When I was deciding how to use my REI dividend back in May of this year, I had one major purchase on the top of my wish list. I wanted a Garmin inReach Mini GPS device.

Retailing at $350, this satellite communicator was a splurge for me. It was right on par with upgrading a major piece of my hiking gear. Spending that kind of cash is a big deal for a frugal minimalist like me. So I debated this purchase long and hard while holed up during the early months of the pandemic.

But here’s the thing. I love solo backpacking. And with Covid-19 wrecking havoc on all my prior 2020 hiking plans, I was beginning to shift toward some smaller, more remote adventures for the summer. I wanted to avoid resupplying in small communities or risk contracting/spreading the virus.

Yet the obvious downside to hiking off the beaten path is the lack of other hikers around to help me if something went terribly wrong. If I fell and broke my leg on a solo hike out there, I didn’t want wait a week (or longer) for someone to come along and help me to safety. I read Aron Ralston’s book, Between a Rock and a Hard Place (later made into the movie 127 Hours, starring James Franco). I can tell you know right now. I don’t have the fortitude to cut my own arm off with a multi-tool after a tragic accident!

Having this little device on my adventures would provide a safety net that worked virtually anywhere. So despite my initial hesitation about the price tag, it quickly became an absolute “must-have item” for my upcoming summer adventures. At only 3.5 ounces, I felt like the Garmin inReach Mini was well worth its weight in gold.

WAS IT WORTH IT?

After reading everything I could get my hands on and watching a bunch of YouTube videos, I learned there are two aspects to making this GPS satellite communicator work.

• First, you need to buy the inReach Mini device.
• Then you have to activate it with Garmin’s subscription service so that the device goes “live” with the satellite system.

I opted for the most minimal plan this summer, knowing this was truly a backup device for my adventures. I wasn’t heading out on some grand expedition in Antarctica or on an FKT attempt where people might want to track my exact route. I wanted a few preset messages I could send back home. Plus, I’d be able to text additional messages through Garmin’s Earthmate App and use the SOS option for any true emergencies.

My first two big thru-hikes this summer were the North Umpqua Trail and the Tahoe Rim Trail. After these two short adventures, I knew I really liked adding the Garmin to my standard gear setup. Being able to send my family a preset message each evening to let them know I was alive reassured all of us. Knowing I had a way to communicate, no matter how far I was from a cell tower, felt like having the benefits of a hiking partner while still letting me hike solo.

In fact, I couldn’t see any downside to carrying the inReach Mini other than the initial cost. It weighed next to nothing. I already carried an external battery, so it was easy enough to keep it charged. And it didn’t really change my style of backpacking. I wasn’t suddenly emboldened to take risks or venture into wilderness areas beyond my skill set. I still spent hours carefully planning my routes. And I still left detailed itineraries behind with my loved ones. Nothing much changed.

THE UNFORESEEN TRAGEDY

As you might have guessed from the title of this blog post, I reached a moment when my Garmin inReach Mini ultimately saved my life.

My last big adventure of the 2020 season was a thru-hike of the Uinta Highline Trail (UHT) in northeastern Utah. This 105-mile trail would let me bag my 23rd state high point and hike at a much higher altitude than most of my prior long-distance adventures.

I meticulously planned for this thru-hike, knowing that it would take me deeper into the backcountry than other trails. The UHT would require me to really flex my navigation and route-finding skills. And it would push me to grow and adapt as a hiker. Yet, I was super excited for the challenge.

One aspect that I wasn’t really looking forward to, though, was the weather.

I planned to start my thru-hike in early September, when temperatures in Utah were still hovering in the mid-90s and the state was experiencing record-breaking heat and fires. However, the weather forecast also showed unseasonably cold temperatures descending on day 4 of my journey.

On Labor Day, a powerful cold front was going to plunge temperatures by up to 60 degrees overnight! So, I had to pack for this trip like I was hiking in peak summer AND early winter! I was none too happy about carrying all this extra gear, but better safe than sorry, right?

The full details of what occurred between September 7 and 9, 2020 are in my trail journal. But the pared-down version goes something like this.

I summited Kings Peak (13,528′) on Monday afternoon and returned down to lower ground (11,200′) to make camp for the evening. I’d checked the weather forecast once again on the way back down, and it now showed a 30-60% chance of rain/snow overnight. Yet the following day was still expected to be sunny, cold, and windy.

When I woke the next morning, several inches of snow had fallen, and I found myself in the midst of a genuine blizzard! Steady 20 mph winds blew snow into my tent, and the wind kept changing direction and swirling around me. My tent collapsed multiple times as gusts topped 30 mph. I tried moving my tent to a nearby spot for better wind protection. But no luck!

Then I hiked 2.5 miles in snow drifts up to my knees to get over a pass and down to better terrain. All this was for naught. Several FEET of snow fell during the next 12 hours, and the daytime temperature never rose above 15°F (with a wind chill of 3°F).

My situation went from bad to worse as my tent kept collapsing in the strong winds. It was a never-ending battle to try to brush the snow out of my tent so I could keep my down sleeping bag dry. My shoes and gloves were frozen solid from my attempts to find a better spot in the storm. As I studied my map over and over to adjust my plan, I saw I was still nearly 20 miles from the closest trailhead. This was NOT good.

I’d planned for the cold weather to hit, but I hadn’t anticipated a true blizzard in early September!!! Especially when the temperature was in the 90s the three days before!!

The abysmal weather showed no signs of abating, and each time the strong wind collapsed my tent, I grew more concerned I might not make it through the night. All my efforts to stay dry and warm seemed to fail. My options were dwindling, and I knew things might take a fatal turn. I needed to make a decision.

And so, I reluctantly flipped open the cover on the SOS button my my inReach Mini and I got ready to press it to trigger a rescue.

My gut sank as I contemplated my next move. No one wants to admit that the situation around them is completely out of hand. I walked myself into this mess; shouldn’t I be able to walk myself out of it?

As my finger hovered over the button, I worried about how my fellow long-distance hikers would judge me. They weren’t there to see these extreme conditions. And they wouldn’t know how much preparation I’d done beforehand. They’d only hear that I’d had to be bailed out.

Despite these depressing thoughts, I know in my heart that being tough only gets you so far when your life is actually in danger. I had to remind myself of reality here.

There are no posthumous medals for hypothermia. And there are no ‘bonus points’ for losing your fingers to frostbite. I had a family who relied on me back home, and I needed to focus on surviving, not what other hikers might think. Despite my best planning, I had to protect my life and well-being. I needed help.

SOS

I had no real idea how the SOS feature functioned after I pushed it. All I really knew was that the system was designed to prevent accidental activation. This meant I had to flip off the protective cover to reach the actual SOS button. Then I had to keep pressing the button while the timer counted down from 30 on the screen.

My SOS signal was relayed from my location in Utah to the GEOS International Emergency Rescue Coordination Center (IERCC) in Texas. An automatic message appeared on my inReach screen that read, “I have an emergency, and I need you to send help.”

Once I saw that message on the screen, I knew this situation was getting real. Sure, I could cancel the SOS. But I would never have taken the extreme measure of pressing the SOS button unless I was ready to cross the threshold of summoning a real-world rescue.

A few minutes later, a text message popped up asking me about the nature of my emergency. I quickly explained my location (even though they already had my precise GPS coordinates) and said I was worried I might not make it through another night safely, given the unending blizzard and the condition of my gear.

The incoming response asked if I was alone (yes) and whether I had any medical concerns (no). After providing the details of which trail I entered on, the IERCC did three things. They sent me the number for the Search and Rescue (SAR) Coordinator at the local sheriff’s office so I could text him directly throughout my rescue. They notified my emergency contact person (my husband) of my situation. They updated me that the sheriff’s office was working on sending a helicopter out to rescue me.

At that moment, a wave of relief rolled over me. I was going to be saved. But minutes later, a follow-up message arrived.

Due to weather SAR is unable to send a helicopter. They are sending a team on horseback with a 10-15 hour ETA, depending on weather.

My stomach sank when I read this. 10-15 hours??!? Could I survive until then? I wouldn’t have pressed the SOS button if I thought I could make it through the night! WTF??!

Upon reflection, though, I realized the issues preventing me from hiking out of there were the very same factors that would make my rescue so difficult.

If I had a broken leg in the backcountry, SAR would just deploy a helicopter to come get me. But the problem I faced here wasn’t subjective. This blizzard and high altitude were just as big an obstacle for my rescuers trying to get into the backcountry as they were for me trying to get out.

And so, it was time to focus on staying dry and surviving until they came to get me out of there.

MISSION FAILURE

Over the next nine hours of my ordeal, the State of Utah would make three rescue attempts to get me off that mountain. Throughout the ordeal, the SAR Coordinator from the local sheriff’s office was incredibly responsive and clearly invested in getting me to safety. He repeatedly checked on my welfare and kept me updated on the status of his efforts.

Our first rescue attempt was by helicopter around 8 pm. Not long after it got dark, I received a message that a helicopter was en route to my location and was 35 minutes out. I was warned to have everything ready to go because they wouldn’t have much time on the ground due to the poor weather conditions.

When the helicopter was 10 minutes out, I had my gear packed and was sitting on a rock, my tent wrapped around me in a futile attempt to block the wind. I turned on my headlamp to pinpoint my location.

I’d moved from my original spot to a flat, open area where the helicopter could land more easily, as the SAR coordinator directed. (NOTE: During a rescue, you don’t move from your GPS location unless expressly directed — especially in whiteout snow conditions.

Then I just sat there as brutal winds and snow whipped around me. I waited. And waited. It seemed like forever, sitting on that rock and shivering in the cold.

About 15 minutes later, I heard the hum of the rotors and saw the lights on the bottom of the helicopter. They were coming!! But before my excitement could grow, the helicopter suddenly turned and flew away. That’s when I got a text update from the SAR coordinator.

Helicopter was unable to continue due to strong winds and no visibility. They will try first thing in the morning if needed, I have a horse team heading your way. They are several hours out. Do what you need to do to stay warm. We are not giving up on you. Please stay where you are.

Nooooooooo!!! The helicopter was so close! My heart sank with disappointment when I read these words. I wanted to scream out of frustration. But I didn’t have time for a pity party. I needed to find somewhere out of the strong winds to protect myself from the continued onslaught of snow. I needed to stay alive until the horse team could arrive.

I struggled to find somewhere to block the wind in the pitch-black darkness with the snow swirling around me. My prior tent spot was no longer in sight. Snow and ice were crusting up on the Buff I had pulled up over the lower half of my face. My hands were freezing to the point that I was losing feeling.

I’d broken down my unstable tent to meet the helicopter, and now there was no way I could set it back up in this wind. Nor could I hammer those tent stakes back into the frozen ground, even if I had all my tent stakes. Which I undoubtedly did not.

I searched my surroundings for shelter. There were no tall trees nearby, so I tried to press myself between some evergreen shrubs half-buried in the snow. It took only seconds to realize they offered no protection at all. Damn it. I needed to find somewhere else. I couldn’t stay out here in the storm. I forced myself to look around and just find something!! Anything!

After stumbling around in the snow drifts and the dark for several minutes, I eventually found two tire-sized boulders on a slope and decided to make them work. I wedged myself between the boulders and flipped my tent upside down (so the thicker bathtub floor was toward the sky). Then I slid inside the tent like it was a bivy sack and used my backpack behind me as a backrest on the hill’s slope.

With this hasty shelter in place, I wrestled my sleeping bag out of my pack and wrapped it around me like a cocoon inside this makeshift tent-bivy. Then I pulled the tent fabric taut and tucked it under me as tightly as possible to keep the strong wind from blowing me away.

I’ll admit, my set-up wasn’t pretty. But I was alive. And I was protected enough to pull my icy gloves off and let my hands thaw while I waited for new instructions. I was exhausted and cold. Yet the only one who could keep me alive in that moment was me. I just needed to hang on…

PART TWO

Unbeknownst to me at the time, the horse rescue was being called off too. The horses made it to the trailhead and started toward me, but then they refused to continue. The heavy snowfall pummeling them was blocking their vision. The horses grew skittish and stalled stubbornly on the trail. I can’t blame them, though. It was truly miserable out there.

The National Guard also refused to fly in the conditions. The local fire departments didn’t have helicopters designed for high-altitude flight or pilots who felt skilled enough to attempt the rescue. The blizzard conditions kept swirling around me, and things looked mighty grim.

Around 9:40 pm, the SAR coordinator texted me again, saying they hoped to try another helicopter rescue during a break in the storm after midnight. I just needed to hang on. The Utah Highway Patrol might be able to fly. Hold on for a few more hours. Stay calm.

He checked back in with me again just before midnight and asked about my physical health. I was tired but doing my best to stay alert. My hands and feet were cold, but not frozen yet. I took off my soaking-wet gloves and shoes to keep my body heat in my sleeping bag. And I was just focusing on getting through each hour. And then the next hour. And so on.

Around midnight, the wind began to die down. Instead of a constant 20-30 mph wind, it seemed to be blowing only 10 mph now. When I peeked out of my cocoon, I saw the moon above me, obscured by a thin layer of clouds. I could even make out the outline of the mountains across the lake instead of just a wall of white snow blowing in front of me. Please, oh please. Let them come back out here, I pleaded to myself.

With this break in the weather, the helicopter took off once again. Their initial ETA was 20 minutes, but it took them twice that long to get there. Then I saw the lights on the bottom of the helicopter approaching from the west. I had my headlamp on to pinpoint my location, and I used my iPhone flashlight to wave back and forth so they could see me on the ground.

I’m fairly certain the pilot signaled me by blinking a blue light on and off, but maybe I was hallucinating. Then the SAR coordinator texted me through my Garmin, telling me to stay put while the pilot landed. Do not approach the helicopter; they will come to get me. So I sat there, watching it all unfold around me like a fever dream.

The pilot made a giant circle around the area. As he flew directly over me, then turned to head back toward the direction he’d come from, my heart sank. Were they abandoning the rescue yet again? Were they leaving me here a second time?

Then he slowly circled the helicopter back around and made a second loop over me. My mind continued to race. Were they circling because they were still looking for me? Or were they just looking for a decent spot to land? What was going on?? I was in a complete vacuum of knowledge, hoping for the best. Then the wind was picking up again, and I worried they wouldn’t be able to rescue me if they didn’t hurry up and land!

Just then, the pilot began to hover. Then he slowly lowered the helicopter onto a flat area at the far end of the lake and landed about 300 meters from me. His co-pilot jumped out and started wading through the knee- and thigh-deep drifts of snow toward my position in the rocks. As he got close, he yelled at me to grab my stuff and follow him. I’d already shoved my feet back into my frozen shoes as they were circling overhead. So I snatched up my pack, tent, and trekking poles and stumbled behind him on frozen feet.

It took us only 5 minutes to make it back to the helicopter, but I was breathing like a racehorse the whole way. My body was running on pure adrenaline now as I trudged through the snow. Yet, I just focused on putting one foot in front of the other. The helicopter kept getting bigger and more defined as we neared.

This was really happening! I was finally being rescued.

Eight hours after I pressed that SOS button, I climbed into the helicopter and was strapped in by one of the pilots. And then the rotors were spinning again, and we were flying.

Our initial take-off was precarious. The wind kept changing direction, and the pilots had to fight to get us up to a flying altitude. But I didn’t care. I was 100% better protected from the elements than I was 10 minutes ago. Or an hour ago. Or 10 hours ago. Hopefully, my ordeal was nearly over!

RESCUED!

It only took us 15 minutes to fly to the small mountain town of Kamas, Utah, where an ambulance met us and took me the rest of the way to the hospital in Park City. Before I knew it, I was lying in an ER bed and being treated for hypothermia and the cold injuries to my hands and feet. Looking back, it all seems like a blur now.

It would take some time to recover from my physical injuries (not to mention digesting the mental trauma from that day), but I was ALIVE!!! I had so much to be thankful for in that moment. Before long, I was reunited with my family again.

When I was released from the hospital, one of the first things I did was call the SAR coordinator to express my immense gratitude. This man advocated for me for over 10 hours, and he is directly responsible for saving my life. You cannot repay that. I won’t divulge all the details about how I am returning the kindness that he, the pilots, the EMTs, and the nurses at the hospital showed me. That is a private matter. Yet, there was something else I needed to make public.

I needed to tell my story.

Once this rescue was over, I could have slunk off into anonymity and pretended none of this ever happened. Only my closest family and friends would ever have to know. I wouldn’t have to face the shame of being rescued, or the sidelong glances from other long-distance hikers. But hiding in the shadows isn’t how I live my life. And doing so would allow a lot of misconceptions and lore about wilderness rescues to continue.

Far too often, people assume dramatic rescues like mine result from recklessness or gross negligence. And perhaps a small fraction of them are. But I’m not some daredevil who intentionally puts myself in a precarious situation. I don’t take undue risks or throw caution to the wind just because I have the safety net of an SOS button. I took the EXACT same level of detailed care that I always do when planning my backcountry adventures. Yet accidents happen. People fall and hurt themselves. Freak storms take even the most prepared people by surprise. None of us has a crystal ball when we hit the trailhead.

Plenty of my fellow hikers and backpackers will read about my near-miss and still assume they don’t need a GPS locator on solo backcountry adventures. I can already hear the chorus of grumbles. “It’s not ultralight.” Or, “It costs too much.” And “Why bother? I’ve never actually needed one in the past.“

The list of excuses will be endless, I’m sure. But I’m here to stomp on the illusion that you’re safe just because you’ve hiked thousands and thousands of miles.

I am proof that any hiker – even a hyper-prepared one – can still find themselves in need of emergency help. I took dozens of safety precautions on this trip, including checking the weather forecast just hours before this freak storm. I had all kinds of plans to get through the cold weather and hike out on my own. Yet Mother Nature laughed in my face nonetheless.

FINAL THOUGHTS

In the end, I’m eternally grateful I had the forethought to bring a GPS locator along to signal for help. The year 2020 has been filled with so much distress and chaos in our lives. And I’m glad this unfortunate event didn’t contribute to that terrible streak.

I can unequivocally vouch that buying the Garmin inReach Mini was one of the best hiking gear purchases of my life. When everything began to spiral out of control, it really was the difference between my safety and a potentially fatal outcome.

If you’re thinking about getting a satellite messenger, like the Garmin inReach Mini, there are dozens of articles online that can help you decide which one is right for you. Here’s a handful of the resources I consulted before making my own purchase:

• How to Choose Between a PLB and a Satellite Messenger – REI
• In-Depth Garmin inReach Mini Review – The Hiking Guy
• The Best Satellite Messengers and Personal Locator Beacons – Treeline Review
• Best Satellite Messangers of 2020 – Gear Lab
• What Really Happens When You Trigger a Wilderness SOS – Backpacker Magazine

Stay safe out there. I’m sure I’ll be hitting the trail again soon – and I know the one gear item that definitely be coming along for the next adventure!