So I was in Grants for a dental appointment, which also meant I had the afternoon off school. Since I was already there, I thought I would see if I could climb Mt. Taylor. I climbed it once with a couple of friends, and since then had hiked around once or twice.
I found the forest road turn-off just fine. The actual trailhead proved more elusive though. I passed it (at least, I'm pretty sure that's what happened). When I didn't recognize the road anymore I pulled off and decided to climb a rise and see what I could see. So I did. And I saw the peak of Mt. Taylor, to the Northeast of me. I decided to hoof it across country and see how close to the summit I could get. At this point I should have had serious second thoughts because I have a talent for getting lost and there's not that much leeway for this sort of thing when undertaking a long, cross-country afternoon hike.
Nevertheless, I began to carry out my plan. It was glorious fun, climbing through pine forests to beech forests full of golden sunlight and golden leaves. Various deer and people trails made me feel more confident as I continued toward the summit.
Finally I was tired. Also, I was nearing the half-way point of remaining daylight, so knew I needed to turn around. I climbed one last rise and sat for a couple of minutes enjoying the glory of late-afternoon autumn creation. Then I headed back. I felt that I was doing a remarkably good job of keeping track of the direction I was headed and was feeling very confident about my woodsmanship skills. I counted ridgelines and took note of gullies and types of forest as I descended again.
Unfortunately, I couldn't retrace the exact route I had taken up. So I happened upon a road that looked unfamiliar. Taking a guess about which direction to head on it, I continued briskly walking along it. About a mile later on, I realized the road was going the wrong direction to get back to my car. I had about half an hour of remaining daylight and suddenly realized that my chances of reaching the car before dark were slim. And I didn't even know what road I was on. I halfheartedly waved at two trucks as they drove past - one I kind of tried to stop, but he continued driving.
I struck out toward the west, telling God I'd walk that way for 15 minutes to see if I could find another road, and if I didn't I would assume that this was the road to take to find my car. There was no other road. At least, not in a 15 minute radius. By the time I realized this and returned to my road, the sun was setting in rosy glory in the west.
As dusk fell, I had to decide between going south (where I had already been, but it seemed wrong - but I was fairly sure my car lay about two miles that direction) and going north (where I knew I would eventually meet up with the main road). I started walking north as visions of how I would survive the night in the wild danced through my brain. I kept checking my cell phone to see if I had reception - nothing. Another truck passed, and I held out my hand in a "stop" gesture - but he didn't stop either.
Finally, as I checked my phone again, I had one bar of signal. I called Tara to see if she knew if I was on the only forest road (so that my car would be on it somewhere), or if there was another one (so that I would be more completely lost). By now I was seeing a new star come out each minute, and praying for the moon to rise soon.
Tara didn't know about the roads in the area. I considered my options. Walk 3 miles out to the main road, figure out if I was indeed on the road I had driven in on, then walk 5 miles back to my car if this was the case. Or try to call search and rescue. I called search and rescue. More exactly, I called 9-1-1. They told me to stay in cell service and that they would send people to comb the roads around.
I walked a bit more toward the main road, but lost cell signal as I descended the hill. It looked like I probably wouldn't get it back either, because there were little hills on either side of the road that would fairly effectively block a weak cell signal. So I walked back up, picked my spot in the road, jumped to keep myself warm, and sang to remind the wild animals that I was a human and that humans taste nasty. Meanwhile I planned chapel music for the following morning, hoping that I would be there to lead it.
To make a long story short, about an hour later I saw a police unit's lights about 100 yards away, I was very excited, but too far away to run and catch him, and of course he couldn't see me in the dark. So I blew my little emergency whistle and saw him pause as I began to hurry down the hill towards his vehicle. Then, as I began to get near, he drove away up the hill - on a different path than I was on. I continued to hurry, pulled out my cell phone and waved its light at him, but he still didn't see. However, I realized with a sinking feeling... that there was my car. I had been so close to it the whole time! As quickly as my cold hands could, I pulled out my keys and climbed it to turn the lights on and honk the horn in case the policeman would hear that. He didn't. So I drove back up the hill to my cell phone spot and called the dispatcher to let him know that I was, indeed, found.
The policeman looked a little annoyed when he found I was in my car and not in need of his assistance. He didn't look as annoyed as I felt sheepish though! However, he merely asked for my ID and took down all my information - SS #, address, complete description, car description... to write his report. Then he followed me out to the main road, which made me very nervous because I felt like he was testing me to make sure I was capable of driving my own car. I guess I passed, because when we reached the road he just told me to watch for elk on the way home. I drove home with quite a bit of adrenaline still pumping through my veins... and a lot of thankfulness pumping through my heart... and a lot of frustration with my own dumb self who has no sense of direction and yet insists on hiking cross-country in the late afternoon... and a bit of anger at God who allowed me to get lost only 100 yards from my car (do you think He was laughing at me)... and a realization that I am not as self-sufficient as I think I am.
So if you can figure out what I should have learned from this experience, besides that I should probably invest in a GPS unit... please let me know. As of now I'm still mostly embarrassed. And humbled. And thankful.