Ringing in the new year by surviving an unfortunate turn of events on Spruce Mountain

2012.01.01 New Year's Day hike on Spruce Mountain (Plainfield, VT)I kicked off the new year by planning a hike up Spruce Mountain in Plainfield, VT. I knew the hike would be full of adventure. It would also mark the first time I've hiked in the winter. I knew this was going to be a memorable trek into the Green Mountains. Little did I know that I was going to be put to the ultimate winter survival experience. 

SPOILER ALERT - I made it safely off the mountain.

I should've paid attention to the omen before I left. I was looking forward to enjoying two delicious bologna sandwiches on the summit, but realized I forgot to take the bread out of the freezer. I did manage to make one sandwich, and brought along plenty of water and strawberry Nutrigrain bars. I was ready for the hike in front of me.

The thought occurred to me that I should really plan for the worst…just in case. It was my first winter hike, and I wasn't familiar with the Spruce Mountain territory at all. Hopefully it'll just be extra gear - but I brought along a trusty hiking first aid kit, some hand warmers, my knife, and that fancy new flashlight I bought. Oh. I should probably bring my compass/emergency whistle, too. I didn't want to be "that guy" who would be the focal point of a local news bulletin.

I laced up my boots and made my way to the trailhead. Parking for this hike was unusually well marked and easy to get to. Unlike the Adirondack hikes, though, there was no trailhead register to sign in and out of.

The thought crossed my mind that I probably should have told my roommate where I was headed - and that if he didn't hear from me by 4pm to call someone. After all, I was ready to hit the trail at around 10:50am. Surely I'd be off the mountain by 4pm; definitely by 5pm at the latest. How much time could I possibly need?

The Spruce Mountain trail was quite enjoyable. In fact, had this been a normal summer/fall hike, I wouldn't have thought twice about bringing some other, less experienced hikers along. I loved the deeply wooded adventure - appreciative that the trees offered plenty of protection from the wind. I managed to pick a day that was absolutely beautiful - with the temperature at a balmy thirty-four (34) degrees - with no danger of inclement weather or dangerous conditions in sight.

Up until the 1.6 mile mark, my adventure was pretty routine. The trail began to have more layers of snow build up, and some spots were starting to get a bit slippery. I only had six tenths of a mile or so to go, though, so how bad could it possibly be?

Mistake number one - I was hiking in my boots, but did not bring anything to offer solid footing on ice. Yes, I had my trusty walking stick with me which was a good support on anything that wasn't frozen or covered in ice. Also, with a lack of clamps, Yaktrax, or spikes it was going to prove to be an interesting afternoon.

Was it ever. I managed to make my way up the trail. At this point, even with portions of the trail covered in ice, it was still feasible to skirt my way along the side. This resulted in a slight romance with Mother Nature - dancing with trees and branches to help gently guide me up the mountain. I didn't realize she had bigger plans in store for me. Mother Nature and I were going to be extremely intimate by the end of it all.

I really WAS making good progress. In fact, I only bit the ground three or four times on the ascent. Sometimes, ice and gravity will have their way with you. You just need to brace yourself and take it.

There was only one moment where I was truly taken by surprise - flipped on my back faster than anything. I was there - motionless - in the middle of one of the iciest patches I have ever seen in my life:

2012.01.01 A moment of stillness on the ice before me

This was going to require some thought. If I made the wrong move here, I was going to be sliding for quite awhile - right into a bunch of rocks or trees. Just out of sight is a small drop of approximately twenty feet. I had absolutely nothing to grasp onto, and would have to rely on my agility and intuition. I hoped to hell this wasn't going to be a losing battle.

I flung my survival pack well up on the bank just behind me. I watched as it slowly shifted and inched down - ready to roll and land on the ice. Finally, it stopped. The next piece of the puzzle was to get myself off the ice. But how? Just out of arms reach were several pine branches that wouldn't hold me at all - they would just help me enjoy a nice pine scent as I slid down the ice. I surprised myself by being able to dig my left heel into the ice and send myself flying backwards across the ice into the hillside. I felt the mountain nudge my left shoulder and flipped myself up onto it. I was safe. All I needed to do now was regroup, grab my pack, and then work on figuring out what my next move was going to be.

I sat there for a good ten or fifteen minutes, just eyeing the icy patch that was in front of me. This was what winter hiking was about, and I was definitely enjoying it. I just wish I purchased some ice spikes. While I was at the side of the trail, another group of hikers was making their way up the mountain. They were clearly seasoned, but proceeding with caution - each armed with ice poles, and assorted gear for handling ice. As it turns out, those Yaktrax are less than worthless when it comes to really icy conditions (per one of the hikers). At least I know what gear NOT to buy next time I'm at the store.

The one lady was surprised I made it as far as I did without any spikes. I told her my plan was to continue as far as I could go; even though it appeared I likely was not going to make the summit on this trek. She smiled and said, "Well, you may have some luck in the woods. It'll be a challenge, for sure."

Mmm there's that c-word I love. A challenge? Damn right. I came here to get to the summit. I've made my way this far, and I have to be less than a half mile away.

Have you ever tried hiking in the woods just off the trail? This was a comedic moment for me. I fought my way through numerous branches and tight spaces - trying not to laugh when the trees would yank my hat right off my head or try and grab me by the jeans. I must have fought through the woods for a good forty minutes before coming upon a really dangerous portion. If you thought the ice in that earlier photo was insane, you should have seen this…but you couldn't.

I pulled out my iPhone 4 (which was fully charged going into the hike) and saw I was at a 10% battery warning. "This is not going to be good," I thought. I had several maps of Spruce Mountain loaded and ready to go; with my favorite Motion-X GPS app tracking my location along the trail. If I was ever off the trail, I could simply fire up my iPhone and see where I needed to go. One problem with this, though. This requires that you have battery power to do so. Oh, and yeah - there's also the other concern that I would have no way to reach the outside world should something unfortunate happen.

After fighting my way through the woods, I hit another spot that was even more dangerous than the one before. "There's no way I can continue. I'm going to have to turn back and scrap my attempt at the summit." I began to make my descent down the mountain. It was a good forty-five minutes or so since I saw that group of hikers, and another couple made their way up the mountain as I was coming down.

Trying to descend off the trail can be quite taxing. The branches are almost always at inopportune angles - ready to poke and prod you at every turn. I began to get in the groove of my descent when the original group of hikers passed me on their way down.

"Oh! There you are! We were wondering how you were doing."
"Yeah, thanks. Looks like I may have to call it good and just make my way down the mountain."
"You've gotten this far, you should be proud of that. However, you are really almost there. The trail actually will be walkable on snow packs just past that bend. You can do it!"

Sometimes you need that little voice to encourage you when the odds are stacked against you. I was able to fight my way back up through the woods and made my way to the trail. Sure enough, they were right. According to my best guesstimate, I safely made the last three tenths of a mile to the summit.

The firetower was awe-inspiring. When you approached it from the trail, it was the first thing you saw. This massive structure was quite the sight. I prepared to snap a photo of it (and of me) on the summit. Only problem? My iPhone was completely dead. Another couple was enjoying the view from the summit, so I asked if they had any idea what time it was.

"Just a hair shy of two o'clock."
"Thank you."

I made it. That bologna sandwich was a delicious reward. I enjoyed a beautiful blue sky, a healthy drink of water, and a Nutrigrain bar in honor of my accomplishment. It was my first hike of the year - and I made it. I overcame arguably poor choices in gear and survived.

It must have been ten minutes or so later before I began to pack up and prepare for the descent. This was going to be the toughest part of the trip. Going up, I could get away with skirting the sides of the trail that weren't slick patches of ice. Going down would be a different story. Momentum is not something that can be easily shifted, and if gravity pulls your body and your gear you're going to go along for the ride.

Considering the success I had on the ascent, I was prepared to descend through the woods. I started to follow the trail down, gently making my way across the snow pack and surfaces glazed with ice. Within a matter of minutes, I came upon a downhill patch of ice that would be downright foolish to attempt. I was going to have to part ways with the trail at this point, and unfortunately my iPhone could no longer dutifully serve me as my GPS unit. My plan was to stay as close to the trail as humanly possible.

That was a great idea…in theory. In practice? Impractical. I began to make the descent and kept an eye on the land. I could see the trail was getting set to break away to my left, but it was not feasible for me to overcome the terrain in front of me to keep it in sight.

Ever feel like you've made a decision you're going to regret? Yup. This was one of those moments.

I found my way down a relatively easy descent. The path was just off to my left, and if I looked over in that direction I could still see the glistening stretches of ice…couldn't I?

Nope. I reflected upon a mental image of the Spruce Mountain trail, and was keenly aware that the trail would take a crazy break away from the summit before reconnecting with itself. My plan was to keep moving toward the left - and begin to really read the mountain and find my way back.

I was ready to make good on my theme for 2012. I was ready to observe and experience life. I was ready to be a student of the land - having nothing but my pack of supplies, emergency gear, and intuition to rely on.

This was fine and dandy for a little while. I was making my way through the woods - keeping a careful eye out for the trail or for any fellow hikers. Occasionally, I would even let out some verbal comments:

"Hey hey. Idiot hiker trying to find his way back to the trail. Anyone out there?"
"Hey-yo. Seems like I'm off the trail. Can you help me?"

I continued to make my way down the mountain - with a higher level of alertness than I needed on the ascent. The trail was nowhere in sight. I didn't have a map. The only thing I knew about this mountain was that there was one side that was totally impassable - and clearly I wasn't there.

"OK, there's no need to panic. Eventually you will make it off this mountain."

I took a few deep breaths and looked around. There was no sign of a trail anywhere. If anyone was on it, they certainly would not be within ear shot. I pressed on. I stopped for a quick drink and looked up to find the sun. It was still early afternoon, and the sun would not set until around 4:20pm or so. I had some time to try and hook up with the trail, but it was beginning to run out.

I made my way through countless trees and branches - continuously poked and prodded on the way down. Now, however, I was viewing the descent from a different perspective. The sun was beginning to sit a bit lower in the sky. It was time to prepare for the worst. Not only was I lost, but I needed to make a decision. I needed to either commit to finding the trail OR commit to finding my way down off the mountain. Realistically, I wasn't going to have enough daylight for either - and I certainly wasn't going to have enough time to do both.

I studied the land. I worked at finding running water to give me some guidance when the land was iffy. Now I had an entirely different set of challenges. Not only was I battling shifting snow and ice, but I was headed for the heart of the woods. No human life - and an unseasonably warm run of weather. I began to wonder how long bears truly hibernate for. I began to wonder what would happen if I stumbled upon an angry moose or deer in their natural surroundings.

The only thing I could do was press on. I made as much noise as possible - continuously talking to myself and narrating my descent. I needed to keep myself occupied and continually make forward progress.

Dusk was approaching. I had successfully navigated numerous potholes from woodland critters (which were great to trip on) and prevented myself from sliding down steep pitches of the mountain. The occasional ice patch would rear its head - often masked by a layer of snow - and I would compensate and shift my weight accordingly.

"Hello. I'm really looking for the trail. Anybody out there?"
"Funny thing…I seem to have lost the trail. A little help, please?"

As the final moments of dusk began to settle in, I managed to find a wooded area which was clear of snow and ice. A clearing which was relatively flat. I needed to prepare for the night ahead. I'm sure it was around four in the afternoon, but I would be lucky if I made it to my car by early evening. Worst case, I would see if I could catch a ride with a local back to my car. I just needed to get off this mountain.

At this point, my fingers were starting to feel a little cold. I looked at my glove, and one finger was partially ripped from my bushwhacking adventures. It was time to fire up the hand warmers, grab my flashlight, and keep my emergency whistle by my side. The stage was set for early nightfall in the forest - with no bearings or ability to really see what may be on the horizon.

I managed to reach the fringe of civilization by looking at trees spray painted orange. I knew I was on the border of private land (a fact that was solidified by barbed wire at the perimeter). With any luck, perhaps I would come across someone hopping mad that I was on the border of their land. I paused for a moment or two, and hollered:

"Just trying to find my way to the trail. A little help?"

Silence. Nobody was around. I couldn't afford to wait too long. Time was ticking away, and it was getting darker and darker with every passing moment.

I continued on down the mountain. I found a couple paths that looked like they may have led to something…and they did. They led to more woods. I was keeping an ear out for the sound of water. The temperature was just right to where water was freely rushing underneath seemingly solid layers of ice. At one point, I thought I found a good crossing - and nearly found myself in a foot or two of ice cold mountain water.

I thanked my lucky stars and fired up the flashlight. Game on. I had hesitated on blowing my emergency whistle for the longest time. At this moment, though, I began to feel distressed. I needed help. I blew that ear piercing whistle two or three times - listening for any response.

Nothing. I continued my descent. I became a little uneasy. Who would know that I was out here? My roommate knew I was hiking - but I don't think I told him what mountain I decided on. I had no way of contacting anyone. I couldn't even record any profound last minute thoughts in case someone chanced upon me if I perished.

"Hello?? Can anyone help me find the trail? Hello?? Has anyone seen the trail?"

This was not good. I continuously swept the mountainside with my flashlight. I was deliberately beaming light so it was evident where the source was. The woods continued to get thicker and even more challenging. The ground had become laden with shifting snow, black ice, and countless critter holes. I needed to mentally prepare for a long night. I blew my whistle twice more - to no avail. I kept talking out loud - occasionally peppering my descent narrative with pleas for assistance - and that failed, as well.

I needed to remain calm. There WAS going to be an end to this adventure. I WAS going to find my way off the mountain. Despite some questionable decision making at the start of the descent, in my heart I felt I was making the right choices. I had nothing else to go on. I had to be my last best hope.

All of a sudden, I came upon a structure reflecting the otherwise beautiful moonlight. It was a seasonal building - evidently closed up for the season. But - it had a picnic table! I must be getting close. I must be.

Sure enough, I managed to find a large field that led to a dirt road and to a couple houses. I finally reached civilization. I was off the mountain. I began to walk up the road to where I saw an old man walking two large dogs. He was cautious as I approached him - and his dogs were unsure what to make of the situation. He originally thought my walking stick was a rifle or shotgun. He was shaky and clearly caught off guard by me with my pack, dark jacket, dark hat, and unknown item in my hand.

After the tense introduction wore off, I explained my predicament. The old man had assumed I was hunting. I redirected my flashlight to show that I was carrying nothing more than a walking stick, and that I was trying to find parking. He said I could find plenty of parking at the end of the road, but that I could be walking for a long ways.

I needed to rephrase my question. "I'm trying to get to the trailhead parking on Spruce Mountain Road. Any idea where that is? I lost the trail on my descent and have no idea where I am."

Success!! As it turned out, I was headed in the wrong direction on the dirt road. That's ok, though. At least I made contact with someone. With anyone. The kind fellow gave me directions. I needed to walk nine tenths of a mile from his house (note - I have no idea where that was; just not the direction I was originally headed) and then make a left. In another seven tenths of a mile, I would see Spruce Mountain Road. From there, it would be a steep walk (maybe another mile or so) but I would arrive at the trailhead.

I thanked the old man for his advice and made my way back. The temperature was pleasant, and I did enjoy having some time to reconnect with nature and myself. The moon and the stars were incredible. As I finished off the last bit of water I had, I still had well over a mile to go. The road was getting incredibly steep, and I had to stop a few times because my muscles were feeling the strain.

Eventually, I made it back to my car. My car stereo displayed 6:00pm exactly as the time.

"I made it. I made it."

Deep down, I knew what time it was. Time to get the hell out of there and head back home to my couch. My iPhone was dead. I plugged it into my car adapter and saw a faint red bar come to life. It was charging, but it was completely dead. I couldn't even fire up my GPS app to guide me home. I had to rely on that other brain - my own - and just get myself back.

When I pulled into the driveway, I couldn't wait to make my way up those creaky backstairs. I was home. I was going to be sleeping alone instead of with Mother Nature - and that was ok by me.

In retrospect, I couldn't ignore the poetic irony of it all. Much like my life, I survived a difficult situation with patience and a calm state of mind. The path I took to get there was unconventional - and even stemmed from having to let go of some dreams. That's ok, though. The dreams that I finally let go of opened the door to get me where I needed to be.

If that isn't profound, I don't know what is. Happy new year.