Feature | A Long Hike Out

EXPOSE A Long Hike Out

By Phil DiGirolamo NOLS Wilderness Medicine Grad

NOLS Wilderness Medicine grad Phil DiGirolamo learned an important lesson while hiking with friends in the Sierra Nevada. Beej Jorgensen Where’s your orange?” California Highway Patrol rescue helicopter pilot Jimi Hendrix asked me. I didn’t understand the significance of it at first, but I learned it that day.

My friends Tom, Eric and I were backpacking in the Sierra Nevada. A potential snow storm was due to come in that afternoon, so with 10 miles to the trailhead, we started our hike-out early.

A mile in, Tom, who was ahead of me, stepped off a granite slab and onto what looked stable, a one-foot diameter rock. The rock twisted underfoot and there was a firecracker explosion. Eric yelled, “What was that?” but I knew instantly—trouble! Tom collapsed, his leg broken. Time for my Wilderness First Responder training.

Eric and I sized up the scene: I would take care of Tom, and he would run for help. Help, though, was nine miles to the vehicle, plus another ten to phone reception. We didn’t know what type of help would be available or how and when it might arrive. And the storm was due late in the afternoon.

Eric set off running after we assessed and splinted

Tom’s leg and positioned him for the possible onset of shock. I monitored and evaluated Tom. Unfortunately, we were in a rock garden, and keeping him comfortable was problematic. So, we talked: about child rearing, our past adventures, our future desires.

Two and a half hours later, with nothing coming our way, I encouraged Tom. We both knew Eric was a terrific runner and could cover the nine miles in no time, even in hiking boots, and we laughed at the idea of him breaking his 10k personal best.

Three hours later, I heard a whopping sound. I grabbed my bright blue jacket and ran to a clearing, waving the jacket overhead frantically. Soon, I saw a helicopter circling. Once, twice—and then it started to leave. At the last minute, it swung back and I heard over the loudspeaker, “Looking for a landing spot.”

When the pilot found a small clearing on the edge of a lake, I helped the onboard medic run emergency supplies to Tom. The pilot couldn’t risk getting hurt here, so he didn’t help, but Eric showed up in time to help us move Tom to the ‘copter. Round trip for Eric, 18 miles.

That’s when Jimi asked me, “Where’s your orange?” He said that even the brightest blue blends in with fall colors. “We were leaving when the medic finally saw you,” he said. “You need to wave something orange for a pilot to see.” I thought of my orange and grey sleeping bag, stuffed in my backpack, and how it could have prevented the close shave we’d just had.

With Tom airlifted to a hospital, Eric and I—one who’d just completed an 18-mile round-trip run in hiking boots, and the other who’d cared for a wounded hiking partner— hiked out, carrying three backpacks. We were worn out.

A year later, we returned to the same spot and showed Tom the rock that did him in. He has recovered, runs marathons, and occasionally breaks his personal bests. Eric has completed the Pacific Crest Trail. My wife and I have moved up to Washington state, and I hike there. I haven’t had to use my WFR training in a serious incident since, but I always bring my orange and gray sleeping bag. Because one never knows.

Phil DiGirolamo, a former educator and coach who transplanted to Washington from California, became an outdoor instructor for REI after retirement, attending NOLS first responder training.