I stumbled back up and recovered my knife. I felt a surge of pride when I found it no worse for wear. Yep, that is a good knife. I’m sure we will have many more adventures together.
I scrambled down and down and down always avoiding the snow as much as possible. I had had enough with snow, falling, and icy water. I was exhausted but exhilarated that I had made if off the ridge without injury. I vowed to wear boots and not come alone next time. Doing this alone had been the most risky element of the entire hike. This entire time I was mostly far off trail and no one knew where I was or when to expect me back. Dumb, very dumb.
I made it to Delta Lake, finally, and while sunning myself on another rock, I called Dave Marcum and told him exactly where I was. If I didn’t text him when I arrived at my car, he knew where to send the rangers. He pulled up his map software and I recounted my tip as he followed my course. It was incredibly odd to be six thousand feet above the valley, tucked inside the range, and have flawless cell service with my buddy looking at a map and satellite images of my exact position. How many more years until those images are live?
The sun had sunk below the peaks and it was growing dark and cold. I attempted to navigate as best I could out of the basin and was relieved when I came across a thin, overgrown trail. I followed it down and around the crest of the mountain until it plopped me out of the ferns and onto the main trail. I must admit I was terribly glad to be on a simple, wide, trial again. I’d run out of water long ago, but still had a hearty supply of Starbursts and Granola bars. I munched on these until I drove into Jackson and got the biggest meal money could buy at Dairy Queen.
The end.
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