A Great Adventure Story!

The following is from Carla Black, our friend from Volcán, who periodically makes trips to the Darién in search of plants, primarily, heliconias.  This time turned out to be a little more than she bargained for!

 

  Bivouacking on Cerro Pirre

 

In June 2009 I went to Cana in the Darien National Park with a group of scientists. My goal was to look at heliconias and, knowing there were few to see, to have a vacation, enjoying the birds, beetles, and moths the others had come to look at. One day I got lost and ended up staying out in the forest overnight at about 1350 m (4500 ft) elevation.

 

Cana is at 500 m elevation in the central part of the Panamanian isthmus near the Colombian border. Ancon Expeditions operates facilities for visitors, including a higher elevation tent camp about 3 hours walk up the ridge at about 1250 m.

 

The morning after arriving at the tent camp with three companions and two staff, I headed out to look for H. darienensis, recorded in elfin forest at the top of Cerro Pirre. I left camp at 7:30 am, hiking fast to get to the high point 4 km distant.

 

One hour of good hiking later I came to the end of the tended trail and looked for the continuation to the summit. That was my first mistake: the “top” everyone spoke of was the end of the good trail – and there was no “top” about it. I continued, following a brushy trail with fallen trees requiring small detours. The second mistake I made was not paying attention to details of the trail, thinking all I had to do was turn around to return to camp. Two or three times I rested my chin on my walking stick, thinking I’d best get help to clear the trail; I’d never make it to the elfin forest at this rate, and I could even get confused on the return trip. But I continued, skirting tree falls and hunting for the foot path.

 

About 45 minutes along the rough trail I decided to turn around. It was 9:30 am. Instantly I realized I didn’t know the way back. I was on a kind of flattish knoll with a variety of routes, all rarely traveled and unconvincing. I went around and around, retracing my route without wanting to, coming across my footprints or passing distinctive plants without knowing how I got there.

 

After an hour and a half, I got concerned that I wasn’t going to stumble across the route home, and the sense of being disoriented was disconcerting. I had to work out a real plan. The sun cooperated, and I figured out which way was south, certainly the right way back. I built up an image of the trail I was looking for: I thought I had not climbed steeply, that the trail was extremely faint, and that it followed a ridgeline (all three of which turned out to be incorrect). I pulled out my little machete to mark where I had been. I made a point of not straying too far on unpromising routes. At one point I noticed a pair of coke bottles stashed in a thicket and two arrows carved into tree trunks. Not far away was a brass survey marker. This was a known location, and if I didn’t wander too far off, searchers could find me. But not until the next day.

 

I began to check all possible routes in an orderly fashion. My first early foray down the correct trail didn’t seem right, and I came back up at about 1:30. I ate a sandwich and headed down another trail, this time leaving an arrow for searchers to follow, and marking my route with cut leaves and blazes for their benefit, or for mine if I had to return. I wanted to avoid that uncertain feeling I’d had all morning.

 

For two hours I followed semi-hard ground that implied use as a trail, but I also bushwhacked, always heading downhill and south. I was feeling confident, and if I were on the right track, I could get down by dark.

 

But just about the time the first rains of the day arrived at 4:00, I could see that my trail wasn’t working out. I would have to retrace my route to where I first got lost. But first, I needed a little rest in a dry spot under a leaning tree. The rest, my head in my hands, made it clear I was tired. I could not get out of the woods by dark, no matter what. If I went back now, I’d not have time to make a shelter, either. It was a relief to make the decision that had been niggling since 11:00 am: I would stay and bivouac, knowing that the other five would be out looking for me at first light in the morning. I felt quite badly for those in camp, and only wished I could tell them I was okay.

 

As far as equipment went, I had a small sharp machete, a grocery bag, and a kerchief. I was wearing a Capilene t-shirt that kept my upper body feeling warm, a windbreaker that was not even a little waterproof, mid-weight cotton pants, and rubber boots with hiking socks.

 

I was happy when the rain let up at 5:00 to let me build my bed and shelter without getting wetter. The leaning trees was a perfect start, lacking only a pair of sticks on either side to hang the walls on. I cut palm fronds and bent the petioles to hang them over the sticks, then covered the fronds with big cape-shaped leaves of Asplundia. Everything hung together okay without lashing.

 

For my bed – the distance between the trunks was long enough to lay down in a relaxed fetal position – I cut many slim bamboo sticks and split them by beating them with the back of the machete. They were flexible and comfortable, and kept me off the ground very nicely. To cover myself I cut fern fronds for loft and more Asplundia leaves to try to trap the heat.

 

At 6:00 it was getting pretty dark under the forest canopy, and it began to rain again. The fronts of my thighs were soaked as were my arms, but I didn’t feel too wet otherwise. I climbed into my shelter and sat to eat two granola bars, and drank a box of juice and my remaining cup of water. I tied the kerchief under my chin, raised my hood, and settled down with my head on a hard ledge as a pillow. The rain continued until about 8:00 pm, but I was only getting the occasional, regular drip. I spread the shopping bag under me when I thought I felt a stinging insect, but I had no other trouble with bites or stings. As I lay there I considered other dangers of the night, but was not worried by the chance of a large cat bothering me or of a snake joining me for warmth. The idea of a herd of peccaries kept the camp staff awake that night, but I didn’t know about that danger.

 

The blanket was the least satisfactory of my three shelter elements. The ferns were wet and there weren’t enough of them. The Asplundia kept drifting off, and split into fragments when I handled it. My hips and legs on the canes would dry out a bit and feel quite cozy, but when I had to turn over every 2.5 hours or so, the warm side would get wet again and feel cold for lack of good covering. My upper body felt okay, probably thanks to the fabric of the t-shirt. I was too chilly to sleep, but after about 8:00 I wasn’t getting any colder. With regular, energetic shivering, I stayed reasonably warm all night.

 

I later learned that the camp staff, José and Mario, went out when it stopped raining to look for me. They hollered until 11:00 pm, but I was quite far off and had my ears under a few layers of clothes and leaves. I counted on them to look in the morning, but as I lay there, I hoped they didn’t bother to search at night.

 

The hours crept by. I could go a few hours without looking at my watch: one quarter of the way through, half way down, just two hours to go. A bivouacker greets the dawn with special joy! With the least dawn light I crawled out, tried unsuccessfully tried to take photos of my shelter, and headed back along my route. I filled my water bottle from a yellowish stream, in case of emergency. Twice I had to stop for 20 minutes to look for my marks. I had patience – no way was I going to wander off my route now!

 

I began yelling at 6:00 am. A whistle would have been good – it takes a lot of energy to yell in a way that penetrates forest. I sort of imitated howler monkeys, whose calls carry long distances.

 

Before 8:00 am I was back at home base, and still hadn’t heard anything. Maybe the searchers had gone past my point, and wouldn’t be back until late afternoon? Maybe I wasn’t as close to a traveled route as I thought, and would be harder to find than I imagined? As the hour crept away, I was beginning to feel a little concerned. I sat on my hard camera case to wait for rescue in my known spot. Five minutes later I was up, needing to do something, to try some route. It was nearly the same hour of the morning that I had gotten lost the day before, and I was noticeably more tired – I really wasn’t up for repeating my previous day’s activities!

 

With the sun shining and south clearly apparent, I headed down a barely visible path for the second intentional time. It didn’t look right the first time, but by now I had narrowed the options. I stepped over a cute patch of aroids for the umpteenth time, telling myself to have confidence that I had indeed stepped over them upon my first arrival at this spot, and that no, I had not simply become familiar with them in my circling around (which was certainly the case with other small landmarks).

 

Not more than 15 minutes down the trail, I heard yelling! Or was it just a dove cooing? Back and forth we hollered, them making sure I wasn’t a monkey, they said. “Stay put!” they called. “I’m at the marker!” I said. Within 20 minutes they reached me.

 

Hugs all around! That’s not normal staff-client behavior, believe me! They brought food and water, and a sheet for a hammock to carry me out if it were necessary. I don’t know if I felt stronger because of eating and drinking, or just because I knew I had only two hours of downhill walking ahead of me, and no chopping and no decisions to make. Probably both.

 

On the way down we pieced together what I had done. Strangely, I didn’t recognize the trail. It fit none of the three characteristics I had set in my mind. The most misleading was my idea that the trail was faint, so I was willing to go way too far on the wrong route, taking the least sign as encouraging. The real trail was brushy, but the tread was a highway compared to my 2-hour detour route the day before. Though I like to think I would have found my way out of the woods, my head was full of doubts and I don’t know if I would have continued far enough to find the well-trod trail on my own. I didn’t even recognize the terminus of the groomed trail on the way down. I had followed my nose all too happily the morning before.

 

In the final analysis, the unfortunate factors were: 1) not paying enough attention to features on the way up, and 2) not having a space blanket and whistle. The fortunate factors were: 1) I had a machete, 2) the rain held off until the afternoon, and I was not drenched (as I would have been the day before or after), 3) I found a sort of dry spot to spend the night, 4) I maintained a “home base” where I first discovered I was lost, and 5) the night was not too windy, rainy, or cold – probably in the low to mid-60’s. It was like a summer night in the Hoh rain forest rather than the high Cascades.

 

It would have been better to not get lost, but the whole experience wasn’t too tough, and I wasn’t really scared at any time.