Close Call ，October 19th, 2011

冯毅

Shivering behind a three-foot tall boulder, I am reflecting upon my life. I start by asking large questions.“Suppose I walk out alive when the sun rises,” I look into my inner self, “what shall I do?” Days pass fast for me as a professor. I do not count days. I count weeks. Except for teaching and occasional meetings, there is not much difference between weekdays and weekends. I can run on the beach for three hours on a Monday morning, just as I can immerse myself in my scholarly writing throughout a Sunday. What a wonderful profession. Now the two large options will open them to me, if I remain conscious by 3 am the following morning, meaning that I will probably remain alive when a rescue helicopter spots me in the morning sun： To maximize my potential for my professional work and my recreational, but demanding and challenging, hobbies which include running marathons, occasional rock climbing, and scuba diving OR to take my life easy, remaining relaxed all the time, doing little or nothing.No other occasion than a protracted life-threatening situation can force one to focus his thought on such large, metaphysical questions. In the San Bernardino Mountains, for ten hours in a row, I have the opportunity to probe myself and ask many hypothetical questions, which may mean little afterwards, if what they find the next morning of me is a corpse. I remember what one of my former classmates in college wrote about the change in her life when the plane on which she embarked took a violent dip at an altitude of 30,000 feet. In a few seconds, she decided that she would quit her mundane job and switch to creative writing, where her heart was. After all, life was short. Now I have far more than her time in the air to think about my life and make a few decisions. However, my decision comes almost instantaneously, in a few seconds. I do not need the sun to rise to warm up my thoughts for a decision. I will choose the former option, working at my full capacity and striving to cross my limits. Yes, life is short and flees away. Carpe Diem has been a permanent theme for mankind. From the antediluvian hieroglyph on cave walls to John Donn’s poem, life was lamented as too short. To be or not to be, that is the question. To live fully or not to live fully is the next cardinal question. We are all born into the world in the same way, but we choose different ways of life. We may choose to maximize indulgence at the cost of the future. We may enjoy miracle drugs or sexual pursuits, giving up everything else. We may take great pleasure in saturated fat-intensive junk food and let our health decline. Life is a choice and a state of mind. Early on the morning of October 19th 2011, Wednesday, I decided to run up to San Gorgonio Mountain, the highest peak of Southern California, at a height of 11,500 feet. I always wanted to climb that mountain. Visible from afar on any clear day, it was especially beautiful during the winter when snow settled on its peak and high side. I had been preparing for a marathon in December and planned for a long run. San Gorgonio had become my goal of the day. I had been studying various trails leading to the summit and had found the South Fork Trail attractive because of its gradual ascent and distance. By comparison, the Vivian Creek Trail was the most popular due to its short distance (a little over nine miles one way from the trailhead to the peak), but the beginning of the trail presents a steep climb and was not well marked. I chose the South Fork Trail.I stopped by the Mill Creek Ranger Station trying to get a permit, required of all of those who enter that part of the San Bernardino Mountains, only to find the office closed on Wednesdays and Thursdays. Picking up some maps and information sheets from the window sill, I left for the mountains without a permit. Somewhere, I made a wrong turn, finding myself driving through Forest Fall, which was a most idyllic place I encountered in Southern California. Tucked away in the mountains and sitting next to a gurgling brook, the village was covered by gigantic pine trees and deciduous trees whose leaves just started to change color. Soon I reached the end of the road and turned right into a parking lot. I ended up at the Vivian Creek by mistake against my planned trailhead South Fork. The time was about 12:30pm. A couple of late-sixty year olds gave me some direction about the trailhead. “Three quarters of a mile from here, you will cross to the left across the river and you will see the trailhead.” The gentleman was very precise in the distance, showing that he frequented the area. “Make sure that you stay on the trail to be safe,” he added, “it will be very dangerous if you leave the trail.”Next, I ran into a group of Korean hikers. I tried directions on them. Their help was vague, “San Gorgonio is high. It is over a camp site,” a lady answered. “But you need a permit.” Soon I saw a sign marked with the word “TRAIL” combined with an arrow pointing to the river. There I crossed the water and found myself at the trailhead. In a few minutes, for the reason I still failed to grasp, I was off the trail. Just having come back from the Matterhorn, Class Four scrambling did not present any challenge at all. I climbed up the steep mountainside and eventually was happy to discern the trail above me.After getting on the trail, I ran into the first person descending. He told me that except the beginning and the ending of the trail, most segments of the Vivian Creek was quite runable. Encouraged by his words, I jogged along the trail. On the way up, I saw a group of three men resting next to tree stumps by the creek, a pair of fifty-year old ladies who warned me about getting off the main trail, a couple of the thirty-year old man and wife, with the female part of the duo asking me about my Innov8 shoes which she had just ordered. She also commended me for my physical condition. Then a pair of men in their thirties reassuring me that I was only one and half miles away from the summit (only later I can tell that their estimate was too optimistic) and finally, a pair of women in the twenty-year age bracket, with neither of whom I verbally communicated but exchanged a smile. These were the last human beings I saw on my way up on that late afternoon.I kept running where I could and stopped only for two reasons, when the trail became out of my running capacity or when scenery captivated my aesthetic sense. It turned out that I spent much time taking pictures on the way up and at the summit. I could not resist being carried away by sights of distant mountains showing up between close-up trees, of a cascade trotting over rocks and pebbles, a trail that traverses on a dropping mountainside, etc., etc. For a long while, I could not tell which peak was San Gorgonio. My GPS told me that I was closer and closer to it, but my actual bearings would not give it to me. Only within the last mile and after turning a bend, I identified the summit. It was composed of a cluster of rocks and did not command the same awe when viewed from below and far. It was more like aubao in Mongolia where tribal communities assembled atop a mountain to pay homage to the spirits than a spectacular mountain to conquer such as the Matterhorn or Denali, not to mention Mt. Everest or K2. I ran to the base of the boulders that made the top of San Gorgonio. I was the only human being there. The time was 5:00pm. The information given to me by the group of three people that there were people camping out at the summit proved to be false. The wind started to gather forces there. I took numerous pictures of the panoramic views and of me sitting or standing at the summit. Around 5:10pm, I started the descent.The sight of a sun setting across from San Gorgonio over trees was certainly enjoyable, though a feeling of presentiment started to take form out of my sub-consciousness. Can I reach the trailhead before the sunset? It was 9.6 miles from the summit back to the trailhead. It had taken me 4.5 hours to summit while taking pictures. Normally, I could cover 9 miles in about an hour down the trail, but the sunset time on that day turned out to be 6:00pm. I did my best racing against sunset, though I stopped to take a few pictures of the sun settling behind the mountains over trees and emitting golden afterglow below a light bluish sky. I bet on the reliability of the trail and calculated that I might be engulfed by total darkness in the last one mile. Nightfall accelerated when the sun disappeared behind the westward mountains. I moved in almost complete darkness, groping for the trail using wan light from my GPS. I made several wrong turns, but was able to find my way back. After crossing the brook, however, I was lost, and irretrievably lost. There was no trail detectable on the other side of the water. I tried to walk along the direction of the trail, remembering that part of the trail was parallel to the stream, but reached a dead end. It was a small plateau, under the canopy of pine trees and adjourning what sounded to be a cascade. It was dark. I could not see even my own hand in front of me. “What should I do?’ I checked the GPS and found that I was only 0.4 miles from the South Fall Campsite. I remembered that campsite. The trailhead should not be too far away from where I was. The stream flew into the river next to the trailhead. Theoretically, if I followed the stream, I would end up in the river at the trailhead. I waded into the water using a tree limb as my walking stick. A few steps further, I tested the stream with the stick, but it could not reach the bottom. I was on the verge of a waterfall. I backed down and tried to use the left side of the plateau and found myself on a ledge over the ravine. Then I realized that I had to make a decision between two undesirable options. I could continue searching with almost zero visibility for the trail until I fell to my injury or death or I could stay where I was until the sun rises and light comes, facing the strong possibility of hypothermia. I was in my light running shorts and a technical base layer t-shirt. I already felt cold. The mountain wind was piercing. I had consumed all the solid food I had with me – a power bar and fruit preserves. I still had about one liter of water left in the bladder of my camel backpack. Between a dangerous fall and possible hypothermia, I chose the latter. My reasoning was that in the darkness, my chance of finding the trail was slim and the probability of a fall was substantial, almost a certainty. If I fell into a crevice or waterhole, I could easily lose body thermals and die. If I stayed put and remain conscious by 3:00am against the lower 40s Fahrenheit, I would probably be still alive when rescuers found me the next morning. The cold wind reminded me that I need to find a better shelter. I groped around and found a boulder where I squatted down, pulling my technical shirt over my legs. On that morning, I was debating between a long sleeve Patagonia capilene 2 technical base layer and the short-sleeve fashionable T-shirt with the Matterhorn on the chest next to some local language, saying “I was up there.” In retrospective, I was extremely glad that I gave up fashion for practicality. The Patagonia base layer may have saved my life.In the midst of fear and losing energy, I counted how long I would have to squat in the same fetus position against cold temperature or visits by wild animals. It was about 7:00pm. The GPS indicated a sunrise time at 6:50am. That meant a 12 hours wait. By that time, I had already apologized to my wife a thousand times. I left home without leaving her with specific information about where I was heading, except the vague indication that I was going to climb the highest mountain in Southern California.Now squatting against the boulder, I imagine what my wife is doing. It is already 9:00pm. She must have contacted the police reporting the missing person. Has she contacted any runners? Probably not. My wife does not run and she happens to know only one runner well and that person is the culprit for her worries. Probably, she is checking on my life insurance, just in case of the worst scenario. I cannot do anything to sooth her and reduce her concerns. I am just so sorry about the agonies that must be gripping her. At the same time, I also trust that her characteristic presence of mind would prevail over any possible nerve breakdown. Katherine is one of those people I may characterize as sang froid.The sky is moonless, but starlit. Airplanes, civilian and military, cruise by. The wind, abating and accelerating alternately, keeps me from feeling sleepy. I am both cold and thirsty. Actually, the two normally opposing forces now complement each other. The decrease in energy makes me feel colder; and chill requires my body to work harder. Since my glycogen must have been depleted, then water is something to keep my system going. It now occurs to me that a person may last for days without eating as long as water is available. Economizing on water, I take a sip every twenty minutes or so. Time is dragging its feet. I try not to watch my watch, for fear of losing sanity. 10:pm, 10:30pm; 11:00pm…. Midnight. Here comes the small hours. I am still conscious, but just cold. I will be alive, but just have to suffer some inconvenience. To kill time, I try my memories on Spanish words and conjugation. Yo como mucho. El come mucho. Ellos comen mucho. Uno, dos, tres, dias. This year, I am taking a sabbatical which has been granted to me after six years of administrative work. My routine has been dominated by three activities in addition to regular life maintenance: writing, running, and Espanol. Spanish is a very useful language, and the Spanish speaking population keeps growing and will become the largest ethnic group in Southern California in a few years. It is already the majority population in some cities. I always enjoy learning new words. They test the boundary of my memory. It is another way to make a life meaningful with challenges.  Yo soy un mono.It is very strange that I have not seen any animal on the trail during the day. No deer. No bear. No rabbit. The snakes about which the old gentleman warned me at the parking lot are invisible. The only fauna I have seen are some birds scurrying alarmed when I approached the summit. Rather strange, but nonetheless a comforting observation at this moment.The shadow cast on the trunk in front of me by the canopy of lodge poles against the starry sky becomes shorter and shorter. This is an additional comforting observation. Time has been advancing. I try to see if I can discern anything on the ground, but there is not much I can see. I take out my camera and check the photos I have taken on the way up and down. Earlier, I was thinking that when the rangers and sheriffs find my corpse, not only they would know that I had summited San Gorgonio, but also they would find that I had enjoyed a most beautiful sunset. My last. I look at the pictures and replay my day. If I had not taken many pictures, or if I had started earlier, I would have had enough precious time to cover the remaining mileage and get to the safe land. There are many contingencies in life with which we have to cope. There are many experiences in which we find ourselves, sometimes against our will, sometimes according to our plan. We should not choose, but do the best given the circumstances. Adversities do prepare us and add to our valuable existence, only if we have an opportunity to survive them. After 3:00 am, I know that I will survive and am just writing a new chapter out of my otherwise ordinary experience.4:00am. I have been working on a plan to resume my search for the trail. At 6:00am, I will make my first move, standing up, stretching my legs which have become numb in the fetus position and drinking up the last drops of water. I will get ready for movement once the light kisses the ground. I cannot afford to start the morning exercise too early, as I want to save my ebbing energy.Now it is past 5:00am, but what is that sound? It is definitely from a living being. It is a long single syllable sound, plaintive, but persistent, piercing and echoing through the pre-dawn cold air. What animal would that be? I exclude bears or deer, but am not certain about coyotes. Then, the single syllable now becomes a duet and chorus, coming from multiple sources. I start to become concerned and grasp the tree limb which I used before to test the depth of the stream. All of sudden, a flash of light shoots across the treetops. My heart beats with joy. Here comes my rescue, after ten hours. I shout back: I am here! I now realized that they were calling my name: EE-----, the accuracy of the sound either got lost when it travelled in the valley or was missed by my declining senses. Footsteps becomes louder and louder. I continue to shout, “I’m here!” Four silhouettes emerged behind bushes. “We’ve found you!” the first person says cheerfully. The next person makes a phone call, announcing “We’ve found him. He is OK, but just cold.” The rangers have a special phone to call out. I tell myself, knowing that my phone would not be working in the mountain and that was why I had left it in the car. They pass a fleece jacket to me and offer me energy water and food. This is a well-organized team. I admire their efficiency, but value their friendliness more. They ask me if I saw snow on the top, and tell me again that they are so happy to find me alive.  I follow the lead person, and three rescuers follow me. Again, this is very profesional; if the person they have rescued wavers or falls, they can hold him and prevent him from injuries. I am waiting for an embarrassing question. “Can we see your permit?” I have prepared my answer. “I was at the Mill Creek Ranger Station to get the permit, but the office was closed.” However, the question is being delayed and my nervousness grows. Then we start to talk about wild animals. I tell that I did not see any and was concerned about a pack of coyotes or a lone bear. I inform them that coyotes can be very assertive and wander around even in the city. “I saw one yesterday when I was running on the street. A big one.” The ranger leading the way responds by saying that he also has seen a few in his city.“Where do you live?”“Pasadena.”Then, a doubt flits through my mind. “Rangers should live close to where their watch is. Why does this ranger live far from San Bernardino Mountains?” I cannot help but ask,“Are you a ranger?”The person laughed, “No. I am a daybreaker. My name is Matt, and we ran together last Saturday.”Now it dawns on me that he is the person who ran with a dog with me and four others on the sunset ridge last weekend. It was the only time I ran with him. Then how about others? I look around.“Is that you, Jason?”“Yes.”Jason was the person who organized the rescue and is to tell me some details about how the search got started. The third person comes near,“I’m Kevin and I ran with you before.”“Of course, you are a very good runner.”Kevin is one of the fastest runners of the group. The daybreaker who walks in the back turns out be Bob, a triathlete. I become ashamed. Partly because of darkness, partly because of my emaciated mental condition, I failed to recognize the true identity of my rescuers.Jason starts to pass me the information that he knows I am eager to have. “Your wife sent me an email asking me if I knew where you were running. But I was teaching a class and did not read the email until late. Then I sent an email to daybreakers asking for information. Monica responded that you wanted to run San Gorgonio. She also said that you wanted to use the South Fork trailhead. Your wife passed the information to Claremont Police Department. They sent a sheriff to the trailhead, but did not find your car. We got this information and guessed that you might be here. If it had been the South Fork trail, the search would have been more complex because there were multiple trails from that trailhead.”Soon we reach the parking lot. The sheriff is waiting there. After confirming my identity, he clears me to go home, but requires that I not drive. Jason drives me back on a crowded early morning freeway packed with cars carrying people to work.The sun also rises.I know what those first words will be when I speak with my wife.