracks. After taking my vitals he established radio communications with the people handling the helicopter end of things. It took about an hour to get everything set up but then the copter was overhead, dropping a cable with a litter and a man I will call the MedicEvac guy. There was barely room for Sam and him and the litter on the little ledge but they made it do, prepared the litter with padding and straps and then strapped me in it. In a little while, the cable with the litter, my pack, and Mr. MedicEvac were lifted off and away from the slope and then lowered as gently as eggs into a meadow where a crew was waiting for us.
After putting the door back on the copter and lifting me, still in the litter, into it, the pilot, whose name, I kid you not, was Mr. Frisbee, flew me to the NPS heliport outside 3 Rivers on the west side of the Sierra. I was transferred to an ambulance and taken to the trauma center in Visalia where my scalp was stitched, x-ray and MRI determined that nothing was broken in my leg, and there was no basis for checking me into the hospital.
The next day, still barely able to walk and then only with a lot of pain, I rented a van one-way, drove back to Bishop and with the help of 2 women who picked up this scraggly hitch-hiker, one of whom went way out of her way to take me right to my car at South Lake, was OK. I spent the night in a motel in Bishop and drove back to LA the next day.
Everyone involved in the SAR operation was so skilled, so proficient, so kind, and so supportive that it was almost, but not quite, worth taking the fall to see them at work.
(!) indicates the things I carried that made a successful SAR possible. I would add a strobe light to that list.
