Saved by an Angel

My buddy Greg and I headed for a hard-core hike/climb in to some unnamed lakes deep in the mountains around McCall, Idaho. Leaving town at 3 AM we were on the trail by 10; it was early season, and the top of the trail six miles in up the East Fork of Kennally Creek was covered with snow. We followed where the trail was supposed to be, up to the summit overlooking the Salmon River Drainage, and to our left, stunning, Blackmare Peak. The straightest line to where we wanted to go would take us over Blackmare. We traversed the basin between us and she (or it), and started climbing. There was supposedly a trail to the Peak, but by now we were in almost complete snow cover. Our only indication of being on route was an occasional finding of the semi-downed ancient telephone line that once connected the lookout on top with the rest of the civilized world.

From the south, Blackmare has a very false summit, but once on the real thing we were on top of the world. The ridge running north of the summit sported rotated cornices where the winds from the west climbed UP the 2000 foot west face and drifted the snow straight upward (instead of horizontally). We summited, enjoyed the view, and then glissaded down to the first unnamed lake, camping on what little patch of open ground we could find.

The next day we headed out early for the next and farthest lake. Some 1000 vertical feet lower than the first, a drainage over, and almost invisible in its own hole. For the most part the terrain was steep timber, with some exposed rock. We were anxious to catch some fish and quickly return to camp, as we would have to also go on out to the trailhead all the same day. Coming down the steep south slope into the lake, I found myself working my way down a rock outcropping with face to the rock. I was ahead of Gred and going down the rock too fast (carelessly), and my haste and momentum pulled me away from the rock into a back-first fall. Greg was well above me. But instead of going on over backward and plummeting to the bottom of the rock below, a hand pushed me square in the back, and back onto the rock. WHOA! I looked to find Greg. Greg was well above me. The hand was not his.

I was saved by an angel.

We finished the descent to the lake, and fished. And it was good fishing. The banks of the lake so steep that one could only fish standing sideways, with one leg straight and extended, and the other, the uphill leg, very much bent. Landing the fish was a challenge - it had to be done basically prone.

The hike out was grueling. We had ascend out of the hole, back to our camp, and on out, all in the remainder of the day. At one point I asked Greg if he could find his way out if something were to happen to me (considering the `touch' on the rock face earlier). He said the he could not. I encouraged him to try and learn terrain and maps so that he would be able to - if he ever needed to.

Selah.

The next year we returned to the same lakes. We were about a week later in the snow-melt and so trekked on dry ground instead of snow. We also took an alternate route in to base camp at the first lake that worked out great. As the trip the previous year was too compressed, we made the trip this time in three days instead of two. And it was further good that we did so because we had some weather. And we also took a more cautious approach to the lower lake. In about the same place as a year earlier, I asked Greg if he could now (a year later, and a second time in there) find his way out, alone, if need be. He confessed that he (still) could not, with any confidence. He went on to confessed that he felt his job on these trips was to pray for my safety, as I was his way out.

So it's not just coincidence that I was saved by an angel the year before.