Good Training

Training hike up Montara Mountain in wet and cold turns into a rescue mission.

                                                            Good Training

                                                             by Captain Bill

 

            My wilderness trip partner and I are pushing up the unpaved fireroad that is most of the main trail up Montara Mountain.   I started these wilderness hikes when my boy Nicolas was eight.  That was almost twenty years ago.  I did a lot of running before, even a few marathons.  Now I have to train just for this. Mike has joined us for seventeen years now.  He loved the wilderness since he was in the Hong Kong boy scouts.  We both have gray in our hair now, but we like our wilderness trips even more.  

Some of the trail seems to be about 35 degrees steep, and a lot of it seems about 25 degrees.  The round trip is about 6 miles, so we figure that is about the same effort as 10 miles of the trip we plan for the coming summer.  It takes us two and a half hours up and an hour and a half down.  We take one break on the way up, and a good break at the peak. We carry our summer packs on our back.  Our first hike, I carry water, a snack for the peak, and five more pounds.   I add weight each training trip, until I get to what I will carry that summer.

            Today is a cloudy misty day on our training mountain.  Mike and I just pull out our rain gear.  In the wilderness, you have to be ready for bad days as well as good.  I only put on the lightweight breathable rain coat with the hood, not the pants.  Most of the time we see dog walkers, mountain bikers, runners, and walkers, many of them regulars.  Today, no body.  Not bad for us, but it would be miserable without raingear.  We take a ten minute break at the halfway point, where the thin side trail to Pedro Park connects.  Just as we start up the wet fireroad, a woman on a mountain bike comes chugging up.  She looks blond, slim, fit, late twenties, and wears better raingear than us. She stops and asks how far to the top.  We tell her.  She says she and her husband are in San Francisco for a convention, and this is their one day off.  He’s surfing the S.F. beaches and she’s going to bike up this mountain.  She thanks us, and resumes her chug up the mountain.

            Mike comments, “She came down Highway 1 on her bike?  I don’t think that’s safe, at least not the part through Devil’s Slide.”

            I say, “She’s a tourist.  She made it this far.  Good for her.”

            Mike asks, “How are you doing today?”

            I say, “Slower than you.  I won’t add any weight next time.  Doesn’t this remind you of the rain we had that year at Secret Lake?”

            Mike says, “That was terrible.  Two days of steady rain, and our wet stuff never dried out.  We made it, though.”

            I say, “Not as rough as that downpour we got caught in on the John Muir Trail near Charlotte Lake.  I saw the dark heavy clouds coming, and hoped we could get to the campsite before it hit.”

            Mike says, “We didn’t have good raingear, so we got drenched.  I’m glad we kept on to campsite.  It took half the next day to recover.  The next morning the bear got some of our food, right out of the big official bear box.”

            I say, “Eric was new that year.  He didn’t close it right, and that bear just kept pounding on it, and the door came open.  ”

            We keep on up the road.  Some of the road is carved out of the mountainside.  Most of it is bare dirt.  Some of the road is bare rock, scraped flat and somewhat even.  Some of this rock has big dips in it, so we have to choose our path through it carefully, especially today.  The thin misty rain has made this part of the fireroad wet and slippery. 

            After a while, we see the woman mountain biker.  She slows and says she made it, but no view today.  She says thanks with a smile.  We nod and wave.  She keeps going down the mountain, faster than going up.  Fifteen minutes later, we reach the peak.  We take off our packs, and drink some water.  Mike shares some plums, and I offer him fresh strawberries.  There is a steady light rain, so we don’t linger.  Mike answers a call on his cell phone.  He tells his wife he’ll call her later, we’ve got to go.  No problem with cell phone coverage here.  There are a couple microwave towers near this peak.

            On a good day, we can see far out into the Pacific Ocean,  north to Point Reyes, east across the Bay to Oakland, and a lot of hills to the south.  Today, nothing.  So we start back down the mountain. 

            We are moving steady and fast when we pass the spot where we last saw the woman biker.   Now the light rain is blowing into our faces, so no talking.  We round a corner and see a mountain bike laying flat in the middle of the road, with the front tire pointing up at a 40 degree angle.  I think that’s a funny place to put your bike when you take a break, and then I see the woman laying on her side by the edge of the road, her upper body curled, both arms over her face and head.  But her legs are stretched out straight.  We approach carefully. 

Her forehead is wrinkled in pain, but she smiles a gritty smile, and says, “Hello again. (a pause)  Can you help me stand up?”

Mike and I each take a hand, then an arm, and help her upright.  She stands on her right leg, and begins to put her left leg to the ground.  She stops, with a grimace.  She can’t move it down, or up.  

She says, “Hurts.  Bad.  Can’t move it. Put me down.”   We do.

Mike and I take off our packs.  We’ll do what we can.  I take out the ‘emergency blanket’.  I had it for 5 years, and never used it.  I cover her with it, tucking one edge under her back, and handing her the other edge.  She pulls it close.  Mike digs a light coat out of his pack.  He takes his raincoat off, takes off his heavier coat, puts his light coat on, then puts his raincoat on.  We help the woman put Mike’s heavy coat on over hers, for an extra layer.  Then she pulls the emergency blanket close again. 

She says, “Hurts.  Something for pain.  Please.”

I have our little medical kit in the side pocket of my pack.  I pull it out.  I have some Advil.  I ask her how many she wants.  She says ‘As many as you’ve got.’  Dumb question.  I give her two and some water from her day pack.  I figure if I give her more it will cause trouble later.  While I’m doing that, Mike dials 911 on his cell phone.  In the wilderness, it wouldn’t work.  But we’ve got microwave towers on this mountain.   Mike talks to them for a while, and hands me the phone, saying ‘This guy is crazy.  You try.’

Me: “We’re on Montara Mountain, about half a mile from the peak.”

Dispatcher: “Is that the North Peak or the South Peak?”

Me: “The trail ends at the peak.  The highest point.  I don’t know about North or South.  Look.  There is one trail, one road.  Just send help up the road.  They can’t miss us.  We’re right on the road.”

Dispatcher: “The fire department is on the way.  Do you have GPS on your phone?”

I look at Mike, and ask ‘GPS ?’. He shakes his head.  I say, “No.  You don’t need GPS, just come up the mountain.  There is only one trail.  There are two small side trails, but you can’t miss it. Just come up the road.”

Dispatcher: “Can you see Pacifica?”

Me: “We can’t see anything.  It’s raining.”

Dispatcher:  “If it wasn’t raining, could you see Pacifica?”

Me: “If it wasn’t raining and we were looking North, we could see Linda Mar and Pacifica beyond that.”

Dispatcher: “The fire department is at the place the pavement ends, and you’re not there.”

Me:  “That’s where the trail and the fireroad starts.  We’re two more miles in.  Just come up the road.  There’s only one road.  Just come up it.”

The woman: “Can they call my husband’s phone?  He needs to come.  My number is XXX-XXX-XXXX.?”

Me:  “Can you call this woman’s husband?  They’re at a convention here, from Denver.  Here’s the number, XXX-XXX-XXXX.

Dispatcher: “Calling.  Calling.  Ringing.  No answer.  Left a message to call me.”

Me: “Thanks.”

Dispatcher: “The fire department can’t see you.  Where are you?”

Me: “We are 1/2 a mile below the peak, in the middle of the fireroad.  The trail is 3 miles long.  Just come up the road.”               

Dispatcher: “I wish you had GPS.”

Me: “So do I.  Just come up the road.”

Two guys are walking up the road below us, wearing deep blue uniform type  shirts and pants.  After a moment, a short red firetruck follows them.  I wave.  They wave back.  The firetruck pulls into an open space below us, then turns and backs a few times until it is facing downhill.  The two firemen come up the hill to us.

Me: “They are here now.  Thanks.  Bye.”

Me: “She hit these wet rocks going downhill on her bike and fell.  We helped her up once, but she can’t stand.  It’s been about 30 or 40 minutes.  I gave her two Advil.”

The fireman talks to her, then pokes and prods her in few areas, neck, upper and lower spine,  her hip, and upper leg.

The first fireman tells the second, “We don’t need the spineboard.  We’ll make the basket and carry her down.”

The two firemen help her stand up on her right leg, then grip each other’s arms and fold her into the basket they form.  They walk down the fireroad one step at a time, carrying her in the basket of their linked arms.  I pick up the emergency blanket, fold it up, and put it into my pack.  I also pick up her day pack.  Mike stands her bicycle upright, and rolls it.  We follow the fireman down the hill.

Mike’s cell phone rings.  I think it is that funny dispatcher, then I wish it was.

Cellphone:  “Where my wife?  I need to talk to my wife.”

Me: “She had a bike accident here on Montara Mountain.  The firemen are carrying her down the hill now.”

Husband: “I need to talk to her now.”

Me: “You can’t.  They are carrying her down the hill, in a fireman’s carry.”

Husband: “Then I need to talk to the firemen.”

Me: “The firemen are carrying her.  They’re busy”

Husband: “I really need to talk to them.”

We are at the fire truck now.  So I give the cell phone to the driver.  He doesn’t want it, but finally takes it.  After a while, he shakes his head back and forth, and hands it back.

The husband asks for directions, and I tell him.  He says thanks.

The fireman get the woman settled laying across the second seat in the cab of the firetruck, and then takes the bicycle and put it on top and ties it down.  The driver passes out Mike’s coat, and takes the day pack in.   The firetruck starts down the fireroad, moving slowly.  The woman waves a thank you to us.  Mike puts his coat back on, and we start walking down the mountain road.

Mike says, “Thanks for taking that call.  I couldn’t deal with it.”

I say, “It sounds like he was working from a map, and never had a 911 call before.”

Mike says, “And the husband sounded worse.” 

I say, “Our emergency stuff worked pretty good, didn’t it?”

Mike says, “It better.  We’re on our own in the wilderness.”

The rain lightens up as we get close to the trailhead.  We meet a regular hiker coming up.  He asks if we know what all the activity was about.  We tell him.

Regular hiker: “They cut our local fire station that knew the mountain.  They call it consolidation.  That probably was the dispatcher’s first call from the mountain.   I used to ride a bike on this trail, and took a bad fall on the rock section.  I was hurt, and slid off the road down the side of the mountain maybe a hundred feet.  I had to crawl back up even if I hurt.  You have to know that trail pretty good if you are going to bike it.”

Mike:  “That explains a lot.”

Regular hiker:  “She was lucky you were up there.  With this weather, probably  no one else was coming.  You know what ‘exposure’ is, that people die from?  Someone is wet and cold from the rain and wind, loses their core temperature, and starts shivering.  Someone can die from that in an hour.”

Me: “I didn’t know all that.  Thanks.  Have a nice hike!”

Mike: “I know what to call today..." ‘Good Training’ !

 

Author's Note

Summer is coming!

Reviews

[Patricia Wedel]

Whoa... we went fishing on a Lake on top of Bear Mountain.. not far from
Salt Lake City in the State of Utah in the USA. We drove half way up and.
parked our Vehicle. The road was Rocky, but the view on the Top was worth it.
Around the very small Beach we sat in our wee folding chairs,
where Chipmunks played around our feet. That's my idea of Hiking.
Now I am older, but not wiser... only am a better Poet. Loved your Novel
where the Trail was rain and more rain. Your Novelette could be entitled
"Rainy Climb to Eagles Cliff" as an example. gently, Pat