Brother Kiááyo

 Kiááyo

The storm had stopped. The scene, as I looked at the steep, rocky side of Mt Stimson, was snow, massive out-cropping of grey rock with an occasional cluster of lodge pole pines. The valley was buried under a sea of snow the edge of which was lapping at the entrance to the cave where I had taken shelter.

It was a beautiful scene but I wasn't enjoying it. My leg hurt and I had no idea how I was going to get back down the mountain to the trail-head, road and help. I checked on my ResQLink. It was still transmitting. I had put it in a protective bag and left it outside the cave so that the signal would hopefully be received. I was almost eight and a half miles from the trail-head, an injured leg and no idea of whether or not help was coming. Perhaps once the storm had passed and the skies cleared the ResQLink would be able to make a satellite connection.

As I sat contemplating my next move I heard the sound of the helicopter. It moved slowly up the valley between the two mountains. Spotting me, the helicopter hovered and the pilot waved. There was no place for it to land. They had undoubtedly anticipated that. A man on the passenger side leaned out and dropped a large parcel. It was filled with supplies and a radio so that I could communicate with the rescue team as they made their way to my location.

I waved at the helicopter as it pulled away. Looking across the valley to the side of Mt Stimson I saw him. We stood and looked at each other for a long time. “Thank you, brother Kiááyo” (brother bear). I called to him as I waved. With that the great animal turned and ambled down the valley.

It had all started as a quick overnight excursion to the Upper Nyach Campground. I had followed the Pinchot Creek from the highway. I was at the overlook between Mt. Stimson and Mt Pinchot about nine and a half miles from the trailhead. It was just after noon. I had figured that, if I made good time, I would would go to the top of Mt Pinchot. I had made good time but the weather was threatening. I had anticipated rain but the temperature was dropping fast.

About that time I heard a rumble. Before I could decide whether or not it was thunder I was being pelted by rocks. It was a rock slide. Instinctively I headed toward cover behind a giant bolder that had undoubtedly fallen in another slide. Sadly I didn't make it. Ducking a bolder that was bigger than me I ran right into the path of a slightly smaller piece of Mt Pinchot. The pain in my left leg was excruciating. I fought to keep my balance and remain conscious. I lost both battles ending up in a heap a few yards below the point of impact.

I began to regain consciousness about an hour later. My head was cold. I opened my eyes. The ground was already white and my body was covered with a thin layer of snow. It wasn't easy to sit up. Next to me was my trusty Tilly hat – a felt fedora mountain hat with ear flaps tucked up inside. I pulled out the ear flaps and felt the warmth as my ears were protected from the bite of the wind. I couldn't help but chuckle to myself thinking about how many time Indiana Jones' fedora came bouncing back to him.

It was then that I was reminded why I was lying on the ground covered with snow. Without thinking I tried to move my legs. My left leg was going to have nothing to do with it and complained loudly. Well, I yelled loudly.

My trousers were ripped open from just above my gaiters to close to my hip. There was lots of blood but it looked more like an abrasion than a cut. There were no bones protruding. That was a good sign.

I pulled myself up into a sitting positing propped up against the giant bolder to which I had been running for cover and pulled off my backpack. There were lots of marks, scratches and tears on the pack. It had taken a lot of the impact for me and might have saved my life. I opened up the large front compartment. That's where I always keep the first aid kit. I had been carrying this backpack with all of the emergency, survival and first aide equipment every time I set foot on a trail for almost ten years. I had always explained that you don't have to been 20 miles into the wilderness to need emergency and survival gear.

After cleaning up my leg I tried to stand. It didn't work. I found one of my poles nearby but the other had been mangled. It too had probably played a part in protecting my leg from more serious damage. The one pole gave a little bit of support but movement was exceptionally slow, painful and shaky. It didn't take me long to figure out that I wasn't going to make the 9 mile walk out. It was snowing even harder. I needed serious help.

Some years before my family bought me a ResQLink for Christmas. It was one of those gifts, like insurance, you hope never to need. The ResQLink not only had the traditional distress signal but it had a satellite link that was monitored by 200 countries around the world. Everything I had read said that if you are injured in the wilderness of North America they can pinpoint your location in twenty minutes. I looked up at the snow. I sure wasn't going to find out if that was right. No hope of a satellite signal in a snow storm. My ResQLink occupied a mesh pocket in the front zipper compartment so that it would be easy to access.

I sat there looking at the small device. When I had registered it with the government there had been stern instructions that it is only to be activated in a life-or-death emergency. I looked up into the snow storm. What little I could see of the mountain in front of me, the pain in my leg, and the nine miles to the road convinced me that this was just such an occasion. I pushed the lever which released the antenna and pushed the button. The ResQLink began to tell the world that I needed help.

Leaning back against the bolder I tried to ignore the pain and think about what I needed to do next. Of course I knew that shelter had to be my top priority. Looking around I decided that this spot wasn't going to provide the shelter I would need. If I could work my way back toward the road, the tree-line was about a mile south. It was still early afternoon. Despite the darkness created by the storm it was still daylight and would be for several hours. I felt I had a much better chance of finding a good place to hold up if I could get to the tree-line.

It was extremely slow going. I spent more time dragging myself than anything even related to walking. As I moved along I scoured the area for anyplace where I might make a shelter. I was getting cold and tired.

I had gone about half way to the tree-line and was trying to get out of the biting cold wind by sitting under an overhang. By this time I knew what explorers and survivors meant when they said they 'reached down inside' for every ounce of strength and courage.

My mind turned toward an old indigenous people's prayer.

Send your strength

oh mighty Kiááyo.

At my time of need

Teach me to understand

that I possess all

the resources necessary

to survive.

Guide me toward strength,

brother Kiááyo.

I decided that I had to make my stand right there. Mustering up all the strength I could find and repeating the prayer, I pulled out a tarp. I struggled for quite some time to fasten it in such a way that it would afford me some protection from the driving wind that now made the snow feel like needles against any exposed skin.

That's when I saw him. The mighty Kiááyo – a large multicolored Grizzly bear - walking toward me. I reached to my hip where I always carried my bear spray. The can had been crushed. Kiááyo kept coming seeming almost oblivious to the storm that was getting more fierce by the minute. All I could do was sit and watch him get closer.

The bear stopped some few yards away. He was close enough that I could see his eyes. In bear school they teach you not to look them directly in the eyes because that can be interpreted as threat or challenge. But I couldn't help it. The giant grizzly, his hair standing straight out to his side from the force of the wind, stood looking at me. The face, the eyes, showed compassion.

Humans like to think we're the only animals who have feelings. I've know for a very long time that isn't true. I really didn't need the scientific evidence from such scientists as Dr. Carl Safina but he did show that we actually inherited our ability to have feelings from animals who have been on this planet a much longer time.

For some reason I wasn't terrified. Strictly speaking he would have been very much in his right to have had me for dinner. It was survival in the wilderness. But I couldn't take my eyes off his face.

Kiááyo stood and looked at me for a short while. Then he started around the overhang under which I was hiding. He started toward the almost vertical wall of Mt Pinchot. Every once and a while he would stop and turn to look at me. Then he would turn his head toward the mountain, back toward me and start moving again. He seemed to want me to follow, and when I did, he moved quickly up the mountain.

Not twenty yards from where we had started he stopped at the base of a sheer wall. He looked at the wall and then at me. He did this several times. Finally I raised my hand in reply. I don't know why except I felt that was what I should do. I needed to let him know that I knew he wanted me to look at that wall. I don't know if it meant anything but he seemed to drop his head and then moved off parallel to the wall heading toward the tree-line.

As I dragged myself toward the mountain face I struggled to see through the blowing snow. But then there it was. At first it was just a dark spot in the side of the mountain, but as I drew closer I could see. It was a cave.

It wasn't the Waldorf. It wasn't even a Motel 6. It was better. It was shelter which meant survival. It meant that I could go back into the cave where I was away from the wind and the snow, crack open a couple of the chemical heat packets in my survival kit, crawl into my -20 degree sleeping bag and get some rest.

Yes, I thought about this being the bear's den, but there was no sign of den material – grasses, branches, etc., to make a place to hibernate. Besides this was a lot larger than any bear den I had know about. I think maybe it was too big for conservation of energy. In any case, my options were to risk this place of refuge and take my chances that I'd end up dinner, or try to survive outside with very poor odds. Before I burrowed back further into the cave I put my ResQLink in a weather-proof case and set it outside in a somewhat protected spot so that it could continue to transmit my distress signal.

I rolled out my sleeping bag, took a couple more pain killers from my first aide kit, cracked a chemical heat pack, and lay down to rest. That was the first time I really felt that I was going to survive. “Thank you, brother Kiááyo,” I said as I closed my eyes.

I pushed the mike button on the old radio they had dropped with the supplies.

“Dispatch, this is the hiker is distress.”

“Hiker, Dispatch” came the reply, “what is your status?”

“I was injured in a rock slide,” I replied. “I'm stable but I can't walk. Afraid I'm going to have to wait for help.”

“A rescue team is on the way. It should only be a few hours.”

“That's wonderful” I said.

I sat looking out over the valley between Mt Stimson and Mt Pinchot. It was a postcard wonderland. Despite the throbbing in my leg I could appreciate the majesty of the mountain before me and the beauty of the new fallen snow.  But most of all I wanted to see Kiááyo again.  I wanted to thank him for saving my life.  I searched the side of the mountain with my binoculars but he was not to be seen.