Hike From Hell

I love hiking. I absolutely adore it and dare say it is my favorite pastime. John and I even got engaged on a hike at Yosemite National Park a few years back. It is an integral part of our lives. We have been hiking for a number of years on a variety of terrain, so I am far from new to hiking. I dare say, I know what I am doing when it comes to hiking. This is why I was so surprised to find myself and my friends in such a dangerous situation on a local trail. How could this have happened? We felt that we had taken every precaution, checked every detail and were prepared. How does an experienced hiker err so severely?

So, here is what happened. We 5 adults set out in the rain to embark on our 2 hour, one way hike along the coastline. I had been on an adjoining segment of the beachline and taken a different trail North, so I was expecting the same terrain (combined with the photos and descriptions of the "medium" rated hike in my hiking book). Once we had the cars situated on either end of the trail, the rain had stopped and the skies were clear. Not sunny, but clear. We did know there was one rocky portion over limestone that we would hike across at low tide, so we were all wearing appropriate footwear- hiking boots or sneakers. Other than that, we were expecting long stretches of sand. We had checked the tides and knew for certain it was indeed low tide, which was necessary to cross the rocky portion. Cameras in hand, we took our first photos and set out. The first thing we hit was the rocky portion. Great, no problems. Tide was low so the water was well below where we were walking. Perfect, we had timed the hike right and it was going to be a good one. More than halfway through the hike it was raining again, but not hard. We laughed that we wouldn't have to worry about the heat on this hike or stopping to take a dip in ocean. We started hitting stretches of beach where there was no sand and limestone outcroppings forced you to walk out into the ocean to get around them. Unexpected, but manageable with the low tide. The coral was a bit tricky to walk on and we did notice a strong undertow. Far from the first hike I've undertaken with a water portion, so again, no one thought much of it and we continued on. As we headed farther North on our hike, the winds whipped around the bluffs and poor weather off-shore made the water more treacherous than any of us were anticipating. Realizing we were figuratively in over our heads, we decided to call for help. Sure it was embarrassing, we had joked many a times about getting a free helicopter ride by being rescued, but the conditions were worsening quickly and the situation was becoming emergent. Going back was not an option as we'd have to fight through the same menacing waves as if we continued forward with the hike. So we were stuck about 2/3 of the way through the hike. This is when we realized all five of us, with five different cell phones, had left them all back at the cars or home assuming someone else had brought theirs. Yes, this is a horrible and idiotic mistake. We should have checked to make sure someone had a phone. But, do understand, while I always support having a cell phone on hikes, they rarely work on hikes, so it wasn't all that prominent in my mental checklist when we set out. That said, I am not excusing myself for not checking.

My heart sinking inside my chest and realizing the gravity of the circumstance, I turned and picked up the pace. This is not an easy feat to accomplish on limestone. If you are not familiar with limestone, picture coral, but much stronger. It is just as sharp, but whereas coral will break, limestone will not. It is incredible hard and jagged. My hiking shoe got snagged several times and ripped, and most of us where dawning bleeding cuts from scrambling over the stone. Tiring from battling the currents and limestone, Rebecca was imploring her husband to stop. He turned to me and asked if we wanted to rest on a small stretch of limestone where the tide had not yet reached. I could not hide my disbelief at such an insane request. The conditions were bad enough now and would only worsen with time. We had to keep moving. But they slackened their pace, more and more while Maria and I pressed hard to reach the end. When we turned around, we could no longer see them. So, we were split into two groups. I cannot describe the guilt and agony of leaving them behind. Time was not on our side and what could we really do to help them and ourselves against the crashing waves and undertow? I regretted not urging them to keep up. I was so focused on getting out, watching the water to time my movements and just to get to safety that I let them fall behind.

Maria and I treaded through waist deep water, slipping on the coral depressions and trying to steady ourselves by holding on to the sharp limestone, leaving stinging cuts on our palms. The funny thing about grabbing onto limestone is it cuts almost like multiple pinheads, so you cannot see the cuts, but my goodness, can you feel them if you get saltwater or soap in there. The limestone jutted out into the ocean again where the reef was essentially non-existent, meaning there was nothing to break the waves before it hit where we were "hiking". We approached cautiously, get hammered by waves when I looked out and saw two large waves barreling in. I told Maria to turn her back to the ocean and brace herself. We were at the base of what looks like a backward "C" carved into the limestone from the water beating there repeatedly over time. The waves crashed mercilessly into the partial enclosure, making it obvious that you would have to go in between waves or be battered and sucked out to sea. And so we held on as tight as we could with our elbows and hands wrapped painfully around the limestone and our feet planted firmly on the coral/limestone below. The waves crashed over our heads, throwing us into the rock and then sucking us back out just as violently so our feet slipped out from under us and we hung on desperately. Choking on saltwater, the next wave hit us, and as soon as it retreated we bolted up into the "C". We ran as best we could over the limestone and my stomach dropped when we rounded the corner and saw how far the limestone carving continued. I screamed as crabs jumped off of the rock onto my hiking shoes (I am very much afraid of crabs) and tried to ignore the tadpole like worms I was grabbing and had flailing on my hands as we hastily grabbed the limestone to keep a three point hold at all times. It was by far the most frightening experience of my life.

Maria and I made it to the beach at the conclusion of the trail and looked back anxiously waiting to see our friends. We could see as far back as the "C" carving, which was still quite far from the end of the trail. We waited until we saw the waves crashing completely over the top of the carving and could not fathom how anyone could pass through after all the difficulty we'd experienced with comparatively calmer waters. How could they be so far behind us? Were they even okay any more? We could call for help, have search and rescue come out and be humiliated when they turned up, or we could not call and quite realistically lose our friends. We had no way of knowing their conditions, and if they did need help, the more time that passed the less likely they would walk away from the incident with a happy ending. So we made the call. They did make it out on their own, but had clearly struggled far greater than we had. Their clothes had been shredded by the waves pushing them against the stone and they were covered in bleeding cuts. Meghan was one of the three and ran to Maria sobbing and shaking. She really did not believe they were going to make it. She and Rebecca had been pulled out by the undertow away from the relative safety of the jagged coastline. She knew she could not fight the waves and had already resolved in her mind that if she were pulled out to sea she would just give up. She was pulled under and slammed back into the limestone by another wave. She instinctively grabbed hold fearing it was her last chance to save her life. When the water receded in between waves, she found herself on top of Rebecca who was holding on just as feverishly and had hit her head on the rock. They took turns crying hysterically as they battled to reach the end, each seriously doubting they would actually make it. Meghan later told me she just kept thinking, "I shouldn't be here. This is not happening." They did attempt to stop and wait for help at one point, unsure, but hoping Maria and I had made it safely out and were able to call for help. The rising water hit them relentlessly, so they were unable to safely wait.

And that is our story. It was the worst hike I have ever been on, Meghan and Rebecca are terrified to even think about approaching the water, and all of us our feeling the soreness and stinging of the previous day's misadventure. But we are all beyond grateful. We know how fortunate we are and how poorly things could have turned out. I personally thank God for being there with us and seeing us through. I do find it interesting that a few of my friends, now aware of what happened, said they were thinking of me and were inexplicably concerned about me that day.

Will I go hiking again? The best thing to do when you are thrown off of a horse, is to get back in the saddle. Happy hiking, and I'll see you on the trail. Just not this week. Or maybe the next.