March 1, 2021

By: Michael R. Thompson and Julie B. Potter

Facing a potentially dangerous situation alone in the wilderness can be harrowing, but waiting at home alone for news — any news — regarding your loved one’s well-being isn’t an enviable position to be in either. Below, husband-and-wife duo Michael Thompson and Julie Potter each share their own experience with a recent hunting trip gone awry — Thompson from the perspective of a solo hunter facing imminent danger, and Potter from the perspective of a spouse waiting anxiously at home for news. For both, an inReach® satellite communication device made all the difference.

Michael Thompson:

I had just notched a tag with a successful mountain hunt in Washington’s North Cascades. Clean, fresh meat was processed and loaded carefully in my pack. I stood at the bottom of a very steep canyon with the trail just over the rim above. I had been here dozens of times and knew the area well. All I had to do to reach the trail was climb straight back up the canyon wall. It would be slow going but once on the trail, it would be an easy four miles of downhill switchbacking to reach my truck.

I took a moment to message my wife with my Garmin inReach®, letting her know I was successful, and that it would be a long night of hauling meat off the mountain. Before this technology existed, there was no way to let the folks at home know that I would be late or even if I was OK. They would just have to sit at home and wonder if I was in a situation that was under my control, or if I was screaming for help at the bottom of some canyon. Although I had never used the function, the SOS feature not only gave my wife peace of mind, but it also gave me a great deal of confidence when hunting alone. I know I always have backup in case the worst happens.

It was dusk as I began my snail crawl up the side of the canyon. I could see an early October storm quickly approaching — a mix of wind, snow and rain started buffeting the canyon walls and darkness rolled in quicker than expected. My head lamp barely pierced the falling snow as I looked straight up to the rim of the canyon. I could just make out the evergreens that gave away the top. That’s when I first slipped, rocks and brush raking my chest and knees as I slowed my slide down the hill and gathered myself.

The freezing rain and snow made climbing almost impossible. For every three vertical feet I gained I would lose two. Just when I thought had made progress, I would slide on the frozen bushes, or my faulty trekking pole would collapse, and I would lose all footing and fall again.

Hours passed. My rain gear was destroyed from the many slides, I was soaking wet and hypothermia was setting in. At one point I even contemplated curling up in my tarp to take a quick nap. Nothing had ever sounded so tempting or appealing to me in my life. Just curl up and go to sleep among the boulders in the middle of a freezing rainstorm. Although hypothermia clouds your mind, I recognized these thoughts for what they were and kept moving because my life depended on it.

Eventually I made it to an outcropping of trees and had just enough energy to crawl under the boughs to get out of the freezing rain. Although utterly exhausted, I gathered tinder to make a fire. My emergency fire kit consisted of a damp lighter and some soaking wet shop towels. This was the moment where I was almost certain my life was over. I looked at my Garmin inReach and the button along the side that read “SOS.”

Perched in the same branches of the tree I was under was a large blue grouse that had finally had enough of all the commotion I was making. It clambered higher up in the branches, its wings making the unmistakable sound that only a disturbed grouse can make. In the dim light of the headlamp, I saw a feather drift down in front of me, and I suddenly remembered that I kept a small container of olive oil in my pack just in case I was lucky enough to bag a grouse for a mountain lunch.

My fingers were little more than frozen memories as I shivered uncontrollably and clumsily dug through the pack for the olive oil. I emptied the container into the soggy wet shop towels. With one completely numb hand, I rolled the lighter’s striker over the knuckles of my other hand, because all my dexterity was gone. Amazingly, the lighter produced a flame and ignited the oil-soaked rags, which was enough to get the fire going. Twigs popped and snapped as the flame grew stronger.

Soon feeling came back to my hands like a red-hot poker, and I regained enough dexterity to string up a tarp and emergency blanket for an ersatz shelter that could almost be considered cozy under different circumstances.

Now that I felt the situation was back under my control, I decided to message my wife again. I told her not to worry, but I would be spending the night on the side on the mountain. She didn’t need to know I was almost another…