Rescue from Superstition Wilderness

It was mile 332 of the Arizona Trail on April 5 when I stood on top of a large rock and looked down where I needed to take another step downhill. The sun had just risen, and the dawn light was enough to switch off my headlamp. Since leaving my campsite at 4:30 a.m. my feet had already skidded several times on the loose, sandy soil on steep downhill terrain that sometimes had little rollers that attached to the tread of my shoes like marbles. I was inside the Superstition Wilderness at 4,500 feet elevation, where trees were short and scrubby, or just black skeletal remains from the wildfires that burned in recent years. There is little foliage to absorb the infrequent rainfall, thus pushing rocks to resting places on the trail I was hiking on. Every step I had taken that morning was measured and cautious.

After carefully lowering my right foot about 18 inches down from the large rock, the sole of my shoe abruptly skidded forward while my butt landed hard on the ground. Gravity took over, sending my right leg further downhill. My trekking poles did nothing to stop the slide. In that same second, my left foot was still firmly planted on the rock I had stepped off of. Inertia dragged my left ankle abruptly off the rock in an awkward twisting motion. A shot of pain was accompanied by a subtle popping sound as my body came to rest on the gravely surface.

I yelled something, a single word that I cannot recall. In reality, the left foot did the screaming. I reached for it and positioned my feet together. And breathed. At first, both feet looked okay. Something was wrong but I did not know exactly what. I tensely pulled back the gaitor that covered the upper part of my shoe. My ankle looked okay, but I feared a broken ankle. The pain and the possibility of a serious injury were scary. I was alone in a roadless wilderness, and it was possible I could not walk as I had been able to do twice in previous years.

After releasing myself from the backpack, I carefully got up and gradually applied weight to the left leg. It hurt, but the bones remained in place when I took a baby step. I believed I could walk with level-5 pain. No, I had to walk if it was only level-5 pain. I put the pack on, and the pain grew to level-7 with the added 25 pounds. After walking 100 feet, my right foot skidded again and my body landed hard enough that my Garmin watch displayed, “accident detected.” With the watch linked to my InReach satellite device, the message reminded me that I could initiate an SOS and rescue. I wondered what a search and rescue would entail. A helicopter? A search and rescue team hiking in to carry me out? Maybe, but only as a last resort, I concluded. I nervously clicked “no.” The reality of my situation hit me hard. I cleared my head, pulled out my phone and began to create an exit strategy.

I assumed I had a severely sprained ankle. I assumed I needed to hike forward to the road that the AZT crossed 6.4 miles ahead. I had nearly 3 liters of water, which would be sufficient. The FarOut guide had several important facts about the place 6.4 miles ahead. A water tank was dispensing clear water according to hikers’ reports. I had planned to fill my bottles there anyway. Excellent! Getting to the road would require about 2,200 feet of steep climbing and 1,800 feet of descent. The hike out would not be easy, but that’s what the wilderness gave me. It was Forest Road 83 according to the FarOut guide, and only “high-clearance vehicles” could reach me from the highway 5 miles and 2,000 vertical feet away. Who had such a vehicle and how could I contact someone?

Several AZT hikers passed by while I tried to figure it out. Each was kind enough to offer help or water.  “I can hike out okay, but did you see any vehicles at the road with the water tank?” I asked. None, unfortunately, was the answer.

While hiking the CDT ten years ago I learned that optimism can help overcome an injury. On that hike, I believed a bad knee injury could heal if I adjusted my approach and focused on the beautiful surroundings. Optimism worked then, and it could work again. It’s the fuel that keeps us moving forward. I resumed hiking as the sun rose higher and the temperature rose to about 80. I planted both trekking poles on the ground to take the pressure off the injured ankle. Each step was painful, and each step reminded me how fortunate I was. I have a friend who is suffering debilitating pain from cancer. At least I can hike! I accepted this reality. The Superstition Wilderness is one of the most remote and uniquely beautiful places in the Sonoran Desert. I love being alone in remote places in this crowded, over-populated world. While scanning my surroundings, I watched a raven fly overhead in the direction I was going, as if to guide me. “I’m going to need some good karma today,” I whispered toward the soaring black bird above me.

My Garmin watch indicated my average speed was 1.0 miles per hour, a fact which informed me it would take at least seven or eight hours to reach Road 83, including rest stops to cool down and hydrate. The pace was sustainable. The pain was bearable.

All along I had been planning to stay overnight at the home of Trail Angels Scott and Becky in nearby Tonto Basin.  They would know the area and people who might be willing to rescue me at Road 83. At 9:08 a.m. I sent them a text message after calling and leaving a voicemail. “This is Roger Carpenter on the AZT. I left a VM about my injury. If you have any advice on getting picked up at Forest Road 83 you can reply to my InReach.” Within minutes Becky replied saying they were in church. It was Easter Sunday. “I’ll get back to you soon.”

At 10:09 a.m. Becky messaged me to ask where I was. I needed to be very specific. “At the moment I am 3.6 miles from Forest Road 83 which intersects the AZT. There is water there.” Five minutes later my phone beeped again. “We’re in Payson, we’re working on it.”

Feeling relieved, I wanted to describe my predicament. Becky and Scott might not be familiar with the road.  “I have a badly sprained ankle and am able to walk 1 mph. I can walk to Forest Rd 83 where I hope to get a ride, but it looks like a high clearance vehicle is needed. I can camp at FR 83 if necessary. Hoping to get there at 3pm.”

At 10:32 Becky texted, “We will check our paper maps when we get home. Keep moving toward 83. We may be able to get there in our ATV.” Knowing that help was on the way, and feeling the good karma, I kept moving, stopping occasionally to rest in tiny shady spots. I could not deploy my umbrella while on my feet, but it helped keep me cool while I sat down to rest.

Another message came in at 12:10 p.m. “Scott and our neighbor Eric will be loading up the Polaris at 1:30 and then heading your way. ETA 3:30,” wrote Becky. “Awesome!!! I am 1.9 miles from there. Moving at 1.1 mph,” I tapped with a sense of relief. Suddenly, a surge of energy ran through my body and into my injured ankle. Recalling that I never panicked during the ordeal, I knew the experiences of four thru-hikes taught me many lessons. A calm mind is capable of overcoming physical and logistical challenges. It was the edge I needed this time. I also held a wild card…the SOS button on InReach. But I made a wise choice to ignore the panic button and, instead, contact Becky and Scott.

I stopped in my tracks and smiled at 2:15 p.m when Road 83 and the rusty-brown metal water tank came into view. Elation took a little pain off my bad ankle as I limped downhill and found shade on the side of the tank.

As I collected water, I heard the distant sound of a vehicle. I looked down the hill and saw the Polaris as its engine revved and headed toward the water tank. Amazingly, Scott and Eric arrived just 20 minutes after I did. After introductions, Eric opened a cooler that contained cold cans of beverages.

“You probably need a beer after what you’ve been through!” said Eric. “Mmm, thanks! But I’ll save the beer for later!” I gulped a sparkling water, and had another.

“I am so pleased to meet you, Scott,” I said. “You and Becky are well known along the AZT. I cannot tell you how relieved I am that you could drive the Polaris this far into the desert.” Scott explained it was normal for them to venture far into the mountains surrounding Roosevelt Lake. “But it was five miles and a 2,000-foot climb to get here!” I said. “That’s amazing!”

“The road is pretty bumpy,” warned Eric. After buckling myself tightly into the back seat, I gripped my hands tightly on a horizontal bar designed for the roughest of rides like this one. The downhill grade was steep and incredibly rocky as we began the five-mile trip to the highway. The Polaris leaned and tipped side to side where a rollover could have been disastrous. Knowing that he had years of experience driving the ATV on roads just like Road 83, I put my trust and gratitude in the Trail Angel.

Scott and Becky live on an amazing shady and cool piece of property in Tonto Basin. The native plants and trees make their outdoor place an inviting oasis for the hundreds of AZT hikers who they have welcomed to stay and rest for four years. Scott gave me a quick tour of the place. “Take whatever you want,” instructed Scott as he showed me the refrigerator full of beer and other cold beverages. “We accept donations. Just pay what you can.” Caught in a mental state somewhere in between gratitude and disbelief, I thought of the time, effort and expense Scott and Eric spent on my behalf in my hours of need.

I soon met Becky while she was surrounded by the other AZT hikers sitting on lawn chairs. I put the entire day in perspective while standing tall on my good leg and spoke from my heart. “I am the luckiest hiker on Earth today! I cannot express my gratitude in any other way!” I said. “We had no choice but to go get you!” Becky said. I believed her. Their unselfish effort to rescue me was a  reminder to keep the faith in our fellow travelers on the planet.

This story would not be complete without mentioning my friends Alan and his wife Daggi. They drove two hours to Scott and Becky’s home and a two-hour return trip to Sun City so that I could be seen at an urgent care clinic as soon as possible. At the clinic, a physician assistant (PA) immediately noticed the large area of redness in my injured leg. He diagnosed cellulitis, a dangerous infection that needed to be treated immediately with an antibiotic. They also wrapped my foot and ankle, and gave me crutches so I could fly home to Portland the next day. Alan and Daggi’s contribution to my rescue was huge.

In Portland, the x-rays detected a “minimally displaced distal fibular fracture.” So, it wasn’t a sprain. As of this writing, I must wait three more days before orthopedics can see me. The cellulitis appears to have cleared up, but my ankle and foot are still very swollen. I remain optimistic…and lucky!

I enjoyed two days on the AZT after leaving Superior and before busting my ankle. Here are a few images.