Alive and Ticketed

Friday night (May 23) we began our survival camp. The explorers had been planning for several months and we were prepared (or so we thought). We had done some research on wilderness survival, had learned to start a fire with only flint and steel (as long as we had some lint), had pocket knife, compass, map, emergency space blanket, MRE (Meal Ready to Eat) from army surplus, and we were pumped--we were ready. To make the event more like something we could visualize, we decided that we would act as if we were shot down behind enemy lines and we had to get back to our unit before the end of the next day. Our roles were assigned by drawing out of a hat. Adam drew commanding officer--the one to lead by example. Map and compass as his best friends, Niels drew nagivator. Steve drew medic and started right off with a patient, Josh, who drew the hunter with a broken arm. (Ironically enough, Josh is a medical doctor.) Quartermaster duties went to Andrew along with the realization that only five MREs survived the crash. Survival specialist fell on me (a fitting role since I had survived for my entire life up to this point).

Mary Lee agreed to drop us off near the top of Mt. Lemmon, so we loaded up our gear into the suburban and took off. After twenty five miles of winding roads and climbing terrain we arrived at Organization Ridge just below Palisades Ranger Station at almost 8,000 feet above sea level. We hopped out of the suburban into two inches of snow and a brisk biting breeze. The sun was covered by a thick layer of dark clouds and we all seemed to be thinking twice about our survival camp idea. May in Arizona is seldom cold and never snowy, but somehow, this day in this May was way out of the norm. It proved to be the coldest May 23 on record. Even so, we were tough. . . we were macho . . . we could handle it.

We grabbed our gear, which was pretty scant because of our crash scenario, and began our trek through slushy snow. The wind whined through the trees and whipped our faces as we zipped up our coats and held our hats. At times we couldn't tell if it was starting to sprinkle or if the wind was merely blowing the loose wet snow from the branches above. As we clustered around Niels we tried to identify on the map where we were and where we were going. Now a topographic map is one thing to look at in a classroom, but something very different in the field. Those contour lines don't look like mountains or valleys and distances on foot surely seem longer than the fraction of an inch on the map. With the compass to orient the map and us, we figured where we would likely find the trail. Down a slippery and steep slope of snow covered branches and rocks we slipped and tripped to what was proclaimed to be the trail. Miraculously nobody actually fell. So far so good. With snow on the ground everything looked similar, so the slight variation in the slope that we called a trail was a stretch of the immagination. Nevertheless it did seem to have other evidences that made it worth following. The dear tracks showed we were not alone on the mountain, and we were expecting to see squirrels and rabbits as well. We began to talk about bears and mountain lions as we marched single file behind Niels. For a young guy only about 5'-9" tall, he set a pace that we had trouble matching. At first we tried to make talk that he would want to hear, but after a while we just had to call out to him to slow down.

Our plan was to set up camp just below Mud Spring, according to the map about 2.3 miles down the trail and at an elevation of about 6,000 ft, where it was supposed to be below the snow line. When we arrived there was not a good camping place to be found so we continued down the trail for about 2 more miles. We measured our progress using the Roman soldier method--one thousand paces to the mile. (Mille being the Italian word for one thousand, and a pace being a right plus a left step.) Each of us took turns counting one hundred.

At dusk we arrived at a rocky outcropping which afforded a degree of protection from the wind and we scouted around to find a decent campsite. We found a place where we could build a fire in a rock niche where the heat would be reflected back to us and where there was no chance for the fire to spread. The terrain around the fire site was gently sloped and there were dead trees not too far away to provide an ample supply of firewood. Adam, our commanding officer, gave his approval so we began to make camp and dubbed it "Camp Awesome" because of the view.

With a few handfulls of dried grass and small tinder we made a little nest to catch the sparks from our flint and steel. We had purposefully not brought matches because we were up to the challenge to start a fire without them. As we all gathered around to shelter the sparks, Niels began striking his knife and the flint vigorously. Grass--no good. Paper napkin--no good. Cloth--no good. At last a bit of fluffed up lint from my pocket caught the spark and made a small flame which soon spread to the grass and twigs. Little by little we fed the fire with gradually larger branches until we had a modest but adequate fire. The heat bounced off the rocks just as we had hoped. As long as we used well dried material the smoke was not bad.

Hey, hey! Big success--Fire without matches. We were pretty proud of ourselves. Although Niels did most of the work we were all taking the credit for making the fire. We were mountain men--tough, independent, undaunted by the elements.

New task--prepare and eat our MREs. New challenge--six hungry guys; five MREs. With the wisdom of Solomon, and the mind of a lawyer, Andrew, our quartermaster, surveyed the situation, recognized that Niels was allergic to some of the MRE contents, and quickly gave Niels what he could eat and the rest of the food to us. It worked great. Sharing. Comradery. Well, all right, forced redistribution of resources, but at least no one got mad.

It appeared that only Adam had eaten an MRE before. They are really sort of neat. There are compact plastic pouches for each of the courses: manicotti and tomato sauce for main course, "Ranger Bar" with peanut butter for filler course, and spice cake for dessert. They even contained a little "heater" to warm the main course: In a small plastic bag just large enough to hold the main dish pouch is a dry chemical which is activated by pouring in a little water. The water and the chemical combine to make an exothermic reaction which heats up the main dish and voila', in about 5 minutes, hot manicotti and tomato sauce. We were really cookin' now.

Full (at least partly) and warm (at least partly) we figured it was time to bed down for the night. The breeze was not bad; the fire was going. We were protected by a rising cliff on the west and a falling cliff on the east. We had a defensible position and did not expect any intruders (animals or otherwise). Acting like we knew what we were doing we pulled out our emergency space blankets. They are very compact and unfold to be about 5' wide and 8' long. Trying to wrap ourselves in the flimsy blankets was akin to chasing a dandelion seed--even the slightest breeze sent it everywhere. We tried to duct tape outselves in but when we sat down the blankets shredded. No matter how you lay on it, rock is hard and uncomfortable and there is always at least one place where it pokes through everything. We had no padding at all so the poking was intolerable. Now, the stores may advertise that space blankets reflect in up to 90% of your body heat, but they don't say that space blankets don't even come close to keeping you warm. To top it off, the space blankets sounded like crushing bags of potato chips with every wiggle so after a couple of hours of pretending to sleep we began to congregate around the fire embers to weather the night. Steve was first to suggest that we could do a night hike. After all, why just sit around the fire. Niels and his dad, Andrew, somehow seemed actually to be asleep. (I just think they were better at faking it. We were pretty certain that they were indeed faking because they got up after we kicked and poked them until they couldn't fake it any longer.) Adam had learned that even though his camelback water bag was soft, it leaked when used as a pillow and he was trying to dry out a few wet spots on his jacket and pants.

On the brighter side, Steve had fixed Josh's arm so well that it was completely healed and no longer needed a splint.

After taking a vote on the night hike idea, we decided to go for it--after all we had three flashlights, did not know where we were going, had very little moonlight, and were tired of laying on worthless, crinkly, cold, space blankets on hard rock beds. We ingeniously doused the fire and made certain there were no live embers and then hit the trail again. Although it was about midnight we told ourselves that we weren't really that tired anyway.

It was no problem to get back on the trail because we had left it just a few hours earlier, but after a short distance on the trail it was becoming tough to discern just where the trail was. The ground was no longer rocky soil, rather it was solid rock or bolders. It was impossible to see a trail at all except for the markers. Someone who had gone before us (probably in the daytime) who knew where the trail was had wisely marked the trail by stacking several rocks on top of each other to show the way. Because the trail zig-zagged down the mountain it was not easy to know where to go. Furthermore, there were steep slopes and cliffs that could be a potential hazard. At times the trail was so hard to find even a couple of steps past the stacked rock markers we were uncertain where to go next. As we flashed our lights around we could see another marker in the distance or perhaps a spot of trampled grass that was a clue to proceed. If there had not been the markers we would have likely taken much longer to get down and no doubt would have had a much tougher time of it in the process. It was doubly reassuring when we would see a stack of rocks along a segment of trail which was already pretty well defined. It was like a little whisper of encouragement from our unseen friend saying we were on the right track. Adam and I led the way. At times when I was stumped often Adam's sharp eyes picked up some subtle clue that kept us moving in the right direction. Even though I am bigger than Adam, he also helped me keep from falling at some of the slippery places. By helping each other we all made it safely. With only one "power nap" at what we think was Sycamore Flat, we hiked through the night. At about 4:00 a.m. as we were making it down the mountain patting ourselves on the back at how tough we were, we happened to see a young guy and girl coming up the trail. They weren't even out of breath! By 5:00 in the morning we could see the upper reaches of Sabino Canyon and we picked up our pace. As we headed down the last stretch of trail we saw a sign on its side which read something like, "Beware of ogre on trail." We didn't give it much thought and even chuckled at it as we passed. About a half mile later we stepped past an orange section of plastic construction fencing material and placed our tired feet on level pavement. It looked like there was some construction in process but it was too early for any workmen. The heavy equipment lay silent like a massive metal ghost town against the gray dawn. We plodded on.


Although we were tempted to take another "power nap" we were so close to the end of the trail that we pushed ourselves onward. The sky was getting lighter and the birds were starting to awaken. We were zombies on automatic pilot placing one foot in front of the other. Near shuttle stop seven we noticed a green pick-up truck approaching. Although curious we did not think much of it, but it did seem a bit early for traffic at 5:30 a.m.

We continued walking right up to the truck as it slowed to a stop. A black haired female law enforcement officer in full uniform stepped out of the cab and immediately addressed Adam.
"Put down the weapon," she said commandingly as she gestured at the small crossbow in his hands. As Adam wisely complied, she asked, "What are you doing here?"
"We have been hiking down the mountain," we replied innocently.
"Did you know this is a restricted area?" she continued, "Didn't you see the signs?"
"What signs?" we said. "There were no signs."
She pointed down the canyon and said, "There is a big orange one right across the road."
"We weren't coming from that direction. We came down from Mt. Lemmon and there were no signs where we came from except an Ogre on the trail sign," we stated flatly. We didn't say it out loud but we were thinking we had finally met the ogre.
"Where are you from?" she queried looking directly at me.
"Tucson," I responded.
"Haven't you heard about parts of the canyon being closed?" she asked.
"Sure, but there are dozens of trails and only a few were supposed to be affected." I commented.
"Well this is restricted and you will have to wait here for a while." she said as she returned to her truck.

About 45 minutes later she had given each of us a ticket for a $75 fine for walking in a restricted area. Tired and now incredulous we asked, "Couldn't we at least get a ride back to the parking lot. We are beat."
She said, "There is only one way you can get a ride in my truck, and that is if you are in handcuffs."
Without even a pause, I put both hands together and extended them to her, "Put on the cuffs, I'm ready to go. And these are my accomplices." I said as I motioned at Steve and Adam. They had big grins on their faces and the lady officer just broke out laughing. Then she told us to get walking.

Rough, tough, mountain men, caught just before getting back to our unit. I hate it when that happens.

Quick get out the cell phones and call for back-up. Andrew called his wife to come get Niels and him. Steve, Adam, Josh and I ran into Mary Lee and Camille on their morning walk so we borrowed the car and headed for home.

We made it home after our 16 mile survival hike: Alive and ticketed.

(By the way our counting paces strategy worked pretty well. We measured about 15.3 miles and the map said it was 15.7 miles. Not bad. Those Roman soldiers knew what they were doing.)