Tremendous to Terrified, My Joshua Tree Search and Rescue Experience
In January 2020, I experienced my first helicopter ride. However, it was due to an unplanned search and rescue in Joshua Tree National Park.
If you're like me, when you hike, you prefer longer and less traveled hikes rather than short overcrowded hikes. Unfortunately, Joshua Tree has a few long hikes. The maximum trail length is about 8 miles roundtrip.
To find something more challenging, my friend and I turned to All Trails to research. For those unfamiliar with All Trails, it is an app that allows you to discover hiking, running, and biking trails around the world.
Pinto Mountain Trail, a mountain summit totaling roughly 10 miles with five-star reviews, popped up. With a quick skim of the trail and reviews, it sounded perfect! We set up our packs with food and water to set out early the next day.
After a short drive into the park, we found the trailhead and one car in the lot—a great sign of a less popular trail for us. One couple we spotted walking toward the base mountain, but they turned back after a short while. Little did we know they'd be the last people we would see until our helicopter pilot and co-pilot hours later.
Photo by: Emma R Hoskins
We set out elated after not seeing each other for years and thrilled for our new shared experience ahead. The terrain to start was flat due to the dried-out basin (turkey flats), but no signs or trail markers were in sight. We decided that if we didn't see any signs of trail markers by the time we got to the mountain base, we would turn around and pick another trail.
The walk to the mountain base was flat and easy, and we had a grand time catching up on the past few years. Time passed quickly.
As we began growing closer to the mountain base, there was still no sign of a trail, life, or footprints. It was starting to seem like a lost cause.
When we were about to give up and turn back, we saw a rock cairn and faint footprints in the dust. A sure sign that we weren't insane and someone else had been here at one point. We trekked forward.
As we gained elevation, the terrain quickly changed from desert flat to rocky to extreme boulder scramble. One foot in front of the other changed to contemplating footing with each step to full-body billy goat climbing. All while keeping a keen eye out for cairns to ensure we were still heading in the correct direction.
My concerns grew as we increased in elevation and saw more extreme boulder scrambles. The hike's exertion was reasonably intense for two experienced hikers, but this was not any hike I had faced before. It was a cross between rock climbing and walking on eggshells. We decided to rest, assess the situation, and grab some water. I had an inkling in my head that if something happened to one of us, I didn't know how we would both get down.
The view was becoming quite incredible, but looking back from where we came from was daunting. I was amazed but terrified all at the same time. Yet, we had already come so far, and the mountain's top was within reach. Worrying about getting back down would have to be a later issue. It was time to push forward.
After getting a few cacti needles in our hands and butts, we made it to the top. It was the first mountain summit for both of us, and it was beautiful. It was almost 1 pm by the time we reached the top. We knew we'd have to inhale our lunches, take in the views, and hurry our asses down to beat the darkness.
When we went to sign into the logbook on the summit, we realized that we had been the first people to summit the mountain in 5 days. The last entry was from "Lucky Larry" and read: "Better than sharing a trail with a bunch of folks. ENJOY YOUR HIKE DOWN!"
Photo by: Emma R Hoskins
With a boost of motivation from Larry and full stomachs, it was time to get moving again. We had climbed up this mountain, so surely we could make it down.
Coming down was much more comfortable than coming up. At times the footing got loose, and we'd land on our butts or a cactus. We later discovered that we had both ripped holes in the butt of our pants. I was happier to have rocks rolling away from me than at me, exposed butt and all. We were no longer using upper body weight to scale boulders, and we were cruising. Or so we thought...
After a little while, I realized that we had been so excited we reached the top that after we saw the first cairn on the side of the mountain to descend, we had not seen another for quite a while. I took a moment to pull out the map to make sure we were still on the right track, and sure enough, we were not. We had ended up in a valley heading East instead of South.
There were two options that we could take.
Keep going down the valley we were in and walk a longer distance in the flat basin.
Try to get into a valley heading South and find the cairns. This option would require more mountaineering but less distance in total.
We picked the second option.
Running on pure adrenaline, we scrambled up and down to get into a more Southern valley. After we found a valley heading more toward the South, we resumed sliding down and shuffling down rocks.
It felt like we were back on track and making good time until we came to a drop-off of at least 30 feet. We turned around to contemplate going back up where we had slid down from, but it was too steep. The only option seemed to be the drop-off.
We began surveying the area to determine a safe route to make down the drop. Neither of us felt comfortable with our options, and we had finally hit a real roadblock. My fight or flight kicked in in full force. Verbally, I was chipper and optimistic that we could figure this out. Internally, my heart was pounding, and I was shaking. We had to figure something out.
We decided to sit, get some water, and figure out what to do next. It wasn't a great situation, but we had plenty of supplies and only a few cuts and bruises. The real issue was if we tried to make the drop-off, it could quickly turn the situation from bad to worst. Returning to my earlier concern that if one of us got injured, how could we both make it down?
I decided to check and see if my cell phone on the off chance it had any service. Miraculously, I had one bar of service and dialed 911. If anything, I could let someone know where we were and hopefully get some help.
Not that I call 911 often, but our operator was fantastic. She immediately asked if everyone was okay, and I explained that we were fine, just stuck between a rock and a hard place, literally. The rocks had stopped us dead in our tracks.
I was able to pull our coordinates from my phone and provide them to our operator. She kindly informed us that a search plane would be out to pinpoint our location. She told us to call back if we didn't see anything in 30 minutes. We were sitting ducks on the side of a cliff face waiting for help until then.
Things began looking bleak as the temperature started to drop, and dusk began to draw near. Every minute seemed to pass like an hour, and we thought every plane high in the sky was ours. Thirty minutes passed with no signs of help.
I redialed 911 and reconfirmed our location with the operator. Our search plan had accidentally gone to a different mountain that started with a P in the area. The operator told us to sit tight and that it should be about 30 minutes. This time with our coordinates confirmed, help was on the way.
We heard the sound of another plane, assuming it was another high in the sky until we spotted the lettering under the wings "California Highway Patrol." It was a small airplane, and it was for us! We began flailing our arms to help the plane spot us in our low crevice.
The plane circled in the sky, moving in and out of our view showing no sign that they had spotted us. We called back 911. We notified the operator that the plane had arrived, but we didn't believe they had spotted us. Our operator handled the phone with the pilot and us to ensure they had locked in our location. She took a description of our clothing, and of course, we were mostly in dark colors. Our operator told us to take anything light in color that we had and wave it. Thankfully, I realized the lining of my North Face was bright blue. I began whirling my jacket above my head like a terrible towel. But also like our lives depended on it. Our flashlights were all turned on; we used everything to get them to see us. It's a terrifying moment when you can see help, but they can't see you.
Our operator told us they had pinpointed our location and that the helicopter was en route. Never in my life have I felt so seen.
I had never been in a helicopter before nor been rescued by one. There were no flares or landing pads. I had no clue how the helicopter team was supposed to get us out of this crevice. Would they attempt to basket us or land on the rugged mountain?
We could tell our helicopter pilot was thinking hard to figure out how to get to us. The helicopter came up through the valley, above us, behind us. The crevice we were in was too deep and risky for them to basket us. They were going to have to land.
To this day, I am still unsure how they landed on the rocky terrain that we had struggled with all day. It took time and patience, but they completed the landing flawlessly.
The co-pilot was able to help us get up to the spot where the helicopter landed. I'd felt a lot of embarrassment and guilt for ending up in this situation to require a search and rescue. I knew we had made the right decision to ask for help when we spoke to the co-pilot. The first thing she said to us was: "You sure are stuck. I'm glad you called us when you did because we wouldn't have found you once it got much darker."
Once I took my seat in the helicopter, I became overwhelmed with emotions. Relief, humiliation, confusion, nervous laughter - it was impossible to take in. It was astounding when we took off from the mountain and got airborne. Seeing where we were was both fantastic and terrifying. It was quick to understand why locating us amongst the treacherous terrain had been difficult. We were a needle in a haystack.
The helicopter landed in the basin just next to the parking lot, where we had begun our journey earlier that day. Embarrassingly enough, caution tape blocked the parking lot, and a group of spectators had gathered. Our pilot and co-pilot delivered us to a Park Ranger for an incident report, and they took off before we even got to say thank you.
The Park Ranger asked us the basic are you two actual idiots type questions. Did we have adequate food, water, attire, physical stamina, etc.? Check, check, check. We were prepared and ready to go.
When we stated to the ranger we found the trail on All Trails as we wanted a longer trail, we learned some interesting information. The Park Ranger quickly informed us that Pinto Mountain was designated Joshua Tree Wilderness and not maintained by the park. While Pinto Mountain is within Joshua Tree National Park boundary, the wilderness area doesn't receive maintenance from the National Park Service. It is considered an enter at your own risk area. Thankfully, we arrived back to the car shaken but safe and able to leave the park in one piece.
I am incredibly grateful to everyone who was able to help us in this situation. Thank you to our 911 operator, California Highway Patrol Team, and The National Park Service personnel. Thank you for everything you did to get us back safe and sound.
In case you were wondering, yes, we are still friends. We got back out there the next day and hit some easy trails before we became too scared to ever hike again. While we never set out on this hike to create a memory quite like this it is one we will never forget.
