The Day We Almost Died Hiking Giant Mountain

GIANT Mountain

Mon. 7 Sept 15

Left home @ 5:50 am

It’s supposed to reach 90 degrees Fahrenheit at home today. Seems like a great day to hike a mountain.

Above are the first five lines I wrote in our hike journal during the ninety-minute car ride from Argyle, New York, where my husband, Sam, and I live, to Keene, New York where we would spend the day hiking Giant Mountain. My naïve thought at the time was that the weather would be much cooler where we were headed, especially once we reached 4,626 feet above sea level at Giant’s peak. But there were two things we didn’t know. One was that more experienced hikers than us have died of heat stroke because they hiked on a hot day. The second thing we didn’t know, when added to the first, could have cost us our lives.

At 7:45 on a hazy late-summer morning with the leaves turning yellow, orange, and red all around us, we signed in at the trailhead and began to hike the Ridge Trail.

The Trailhead and Sign-in

We each carried a backpack with items such as a small first aid kit, a compass, spare socks, and bug spray. We had learned that we needed to bring more water when we ran out during our hike of Cascade and Porter Mountains in April. This time we brought ten (16.9 oz.) water bottles. With this much water, along with a variety of dried fruit, protein snacks, and instant energy gels, we felt confident that we were better prepared this time.

Giant Mountain Summit Marker

We’re sitting at the peak, and we’ve consumed about five bottles of water. Water seems to be much more important than food. We’ve decided we need to bring some fresh fruit next time and maybe less dried fruit and fewer granola bars.

Pam writing in hike journal

The view is beautiful up here. We see tree-covered mountains all around us. The whipping breeze chills our sweat-covered bodies. The elevation was a challenge, especially while climbing and trying to breathe at the same time. I have to admit being up this high is a little frightening. The bottom is a long way down.

Fellow hikers resting and taking in the view

The hike down the mountain became our greatest challenge of the day. Despite the cool breezes at the peak, the descent was hot, much hotter than the climb to the peak. We learned that when the hot sun beats down on long stretches of bare rock, the rock reflects the sun’s rays back up. We felt like two pot roasts in an oven.  

Bare rock with several cairns

Up to this point, we were proud of ourselves for bringing 10 bottles of water. We had frozen some, and the ice water was sublimely refreshing! What we hadn’t factored in was that this was a longer hike and, more importantly, we were going to sweat more due the unseasonably hot weather. The hot sun on the rocks and the longer descent combined to make our five remaining bottles of water barely adequate.

But there was another piece to this puzzle that we didn't understand until two days later when I shared our experience on the mountain with Todd Smith, our fitness trainer. His first question was, “How much did you drink the day before?” I explained that Sunday, the day before our hike, had been a religious fast day. On the first Sunday of each month, Sam and I go without food and drink for two meals and donate to those in need the money we would have spent to buy the food for those meals. We hadn’t had anything to drink until Sunday evening. When we began our hike on Monday, we were already below normal levels of hydration.

The rock where we rested

Part way down the mountain, we left the trail and walked several feet into the trees to sit at the base of a huge boulder where Sam had taken my picture during our ascent that morning. We were almost out of water, and we were both starting to feel weak. Neither of us wanted to eat anything dry, so we chewed several fruit gels to boost our energy. Our fellow hikers passed on the trail as they headed down the mountain. One woman asked if we were okay, and we said we were...but we weren’t.

I suffered more from heat exhaustion and dehydration than from anything else. It was a horrible, helpless feeling. At one point, I started to cry. My legs and body ached so much I didn't want to move. My big toes hurt from being repeatedly jammed into the front of my boots as I struggled downhill. Since I didn't have the strength to lift my foot more than an inch off the ground with each step, I became concerned that I would catch my foot on something and fall. At certain points on the trail that would have sent me tumbling down over the rocks. I noticed that I was light-headed and slightly delirious. I talked to Sam about giant bottles of water, ice cold glasses of orange juice, and Stewart's chocolate peanut butter cup ice cream.

Meanwhile, Sam struggled along behind me in much the same condition. He was bothered more by his inadequate hiking boots. His big toes jammed painfully into the front of his boots with every step. He stopped and re-tightened his laces to see if that would keep his toes back further, but it did little to relieve the pain.

Walking slowly along, leaning heavily on our hiking poles, it struck me that we looked like two senior citizens shuffling along with the help of our walkers.

With a little more than half a mile still to go to the trail-head, we came to a body of water called the Washbowl. Sam helped me sit down on a fallen tree near the water’s edge. He took out our water filtration water bottle--which had saved us from becoming dehydrated on our previous hike--and filled it with pond water. We shared three bottles full, while I prayed to God that the water wouldn’t make us sick.

The Washbowl

We both felt better and started down again with lifted spirits and a little more energy. But it wasn’t long before we slowed again. The final seven-tenths of a mile from the Washbowl to the trail-head seemed to take forever. With painful, geriatric steps, we kept moving through several switchbacks and patch after patch of boulders that we had to climb down and around. It was starting to get dark, and we hadn't brought a flashlight. We needed to be out of the woods before sunset.

Once we reached level ground, we knew we were close. Sam, who was several yards behind me, called out, “Tell me when you see the sign-in box!” It wasn’t long before I spotted it up ahead among the trees. It was a beautiful sight! We were both relieved to be almost to our Jeep.

Once at the Jeep, we guzzled warm water from the large water bottle we’d left there and quickly removed our boots and socks. We drove straight to the nearest Stewart’s Shoppe and bought an extra-large bottle of cold water, a similar sized bottle of Gatorade, a small bottle of pink lemonade for Sam, and a small bottle of orange juice for me. When we got closer to home, we stopped at another Stewart’s for ice cream to celebrate making it out alive.

That night we were both amazed at how much better we felt after drinking all the liquids we bought. In fact, at 9:30 pm, as we were getting ready for bed, we commented to each other that we felt pretty good except for a few sore muscles and several sore toes. Neither of us had to pee in the night nor did we suffer any ill effects the next day.

We give credit to God for our healthy bodies and for getting us through our six-hour ordeal descending Giant Mountain.