50 years ago today I got medevacked* off Sawtooth.
A group of high school kids were on a backpacking trip in Mineral King, a week long loop. We were fully chaperoned by experienced adults, age 32. (Why does that no longer seem like an adult age??)
We camped at Columbine Lake below Sawtooth with a layover day planned. A group wanted to climb Sawtooth on the next day, and although I was tired and a bit afraid, I chose to go. My dear cousin Ruthie was part of the group and I didn’t want to be left out or let people know that I was a chicken.
The leaders wanted to try a new route up Sawtooth. Meant nothing to me, because I was just following along.
That was foolish. We were climbing up a chute, and following someone up a chute makes you vulnerable to falling rocks.
Sure enough, I got blammed** in the forehead by a falling rock knocked loose from above, saw it coming, and had no place to go or time to move. According to the eyewitnesses, I summersaulted 50-60 feet down the chute causing more rocks to fall, thinking the entire time, “I have to stop, I have to stop!”
When I stopped, I wiggled my feet to be sure I wasn’t paralyzed, realized I still had my contact lenses in, and that there was blood running down my face.
The leaders above got everyone down carefully. I remember saying to Jerry Peters as he passed by, “Don’t look at me; my face is all bloody.” Thanks, Captain Obvious, and why did I care if Jerry saw blood all over my face?
Mr. Leader stayed with me, and Mrs. Leader got everyone back down to Columbine Lake. The biggest strongest boy, Matt Moffett, got chosen to run to Mineral King for help. He ran the 8 or 10 miles to a crank phone in the Sawtooth parking lot, where he called for help. (I still have no idea how a crank phone works or who he called.)
Eventually a helicopter arrived, and a few people and gear were unloaded. I remember it having trouble figuring out where to land, and that it made several trips. I also remember that Mr. Leader was shivering, because at one point during our wait it hailed a little bit. I finally told him to take his jacket back because no matter how many layers I had, I continued to shiver. Shock, I think.
There was a gurney, ropes, helmets, lots of people with rock-climbing vocabulary. According to Mr. Leader, rocks still fell occasionally as they moved me onto the gurney and into the helicopter. The inside, not the outside.
We flew to Ash Mt. where an ambulance was waiting. It wasn’t until then that I gave them my parents’ phone number, because what were they going to do knowing I was injured but inaccessible?
It was upsetting to have them cut the legs of my new jeans, and it was thrilling to know that we ran the 4-way stop on Highway 198 (this was pre-traffic light, but everyone still calls that intersection toward Exeter “The Four Way”).
Broken collarbone, lots of cuts and bruises, 2 black eyes (I didn’t let my Dad take a photo, and now I sort of regret it out of curiosity, but not too much),and a hematoma on my leg merited one night in the hospital. It was hard to walk, and eventually I figured out why: I had major blisters on my heels that prevented my feet from going flat on the floor. Those stupid hiking boots were brutal, but everyone wore them. Give me Crocs anyday over those beastly immovable ankle weights.
Matt was taken in by one of the cabins on the parking lot and fed enormous amounts of food, which he reported barfing up afterward. He became my boyfriend during my senior year in high school, a good guy, but we weren’t a match made to go the distance. (A 16-year old is not wise enough nor ready to choose a lifemate.)
While in college, I returned to climb Sawtooth with a group of friends. We took the conventional route, it clouded up when we got on top so there was no view down to the valley, and it was so scary that I sat down and cried. One of the guys had a rope with him and helped me back down with the rope around my waist while he kept me secure (Thank you, Doug!!)
Sawtooth. It’s good to paint and draw and see from Visalia as a landmark, but other people are welcome to climb it. I prefer to go to White Chief or the Franklin/Farewell junction.
P.S. Mr. and Mrs. Leader have remained part of my life, dear friends with whom I correspond regularly and love like family (minus squabbles that sometimes accompany family relationships).
P.P.S. Trail Guy doesn’t like Sawtooth either. We are a match made to go the distance.
*medical evacuation
**If ”blammed” is not a word, it ought to be.
14 Comments
That’s so scary! I sure am glad you weren’t hurt even worse. I shudder to think. Blammed is a very descriptive work; perfect for that situation!
Michelle, it was probably scariest for the people who were watching.
Eeks. As my mother would say: All’s well that ends well. But my goodness what a traumatic experience. I appreciated that you didn’t call your parents so they didn’t have to worry in advance. I would feel so helpless as a parent in that situation.
Elisabeth, didn’t Caroline “Ma” Ingalls say the same thing?
Good stories with great illustrations. Keep ’em coming! We aren’t peak baggers either. The views from Black Rock, Hands and Knees (where I fell, slipping on loose, rolling granite gravel), Franklin, Sawtooth, Timber Gap, etc. are good enough for us. Wish we could still hike those passes and the great country they give access to. So glad and grateful that we have the memories of our backpacking years. Now it’s another chapter, with far fewer of our miles on foot, but still wonderful memories to be made. Very glad your Crocs are still traveling those world-class trails, and you’re sharing those stories.
Laurie, I’m impressed that you have done Hands & Knees. I’ve done all the others. Ever heard of Pants Pass? That’s one the trail crews use, and the name just cracks me up.
What a terrifying adventure with unpleasant results, Jana. I do honor you for giving the peak a second try! In my Sawtooth Peak adventures through many years, two stand out as memorable. One was what may have been the route you took that day, and I definitely got some bruises and scratches from it. The other was my happiest adventure; going from Crystal Lake to Sawtooth Peak along the ridge connecting the two canyons. It was a long way around, but avoided the boulder fields, and was all so beautiful.
Louise, we have never talked about our Sawtooth adventures before! Avoiding boulder fields sounds excellent, but Crystal alone is quite a conquest to my way of thinking now; can’t imagine adding Sawtooth to that expedition.
Wow what a story! Sawtooth looks a little meaner now but he told me it wasn’t his fault.
Heehee, Kathy, I didn’t realize what a personal relationship you have with Sawtooth. You are right—it wasn’t his fault. And we were climbing a ridge below the peak, thinking to reach the peak from a new direction. I’ll continue to paint Sawtooth as long as the paintings sell, but I have no plans to try and make his acquaintance.
That is a great story, though terrifying and painful, it sounds like your body instinctively knew how to get you down the hill safely (more or less). You had the courage to climb it again in college, so you “got back on the horse.” I think we should be open to new challenges and to test our abilities, but also to know our limits.
Thank you, Marjie, for your kind words. It wasn’t until I was an adult that I learned that I actually lack depth perception. That’s not what knocked me off Sawtooth (actually the ridge below the peak), but it certainly explains why I always thought I was clumsy and chicken. And believe me, I do now know and accept my limitations!
Wow, what a story, both scary and thrilling at the same time! Do you have any trophy scars to show off?
“Matt was taken in by one of the cabins on the parking lot and fed enormous amounts of food” That narrows it down to 2 cabins, and my quasi-educated guess would be the Davis-Welch cabin, yes?
I’ve never been up Sawtooth, but my brother wanted to watch the sunset from its peak one summer. It was a beautiful experience . . . until he realized he had not brought a flashlight! He stumbled his way down Sawtooth and back to cabin in the dark. Boys!
Sharon, it was Dottie Barboni who fed Matt. A few months later, he and I went to see her in Visalia to say thank you. She was surprisingly nonchalant about our visit, and we were both surprised that she didn’t seem impressed by what responsible and polite teenagers we were.