The recent story about
missing hiker Gregory Hein gives me chills, because it mirrors my incident so closely. Greg's calf was hit by a falling boulder, just days after my own rockfall accident, in a part of the Sierras not far from where I was hiking. In my case I escaped with only a twisted ankle and knee, but he was badly hurt, with 1.5 inches of bone sticking through his skin and his foot dangling off. He spent six days in the wilderness, eating insects and crawling down a glacier until he was finally spotted by a rescue team.
It's scary to be reminded that even when you think you're being careful, there's real danger in the mountain wilderness. No matter how well prepared, anybody can trip and fall on a rock, and in the vast emptiness of the Sierras the consequences can be dire.
Two weeks after my accident, I'm still shaken up. So what's the lesson? Don't go? Stay home, avoid all risk, live in a cocoon? I can't accept that. I'm still at more risk on a San Francisco highway than a Sierra trail. But what I can do is reduce the risk, hike with a buddy instead of alone, and make sure somebody else knows where we're going and when we're expected back (which I did, BTW).
