We were mountain rescued! Part 2

Our goal. See the hut up there?

We began having trouble when we reached a split in the path which was completely unmarked. Hikers coming down from the left assured us that was the way to go to our hut. We started steeply up, but soon saw that far below and to the right was a dam which we were supposed to cross. So we went down again and headed that way. It was not easy going. There were no signs, no blazes, no markings of any kind. It looked like we were following a stream bed. The only things that made us think we might be on the path were that it had started as a clearly marked path and it was going in the right direction.

This is the path leading to the gravel slope.
There is no hint of trouble ahead.

We were right. (We looked at a map later and we think the hikers came from a different hut.) Soon enough we reached a small restaurant which was on the trail map and we made our way to the dam. That is where our real troubles began. There were signs again, just none mentioning our hut. We went exactly as our directions said and found a path. But what a path! It was very steep and gravelly. We could barely get footholds and would slip dangerously down. We met some Americans inching their way down. We asked them if the path continued that way for very long. They said that it only got worse, and that there was nothing up there except the hotel they came from. One woman was sliding down on her butt since she was too afraid to walk.

The picture turned out a little dark. 

Behind the trees in the middle is the steep gravel path which we were too scared to take. 

It's very hard to make out, even when you are on it.

We figured that had to be wrong. The hut people had said nothing about the hike being treacherous, so we went back down to the dam and followed a road that we thought must lead to the hiking path. On the road we were lucky enough to meet a father and son who had just come from our hut. They said to just follow the road to the end and we would see the path to the hut, no problem. We were about an hour and a half away.

We went to the end of the road and found ourselves on a sandy peninsula with clifflike sides twenty to thirty feet high. We did not see a path, or even a safe way down from the peninsula. E called the hut to tell them we were running late and to ask for directions and they told him that if we were on the plateau the path to the hut should be easy to see. I still didn't see anything.  E thought he did and started to look for a way down. It was obvious, though, that if we went down (which seemed impossible anyway) we would never get up again. Meanwhile, the temperature fell about ten degrees and the sun was getting low. I was starting to worry that we wouldn't make it. We backtracked a little  and E called again. The man at the hut thought he could see us, but asked us to backtrack even more so he could be sure. We did and signalled him with our mirror. It turned out that we should have gone to the end of the road, but where we were wasn't the road. The road had taken a steep turn up the mountain. The man at the hut told us to start walking and that he would come pick us up in the car.

The rescue vehicle.

So we did. And finally he came in a red van that reminded me of an old truck my Dad used to have which inspired my lifelong fear of bridges.* There were no seats in the back, just junk, and a piece of rotten plywood  covering a hole in the floor. R even asked if this is what Grandpa's truck was like. At that point we had been hiking for more than six hours.  A donkey cart would have felt like a limo. We all piled in and felt like our troubles were over.

The end of the road, and more walking to do.

Our troubles were not over. Too soon the van arrived at the real end of the road - the plateau where they had thought we were and where the path to the hut began. (We thought he said it would be fifteen minutes to the hut, but he must have said fifty, and he must have meant it takes him fifty.) The man took one of the kid carriers for us and we started off. We were exhausted, but it was a normal path at first. Then we had to walk across a narrow ridge with steep sides. The worst part of that was that all the gravel making up the sides of the ridge somehow created a weird optical illusion that it was moving. It was extremely disorienting and dizzying for all of us which made slow going. Then the climb began. Long steep switchbacks all the way to the hut. We would go up one and turn, expecting to at least see the hut. Not yet. Then another - still no hut. Then finally we could see it, but it was horribly horribly high up. We were so exhausted and discouraged. I don't think I've ever felt so bad physically as climbing up that mountain. And my mental state was only contributing: I'd chosen the hut, I had let us get off course, I had decided to go forward. I divided my time between wondering why the man hadn't taken one look at us and driven us down the mountain rather than up and worrying that it was getting dark. The fact that we had no choice but to go up was the only thing that kept us going up that narrow steep rocky path.

It's getting dark.

And darker.

The man's wife met us on the last switchback, took the carrier with L and sprinted up the path with her. R and the man were close behind. E brought up the rear with S. She was having a hard time of it and by now it was almost full dark.

This is the end of the last switchback where we were met by his wife, taken the next morning. 

Imagine hiking for seven hours with thirty-something pounds on your back, being mentally wrung out,  and turning the corner in the near darkness to see that you still have this far to go on a scrawny rock trail!

But we did make it up and they had saved some dinner for us.

We had originally hoped to be there by 5:00. We had read it would be two and a half hours from the lift and we budgeted five hours. We had given ourselves an extra hour and a half of flex time, too, to make it there for dinner at 6:30 sharp. I think we got there sometime after 8. It was a long, exhausting day.

To be continued... there is plenty to say about the hut and how we managed to get home.


*Dad's truck was an antique carpet van. It had a driver's seat, and that was it. When we were very little my sister and I used to go with Dad to the dump and he would give us a quarter for penny candy afterwards. Our seat was a stack of tires on the passenger side. Unfortunately, the passenger side door would fly open any time we hit a bump. Dad's solution was to attach a door handle to the dashboard and tie the door closed. We were supposed to lean over and hold on to the handle. The problem with that was that there was a hole in the floor where the passenger's feet would go, and we were stretched over it, holding on and watching the road zoom by under us. That was eventually patched with a stop sign.