Mt. Whitney Portal Store & Hostel Forums General Mt. Whitney Portal Store Message Board Whew! That was a close call!

Hey post your closest call while hiking!

Hiking down Delker Canyon, a side canyon in Ice House Canyon, a few years ago I stopped and watched some people practicing with ice axe and crampons on an icy slope. Until 3 of them lost purchase hurdled down the slope and tried to use me as a bowling pin.

They end up in a seasonal creek where they waited up to 5 hours for helicopter to transport the to Arrowhead Medical Center.

While hiking alone in the San Bernardino mountains many years ago on a trail that wasn't traveled much, I heard a buzzing sound behind me. I stopped to see what it was and it was a coiled rattlesnake, on a rock about chest high, about a foot from where I passed.

At first when I realized what had happened, even though I was alone except for the rattler, I said something like, "You little bastard!" I remember watching it for awhile until it slithered off the rock, across the trail and down the slope and I was glad it was safe.

The first was in 1979 on my first backpacking trip in the Sierra. We were descending from the Marion lake area. I didn't see a rattlesnake until I was just about to step on it. When I did see it, I just jumped as a reflex. All I remember was landing on some dirt by the side of the trail several feet away.My backpack served as padding for my landing. My uncle said I did a complete backflip in the process. THe snake moved back under the large rock by the trail.

More recently a couple of years ago Tomcat and I were descending back to the trail after bagging Mt Muir. Another climber was also on the way down. He casually placed his hand on a boulder about the size of a piano, which apparently was balanced just so. I was downslope from the piano sized rock as it suddenly began to move. I ran/hopped as fast as I could off to the side to get the hell out of the boulder's way. After moving a few feet the boulder stopped. WHew!

But hey, my commute to work is statistically more dangerous than my hiking habit, so why stop now?

Memorial Day weekend 1977 doing AT from Franconia Notch to Crawford Notch in NH. The end of day one when we had completed Franconia Ridge and summitted Mt. Garfield. I was tired and beat and suddenly surrounded by growling dogs. My hiking parter arrived seconds later and began to throw rocks at the dogs. The owner of the dogs, some Masshole(that is someone from Massachusetts with a certain attitude) starts yelling at us about what we are doig to his dogs. Geez!

Summer 1974 while on a summer camp backpack on AT in Maine we were on White Cap Mt. in the firetower in a hurricane. While hiking down from the summit I tripped on a root and fell and broke my wrist. 1 1/2 day to make it to the ER. The AT no longer goes over White Cap.

hehe.

Last summer my buddy and make an attempt for Saddleback peak. He brings 20oz of Gatorade & I bring 3 liters of water/Gatorade. So I give him liquids along the way up. At the peak we run out of liquids. We stupidly tried to hike faster down the mountain and the result was I double over with severe stomach cramps and almost pass out. After resting in the shade we hike to literally a snail crawl back to the car. First time on a hike that I thought about not making it back w/o rescue.

I have about three close calls with rattlesnakes. The last one, I was tired and going back down the hill. Because I was tired, my head was hanging low. I hear the rattler going off and I jump back twice. It was already in a strike position. I think I came within 6 inches of stepping on it.

I was ten minutes below Italy Pass when the skies let loose with lightning and rain. Count to find how close the lightning is? No need, the flash and the thunder were simultaneous, striking the rocks just above my head. It sounded like the rocks themselves were being split my each bolt. It appeared the bolts bounced back to the sky on some hits. Each time my hair stood on end, I chucked my ice axe down the hill and squated as low as I could. Then I ran down, retrieved the axe, and repeated the process until I reached the lake below.

About 20 years ago I was train running (ok, not hiking) near my home in NY. I was about 6 miles into the woods when I suddenly got hit hard in the neck from behind. I did not go down but, as I staggered around, I saw that I had been dive-bombed by an owl. Fortunately, it did not use it's claws -- I got off with a good, hard warning shot. Presumably, I was near its nest.

In 1993 I was mountain biking down a nice hill near that spot when a deer bolted across my path. I would have been ok had I not reacted, but I went down and ended up with many typical scrapes, plus a broken wrist that had me in a cast for 14 weeks. (Ken will probably know which bone I broke.)

I have told my bear story and mountain lion stories here before.

My son Eric surprised a rattler in the dark on the lower slopes leading to Mt. San Jacinto last Monday. It was 50 degrees and raining and we were not being terribly cautious about snakes. Fortunately, Eric has good eyes. Also, the thing was pretty sluggish, which is understandable under the conditions. It sure got us thinking, though!

Since I was recently accused of being a "Me Me Me" person, I thought I'd put this one out there again.

http://www.whitneyportalstore.com/cgi-bin/ubb/ultimatebb.cgi?ubb=get_topic;f=1;t=005539;p=0&r=npwm

I've had a few run-ins with rattlesnakes, but my thinking is that they're probably as scared of us "big people" as we are of them when we hear the rattles. That is a sound that is burned into memory since the first incident.

Another one that sticks concerns a moderate route on Tahquitz in spring in my younger days. We didn't put two-and-two together when we started to see water trickling down the route. Within a short while, it turned into a waterfall. Rapping off would have been difficult, so we flipped a coin to decide who would have to traverse a difficult finger crack left to another route. I lost! My climbing partner didn't realize that I was hooting for joy (and thought I was having major problems) when I found a fixed pin that I was able to use to protect the traverse. It was a relief to know that we were not in uncharted terrain. We did finish off on the alternate route.

Incident 1.

A couple of years ago I was mountain biking on a popular trail in San Diego. It's actually a fireroad. I topped a small hill and started down the back side at considerable speed, only to see about twenty feet in front of me a rattler stretched almost clear across the road: His tail was still in the brush on the left, and his head was about two feet from the right side, so he must have been eight or nine feet long.

Stopping would have been impossible. My choices were to run right over him or to roll past his nose. I chose the latter, figuring that he could zap me if I touched his mid-section but that he couldn't stretch any further to the right.

I passed him safely. When I stopped down the hill, I walked back to look at him. He had nine rattles and was as big around as my forearm.

Incident 2

Last June I was hiking in the Grand Canyon of the Yosemite. The trail was in dappled shade and had much duff on it. This made it hard to see what was in front of my feet. Seeing was made all the harder in that I wore a bug net because the bugs were bad.

I almost stepped on three rattlers that were on the trail. One rattled and got off the trail so fast I saw only its tail. Another was only two or three feet in front of me when it rattled and moved directly away from me down the trail. A third was less scary: I knew it wouldn't bite me because it had a large bird in its mouth, and it wasn't about to let go.

The only rattler I spotted early was coiled on a rock that formed part of the right wall of the trail; beyond that wall was the river. Unfortunately, the left wall was a vertical cliff. That didn't leave much room to pass. I inched along the cliff, facing the rattler and keeping my hiking poles extended slightly in front of me, hoping that if he chose to strike he would choose to strike one of them. Oddly, he didn't move or rattle at all.

Came up on a Rattler while hikeing at wishone in the foothills. Long story short, this snake licked me on the nose. I have seen alot of Rattlers and this guy was right up there with the biggest and baddest.True story

On a simple part of the Whitney Trail about a mile from the summit where you walk out of the jagged rock spine and head for the flat area of the needles. I had to stop here because I was not prepared to summit. My first time past TrailCamp,not knowing where I was going or how far, did not bring enough water, dropped pack at junction, and not enough lighting gear.

I was walking back on the trail that skirted the deep, deep fall into the west side of Whitney and was thinking that if you let your thoughts wander you could just fall off the trail.

At that exact instant I did slip off and began sliding belly first down the skree. There's what? a 1000 or 2000 foot drop to the valley floor. I went into survival mode and quit moving because any move in skree causes you to slide more. I decided to wait until someone came by to rescue me and after an absolute eternity someone did. They offered their hiking pole and pulled me up. I thanked them as they left, then out of what couldhave happened, vomited, I was so shaken.

There's a few places on the big switchbacks where you could go off too, so take care.

I had a experience very similar to bobcat, just with a better outcome. Two years ago on my first dayhike, I was returning from the summit on just about the same stretch as bobcat. A slow hiker was moving up the trail toward me, so being considerate, I moved out of their way. Except I made the mistake of moving to the downhill side of the trail and standing on a big, fairly flat rock. In my dizzy condition (I had not had nearly enough to eat and was weak) I started to lose my balance toward the downhill side. The only thing that kept me from duplicating the scree slide was I happened to be carrying poles and was able to barely retain my balance.

Last year, I learned my lessons. First, I made sure to eat regularly on the hike up. I felt great and shaved about two hours off of the ascent. I also made sure to move (completely) off the trail to the UPHILL side to avoid any potential falls.

One quiet June morning years ago I was walking alone on a dirt road that connects Lake Aleknagik and Dillingham, AK., which is at the top of Bristol Bay (Aleutian Peninsula). This road, which was seldom traveled, is lined by a thick forest of stunted aspens, so thick that one couldn't see in further than a few yards. My only weapon was a fishing rod in its aluminum carrying case and a small fishing knife.

Suddenly I heard something huge crashing through the forest to my right, and a bull moose pops out two yards in front of me and stops. Behind him are a few of his cows, who stay in the woods. Now I'm short, 5'6" at my peak height, and I'm staring up at this moose that was at least six feet at his shoulder with a rack that looked as wide as I am tall. Steam pouring out of his nose, he stares at me with his left eye and I stare back, thinking fast, trying to remember when moose are in their rut and dangerously aggressive. Alaskans had advised me to avoid moose in September, I recalled, and this was June I assured myself. Hard to be confident about information when the 1,000 pound beast is two yards away,

For at least ten long seconds we stared at each other: I staring up at his left eye, his huge rack, the steam pouring out of his nostrils, and he staring down. Animals understand fear and they understand aggression. There was no way I could run and I had a feeling that if I backed down he would attack. The fact that he hadn't moved since he burst out of the woods suggested to me that the moose had his doubts. I became the aggressor: I jumped in the air, yelled, screamed and rattled my fishing rod. This caused his left eye to open even wider--maybe he thought I was a human wolverine--and he made a quick turn and plowed back into the forest, knocking down rows of spindly aspens. My outburst even frightened his cows and they all went crashing through the forest. The quiet returned and I continued walking back to Dillingham.

I also had an experience with a cape buffalo in the Congo, but that's another story.

Almost killed by a tree flying through the air.

Story: In Glacier NP. 60 mph winds up on the ridges. Backpacking in a wind-protected canyon we kept hearing occasional reverberating booms. Thought maybe it was construction or truck related in the far distance. Soon found out it was something different. Boom. Another one. A tree snapped off in the wind about 2000 ft above us although we did not know at the time. Seconds later, we heard this other-worldly pounding coming down the mountain, closer and closer. We looked up to see a tree tumbling down the 50 degree rock face. By the time it neared us, it had been completely denuded, delimbed, debarked and now turned lengthwise until it was like a white torpedo speeding toward us. We stood there mesmerized. It hit a small ledge, knocking the leading end of the torpedo out from the wall, forcing the entire tree airborne at an angle. It shot out far away from the wall and sailed over our heads and to the left. I'm not talking about a beanpole, but a three foot diameter full-grown tree, flying through the air. Ka-wham! Good thing we were not standing there.

This was not something you see every day. So what do you say? Hummpf! Did you see that? Any body want some jerky?

Harvey

I have pretty much weaned myself of this board, but wandered back this morning and happened upon this thread.

One close call was an out-of-control 180'-fall below Denali Pass, eventually arrested by my HAPE-impaired and weak partner. Others in my memory have also involved falls (unroped) or near-falls. When you've been climbing for almost 60 years you accumulate some stories. But perhaps the most interesting of my close calls occurred during a climb of Olancha Peak via the SE couloir.

This was an ice ax and crampon climb, and my friend and I had stopped in the middle of the slope for a break. We heard noise, and looked up to see some rocks heading our way. One was disk-shaped; after a distance it turned upright and was now rolling. When it got closer, it looked like a two-foot diameter blade from a circular saw spinning down the snow slope toward us. It was moving fast. But I wasn't too concerned, because I "knew" it would eventually veer one way or the other.

But it kept on a straight course, now headed directly at me. By the time I realized that it wasn't going to veer, it was too late to move sideways. I jumped in the air and it zoomed between my legs. Didn't strike anything important, but it did manage to put a gash on the inside of my boot, and cut the lacing.

Later, quite a few people asked me about that gash. So I got to relate that mountaineering story from time to time, before I finally retired those boots.

Please don't say THAT, Bob! We love you and your stories!

Yeah...we haven't weaned ourselves of you! Bob's stories are the best. Even though his rock-falling sawblade story is pretty good I still shudder when I think of the story he told of being on top of that avalanche slab up in (Alaska?) that was slowly moving toward the edge of a cliff while he was on top of it..

Talk about helpless and seeing what was coming!

Edit: Mt. Logan...Bob's photo album of that trip:

http://members12.clubphoto.com/robert634908/4097609/guest.phtml



Chris

One dry summer, late August, had just come down to Yosemite Valley from 2 weeks of higher elevation backpacking, and after only one day in the zoo, decided that I had to get out. I figured that, since the larger falls was now dry, barely only a trickle coming over the ledge, maybe it was a good time to check out the previously un-explored bottom pools of upper Yosemite Falls.
Under blue skies, I made my way up, went off trail above the lower falls to the base of the escarpment, exploring/fishing the now almost-dry pools at the base of the 2,500-foot cliff...excellent fishing BTW.

Unseen from the north, a sudden summer squall blew in… (It was impossible to see anything north from that vantage point…all I could see was blue sky south). Camped there for the night in a sandy cave…pitch dark, under some rocks, the falls came alive, slowly moving out from the wall, eventually landing directly on the rocks right above my site…I was trapped in the cave, with all the power of Yosemite Falls, landing directly on the rocks above…and nowhere to go until morning.
After a long and cold night…more than slightly drenched…at first light, I gathered up my now 30-pound sleeping bag...and waded out.
Moral…check the weather first.

This one is very close to home for this site. On the night of Sept 10, 2005, maybe about 9PM or so, my buddy and I were on our way down from a 21 hour, SLOW, round trip to the summit of Mt. Whitney. About 1 to 1.5 miles out or so, above the Portal, as I was walking on the trail, maybe a little on the outside, but not on the edge, a section of the trail slid out from under me. My upper arm/elbow hooked the vertical edge that remained, accidentally, because I had no time or warning to react. We had only our headlamps. My buddy saw mine go haywire, and I reached out my free arm and asked for a hand. He pulled me up.

It happened so quickly and was over in a moment, and we were so beat, we just started plugging our way down. My buddy returned about 2 weeks later to hike up to Lone Pine Lake with his wife, and to see what the situation was. If I'd have gone down that hill, I would've kept going forever. Some of you may have seen the spot, because I'd been told it hadn't been repaired when my buddy went back last August.

I'm planning on going with a group, again this comming August to do a loop from Horseshoe Meadows to the Portal, so I can see "the spot".

I'm a born again believer of staying on the inside edge of a trail

The Maniac