68 Hours

A Journal of Bob and Diana Miller’s

Experience at Paint Rock Falls

 

By Rev. Dr. Bob Miller

 

 

Dedicated to our friends:

Larry and Margie Gustafson

Bill and Paula Woodward

 

Thanks to:

  The Sheridan Press for free advertising

The Copy Shop for quick printing

The Book Shop for sales.

 

Thanks to our son, Greg Bernard, for editing

 

All Proceeds from the sale of this journal will support

 Big Horn, Sheridan and Washakie County Search and Rescue

 

 

 

Sheridan, Wyoming

October 2, 2006

68 Hours

   Sixty-eight hours together in a 5x7 ft. nylon tent! We cried and laughed and prayed and cussed. We sang hymns and we screamed at the relentless skies. We thought a lot about friends and family. We contemplated how easy it is to die—and how okay. We planned how hard we would fight for life. Diana memorized every hair in my nostrils and gave them all names. I said her breath was beginning to smell like cat food, but she was still the most beautiful woman on the planet.

 

       We know we’re getting too old for this kind of adventure. Over the 24 years of our life together we have hiked almost every trail, ventured into every valley, traversed every ridge, and visited most of the 200 lakes in the Big Horn Mountains. We know all of our favorite campsites and have spent well over 200 nights in our old Eureka tent. Now, with Diana at 65 and having had surgery on her hip, and me at 63 and still recovering from recent knee surgery, we know we can’t count on making a major backpack trip next year. That’s why we were so stubbornly determined to make this farewell trip into Wilderness Basin.

       Wilderness Basin is the jewel of the Big Horns. At 11,000 feet in the Cloud Peak Wilderness Area, it is an immense area containing eleven lakes—all connected by streams and magnificent waterfalls. The lakes team with beautiful golden trout that are hungry, dumb, and easy to catch. The highest lakes rest in a cirque beneath the west face of Cloud Peak, the third highest point in Wyoming at 13, 170 feet. Few people struggle into the Basin. There is no trail. Most that do, make the difficult climb up the waterfalls from Lake Solitude below.

       But there is an easier way. It begins at the trailhead to Cloud Peak Summit Trail at Paint Rock Falls. We usually camp there after hiking up from a parking spot at Battle Park. We hike up the rutted ATV trail to Lilly Lake, and then enter the Wilderness Area, into which motorized vehicles are not permitted. The trail continues over an unnamed pass, then drops down to Misty Moon Lake, which is a major cross-road of trails coming up from West Tensleep and the Solitude Trail coming down from Florence Pass. It is only half a mile on to Paint Rock Falls; it is a rugged half mile, however, climbing to a divide then dropping steeply into a broad plain through which a meandering stream challenges with a difficult crossing. A large boulder field spills down the north edge of that plain from a flat terrace where we make our camp. Paint Rock Creek pours off the southwest ridge of Cloud Peak past our camp site then tumbles over Paint Rock Falls to the plain below.

       From our Paint Rock Falls camp site, we hike west, opposite the summit trail, and skirt a small unnamed lake. Rounding that lake is often the most difficult stretch of our Wilderness Basin hike. One side is guarded by cliffs; the other by a boulder field with car-sized rocks. We teeter across the rocks with full packs. From the west end of that lake we continue on a contour that leads to a narrow notch on the horizon. Next, we walk down into Wilderness Basin. We occasionally see elk on the way up to that notch. We always see deer. There is a small waterfall from which we fill our water bottles, unpumped. Diana calls it "Nectar of the Gods." Once into the Basin a mystical corridor of rock leads us directly to our campsite above Middle Cloud Peak Lake.

      

       Diana had left our itinerary with our dear friends and neighbors, Larry and Margie Gustafson, who would look after our dog, Cesky, and our 20-year-old cat. We left on Monday and planned to come out the following Monday. Ironically, Diana’s note said we would be out on Sunday. That mistake may have saved our lives. Concerned about my ability after knee surgery, we allowed that it might take us two days to get to Paint Rock Falls and three to make it to Wilderness Basin. We were encouraged, then, when we reached the Falls in five hours on our first day.

       We made our headquarters in Wilderness Basin by 2:00 p.m. on Tuesday in glorious sunshine. On Wednesday, again in glorious sunshine, we day-hiked around Middle and Upper Cloud Peak Lakes to what we feel is the most spectacular waterfalls in the Big Horns. It was depressing on this summer of record draught to see it at less than a quarter of its usual volume. Some of the lakes were down at least four feet. On this trip we were able to step across streams that were usually risky crossing. Wyoming needs moisture in 2006!

       Thursday morning was again clear so we hiked across the Basin and climbed over the pass into the next basin containing Summit Lake, where hardly anybody ever goes. There we spotted the only elk we would see. On the way back to our camp I fished the lake below the falls that spills out of Middle Cloud Peak Lake. There is an island in the middle, but with the lake levels so low I was able to walk onto the island where I had never been before. Those golden trout are enticing! Clouds were gathering in the skies as we made our dinner that evening.

       We woke Friday morning to heavy fog. We could not see the high peaks—Cloud Peak, Black Tooth, Wolsey and Innominate—which so dominate the head of the Basin. It was cold. We quickly decided we should move to a lower elevation and from a location which would be easier to escape. So we broke camp, loaded our packs, and trudged back to Paint Rock Falls.

       We were still wearing shorts when we arrived at Paint Rock Falls at 4:30 p.m. We set up our tent in the usual spot, well-protected from strong winds by a circle of rock and pine. We were cooking our dinner at 5:30 p.m. when we heard the first rumble of thunder. Lightning struck on the ridge just across the creek and then it began to sleet. We quickly covered our kitchen and took our dinner to the tent.

       We would stay there for the next 68 hours.

 

       All night long we could hear rain and snow pelting the thin walls of our trusty old tent. We decided just to hike out in the morning and cut our trip two days short. We made plans for those two free days.

       But on Friday morning it was still snowing heavily and there was already a foot of snow on the ground. We were faced with our first difficult decision: Should we risk hiking out through snow drifts in extremely wet weather or stay put and hope that Saturday would be clear? The weather report we had carried with us had posed the following: Friday – mostly cloudy; Saturday – Sunny; Sunday and Monday – showers. It was a pretty easy choice to stay and hike out on Saturday. People die because they leave their shelter in bad weather.

       We stayed in the tent all day Friday, listening to the rain and snow. We wondered if we had ever experienced such heavy precipitation and questioned when it would begin to lighten up. It was not so cold that the snow didn’t melt as fast as it accumulated, but by evening it had piled on at least another five inches. Through the night the sound of precipitation tattooing the tent fly began to have the affect of a Chinese water torture; nonetheless, we stayed sane and confident. That confidence turned instantly from heads to tails on Saturday morning when we awoke to continuing snowfall. The forecast had promised sunshine.

       The snow was now about twenty inches deep on the level, with waist-deep drifts. It was glaringly apparent that hiking out would simply not be possible. Even if the sun was to come out and the snow begin to melt, we would still not be able to move for at least a day. And, if it continued to snow, we could be in serious trouble. We agreed that our lives were in the hands of God and our friends—a good pairing.

       Through those hours in the tent together we thought of our friends. Surely they would worry if they knew our situation. But we were not expected home until Monday night, so they might not be worried yet. Maybe it wasn’t even snowing at home. Surely, though, they could see there was heavy snow in the mountains and must be concerned about our situation. We knew it was our job to stay where we were and wait out the storm, not to do anything stupid, and to stay dry. We were both still feeling strong and healthy. We were fine, but did our friends know we were fine or were they very worried? We hated the feeling of responsibility for causing our friends concern. Yet, if no one worried about us no one would sound the alarm to send help. We knew we had a team of first-class worriers on our side in our friends Margie and Larry Gustafson. We knew they would be in touch with another worry warrior, Bill Woodward, who would communicate with Dave Harness, who directs emergency services and is the County Coroner. That team would make things happen. God and our friends make a pretty dominant force.

 

       Moisture was our enemy. Our down sleeping bags could keep us warm to temperatures below zero. But they would lose their efficacy if they got wet. Even our own skin would lose its efficiency if it got wet. Moisture would quickly lower our body temperature and we could die of hypothermia. Barring injury, hypothermia is what kills most people in the mountains.

       We were living in a dry space within our tent. Our whole universe was that 5x7 dry space. Everything outside of that safe universe was moisture. Snow was piled deep all around our tent and more snow was falling all the time. Our battle was to keep that wet outside world from invading our dry world.

       The precipitation was constant. Sometimes it was rain; sometimes it was snow; sometimes it was something in between. The snow was always heavy and wet. Rain would compress the snow pack. When it rained it was warm enough that the snow was melting as fast as it accumulated. It reached a depth of 27 inches. Drifts were much deeper. One official later estimated that as much as 40 inches of snow had fallen. The only pertinent information is that there was way too much to walk in.

       We had pulled everything we owned inside the tent except our kitchen, which was set up on a rock about twenty feet from the tent. Our 5x7 space was crowded and cluttered. We were always losing track of things. Where is my left glove? What happened to the shirt I was sleeping in?

       Our own bodies consorted with the enemy as perspiration and respiration put moisture inside the tent. In order to ventilate the interior, the tent has a zippered window flap on both ends. The more the window is opened, the greater the ventilation. However, if that window is opened too far, rain and snow would blow in. We found our greatest efficiency was to leave only about a six inch opening at the top. That small, six inch triangle was our window to the outside world. We usually didn’t like what we saw.

       Twice a day I would dig to find our kitchen, and then brush away enough snow from around the stove to boil a pot of water. In the morning we had coffee, bagels with peanut butter and honey, and a bowl of Diana’s delicious homemade granola. We would also pour water over that evening’s dinner to give it all day to rehydrate. In the evening we would feast in the tent. Diana would have another cup of coffee and I enjoyed a cup of hot chocolate as long as my supply lasted. We drew water directly out of the creek and either boiled it or pumped it into a water bottle. It was probably safe to drink right out of the creek since it was all rain water, fresh snow melt, and runoff, but it tasted like granite.

       Our location was well protected. We could hear the wind ripping through the trees above us, but our tent was seldom shaken. One fear, though, was that snow tends to drift into protected areas where it can drop out of the wind. Twice each day I would use the lid of our largest pot from the cook kit as a snow shovel and clear the snow away from the walls of the tent. I tried to keep a clean space in front of the tent door so that we wouldn’t drag too much snow into the tent whenever we came back in. Going outside and coming back in was always a liability. We would return to the tent with wet parkas and boots and fresh snow on our hats. We could not help bringing moisture into the tent with us. And moisture was the enemy.

       Once, when we were becoming despondent, Diana began to sing the great old hymn “O God, Our Help in Ages Past.” To my amazement, she remembered all six verses. Many times throughout those 3 ½ day, prayers and traditional hymns of the church inspired us and renewed our hopes.

       It continued to snow hard all day Saturday. We slept much of the day. Boredom causes depression and depression makes you sleepy. That is a good combination to carry you through 68 hours in a tent. Sleeping so much tended to blend night and day; the only difference being whether it was light or dark. We would talk for a while, then sleep; sleep for a while, then talk. We were so close for such a long time that our heartbeats must have synchronized. I would never recommend it as marriage therapy, but Diana and I will forever refer to those 68 hours as the standard for how close two people can become in spirit. The dark of Saturday gradually became the light of Sunday morning.

       It was still snowing.

       I had a dream that one of the shock cords holding down the tent fly had snapped and the waterproof fly had blown off. Within minutes everything in the tent was wet. Within less than an hour I was cold. And then I died of hypothermia.

       We talked about dying. You simply slip away to the other side and leave all the mess of your life for someone else to take care of. It isn’t fair, but it isn’t difficult. They say freezing to death is painless. Dying should not be feared. If we believe at all in Christ’s promise of resurrection, we should not be afraid of death.

       We also talked about living. There are so many things we want to finish, things we want to do, time we want to spend with friends, places we want to go, grandchildren to watch grow. It’s certainly worth trying to live for. Maybe we could even live a bit more intentionally, put more into life and get more out of it. We both felt we wanted to live that future with the smelly, unkempt person with bad breath and dirty clothes lying beside us.

       The Bible tells us perfect love casts out fear. The opposite must also be true: perfect fear casts out love. While we focused our love upon each other we were an invincible team. We worked as one and remained confident. We had to face the fragile reality of our situation, but we weren’t really afraid. If we were to allow fear to creep in we would begin to disagree about things, blame each other, and make our situation even more precarious. If we allowed a crack of fear into our team the moisture would have an advantage. We were far safer being pinned in a tent with the one person we loved most.

       The weather report had actually forecast showers for Sunday, so we expected it to clear. Another day and night of the incessant pounding on the tent! We dreaded the hours ahead, knowing that our situation was becoming more and more uncertain. We still had enough food for several days, but we were running out of fuel. Our greatest concern, though, was that the odds of winning the battle against moisture stacked against us as the snow piled higher.

       As I reviewed in my mind every survival story I have ever read, I realized they all fail to speak about one of the most important issues: toiletry. There come those periodic occasions when you simply have to leave the tent. Since leaving the tent also meant coming back in, toiletry became a critical problem. With an aging prostate, that problem multiplied. We intentionally avoided drinking much water so we wouldn’t have to void much water. But that practice risks dehydration. Eventually, Diana would pee in a cook kit lid, and then toss it out the tent door. I used a water bottle in the same way. So we didn’t have to leave the tent. But there is that other common bodily function that just couldn’t be done discretely in the tent. For that we drew the line of intimacy. You go your way; I’ll go mine. Note: when toilet paper becomes instantly soggy, a snowball is an adequate substitute.

       All through the darkness of Sunday night we kept listening for silence—for the sweet sound that told us the precipitation had stopped. But it continued to pound, each drop knocking down our resolve another notch. If we couldn’t get out, then help couldn’t get in to us. We played numerous scenarios out in our mind: As soon as the storm stops they will be looking for us. Our friends will be so worried; they will surely sound the alarm. There will be a search plane, maybe even a helicopter. But motorized vehicles are banned from the Wilderness Area, so even a helicopter can’t land without special permission from Washington. That rules out a rescue by snow machines, too. Maybe someone could hike in on snowshoes, bringing a set for each of us as well. It seemed most likely, however, that help would come to us on horseback.

       We laughed when we thought of Bill Woodward taking over the office of the Buffalo airport and turning it into Air Force Command Headquarters. Lieutenant Colonel Woodward spent his career as a secretary to a five-star general in NATO Headquarters in Belgium. He knows how to make things happen. We could hear him barking, "You get a #N*&M!! airplane in the sky the moment you see the first patch of blue!" Laughter buoyed our spirits, but we were realistic about our chances. We were in a dicey situation to be sure. We counted on precious friends to make things happen for us.

      Monday morning, as I brought the coffee pot to the tent for our coffee, I yelled at the sky, "Stop it! That’s enough!" But the snow continued throughout the morning. We napped again. Sometime around noon I woke Diana up and told her to listen. "What do you hear? SILENCE!"

 

      It had been snowing for 68 hours straight. There were no promises in the still-dark sky, but we could move around without getting wet. We tramped out our trails to four points: one down to the kitchen, one over to the creek where we drew water, and one each to our separate toilets. They formed a cross.

      I recalled an old mentor of mine, Rev. Bill Taylor, who was the last U.S. pilot shot down in World War II. When he took off that morning he knew that the peace treaty was about to be signed. Hours later, as he floated in a life raft off the coast of Japan, he wondered if the war was over and if it might be safe to go to shore. He rowed in and began to receive enemy fire. If the war was over, those guys sure didn’t know it. He drifted offshore for the next three days and was becoming desperate. Twice, search planes flew down the coast and turned away before spotting him. Finally, he saw one last plane fly toward him, begin to bank, and then turn away. Hopelessly, he grabbed his signal mirror and miraculously the reflection hit exactly on the cockpit of that plane several miles away as he bobbled helplessly in the sea. He said the only thing he remembers seeing is the tiny cross in the center of the mirror. It was his salvation and his conversion.

      We were absolutely certain that there would be a search plane in the air as soon as the sky cleared. We knew that once we heard the plane, there would only be a few seconds to react, so we wanted to be ready for it and give the spotters as much help as we could. I tramped out a big SOS in 15 foot letters out in the middle of the clearing, then laid our space blanket beside it, silver side up, and anchored it with rocks. It was still quite cold so we returned to the tent.

At about two o’clock we began to see patches of blue sky. Our mood lifted with the clouds. At about three o’clock, we were suddenly struck by an intense heat inside the tent as the full sun broke through. We poured ourselves out into the sunshine and were soon peeling off clothing. We dowsed ourselves in sun screen as the reflection off the snow multiplies the sun’s burning power. We were ecstatic—dancing, whooping, and jumping up and down. Water cascaded down from high rock walls all around as the snow rapidly melted. We felt privileged to be witnesses to such rare beauty. Life is good! We would wait for the plane.

      Because we were feeling so good, we debated the message of the SOS. We wanted to let people know we were okay, but we also wanted to signal that we did need help. Eventually I wiped out the SOS and, in a different location, tramped out OK in 15 foot letters. Then we worried that OK might call off a search.

      That activity totally exhausted me. I kept bending over to catch my breath. If I stood up, I felt dizzy and a little nauseous. Diana explained that I was experiencing orthostatic hypotension, the low blood pressure affect that makes hospital patients pass out when they stand up after being in bed too long. It worried me that I might not be strong when it was time for action.

      Diana cooked a dinner of Moroccan stew and we were just settling down on a rock by the creek at six o’clock when we heard the whine of an airplane engine. I ran to the space blanket. Diana grabbed her red sleeping bag from the tent. We stood in the clearing and waited. The plane flew directly into Wilderness Basin. We could hear it on the other side of the ridge leading up to Cloud Peak. In a few minutes the plane emerged where it had entered. I waved the silver side of the space blanket in the setting sun and immediately the plane banked and flew toward us, roaring directly over our heads. I was waving the space blanket and Diana was swinging her sleeping bag. Our joy was uncontained; our friends could stop worrying. They would know we were okay.

      But the plane made no acknowledgment that they had seen us. It looped back over Cloud Peak and dropped again into Wilderness Basin. It flew up and down the Basin for over an hour. During that time it flew over us three times, but we became less and less certain that we had been seen. We began to worry about the safety of the people in the plane as it was getting too dark for them to continue flying in the mountains. It was nearly dark when the plane departed and we were left to wonder. If we had not been seen, our friends would worry even more…especially when we did not return to our truck on Monday night as we had intended.

      Margie and Larry Gustafson think it is their job to worry. We had counted on them. Our itinerary had said we would be out on Sunday night. At about midnight on Sunday, they could stand it no longer and contacted the Johnson County Sheriff’s office in Buffalo. There were questions about which county would have jurisdiction if we were in Wilderness Basin. Johnson County passed the alarm to both Washakie and Big Horn Counties. Big Horn Deputy Tim Metro and Washakie County Deputy Rich Fernandez made a cursory search of trailhead parking areas in the early morning hours of Sunday night.

      The search actually began on Monday while it was still snowing. A team on horseback started riding up toward Misty Moon from West Tensleep Lake. They had difficulty finding the trail and were unable to get through the heavy snow, eventually returning to West Tensleep. They spent the night at a cabin near Deerhaven Lodge. Drifted snow blocked passage into Battle Park early on Monday. Later, after the sun had burned off some of the snow, vehicles were able to break through. Mel Walker, Red Fowler, and Ryan Taylor rode 4-wheelers up the Lily Lake Trail to the Wilderness Area boundary then returned over Bald Ridge. Michael Decker, in an Olympian effort, rode a 4-wheeler up the Lily Lake Trail to the Wilderness boundary before running on snowshoes all the way to Lake Marion and back before dark. Volunteers from Big Horn County spent the night in Battle Park so they could get an early start on Tuesday morning. We were unaware of any of that activity and we never met any of those people.

 

      We retired on Monday night disconcerted about the airplane fly-over. It was comforting to know for sure that the search had begun, although we had no idea how much had already been set in motion. Both of us continued to hear the whine of the plane all night long as it was burned into our heads. We kept waking to verify that the snow had not started again. We waited for dawn.

      Tuesday morning had some light mare’s tail clouds that dissipated by 10 a.m. We decided to wait until noon to allow more snow to melt out and then attempt to pack ourselves over at least as far as Misty Moon. That would make us more visible and more accessible. If we were lucky, perhaps we could even hike all the way out. We enjoyed the morning in the sunshine. I sat on a big rock with my shirt off, airing out my smelly body. Diana wore a sports bra. We even boiled some water and bathed.

      We broke our camp and loaded our packs, ready for a noon departure. We were very apprehensive about getting down the boulder field that surrounded our campsite, crossing the now-swollen creek that separated us from the Misty Moon Ridge and getting through all of the heavy snow drifts that were certain to block our way. We considered leaving all of our unnecessary items behind in order to travel as lightly as possible. We would definitely take our tent and sleeping bags because it was unlikely that we could make it all the way out.

      Diana had her pack on her back and I was just tightening the last straps of mine when we heard a voice from the ridge above Misty Moon.

      I yelled back. Diana, knowing the sound that travels best across open spaces in the mountains, broke into “Ruselka’s Song to the Moon” by Antonin Dvorak. The cowboys, coming to our aid on the other side, were not opera buffs but they reported that they had never heard more beautiful music. We could see three riders and four horses.

      We were saved!

      There was a Beachcraft plane in the air at the moment the riders spotted us. We later learned that was Lt. Col. Bill Woodward piloted by Tom Newell, come up to take matters into their own hands. We were spotted right at noon. People in Sheridan later told us they learned at 12:05 that we had been spotted. It took the riders another 45 minutes to reach us. Doug Eibert, his friend Derrick Hicks, and Craig Smith, from Big Horn Search and Rescue, had started early and pushed their way through snowdrifts up the Lily Lake Trail from Battle Park. Doug and Craig climbed up the boulder field through the deep snow to reach us. They wore cowboy boots, chaps, and broad-brimmed hats. It was a perfect Wyoming rescue. I led our party down a safer route through the boulder field, picking the way with my trekking poles to avoid leg-breaking holes.

      Below the rocks, where Derrick was waiting with the horses, they radioed another group of riders they knew were coming up from West Tensleep—the same group that had turned back the previous night. They were already at Misty Moon and had an extra pack horse and a mule. We let the horses rest and waited for the other party to join us. Doug offered me an Arby’s sandwich, courtesy of the Big Horn Search and Rescue.

      The other group—Jim Emerson, his friend Bob Aldinger, who owned the horses, and Shane Sanderson—represented the Washakie County Search and Rescue. We watched them follow the trail made by the first group down the ridge and across the creek. Jim and Shane, who wore yellow pants, didn’t say much and ate cold beans out of a can. They greeted us with big bear hugs. Jim said, "We came looking for victims and find you two in shorts and a sports bra!"

      The searchers had come into the mountain not knowing what they might find, if they found anything. Their excitement in finding us alive equaled our excitement at being found. Diana asked Jim why he does these things. He said that his nine-year-old son was accidentally killed when he and the baby sitter were playing with a gun. He had no closure. He hopes that he might spare other families that grief. He said, "Your family wouldn’t have had closure if we hadn’t found you."

      Diana asked how the horses react when they carry dead bodies out. The grizzly answer was that it depends on the condition of the corpse. If a body is found before rigor mortis sets in, they try to bend the body over a log so that it might fold over a saddle. If it’s already stiff, they have to break the back. I wished she hadn’t asked.

      At the top of the ridge we met up with Bob on his mule, leading another mule. The ride back down the mountain was a celebration: eight people and nine horses (including the 2 mules—one of them carrying our packs and another carrying the searchers’ gear). That left the group short one riding horse. When Diana and I changed clothes, we were dressed best for hiking, but they would not allow us to walk. In their cowboy boots, they took turns walking. Diana was given Craig’s gentle, intelligent Tennessee Walker named Midnight. She fell in love with him. Seeing to it that our group didn’t spread out too far was Doug’s dog, Ruby Blue, named appropriately as she is part Red Healer and part Blue Healer. Jim thought she should be called Purple. We followed the incoming tracks from the morning back down the Lily Lake Trail. Those who had come up that trail just a few hours earlier were amazed at how much snow had melted. They led us down on a trail we had never known of before, more beautiful than the one we had hiked up a week earlier. It took our party 4 ½ hours to ride down on horseback what had taken us 5 hours to hike up a week earlier with full packs of 53 and 43 pounds.

      It is unlikely that Diana and I could have made it even to Misty Moon on foot. We may not have been able even to cross the creek. The weather forecast indicated another storm was approaching. It dropped another foot of snow on the Big Horns on Thursday, and continued through Sunday. The reality is that there was about a 36-hour window in which our rescue could have been successfully completed. We had enough food to hold out for a few more days, but our fuel was almost gone. Our spirits flagged at the thought of another night in the tent. It would have taken a heavy emotional toll. To our great relief, Search and Rescue did their job before that 36-hour window closed.

      When we finally arrived at Battle Park there was an army of support team members awaiting us. Vanessa King, who had been the spotter in the plane on Monday evening, was there. She explained that they had also been trying to find a route to guide Jim and Shane into Misty Moon. Deputies Metro and Fernandez were there. We all shared our individual parts of the story, dined on a tailgate picnic, and then lined up for pictures. Someone had cleared the snow off our truck for us. After about an hour, the horses were trailered and we got in our truck and drove home.

      My final words were, "I just couldn’t think of any other way to get a free trail ride."

 

      We are not the heroes of this story. Our friends are the heroes, especially Gus and Margie and Bill Woodward, who didn’t sleep for three nights and who organized the network of communications with our family members and other concerned friends. And those wonderful Search and Rescue volunteers are heroes. (See addendum for names.) They risked their lives and their livestock for total strangers. The cost of such a rescue effort is astronomical. Search and rescue outfits are subsidized by the donation of $1.00 with the purchase of a Wyoming hunting or fishing license.

      This story is not one of the great epics of survival and rescue. It is noteworthy only because it followed the text book on survival and rescue, and everything went the way a search is supposed to go.

      Looking back on the experience, searching the details for the lessons they hold we find the following:

Our faith in the goodness of humanity is restored. People are willing to risk everything for a stranger.

We forget how much people mean to us until we think we have lost them. We need to express our love more often.

The web of concern spread literally nation-wide, drawing people together into one caring community.

Community, however it is formed, is the presence of Christ and Christ is the presence of God.

Prayers supported us throughout, both ours and everyone praying for us.

 

For those who would trek into the wilderness, we offer the following advice:

*Always leave an itinerary with someone who will know approximately where you will be and when you will be expected home.

*Be prepared for all kinds of weather in any season.

*Have good equipment and know how to use it.

*Carry more food than you expect to need.

*If you get into trouble, stay by your shelter and wait for help to come to you.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

They’re Missing

By Kathy Detert (Diana’s sister)

 

These things can happen in the mountains, you know.

They’re missing! Oh wait, that really can’t be so.

We talked by phone not long ago.

They’re missing! My stomach dropped down to my shoes.

I think, "It’s not real, and we’ll soon have good news."

They’re missing! A snowstorm of 20 inches plus

and a wind that is blowing in 60 mile gusts.

They’re missing! A prayer chain is starting today,

praying that they’re safe and out of harm’s way.

Brother phones and says he can wait no longer.

He has to inform our 90-year-old father.

They’re missing! Search planes went up and found not a trace.

We pray harder to our Lord, asking His grace.

The air is gray with the day’s first light.

Men out on horseback searched through the night.

"They’ve been found alive and they’re doing well."

Praise our God up in heaven for ending our hell.

How can they search for those they’ve not met?

And risk their own lives without any regret?

The story of Jesus and his sheep comes to mind:

He searched and he searched, no matter the cost,

To find and to rescue those who are lost.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Our Unsung Heroes

by Margo Sigg (Diana’s niece)