They looked closer than before. I just needed to keep going. “HELLO.” “HELLO.” They had stopped. “PLEASE.” Two people were hiking in my direction. I kept yelling. They kept inching closer. I heard nothing in response until they were close enough for me to make them out as real humans, carrying hiking poles. When they were finally close enough to be audible, I heard the best question I’ve ever been asked: “Are you Erica?” Two men from Chaffee County Search and Rescue had climbed to me and immediately attended to my needs. They put foot warmers and dry socks on my numb feet. They gave me a granola bar. “Boy are we glad to see you,” one of them said. I was shocked that the words had come out of his mouth, and not mine. I was anticipating having to tell my story to two random hikers in the hopes that they might be able to help me. My eyes filled with tears. The previous afternoon my dad had left my brother, who was then recovering well in the car, to try and track me down. When he was unsuccessful, he drove to town and called Search and Rescue. The rescue volunteers began to look for me immediately, but were forced to call off the search when the weather proved too bad for them to continue. They resumed in the morning, opting not to bring the family beagle, who had so blindly hopped in the car to go for a ride to Salida with my mom. But it had been an especially grueling search for the volunteers. They were looking for one more person that night and morning, a 14-year-old boy, who was also lost nearby. They had found him dead not long before they rescued me. “Hypothermia,” one of the volunteers said. “He fell in the river.” I had stayed (mostly) dry. I had stayed (mostly) put. These two men—I don’t know know their names—seemed as genuinely excited to see me alive and well as I was to see them and get airlifted back to civilization. That night I took a long, hot bath. Afterwards I went downstairs to find my family all watching the Shawshank redemption on TV. I stayed up to watch it until the end, even though I hadn’t yet slept. I remember that, despite everything that had just happened, it felt very normal to just sit there and watch a story of escape on the couch. I may not have summited that evening, but I re-climbed Mt. Antero in 2008 again with my dad and brother. Our names are all in the register. 14 ISSUE 6
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