Hiking into the danger zone

8:30pm

We are surrounded by dense trees on both sides. It is late fall and the water in the creek has dried up, uncovering rocks in the basin and allowing us to cross it on foot. However, in the pitch-blackness, we cannot continue our hike.

I tell her that we have to sleep here – in the creek. She can’t seem to believe what I said; neither do I. On one hand, we can’t sleep on the rocks with no camping gear and nothing to protect ourselves from the cold or animals. On the other hand, we cannot escape. We have no flashlight and with the forest so thick, terrain so uneven, and night so dark, even a small misstep could lead us into a ditch.

3pm

It’s my idea to go for an easy hike. We have plenty of time before the sun sets. “The trail is only 3 miles round-trip”, I tell her. She sighs with relief.

The path is covered with yellow maple leaves, and more fall as we hike along. The leaves crunch underneath our boots in the otherwise quiet surroundings.

After walking for about an hour, she finally asks her favorite question: “Are we there yet?” “No, it’s actually a 6 mile hike, and I fooled you into it,” I joke. She laughs good-naturedly and we continue walking.

5pm

Despite hiking continuously, we are nowhere near any signs of return. One thing is for sure: the trail is not 3 miles long! We have two choices: turn back, or keep walking and hope that the trail will loop back to the parking lot.

Walking back would mean a total of 12 miles, and I can’t bring myself to tell her that the trail has increased from 3 to 12 miles. Therefore, I choose to continue. “The trail must end soon,” I try to calm her and myself down.

A few minutes later, we come across a sharp turn along a bridge. “This is it. When I write about this trip, I will upload this picture to remind us of the moment when we finally made it back.”

But something doesn’t feel right. The bridge does not take us to the other side of the creek; it just passes over a small local water spring. I push forward, trying to hide my increasing anxiety.

5:30pm

We come across four hikers in a group — our first encounter with other people on the trail. “How much longer until the end of the trail?” I ask one of them. What I hear back is not encouraging. It’s at least 10 more miles from here. The only viable option is to turn back.

We are shocked, but relieved at the same time. At least we don’t have a decision to make anymore. We turn around and start walking back. Only to find out that we have another decision to make: the night is creeping up quickly, and unless we run, we will soon face the dark. But Asya is too tired to run, and I don’t blame her. We keep walking.

7pm

The sun has set. It is utterly dark. The narrow trail is edged with trees, bushes, ditches, and water streams all around. Without light, the hidden perils seem infinite. I pull out my Android cell phone but its battery is dead, likely from failed attempts to get service. Asya pulls out her camera, but its battery is almost out as well. Still, for the time being, it helps —  whenever we are stuck, she takes a picture with flash. In the few precious milliseconds the light is on, we decide which way to go.

Our pace has slowed down considerably. The camera battery soon dies. We pull out our last trick: Asya’s Blackberry phone. There is no signal and we can’t make a 911 call, but the bright screen gives us some light to work with. The battery is in the red zone already, and I know that we only have a short time before it goes dead as well. If we can at least make it back to the creek, we could probably stay there for the night.

8pm

Still no sign of the creek. I am in a panic mode, and this panic is making me walk fast despite the darkness and the little knowledge of where to step next. Asya’s silence tells me that she is scared.

A fire and a few human voices break the silence. I am ecstatic. I raise the Blackberry to show them the light and yell: “Hello! We are lost, and we need help.” My own desperate “Hello!” is all that comes back. I realize that they are camped several hundreds of feet below and there is no path that connects us. My excitement instantly dissipates. But we cling to the hope that we can still make it to the creek and silently plead the battery to stay on a bit longer.

8:30pm

We make it back to the creek. It’s a miracle. While the parking lot is only about 30 minutes further, continuing onwards would be a huge bet on a Blackberry battery that could die any second. If the battery went dead midway, we would have no option but to stop. In a forest that thick with hazards, navigating blindly would be perilous. But sleeping in the forest seems equally implausible — there simply isn’t enough space for a person to lie down.

Therefore sleeping in the creek – supposing we could sleep at all – seems the only viable option. However, after 15 minutes of lying down, we realize that we cannot survive the bitter cold.

I tightly grip Asya’s hand, and she squeezes mine with quiet reassurance. I turn on the Blackberry and start walking at almost the same pace as running.

We have walked almost 12 miles and our feet are frozen and painful. But I can’t feel them. There are animals’ sounds around us. But I can’t hear them. It is cold. But I feel warm. We are breathing fast. But the surroundings around us are still. There are many what-if scenarios. But my mind is blank. I have only one mission in life. Take the next step.

9:15pm

In the midst of utter darkness, something appears. I can’t say what it is. It isn’t light. It isn’t an object. It’s just different. It’s wide. Then I see a spot in the middle, which is even darker than the darkness around us. It is our black car. We are in the parking lot and we have made it back. We are speechless.