Rebecca Sperry

We are an inherently curious species. Drive past a car accident and try to quelch the urge to scope out what happened. The more devastating the situation, the more we want to know about it and that grotesque curiosity spills over into the increasingly popular search and rescue operations that happen in the wilderness. I have a handful of friends that are part of the various search and rescue volunteer organizations in The White Mountains of New Hampshire and every time I hear about the latest SAR, I can’t help but want to know what really happened from the people involved in the rescue. Having never been part of a search and rescue myself, (thankfully) I can’t imagine the level of fear and anxiety that must be felt by the person who is in need of rescue. However, I know the amount of work and manpower that it takes to save someone from the wilderness. That it’s not as if they appear out of nowhere to take an injured hiker off the trail to safety, and that rescues can take several hours, or even days, depending on weather conditions and terrain.

The trail will always be there, but along with being incredibly nosey, people are also very stubborn and naive. On top of that, we are extremely judgmental of those who need to be rescued, and although many of the people who require help in the wilderness are prepared and simply get hurt by accident, any member of the hiking community that hits the trails on a regular basis would agree that they would be mortified if they had to be rescued off the mountain. “I will crawl out if I have to” I’ve said to my fellow hiker friends many times, and they agree with me. The stigma of needing to be rescued is very real, especially if you know the people that will be called to perform the rescue personally.

Yesterday, while performing trail maintenance, I was unexpectedly part of a search and rescue operation. Though I wasn’t the one who was sick, I was there for the majority of the waiting time, as well as the extraction. The individual was extremely sick, unable to walk or even sit up by the time I got to them, and had been laying on the side of the trail for several hours. Coincidentally, this person was an avid hiker and had just become a member of the local search and rescue team. “I don’t want to be carried out on the litter. I want to walk out on my own” they said, as we waited for rescue and talked with a few of the other hikers that were staying with us while help arrived. “I know, I would feel the same way” I said.

Just like with my cancer diagnosis, this situation caught the sick individual completely off guard. They were prepared for a typical day in the woods, had all of the necessary gear, food, and water. What they weren’t prepared for was their body to rebel against them, leaving them violently ill on the side of the trail. I wasn’t prepared to find them laying still on the side of the trail hours after I completed my trail work, but that’s the thing about life, it likes to throw you a curveball every now and then.   

I thought that I was a pretty well prepared hiker. With thousands of miles of trail under my feet, I like to believe that I have enough experience with carrying proper gear. But as someone who hikes solo I never take into consideration that what I have in my pack might be helpful to another person. Carrying a space blanket can help someone else, even if I don’t see a reason to carry it for myself. Some extra food or clothes could be the difference between life or death, even if it’s not for me. We don’t ever think it’s going to happen to us, and that’s part of the problem. Instead of the mantra, always be prepared, we chant, that won’t happen to me. Yesterday, I realized that I (we) need to adjust our philosophy.

Hours after setting out on a hike that should’ve lasted only four to five hours, a sick hiker, myself, and the dozen volunteers of a local search and rescue operation, emerged from the woods. We were all walking. Statements were taken down, attendance of all involved individuals was checked, and I waved goodbye to my friends that happened to be part of this operation. I found myself not only impressed by how kind and non judgemental the SAR members were, but that I had been completely fine in what could’ve been a pretty scary situation. Most of all, I realized that what I carry in my pack isn’t just for me, even though I hike alone. Even though I may be an experienced hiker, that doesn’t mean everyone I encounter on trail is. We don’t exist in a vacuum and although we like to live under the delusion that we have complete control over what happens to us, we don’t. Life has a way of reminding you who’s in charge, and of bringing you back down to earth every now and then. I’m just thankful that my reality check (as well as this individual’s) didn’t end badly.   

*Respecting the privacy of those involved, I am not going to include names or locations in this post.