#mt etna | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pcttrailsidereader · 7 months

Text

Dave's Tale of Terror

Dave is a regular contributor to this website. What do you worry about when you are on the trail? I admit that my most disconcerting encounters have been with two-legged creatures in the backcountry. As we approach Halloween and the end of the 2023 hiking season, we would welcome having you write about your own close encounter with fear on the trail.

By Dave Baugher

Bad things can happen when you are out alone in the woods hiking. Hiking alone? That is a question I have heard over the years as I have ventured off on my own, hiking the Pacific Crest Trail from Mexico to Canada. One solitary word, spoken with an entire universe of concern behind those inquisitive, bright eyes looking at me – "Aren’t you scared while hiking – Alone?”

My answer is usually an unwavering “No,” but because mother nature is fickle and my trail-weakened mind is unpredictable, these axioms alarm me. The unknown before launching down the trail. Let’s face it; life on the Pacific Crest Trail is unpredictable, but these are healthy fears that keep my senses heightened and the outdoor experience enhanced.

Yet, some incidents rattle me and leave me wondering what happened. Let me tell you about one experience I had on Mount Etna in Northern California in 2019.

It had been a dreary, quiet day hiking along the Pacific Crest Trail in Northern California in July of 2019. A few days earlier, I had started my hike in the California town of Dunsmuir and had been making good mileage. Hiking over the 4th of July was fun. I saluted everybody with a “Happy 4th of July!” Foreign hikers always got a funny look of confusion on their faces when thus greeted.

However, today’s quietness did not spoil the magic, which is the PCT, I thought to myself. It’s just like the yellow brick road in the mythical land of OZ, but instead, I’m hiking a green path in the mythical land of California. Yet, the trail lacked traffic and featured a calm, dreary vibe that I could not shake.

Hiking alone has its ups and downs. That day, dreariness was an omnipresent pall on my mind. “Where is everybody?” I thought. Strolling along, I reflected on my other days on the trail. “Perhaps today, other hikers have all gone into the town of Etna to resupply and get some downtime,” I said. “Perhaps I should do the same.”

On the horizon, Mount Etna loomed in the distance, seemingly like the mythical Mount Doom in the Lord of the Rings saga. The trail began a gradual grade upwards toward the summit, dark and gray. The topographic map indicated the path would skirt the summit on the mountain's northern flank. Dirty ivory-colored spots and patches of snow could be seen along the sides where the trail was heading, and it was not long before the gray snow began to appear alongside, abutting the trail and impeding my progress. Soon, the snow engulfed the track, and my forward progress was stopped. I had a decision to make. Upslope or downslope? Eying the treacherous topography, I figured that if I slipped off the slope, which direction would be less dangerous to this hiker if he tumbled downhill? The decision seemed comfortable as the upslope provided a less steep and clear pathway to parallel the PCT.

Carefully sidestepping upwards, it was the right choice. The firm snow in the late afternoon shade provided secure footing and safe passage. After a quarter-mile or so, I could see below the snow-free PCT trail breaking free from a snowbank, and it was safe to make my way back downwards to the dry path below. Side-steeping carefully around a fallen tree snag, an unseen, grey, bone-like limb reached out and snagged the jacket hanging off the back of my pack, abruptly stopping me on the cold, slippery snow.

Gently moving my shoulders back and forth, shifting my loaded pack forwards and back, the limb would not release the unrelenting grip on my jacket, holding firmly, seemingly intentionally. With a sigh, I carefully removed my backpack while carefully keeping a firm purchase in the cold, slippery slope of snow. The pack came off my stiff body, looping around my right shoulder, and gently laid on the snow. I fussed with the jacket; the cold, dead limb had wrapped itself in the waterproof fabric, and seemingly did not want to release the garment. However, there was something wrong.

A strange pall fell about the mountainside, and all was quiet. The sun was well into its long western slide, and feeling abruptly uneasy, I freed my jacket from the dead tree limb. Reinserting into its stowage loop, I slung my backpack back onto my shoulders. Right then, something caught my eye: movement? Color? Here, off the trail on the side of Mt. Etna? I turned uphill to see what had caught my attention.

A solitary hiker was coming down through the trees from the summit, walking towards me with an impassive, glazed stare, looking right past me. His hair was dirty, long, and unkempt. Face blank, unshaven, grimy, and emotionless. A filthy, once-white tee shirt covered the skeletal body, and he wore a pair of 1970’s-era gym shorts. On his feet were old tennis shoes that crunched through the snow. The hiker was framed in the evening light as he came towards me, and there was a pistol hanging in his right hand.

My eyes widened as I spied the closed breech of the weapon. Looking up into his lifeless eyes, I simply said: “Hello, you aren’t going to do something stupid with that, are you?” The stranger mumbled unintelligibly and without breaking stride, passing me like a cool breeze while continuing downhill. Skirting the snowbank below, he ambled straight down the hillside across the PCT and disappeared into the trees without a slip.

Not missing a breath, I moved downwards towards the hard-packed trail and followed the path off Mount Etna to the valley below. “That was weird, crazy, and scary,” I thought as I hiked. Occasionally, I could see my strange new acquaintance ahead of me down through the trees, moving like a ghostly wraith. He silently cut all the switchbacks smoothly, and I followed the trail faithfully. Not a sound was heard as I kept my eyes on the hiker's apparition when I could see him.

After several miles, Sawyers Flat Road was soon seen, winding down the mountainside, and a dirty parking area appeared. Several cars were parked, but surprisingly, it was still quiet. I had expected to hear a car start with my new trail buddy at the wheel getting away down the road. Yet, not a sound. A car came along the roadway, passing the dirty parking area, and continued. But where the vehicles parked, there was no movement or sound. As I hiked down the trail to the road, the darkening evening had no sounds to perceive. Where was that guy with the gun?

Arriving at the parking lot, I discovered no one was in sight. Parked cars sat quietly, but no sounds and no stranger in a dirty tee shirt with a gun in his hand. He had disappeared like a cool breeze apparition or had my imagination gone wild, and I knew no vehicles had left the parking lot. Where was he?

Had I seen a ghost, a backwoods vagrant smoking dope on the mountain, or perhaps a lost soul who did something stupid in the past?

That evening, I managed to hitch a ride into the town of Etna and spend the night camped on the lawn of Alderbrook Manor B&B with other hikers. The evening was dying, and melancholy built in subtle colors about my quaint and somber tent site. I kept the incident on Mount Etna to myself. Doubting what happened, I did not want to draw attention or introduce uncertainty to my companions camped on the lawn treks.

Thoughts have drifted, again and again, to the what if? What if my stranger did something stupid? What if I became a murder statistic, or did that ghostly hiker do something stupid to himself and his spirit lives at the top of Mount Etna? I’ll never know, but I tried to figure it out.

Since returning home, I have researched Mount Etna, deaths, and strange events when folks have hiked the Pacific Crest Trail and discovered intriguing details about what sometimes happens when we head into the wilderness.

Information is hard to find about the topic in an obscure area such as Siskiyou County in Northern California. No historical material has been uncovered about a death on Mount Etna. However, data from FBI reports in 2017 cited only seven murders and non-negligent manslaughters in U.S. National Parks. Deaths in a national park are really, really low. Between 2007 and 2013, in all 59 parks, there were 1,025 fatalities. On average, approximately 160 visitors per year die while visiting national parks, not including suicide, according to numbers maintained by the National Park Service. Suicides? During 2003 – 2009, 194 suicides occurred in national parks, or about 32 per year, according to the CDC’s 2003-2009 Suicides in National Parks Report.

What does this research tell me about my encounter? Not much. Except to be careful. But what keeps me awake at night when hiking in the wilderness? Getting mauled by a bear? Gored by a mountain goat? Dying of heat? Dying of cold? Being shot by a vacant stared stranger on Mount Etna? These are among the least common causes of death in the wilderness. And some of the most common causes of death are the same things people die from anywhere, like car crashes and suicide. The number one cause of death in the wilderness? Drowning.

Finally, hiking alone is not a cause of death on the trail. Yep, bad things can happen when you are out unaccompanied, merrily rambling, lost in thought. Yet, thinking back to my encounter on Mt. Etna, I wonder less about the event and more about all the other harmful things that can happen. One final interesting detail I learned: Wildlife attacks are among the rarest ways to die in a national park. Between 2007 and 2013, four people were killed by bears, one died from a rattlesnake bite, and an unfortunate hiker was killed by a mountain goat in 2010.

Hiking Alone? Am I scared? No.

#Etna #Mt. Etna #guns #bears #heat #drowning #causes of death

5 notes · View notes