Saved By an Angel,
McCall Area, Idaho, undated,
© Jeff Filler, Moscow
At 3:30 AM Greg and I headed for a hard-core hike/climb in to some unnamed lakes deep into the mountains around McCall, Idaho. We were on the trail by 10:00; 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 the 2000 foot west face and drifted the snow straight upward (instead of horizontally). We 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 standing face to the rock. I was working my way down the rock too fast (carelessly), and my haste and momentum pulled me away from the rock into a back-first fall. Greg was 15 or 20 feet 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 up. Greg was still well out of reach above me.
I was saved by an angel.
We had quite a grind out - mostly because we had to make it all the way back out that same day. On the way out - about half of which was cross country (no trail) - I asked Greg if he could find his way out if something were to happen to me (recalling 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. My dad reconned the area by air. 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 that worked out great. As the trip the previous year was too compressed and thus grueling, we made the trip this time in three days instead of two. And it was further good that we did 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) find his way out, alone, if need be. He confessed that he (still) could not, with any confidence. He confessed that 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.