The Last Adventurer

At some early point in my wilderness career, I had been forced to watch a video about wilderness safety. The film’s name was The Eiger Sanction, and its lead role was played by some cowboy named Clint Eastwood. It was an excellent lesson about what not to do when ice climbing. The second video I was forced to view did happen to be about wilderness first aid, and had been filmed with the worst acting ever. Fortunately, my impressionable mind learned a lot of important things from the video. Unfortunately, I ended up seeing the second video, or a similar video, several thousand times ad naseum as I eventually ended up teaching some wilderness safety courses to new impressionable minds.

One of the subjects the video covered was hypothermia. I had also seen plenty of cases of hypothermia and its effects when I worked at Yosemite National Park. As I checked my gear, avoided mouse poop, and watched my wife, alarms were going off in my head. My wife and I were wet. Some of the interior moisture was self-inflicted: we had sweated as we came up the grade to the pass. Most of the moisture, however, was from the raging rain and sleet. I was mostly dry, thanks to the quality of my gear and less base layers. As my wife was much wetter than I was, I helped her change into some dry layers on her torso, even though both of us knew that they would probably get wet when we went back outside. As she gingerly moved around after changing clothes and stared at the walls numbly, I could tell something was wrong. I knew that the change of clothes, combined with the cold environment, and the lack of movement had caused her temperature to plummet dramatically.

It was a horrible position to be in. I knew that she wanted to rest in the hut for about thirty minutes after trekking uphill for two hours. That was an impossible dream. She was already shivering; almost uncontrollably. I knew that with the emergency blankets, gas ring, and equipment that I had, I could most likely get her core temperature up if we stayed. However, I had no way to dry her soaked clothes. Moreover, the storm was not scheduled to pass for several days. If we stayed, I knew that I would be placing both of us in danger and in need of a likely rescue.

I knew that she would generate more heat walking, and that once we cleared the pass and once again began to head down, the temperature would rise, and the wind would subside, easing the burden on her body. It was somewhat of a risky call, because if I was wrong, I would place us on the trail in foul conditions with no appreciable shelter. Having seen many classic cases of hypothermia in real life like hers on the job and off, I liked our chances much better if we set out immediately. I wished we could have set out five minutes before. It would have been even better if there had been a way to change her wet clothes without getting naked; but that was impossible. I gave her some chocolate to help raise her body temperature, and helped her finish getting dressed. After that, I could do or say nothing else but lift her pack back onto her shoulders, and take the lead as we headed back into the elements.