By Salvatore A. Barcia Jr.

Posted November 21, 2017

Sometimes we meet uncommon circumstances in our relatively common lives. Such situations can reveal one’s true character.

“Hiking, what a great idea!” we all agreed.

It was our second annual Lake George summer weekend, accompanied by the standard one-liners and visions of late nights at the fire pit. There was no reason to expect anything different than 2016’s venture. Mark and Syndi were our hosts (actually Mark’s parents); Ruth and Scott looked forward to a weekend without kids (although they can never help but miss them . . . a lot); Rick and Monica were celebrating their engagement; I was missing my wife and child on a Japan visit but happy to enjoy some time with friends; and Seven’s wit was always a key part of our weekend excursions. Bridget and Derek decided not to join us this year, citing work on their home as a reason.

“They’re going to miss a fun weekend,” we all agreed.

Of course in the hopes of keeping things interesting – especially for a group mostly comprised of 40-somethings – we decided to add a hike to the itinerary. Black Mountain was the hike of choice.

Not so Simple

Some of us were a little more seasoned as hikers, while others would probably have preferred a simple stroll in the woods. Nevertheless, we equally accepted a hike labeled “easy” with a “few” challenging sections. Starting at 2:00 in the afternoon didn’t even cause any concern.

“This should be a pretty simple hike,” we all agreed.

The day started out as any nature walk. New York State scored points with Ruth for the sign-in book at the start. We embarked on our journey and joked as the eight of us meandered through generally flat trails. Ruth and Rick eagerly enjoyed checking out small sights along the way – including a frog grabbing their attention – and Syndi snapped photos of . . . mushrooms.

Over time hikes turned to climbs, small stones evolved into larger rocks and slips became more common. The group splintered into the fast-paced and more challenged.

“This is a bit more difficult than we anticipated,” we all agreed.

Seven started struggling. It was no reflection on Seven, but rather Seven simply wasn’t prepared for our unexpected trial. We stopped often, hydrated, and kept the group together. The smarter move would have been to turn around or have some members help Seven return, however promises of a summit “just around the corner” plus an alleged “easier” return trail maintained our “you can do it!” mode.

Highs and Lows

Finally, the summit.

We stopped for lunch and enjoyed the wonderful vista. Rick and Monica indulged a moment of romance. Selfies were snapped. Seven and I relaxed in the shade and re-energized while soaking in the view. There was a feeling of accomplishment. We had made it, and Seven had made it too. The group had stuck together. We had done it!

“The way down should be much simpler,” we all agreed.

It was shortly after 6:00 pm, ample time to return before dark. As we commenced our travels down the “easier” path, we cursed the overgrown branches scraping against our skin. We were moving, but slowly, and soon realized this path was longer and more difficult than our ascent.

Mark and Monica moved quickly and eventually disappeared. While it could be interpreted at first glance they impatiently left us behind, in reality they had the foresight to see what was happening and acted – making their way out to get needed help. The rest of us continued along, with Seven struggling against leg cramps and dehydration. Soon however, Seven faced a more pressing problem . . . panic.

“This is going to be more difficult than we thought,” we all agreed.

Syndi and Ruth tried tough love. Rick offered compassion. I gave space. Scott provided Advil. Each worked for a while, however as we progressed Seven became more panicked and the trek more difficult. We kept moving, at one point even enjoying the natural beauty of the lake’s unspoiled shoreline. When we saw a trail mile-marker sign, Scott insisted it was one mile to the cars (I wasn’t sure if he had misread the sign). Rick and I shared a knowing glance about the 3.2 miles left to traverse.

“This is not going to be easy,” Rick and I agreed with our eyes.

It was well after 7:00 pm and we were moving at a snail’s pace. Our water supply was low since we had only considered an afternoon stroll (shame on us). Little or no phone service was available. We realized Mark and Monica had gone ahead for help, but couldn’t reach them so we trudged on. Syndi shared a prayer for our safety, and we wondered if our late friend Larry was looking on from the afterlife and providing help when needed most.

The Growing Predicament

Around 8:15 pm the problem became a crisis. Seven had pushed through cramps, dehydration and panic and was now facing labored breathing. When Scott revealed the actual distance back, Seven sat by a tree and had a meltdown. Unable to go on, Seven began to cry – and with the sun going down insisted we go on alone (not an option). Later Seven recalled how one part of the mind knew it was necessary to continue, but the more overwhelming section of the brain was throwing in the towel.

“This is a crisis,” we all agreed.

Scott and Syndi went ahead for help, water, food and extra flashlights. I was kicking myself for not having a flashlight, however despite my dislike of smartphones I was happy they supplied light. The one phone able to text before losing service was my lowly flip phone. Score one for smartphone . . . and one for the Luddite.

Rick, Ruth and I planned as the others left and the sun departed for the evening. Our primary concern besides getting Seven out of the forest: STAY ON THE TRAIL.

“If we get off the trail, this could become much more serious,” we all agreed.

Respect the Darkness

Thus began our trek in the dark. It was different than the darkness you see when the lights are off at home. Each time I peered into the blackness, I sensed the total absence of light in the forest. It created an air of mystery. As a breeze brushed by, my mind concocted fantastical stories of what might be delivering the wind, whether an oncoming train in the NYC subway or a mythical creature we only see in the cinema. The unspoiled night became the blank page of imagination.

First we had to get Seven moving. Rick and Ruth devised an ingenious ruse, convincing Seven to simply move past the next few trees to the “dry spot” (everywhere was a little wet). Seven stood, and all our mental strength went towards keeping Seven from sitting again. We each took on a role. I scampered through the dark (aided by Ruth’s phone light) to find the next trail marker. Ruth waited, and Rick guided Seven to the previous marker. Once at the next location I thumped on the tree with my walking stick (slowly breaking into smaller pieces), providing sound to follow and alerting rescuers to our whereabouts. As I was later told, this could also keep animals away.

“This is going to take a while,” we all agreed.

The night was pitch black and we were isolated from the outside world. Our journey was long and we couldn’t be sure if help would arrive. So we kept moving, keeping Seven focused on getting to the next marker.

“Step-by-step,” we all agreed.

We were out of water. Bugs had a buffet with our skin. Seven had periodic meltdowns, requiring Rick’s support. Ruth was a rock coordinating our expedition. Realizing her own dehydration, Ruth faced some anxious moments quickly managed as we supported each other. Later she enlightened us to her fear of a possible animal attack. Despite the low likelihood of an attack on these well-traveled paths, I am thankful the thought never surfaced in my mind.

Our remaining food consisted of bananas, so periodically Seven was offered one to eat.

“All I have is bananas and hope,” Seven thought.

While we all may have agreed, deep down we knew there was much more: friends plus an ability to push through our struggles were the only tools required.

Probably around 9:30 pm we heard someone calling to us. We were sure help was arriving, but it was coming from off the trail. After we told them our predicament they instructed us to wait for help. We quickly realized they were campers listening to the forest and not there to assist, so we continued to move. As I struck the next marker, we heard one of the campers call out “stop the hitting” (perhaps so they could hear the sounds of the woods). We wanted to respond with something snarky, but realizing the types of people one might encounter in the night forest – and perhaps having seen the movie Deliverance one too many times – Ruth responded with a simple “we’re trying to get out of here!” It was clear these campers weren’t on our side.

“Jerks,” we all agreed.

I continued battering my stick against each trail marker, but admittedly was happy when the trail led us away from the campers. Once in a while a light seemed to shine through the trees. Help at last! Nope . . . lightning bugs.

As I trekked from marker to marker, I realized my role was more than getting us from place to place. I became a canary in the coalmine for terrain. During each route I cursed under (or not so under) my breath as I tripped over rocks, felt the stab of branches, slipped on wet leaves or stumbled through marsh. This allowed Ruth and Rick to find an easier route for Seven.

“This is difficult,” we all agreed.

Light at the End of the Tree

At last, around 10:30 pm, we heard a voice in the distance. It was Mark and Syndi! Tired and sore, they had come all the way back, thankful we had shortened their return trip. Supplying water, snacks and additional flashlights, the mood lifted and Seven had a second wind. Mark and Syndi reminded us just how far we still had to go, so we used various movie lines (some more risqué than others) to joke about how we were not out of the woods (literally) just yet.

“We will be OK,” we all agreed.

The group trekked along, and Mark updated us on the outside world. He and Monica had gone ahead for help and supplies. Later they rendezvoused with Scott and Syndi before returning to the trail. Mark explained we might not see a ranger since they were overwhelmed this night. Sadly, a missing person had fallen off a paddleboard on the lake with no lifejacket. As far as we know, he was never found.

“Things could be worse . . . far worse,” we all agreed.

We plodded on for another hour, this time at a much faster pace. More voices. It was Scott, with a ranger in tow! We updated the ranger on our situation and Seven’s condition. Our compliments to the Lake George rangers – he was quite friendly, helpful and understanding. Scott noted his height, requiring extra steps on his part to keep up with him. The ranger supplied the group additional water and helped guide us through the last long leg of the tour. His radio’s mutterings gave us all a warm feeling of being connected once again to civilization.

“That was not a simple hike on a hill – it was a mountain climb,” he explained. We all agreed.

And we weren’t too proud to hop in the back of his truck for the last leg of the trip, getting out of the woods around Midnight.

Counting Our Blessings

Monica was on standby waiting at the cars. With the group’s safe exit from the woods, the group hemorrhaged emotions. Some shared their worst fears. Scott was overcome with tears, explaining how it shook him to leave his wife behind in the forest (chivalry is not dead). Some used profanity to express their disdain for the hike and the mountain.

“We’re happy to have made it out,” we all agreed.

This continued as we sorted through our thoughts during a late-night conference on the deck. It must be noted Mark’s parents remained remarkably cool about the situation (at least after-the-fact).

In a way I was very proud on this day and will remember it fondly. Sometimes a crisis occurs. Surely we are far from the first or last group of day hikers to experience such a situation – in fact it’s probably pretty common. Still, it’s an event exposing our true characters. We all rose to the occasion and supported our friends. People bent but didn’t break. Everyone took on a role:

• Scott, Syndi, Mark and Monica went ahead for necessary help
• Rick had the gentle spirit to keep Seven going
• Ruth coordinated our trek out of the woods
• Despite difficulties, Seven overcame an urge to surrender
• I was the scout searching for trail markers in the dark

One of the group said we naturally took on roles suiting our personalities (noting it made sense for me, as a drummer, to be the one hammering each tree with a stick).

People turned into superheroes at just the right time.

While we worked through our feelings, someone reminded us of the person lost on the lake who likely didn’t make it home. We counted our blessings and prepared for some rest.

“We’re lucky,” we all agreed.

But it was more than luck. When a problem surfaced we were there for each other. We worked through it, didn’t panic, and made sure we all got home safely. Nobody gave up or harbored the thought of leaving a friend behind. Anyone can hang out and raise a glass together, but true friends stand up in an emergency.

On that we can all agree.