Lost at 10,000 feet

Years ago, I did the brutal Cactus to Clouds hike in Palm Springs, so when my friend VR and I were staying in town, we decided on a much more civil approach: take the Palm Springs Aerial Tramway up to 8,000 feet and hike the remaining distance to the 10,834-foot summit of Mt. San Jacinto. VR made it clear from the start that he’d go as far as felt comfortable and wouldn't be hung up on making the peak, which was fine by me.

We drove to the gondola station in VR’s car, bought return tickets, and within seven minutes we were whisked straight up the cliffside to the mountain station. After a quick snack and water break, we walked half a kilometer to the ranger station to register, where they handed us a trail map. Since I had hiked there a couple of times before, I let VR keep the map.

It was a beautiful, crisp October morning. As we set off, VR and I naturally split into our own paces and got separated. The park ranger had warned us to turn back by 1:30 PM no matter what, and right around that time, I pushed through the final rocky scramble to reach the summit. Luckily, there was a sliver of cell service at the top. I texted VR that I was turning back, and he replied almost instantly that he had turned around about a mile below the peak.

I started my descent toward the tramway, but after walking downhill for about half an hour, I realized the track didn't look familiar. Mountain trails can play tricks on your memory, so I kept moving, expecting to see the familiar path any minute. An hour later, I caught phone signal and opened my route, only to feel a cold wave of adrenaline: I was walking entirely away from the tramway station, with no path leading from where I was to where I needed to be.

It was almost 4:00 PM. At over 10,000 feet elevation, darkness drops fast, and I knew the last gondola back down left at 9:00 PM. To make matters worse, VR had our only map. I knew I had to act fast to extricate myself from the situation. First, I texted friends in San Francisco, asking them to call VR repeatedly until he answered to let him know I was lost and working my way back. I initially noticed a junction nearly 20 miles away that was reachable by car, but that would take five or six hours of walking, and as the sun dipped around 5:00 PM, I realized walking 20 miles through pitch-black wilderness was a terrible option.

At the next spot with signal, I decided the safest choice was to climb back toward the summit and find the correct route back to the tramway. That’s when my primary phone battery flashed a warning and died. Fortunately, I had a spare phone in my pack. I powered it up, used the dying primary phone's hotspot just long enough to lock the route onto the spare phone's map app, and kept walking. Because my primary phone was dead, I knew that if I accidentally closed the app, I’d lose the route forever since the map wouldn't be able to reload without data.

By now, darkness had completely set in. My spare phone served as both my flashlight and my navigation lifeline. Each time I missed a turn or the path grew faint, I froze and retraced my steps back until the blue dot realigned with the route line, terrified of triggering a "rerouting" screen that would wipe my map blank.

I kept walking through the dark mountain forest, picking my way carefully until 8:45 PM, when I finally saw the glowing lights of the tramway station. VR was waiting anxiously outside, scanning the dark trail, and spotted me coming out of the trees. We managed to catch the very last tram down, and seven minutes later, we were standing safely back at his car.

"What would you have done if you didn’t make it in time for the last tram?" VR asked me, still catching his breath.

"I would have walked all night and descended 8,000 feet straight down to Palm Springs," I said. "I’m certainly glad it didn’t come to that."