The Foggy Mist

THE FOGGY MIST

ED WOOTEN

Physical fitness, confidence, and drive for exploration have been my assets since high school.

I’ve always maintained good physical conditioning and regard myself an avid outdoorsman. I’ve even considered auditioning for the Naked and Afraid television series.

I recently celebrated my fortieth birthday and decided to prove I still possess my prowess in mountain climbing. In addition to mountain climbing and exploring nature, I also pride myself as a novice writer and a photography buff.

Six days ago, I began this midlife challenge of reaching the pinnacle of one of the plethora of mountain peaks in the Blue Ridge Mountains.

I started along a familiar path with nothing more than an aerial photo of the area, three bottles of water, and four Granola bars. My past physical achievement awards include awards for mountain climbing, map reading, and orienteering as well as cross country running. Within a half hour of climbing, a dense fog moved in and blanketed the area.

Four hours later, I arrived at this summit, a breathtaking view with just a few sunbeams penetrating the still dense fog. The last quarter mile was a challenging climb with vertical rock walls that tested my upper body strength and  years of experience.

After admiring the breathtaking view and eating a Granola bar, I realized this was not my intended peak. I explored the immediate area to get reoriented and match my location with the aerial photo that served as my map. The rocky terrain showed no well-used paths and its magnificent trees seemed to touch the sky. The situation was peaceful and serene until I slipped on a rocky slope, twisted my ankle, and crashed to the ground. I pulled myself to an upright sitting position and reached for some water. I opened a bottle, took a couple of sips, and tried to clear the cobwebs from my head.

Ugh, I must have hit harder than I thought. My head ached from the sudden stop and for a brief moment, I was dizzy and disoriented.

I got to my feet and hobbled around searching for a trail or path that would lead me back to the base of his mountain. I found no visible paths. It appeared the only way off this majestic perch was to retrace my steps down the sheer, granite-like walls. This sounded like a good plan; however, it couldn’t happen until my sore ankle got better. I kept walking…trying to get the ankle to function again.   

I stopped and reviewed the events of my day. I traversed a couple of streams, passed a roaring waterfall, and then contoured an area of challenging rock formations and cliffs. I attempted to match these landmarks with my aerial photo.  Evidently, I got disoriented and then ended up on a ridge to another peak instead of the one I was supposed to be navigating. Orienteering maps are much more detailed than this aerial photo. For a moment, I questioned if I had allowed my confidence and prowess to cloud my better judgement.

I made the mistake of taking off my boot to check my ankle. Swelling so severe that I barely got the boot back on.

“Not a problem,” I assured myself as I limped back to the epicenter of the summit, my foot throbbing with pain. “I’ll call a friend, have him locate me via my phone signal, and dispatch a forest ranger to rescue me.”

Oops, my newest version of iPhone had no bars and the “No Service” message kept flashing. What the hell? I had a full bottle of water and two Granola bars.

Three days passed. “Had” became the operative tense to describe my water and food situation. They were gone, had been for a couple of days.

My phone died. Its final message, “No Service.”

I’ve made it through the days fantasizing that I’m training for Naked and Afraid, and my partner has already tapped out. Hopefully, before the twenty-one day timeframe for the TV series, I will be found.

I think dehydration has set in. My thoughts are unclear, I’m having trouble analyzing situations, and I think I’m hallucinating. The night air is very cold and damp, so sleep escapes me. During the day, my strength is zapped to the point that my movement is sluggish and nonproductive. Maybe my movement is sluggish because of my ankle and not lack of strength. The swelling and pain are still present. I can’t take a step without the pain piercing my brain sensors.

The only food I’ve had for the past days has been black berries, or I should say, green berries…black berries that have not matured to become black. I can hear birds, but haven’t seen any other animals—no rabbits or squirrels. Not even a chipmunk. I need protein, but a source is not within reach.

Fortunately, it rained briefly last evening so I swallowed enough to rehydrate my body. Unfortunately, the rain caused me to be both cold and wet during the night. At least the morning sun provided enough warmth to ease the chills and dry my clothes. Again, I try to find a way to get down from this peak. I think I’m moving in circles instead of descending. I know going down the rock face is the best option, but I need two, stable ankles for that manuever.

On a positive note, I’ve taken some beautiful photographs of this area. One constant, other than the excruciating pain in my ankle, is the ever-present foggy mist that prevents me from seeing the valleys that I know must exist. I also cannot clearly see other peaks. Where am I?

[NOTE: The above entry was found in a small, spiral notebook three years ago. To date, the author has not been identified, a body never recovered, and no record of a missing person’s report has been filed in this area. Other than the notebook, a camera with beautiful photos is all that was found. US Army Ranger students found them when their recon patrol got disoriented and ended up on this summit during the Mountain Phase of their rigorous training. Signed, Thomas Jones, Deputy, Missing Persons Unit, Dahlonega, GA.]