It was about 9 a.m. when I parked my beat-up Toyota pickup at a parking lot on one of Mount Rainier’s northern slopes, and my friend, Josh, and I stepped out of the truck. Our plan was to hike down to CataractValley, spend the night there, and hike out the next day. The forecast predicted a beautiful, sunny July day, and we were confident that by late afternoon we would be boiling water for supper at the camp.
Since we planned on being back at the parking lot the next day, our food and water supply was accordingly minimal. But once up in the mountains, you can never know. About an hour into the trail, the weather suddenly changed. Clouds came over the mountain and the view was hidden under a heavy fog. We knew that the trail would lead us down toward the valley, and hoped that the fog would clear as we descended, but we were wrong. Not only did the fog become so thick that we could barely see the trail beneath our feet, but the trail itself disappeared under sprawling snowfields, leaving us clueless as to where we were going.
Unable to see where we were heading and without a clear idea of our location, Josh and I were forced to rely on our limited navigation skills. Reluctantly, we turned to our map and compass for guidance (back then, a GPS was still a top-secret military device). We had two things going for us: we had a vague idea of where we were, and we knew our destination was (so aptly named) Cataract Valley. We hoped we could traverse the remaining five miles of rugged terrain with just our map and compass, but we were already becoming uneasy about our prospects.
We drew a straight line from our presumed position to the valley, set the compass arrow in that direction, and tried to follow it as best as we could. We knew that at some point we would have to start descending toward the valley, but right now, we couldn’t see more than twenty feet ahead, and the ground beneath us showed no sign of sloping. What made things worse was that the gentle meadow we’d been walking on had turned into boulder-strewn hills that forced us to watch our every step.
A few hours later, as dusk began to settle and our fears began to grow, the skies suddenly cleared for a moment. Right in front of us, where we had thought the descent toward the valley would be, appeared the snowy white summit of Mt. Rainier in all its glory.
This was when we realized that we were truly lost. Night was now approaching, and we did not have enough food and water to last us for many days. We knew the park rangers would not begin to search for us until our wilderness permit had expired by several days, and should one or both of us get hurt, we would not know where or how to get help.
As we nervously assessed our situation, our tense voices betrayed our anxiety and we soon began to blame each other for our predicament. For a few moments, our friendship was forgotten as our fears prevailed. But Josh and I had been friends for a long time, and we knew how to overcome trials. After a short, somber discussion, we vowed that we would find a trail the next morning come hell or high water, and we would find it together. Not wanting to stray any more than we had already, or run into a wandering bear, we decided to stay put and spend the night on the ridge.
To our relief, the next morning dawned with a sky as clear and as blue as the ocean on a summer day. Comparing the terrain in front of us to the terrain and trails marked on the map, we made an educated guess about our position. We realized that if we climbed down from the ridge, we would likely cross paths with one of the trails we saw on the map.
With hopeful hearts, we began the climb down. Three hours later, our knees barely supporting us from sliding down the steep and slippery mountainside (made even more treacherous by pine needles that cushioned the soil), we were elated to discover a human footprint in the mud. Then we found a trail. And very shortly after, we spotted a little wooden sign that read, “CataractValley.”
Our sense of relief and joy was indescribable. We knew we were being given our lives back. But even more distinct was the awareness that it was our friendship and the fact that we stuck together that got us out of there. To me, Mount Rainier, and especially Cataract Valley, will forever be a testimony to the power of unity.