Sawyer thought for a moment and then began, “Well, let’s just say that at 6:00 a.m., our parents realized we were gone. I’m sure Dad noticed that his satellite messenger was gone, and they would be able to tell by the other gear that was missing that we didn’t plan to be gone for more than a day. Knowing our dads, they probably figured we attempted a moonlit peak, and from where we camped, this would be the logical peak to summit. It’s possible that maybe just our dads headed out looking for us, or maybe they headed toward the ranger station to immediately seek help.”
The scenario was growing complex, and I was afraid to hear of any more variables.
“Honestly, I’m surprised they’re not here.” Four pairs of eyes immediately fixed on Sawyer’s face.
Sawyer sat down in the snow and calmly explained, “Our parents probably first discovered our absence around six or seven this morning. Our moms probably freaked out while our dads stayed cool and figured what we were up to. They must know we’ve all heard their moonlit summit story and would want a similar adventure.” All heads nodded in agreement. “So, they probably didn’t even begin to worry until at least noon. Knowing our dads, they may have even climbed the peak to see if they could meet us on the trail, or even see us lower on the mountain. If they went to the peak and saw the damage of the avalanche, they maybe tried to call for help with a cell phone from the peak. But,” he paused, “since help is not here yet, I am guessing that they took the more common trail than the exposed ridge we hiked, in which case, they would not see the avalanche or us.”
What Sawyer said made sense. Our parents would not automatically assume at our absence that we had taken the quick and difficult ascent to the peak, been caught in an avalanche, and slid a third of the way down the mountain. No wonder nobody was here yet. They probably waited until midday to even consider that we needed help.
“Or,” Sawyer continued, “if they hiked to the ranger station, let’s again deduce that they would have left camp around noon, the search and rescue team would not deploy until tomorrow morning.”
“Except that we don’t know that,” reminded Marshall. Sawyer nodded grimly.
“What should we do?” asked Lydie.
“Even though we’re hungry and exhausted,” Sawyer answered, “I think we need to try to hike out. We’ll eat our supper, line up our packs like a wind block, hang a bear bag, stoke the fire and huddle close for warmth. First thing in the morning, we’ll write a message in the snow with arrows pointing in the direction we’ll go in case the rescuers come here, and we’ll head toward the ranger station.” He gave us a moment to let us consider the plan. “Does anyone disagree?” he asked.
Silence.
Ellie was the first to politely speak. “The truth is, we won’t be hiking very fast, considering our circumstances, so if rescuers find our camp, it won’t take them long to catch up to us.”
“Right,” Sawyer agreed. “And, in case rescuers are not coming this way, we’ll at least be headed toward help. Slowly, but surely.”
More silence. Sawyer asked a blessing for our meal, and I noticed that he thanked God for providing even a small portion for each of us. Sawyer’s faith struck me as mature. As we swiftly swallowed our warm rice, we livened up a little.
“So,” Sawyer said before a long swallow from his water bottle, “maybe Marlee and Ellie should hang our bear bag while the testosterone crew starts building a snow shelter for us to sleep in.”
Ellie and I nodded in agreement and, after washing our pot and spoons clean with snow and gathering the remaining gorp and a handful of granola bars, we told Lydie we’d be back soon and headed down the mountain to find an appropriate tree to hang anything with food smells. As long as we hung the bag a few hundred feet from camp, and all of our “smellables” were in there, bears should not bother us while we slept. Even though we only had a small amount of food left, our cooking gear, chap sticks, and sunscreens would all smell intriguing to a hungry bear. Usually Dad and Caleb use a small diameter rope with a weighted bag on one end to toss over a tree limb and pull up the bear bag. Since we had not packed the parachute cord or the small, sturdy bear bag, we were using Sawyer’s brand new climbing rope and Lydie’s pack.
Tossing the climbing rope over a tree limb proved to be no easy challenge. We found a rock to tie to the end, which helped the accuracy of our tosses, and eventually would help the rope slip back down to us. After about twenty tries from each of us, the rope finally swung around the ideal limb, about twelve feet up, and five feet from the trunk of the tree. That height and distance from the trunk would make it difficult for a bear to gain access to our bag. When we heaved Lydie’s pack containing our smellables up, we made sure to leave it hang about a foot below the branch so small animals, like squirrels, would have a hard time getting in. Ellie tied a reliable taut-line hitch to secure the bear bag. With a high-five for our small accomplishment, we headed back toward Lydie and the boys.
About two steps up the mountain, we heard the huff. Ellie extended her arm in front of my path, stopping me in my tracks. Another powerful sounding huff!
7
We slowly turned and saw a large black bear standing on his back legs, his nose pointed high into the air. Ellie and I knew that black bears do not see as well as people, so often a bear stands on his back legs in an attempt to gather scents and determine what is ahead. He stood about fifty feet from our bear bag, putting him probably seventy-five feet from us.
We watched in horror as the bear hit all fours, stamping the ground with his front paws. This action told us that he was planning to charge. We instinctively reacted by waving our arms high above our heads and shouting. Dad taught us this when we were preschoolers, about the same age that most kids are learning their ABCs. I shouted as loud as I could, and my ears instantly began to hurt from Ellie’s deafening hollers. We waved our arms in a panic, trying to appear large and threatening to the bear. Our dad had told us that black bears are rarely aggressive toward people, just hungry and curious. Appearing to be scary would almost always send a black bear in the other direction.
It was imperative that we hold our ground. Running would cause the bear to chase instinctively, like a cat playing with a toy on a string. The instant the “prey” moves, the cat will launch after it like a coiled spring let loose. Dad had firmly taught us that we were never to run from a bear, or any animal, for that matter. I had visualized in my mind how I would handle an encounter like this, but oh, it was tempting to try to escape. I forced myself to keep my feet planted and it took every ounce of self-control to continue facing the bear.
We needed to show the bear that we were not an easy snack and that we were intimidating – even though I was 100% intimidated and terrified! Ellie slowly stooped down and picked up a stick. Extending it above her head she continued to shout and wave her arms. I spread my legs out, making a big X with my body, trying to appear much larger than my 5’7” height. Usually I tire of people telling me, “You’re tall for your age,” but at that moment I wished I was even taller!
With another huff, the bear shook his head, and my stomach felt as if it hit the ground. He was showing all the signs of preparing to attack us. I begged God to change the bear’s mind. Ellie and I kept screaming, even though our voices were growing hoarse. Just when I thought he was going to charge, he turned on his haunches and ran away from us. “That’s right, Mr. Bear, you leave us alone!” Ellie called after him. We continued to shout for a minute after he was out of sight down the mountain. His black coat disappeared in the trees. Not being able to see him anymore left a somewhat eerie feeling for Ellie and me. I looked in every direction all at once, squinting my eyes to see his dark coat, feeling paranoid that he would reappear.
Ellie began trembling. I had been trembling since the first huff. We leaned against each other as we tried to steady our breathing. My senses were acutely heightened as I listened and looked for any more signs of the bear. “Let’s gather sticks for protection and for the fire and get back to the group,” Ellie stammered.
We linked our arms and quickly gathered a bundle of branches, and then, frequently looking over our shoulders, we headed back up, out of the trees and toward our group.
As we emerged from the trees, Sawyer dashed to us. “Are you girls okay?” he demanded, fear etched into his face.
Ellie desperately threw her arms around his shoulders and began to cry. Startled, Sawyer was speechless for a moment, then slowly rubbed her back and addressed me. “What happened?” he quietly asked.
“B–” I started, but was so unsettled that I felt weak. Sawyer’s eyes widened and he slightly released Ellie, put an arm on my shoulders, and sat us down, with him in the middle.
I let out a sob. “You could hear us screaming from camp?”
Sawyer nodded. “Lydie was the first to hear. Marshall stayed with her and I sprinted down faster than my legs have ever moved. So, why were you screaming? What’s wrong?”
Ellie was still leaning against Sawyer’s shoulder and he reassured us with a string of comforting words. I finally spoke,
“A bear was challenging us.”
“He charged at you?” Sawyer looked scared.
“Not quite.”
“He bluffed?” Sawyer asked, referring to when a bear charges, but turns away shortly before reaching his challenger.
“Thankfully, no, he did not run at us. But he was huffing, stamping, tossing his head, everything leading up to an attack. Just when I thought he was going to plow into us, he turned and ran away. Down the mountain,” I spilled the story, evoking another sob. Sawyer held my shaking shoulders.
We sat there, shaken, for several moments before Sawyer urged, “We need to start back before the sun sets.” He helped us to our feet and Ellie’s eyes darted around as we began walking, each of us carrying some of the sticks. Sawyer looked guarded but calm.
Trying to lighten the mood, he said, “These sticks will feel nice in tonight’s fire.”
I forced a smile, frightened by the thought of sleeping out tonight.
“Girls,” Sawyer began, “you did everything right. Think about it; the bear might have attacked if you had reacted differently. You scared him so much that he ran away from you. He won’t be bothering us again. You handled it perfectly,” he assured. Sawyer’s statement was true, I supposed, and it did help me feel better. It’s not as if black bears stalk people, so now that he thought we were scary, he would be sure to stay clear of us. I prayed. Somehow, I wished this upcoming night was already past.
