There are times on the trail when it is important to recognize when you are at Fishhook. We once climbed up to the top of Chilnualna Falls in Yosemite in the winter. The trail was covered in snow, but we were fine until we got to with about 100 feet of seeing the top of the falls. Because at this point the trail had three feet of powdery snow on it, and followed a narrow ledge along a 500 foot drop. And we couldn't exactly see where the trail actually went. We poked our feet around in the snow for a minute or two and decided that we were at Fishhook. The benefits of seeing the top of the falls just didn't justify the risks of having one of us slip off that ledge.

(You can get an idea of the terrain in the photo here. And yes, if we'd had hiking poles, or climbing ropes, the decision might have been different. We didn't.)



So we turned around.

What brings this to mind is our recent trip up Fairview Dome in Yosemite. It's steep, and the wind was howling. And because it was January, it was cold. And so we decided that it didn't really matter that we weren't going all the way to the top. As a friend told me many years ago: "Summits are all in the mind."

We've stopped our hike or changed our route many times because of swollen creeks, time of day, or icy or overhanging snow. And we have never once regretted it.

When we hear of people getting rescued off mountains, we usually don't admire their courage or their adventuring spirits. We dp find ourselves questioning their judgment, and wondering why they didn't turn around when it made sense to do so.

So when have you turned around? And when did you keep going...and realize it might have been a mistake?

There are plenty of examples on our blog: https://sites.google.com/site/backpackthesierra/home/our-blog/fishhook

I haven't had to turn around on any hikes in the past few years, but I most definitely am aware of the wisdom of doing so when conditions are telling me "no". Snow, ice, or thunderstorms are the most common ways this message is delivered.

I've turned around, or bailed, a lot - for all sorts of reasons. usually weather, sometimes me.

There's a lovely ridgewalk in Kananaskis:



that I have now approached three times, and bailed. Weather. thurnderstorms, or snow (the prevailing wind sends the thunderstorms howling from left to right over the top in that picture, and the geography of the area means that's where the weather and wind end up.

One of these years I'll actually get to do it. but this one I think I'm cursed.

Since I don't generally hike with a specific goal or destination in mind, but tend to wander instead, I turn around a lot. It might be because I got boxed in, decided I didn't like the looks of things, or just ended up wandering in a sort of loop.

I would have turned around way before I got to that wind honed sharp ridge that phat posted the picture of, and on very the best of days too

I bailed on what would have been the literal high point of my climbing career, the summit of Denali. I was a volunteer on the NPS mountaineering patrol (the ultimate busman's holiday), in country that I alertly realized was quite different from the Channel Islands. We had been at the Advanced Base Camp for nearly two weeks and were well acclimatized. Our plan to strike for the summit the next day was foiled by a high altitude cerebral edema case that developed at 17,000 feet, changing our plans. Although it ruined our summit day, our efforts at aiding the victim was monitored by Dr. James Wilkerson, the author of [/i]Medicine for Mountaineering[i] and the discussion we had after the event was absolutely unique and priceless.

Immediately the weather deteriorated, with increasing avalanche danger. Everyone, including the professional guided trips, began to abort their attempts. We finally struck the camp, threw everything on a CH-46 and wound up back at Talkeetna, end of attempt.

As we were dismantling the camp, including the impressive community outhouse, we were cheerfully aided by four lads from somewhere in central Europe - very hearty and vigorous chaps. A few weeks later, back at the islands, I was chatting with our group leader and he told me that three of the four had perished in an avalanche about three days after we left the hill.

What goes around, comes around. The next year I was fortunate enough to be a member of a group that paddled kayaks from Point Conception to San Miguel Island, the first time that trip had been accomplished in something like 140 years. We were able to take advantage of superb weather.

A friend and I went backpacking for six days - Onion trailhead over Kearsarge pass, down the JMT to Whitney, back down the west side and then out to the car we left at Horseshoe Meadow.

We saw rain in the distance for the first day, got a few sprinkles. It was scattered clouds the next day, we went over Forester pass and stopped at Wallace creek for the night. Reached Crabtree ranger station to catch the ranger before he left on patrol - he said the night temp at Guitar was supposed to be in the teens, and wind on the crest was anticipated to be 60 mph.

Since my friend had a (supposedly) 20 degree bag and was cold at 30F the second night, we had a chat while eating lunch and decided to just go. Wind like that was not something we cared to mess around in, and neither one of us could justify trying - the mountain will be there.

We hiked on over to Rock Creek and camped, and made it to the car on the fourth day at dusk. after heating water to clean off before changing into street clothes, we went for a burger in Lone Pine and drove to Mojave for a Motel 6, then on home in the morning. The winds that night were so bad we were being pushed off the road just driving in the desert. The pass was probably worse.

I even told her we could pick up a released permit and day hike it - we'd been doing 15+ miles per day with 25 lb backpacks, after all. No soreness, blisters or anything. After Forester without issues related to altitude, we'd have whistled up the switchbacks and down again. But she's self employed and once off the mountains she couldn't resist the pull.... Also it might have had something to do with hiking over New Army pass with every stitch of clothing she had on, and still being cold. It sure looked like snow would come down on us any moment. We saw a ranger on the pass too - she was wearing one of those heavy bomber jackets and a hat complete with furry ear flaps, and she looked cold!

I think the only real loss I felt was seeing all those golden trout in the water every time I looked, and being too focused on hiking or too tired to pull out the fishing gear. Went down to rinse my face at Rock Creek and almost put my hand on a golden right in front of me. And then to hustle through Cottonwood Lakes without even throwing in a lure... but it was really cold.

That is quite a picture, I agree!

Some say I should have turned around when I walked into an army recruiter office way back when. There were times when I thought it might have been a mistake but overall I'm glad I kept going.

Ok, you asked for it.

I’ve gotten turned around on Mount Ka’ala twice attempting to summit on a dayhike.

This guy has good pictures on his website:
Mount Ka'ala Hike

I recommend you look at the pictures in parallet with this post so you understand what I am talking about.

I got halfway up with my then three month old daughter on my back when it started to rain. We tried to wait it out for about 15 minutes, and then I decided the risk had crossed into the “stupid/dangerous” territory and turned around. I slipped going down the 60 degree (plus) hill, crunching the carrier frame (but fortunately not my daughter). To give you some perspective, we had just about made it to the section depicted in the pictures of the Ka’ala ridge line shown in the website provided in the post.

The second attempt I went with some friends and friends of friends from the Scout troop. Only the kids who were members of the backpacking merit badge class got to go (2/6 chose to participate) and they brought their dads with them. One dad and his son had to bail while we were still on the road because the kid got sick; the time spent seeing if he could continue hurt us later on, but I don’t regret it for one minute. We then got to the section shown in the picture captioned “Exposure on the Ka’ala Ridge Line Trail” – and it started to rain. Again.

We were SO CLOSE to the summit, and we made the decision to bail out - because rain turns Hawaii mud to slippery snot (a factor in crunching the kid carrier).

It was the right decision – but I still almost died on the way down. I mentioned the slippery snot effect? On the way down, I tripped on a root, the branch I grabbed for broke off in my hand, and I sprawled on the ridge and slid on the trail – and almost fell off. You know those “Wiley-E-Coyote” moments you see in the movies, when someone is holding on to an edge with their chin, shoulders and arms while their feet are scrabbling for a non-existent purchase to try to get up? That was me.

It was only 1000+feet down, with a couple bounces on the way, before I would have stopped. Fortunately, my feet found a purchase, my buddies came to my rescue, and we sat there marveling at how beautiful being alive is before continuing down the trail to go home – exhausted and happy, even after not making the summit.

This thread is making me rethink about what I could have done better to avoid an almost fatal accident. The risk factor is simply rain or slippery conditions. That meant that (if I’d been smarter) I would have done this hike in the summer (dry season), made sure we started at first light (to avoid afternoon mauka showers), and bailed if we hit the point where mauka showers were likely to develop (at about 1-2pm local time as we didn’t want to be above the rain line when mauka showers began). I also could have made the bailout decision to finish climbing to the FAA radar station (only a couple hundred vertical feet away, and across a volcanic bog) and to walk down the other side (which is less steep, and there is a paved restricted access road available) so that we could either take a bus home, or back to the cars to pick them up at the trailhead.

All of these are things I’m going to apply the next chance I get to go. And I hope I’m smart enough to recognize when conditions have changed and self disciplined enough to give up on my goals when the risks again exceed the rewards. Making that decision is the hardest part of the exercise.

Sincerely

Steadman

You rode in a CH-46? Now that's almost as dangerous as riding in a car.

Geez you guys.. Ridges like that are awesome! you just need weather that isn't going to kill you

And I guess that's really the point - it's as safe as you make it. Walking a ridge like that in decent weather is probably safer than crossing a city street. I don't want to be on it in a snowstorm or thunderstorm.. If you like places like that, well, you really need to know when to turn around.

Well, it was downhill all the way...Quite a oontrast between Denali at 14,000 feet and Talkeetna and all its legendary delights..

A couple of days later, we had a training session with the 46, and I got to be the victim who was hoisted up into the bird. Now, that is hairy.....

Alabama in May. It's nearly always sweltering by then; usually I've been mowing grass for a couple months already and daytime highs are in the upper 80s and lower 90s by then.

Monday, May 10th, 2010, however, didn't live up to expectation.

I went out that day for a 4-day loop in Bankhead NF, in the Sipsey Wilderness. I had been watching the weather forecast (from 3 or 4 sources) for a week, and had checked it a final time on Sunday evening. All 4 were calling for a light drizzle in the evening, followed by several days of sunshine and warmer temps. I packed accordingly. Instead of a light drizzle in the evening, however, it set in to an all-day soaking rain. I ended up hiking out that night because I was concerned I couldn't get warm with the equipment and supplies I had with me. By the time I made it to my pickup I was suffering from the first stages of hypothermia.

On the one hand, this is Alabama in May -- meaning, it should be hot and humid, not cold and wet. On the flip side, weather forecasts are not always accurate, and I won't always be hiking in Alabama, or only in May.

I had left the house very early Monday morning, failing to check the weather before I left, especially the radar. I'm no meteorologist, but I can read a weather map. Had I done so, I would have seen that rain was coming and made appropriate changes to my plan and/or gear.

I hiked about ten miles in the rain, and got soaked through. I think the wet vegetation soaked me more than the rain. I did have a rain coat, but I didn't put it on because I figured I'd be just as wet from sweat as I would be without it. Also, I kept thinking the rain would stop before long. The sun started to come out about 3PM, so I decided to make camp and try to dry out some. However, the wind picked up and the sun went back in. I simply couldn't get warm.

I had eaten a hot dinner and drank a cup of hot tea, and was huddling in my hammock, trying to get warm under the light fleece blanket I'd brought (remember, I'd packed for forecasted temps, not actuals). I had no cell service, so I couldn't get a weather forecast. So after lying there for 45 minutes or an hour, I finally decided to walk out.

It got really dark, really fast. By now the temps were dropping, and a wind sprung up and blew down the canyon I was in. I was warm and wet, compared to the air and ground around me, so I was putting off a fog. As long as I was moving, my fog bank blew out behind me. But whenever I stood still, it surrounded me and I couldn't see well.

I had a headlamp I'd just bought at Walmart. It and my raincoat (now being used as a windbreaker) were probably what saved me.

I walked back down the trail I'd come up. It was rough going; the trail was covered with blowdowns that the NFS would not allow to be moved (wilderness area rules). So I was having to break stride often to climb over some pretty huge trees that were down. There were also a bunch of stream crossings; I lost count before I was halfway done.

I just kept moving. I ate trail mix and drank water and just kept moving, knowing that to stop was to get too cold and then I'd be in serious trouble.

I'd been dreading those streams all day long. At one point, I'd had to cross a fairly large creek (maybe 50 yards wide and growing because of the rain), and it had been all I could do to get up the bank because of the mud. In fact, I'd had to climb up on my hands and knees and even then felt like I wouldn't make it. But I figured it was all behind me and that I'd just finish my loop and be ok. Well, coming back, I remembered that crossing and dreaded it the whole time.

I came around a bend and found my half-way point, Fall Creek Falls, just as the moon rose. The sky had cleared some, and the moon shone down on the falls, now roaring with all the runoff from the rain. It was absolutely, stunningly beautiful. That sight right there is what made the whole trip "worth it."

Along the way an owl (great horned, judging by his call) took interest in me and followed along behind me, hooting at me. It was a bit hair-raising, even though I knew exactly what it was.

I found a trail that parallelled the official trail, but on my side of the creek. So I didn't have to ford it in the dark. I lost the trail once in a big, rocky bare spot. But I found it within a few minutes on the other side. I got stuck up to my knees in quick sand a bit further along, but was able to get out without losing my shoes.

And then, from the gloom and my self-generated fog, I saw the bridge abutments that signaled I had made it. I climbed the steep bank, crossed the old FS road bridge, and made it back to my truck. I had walked 10 miles in just about 5 and a half hours or so. I'd walked 20 miles in total that day, twice what I'd planned on walking, and all of it through mud and rain and steep creek banks.

As I see it, I made four poor choices. The first was my clothing selection (although I am glad I was wearing pants instead of shorts, and I am glad I chose the shoes I did). Second was not checking the weather Monday morning before I left. Third was my quilt selection; it was perfect for most Alabama summer nights, but not for this trip. I should have taken my sleeping bag or an additional quilt. The fourth was that I didn't hole up early in the day and read and just wait out the rain.

Of those mistakes, the last three are all mental or planning issues, and I have learned from them so that I will not repeat them. The first one, clothing selection, is one I've learned from as well, and which will not get repeated. Now I have full rain gear (my Marmot Precip jacket is the best thing ever!), and I know about the dangers of cotton and the benefits of layering and taking a baselayer that stays clean and dry.

Oh, and it was the time of my life. I've been hooked ever since.

Turned back or bailed out a few times. There is one hike in Big Bend Ntl. Pk. that is only 36 miles (Outer Mountain Loop) that is, for some reason, a butt kicker. It's common to bail at the 2/3rds point, which is as close to a road as you'll ever get, and hitchhike back in. Blisters, water, and a fire made us terminate that hike before.
Also, kayaking rivers where the dams decided to stop generating and left us high and dry, forcing a bailout or long wait.
Hiked/skied a glacier in Switzerland that turned to slush that forced a different route.
Same thing in Canada where ice was soft and dangerous.

Not turning back gets people killed in airplanes and boats all the time. Best go back and live to try again.