I waited all day Monday for a press release from Prince George RCMP saying police and search and rescue members were called out Sunday evening to look for a 53-year-old male who got himself lost in the woods.
They didn't send one so, as we says in the news business, I've decided to get out in front of the issue.
The missing 53-year-old male was me.
I've reported on plenty of lost hikers over the years so here's my story, in full, excruciating and embarrassing detail.
Earlier Sunday, I joined the Caledonia Ramblers on a hike out to Lost Lake (yes, that really is the name) in Beaverly.
Despite the drizzle, it was enjoyable and relatively uneventful, until I discovered that I had dropped my camera somewhere back on the route.
Rather than tell everyone, both out of embarrassment and a reluctance to have everyone backtrack along the trail, I decided to go back out later that day once we had all safely returned to town.
Before I did make the return trip, I went on the internet to find out when the sun was supposed to go down - roughly 5:30 p.m. as it turned out. I figured that gave me a bit of time and, if I'm lucky, I'd find the camera and be back to my car by the time it was dark out.
The plan began to backfire almost as soon as I was back out to the site.
At Lost Lake, it's not so much an organized trail system as spaghetti on a plate. Some routes are flagged, others not and, because it would be a shorter walk, I decided to work backwards and follow the final leg of the loop we took to get back out from the lake.
That only made things more complicated as I took a few wrong turns, wasting valuable time in the process. Fortunately, I had my GPS and was finally able to make it out to the point where we had turned away from Lost Lake for the final stretch home.
From there, I figured, it would just be a matter of retracing the route. But it had also turned dark out and even with a headlamp, visibility was less than ideal, especially when your breath is kicking out a surprisingly thick fog as the temperature cools.
I followed the trail back to where it ended and we had taken a bit of an unmarked diversion through a somewhat swampy section, which is where I had last pulled out my camera to get a photo of us picking our way through the bog.
I decided I was going to need some daylight and turned back. I tried to retrace my route, mindful that even earlier in the day finding the right trail back out to the road was a little tricky. It was at about that time I discovered my GPS had fallen out of my pocket - evidently, I have trouble holding onto things that aren't tied to my pack. I tried looking for it, but for the life of me, just could not find it.
By then, it was about 6 p.m. and I knew that, as the crow flies, my car was about 750 metres away.
What's more, I found the trail we took earlier in the day. Luck was on my side, or so I thought.
I took a left when I was supposed to go right, or I took a right when I was supposed to go left and quickly found myself crawling over blow down and relying on what I hoped was the right direction in general to get me back to civilization.
I worked uphill in the belief that at the top would be the road. But as soon as I got to the top, I found no road but rather another dip into a gully below. And the further I went, the fewer signs there were of trails to follow.
It was a case of crawling through and over a pile of blow down, advancing maybe another 20 metres and then dealing with another thicket of fallen trees.
I finally came to the realization that I was well and truly lost.
It was a dark and very uncomfortable feeling, one I had spent the last hour-and-a-half or so trying to avoid.
As the proponents of 12-step programs say, the first step is acceptance, and I was finally there.
Fortunately, I had enough wherewithal to know I needed to be prepared for these kinds of situations.
I was carrying some energy bars and a water bottle filled with orange juice, an extra jacket, a lightweight ground sheet, some rope, an emergency bivouac bag, a cellphone and a whistle.
For some bizarre reason, I set everything up first before calling 911, maybe in the hope that some flash of fortune would light my way out of there. Of course, wishful thinking is a poor substitute for common sense and as soon as I had made a small shelter out of the ground sheet, rope and a few accommodating trees, I used my cellphone to call 911, which was probably the only wise thing I did all night. By then, it was probably about 8:30 p.m.
The people on the other end of the line were great. I gave them as much information as I could and strongly recommended they get hold of the trip leader from earlier in the day - I had parked my car at the point where we had got back out onto the road during the previous hike and he could direct them there.
My cellphone was more than dated - is Nokia even in business anymore? - and the battery was quickly losing power.
So the dispatcher I was talking to asked me to turn it off and to call back in about 45 minutes.
There was nothing I could do but wait. So I crawled into my bivvy bag and lied down on the hard, cold ground.
And cold is the operative word - if there was one thing I wished I had at that point, it was a lightweight foamy because the earth seemed to suck the warmth right out of me.
It even got me to thinking I just might not make it, but then I seemed to acclimate, particularly after a few nibbles of one of my energy bars. The shivering remained only slight. As I told the dispatcher during one of my calls back, I wasn't warm but I wasn't really cold either.
When I called back the first time, the dispatcher told me stay where I was, which was perfectly fine by me. And then I thought I heard people calling out for me, so I blew my whistle in response.
When I called back about a half-hour later, the dispatcher told me they found my car and have set up a base at that point, and that a police dog had been brought in as well as a crew of search and rescue personnel.
He also told me blow the whistle three times, wait a few seconds, and then blow again. And so I did, more or less constantly for the next 25 minutes or so. It gave me an odd sense of hope and something to do other than fret and whine about my predicament. All those things you hear about the psychology around being lost in the woods really are true.
Then, much sooner than I expected - because I was lost, really lost - I heard voices. I kept blowing, even when I saw the flashlights - I was a little confused over whether I was told to stop blowing or to keep blowing - but finally two RCMP officers and Dero, the police service dog, were on the scene.
"I owe you guys big time," I said.
But they were gracious in their responses saying this could happen to anyone. I was also told I was better prepared than most - they're often looking for someone in a T-shirt and shorts.
By then it was about 10:30 p.m. I had been out in the bush for about six hours - two hours longer than the hike earlier the same day.
When I was back out, I saw a lineup of at least two dozen vehicles parked along the roadside and a lot of smiles from the yellow-jacketed search and rescue members. I profusely thanked everyone, apologized for the trouble I caused and shook as many hands as possible.
The rescuers, in turn, gave me snacks and water and threw some blankets over me as I sat in the back of an RCMP truck. I'd been cold and clammy for so long I'd forgotten what warm and dry was.
A volunteer drove me back to Prince George in my car and by about 11 p.m. I was home. At that point, I was still confident I could have survived the night. But when I woke up the next morning, I wasn't so sure - another eight hours or so of waiting for the sun to come up is a long time.
What if the weather suddenly turned for the worse? What if my body was simply unable to generate enough heat as it was? Sanity had returned.
Lessons were learned, if not relearned given I should have known better in the first place.
As I was walking back along the road, one of the officers strongly suggested I get an iPhone. The batteries tend to last longer which makes contact easier and gives searchers a better chance to "ping" the phone and figure out where you are from that.
Also, attach everything that's loose to my pack. If my camera had been tied to the pack I would have known immediately when it fell out of its carrying case; the same goes for my GPS.
Finally, be cautious. Off and on, I've been doing this kind of stuff since I was in Scouts and have never ended up in such a bind.
I put way too much confidence in myself and my (supposed) abilities, and look at the trouble I caused.
My aim is to never get myself into this kind of situation again so I won't ever have to write another story about it.
