In a quarter of a century of recording life with a literary sword, I have been accused a time or two of a very small, minuscule bit of exaggeration. I have maintained my innocence at every turn, my defense being that I tell the story in all its infinite colors just as I remember it. Granted, my memory could be flawed.
I say that with a smile, of course, but this point is truly serious: I can write this story with as much accuracy as I can gather; and, almost down to every word, it is profound understatement. I have not the skill to put in ink the extremity of these six days. I cannot describe accurately the difficulty that I and Todd Perrin faced from Sunday, July 11, 2021 to July 16. Six days of work it was, followed by a day of rest, Saturday July 17. The biblical connection to all you are about to read does not end with that statement.
I suppose the best way to put it is to say that it was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Physically.
I say ‘physically’ because nothing compares to the mental or spiritual difficulties, we all have faced in our life journeys. Spiritually, in fact, it is one of the best things I’ve ever done. But, physically, I have never faced anything this difficult; and as I say that, I flash back to some of those hot, cruel days in the heat of many Houston summers working ten or more hours a day laying a thousand brick – or more – or laying twelve-inch limestone blocks that weighed seventy-five pounds.
But I was young then.
I’m not as young now.
We live in a world of drama -- that's for sure -- but the drama you are going to read day to day pictures only a miniscule part of what really transpired in the remote regions of Yellowstone. There is no hyperbole, although I am the writer. Sometimes true life brings the hyperbolic writer to his knees.
–What-could’ve-been
It is a little difficult to decide what needs to be said in the introduction to prepare you for the daily events. Several things need to be told here, I believe, one of which is the wonder of ‘what-could have been.’
"What could have been" is one thought that has reverberated in my mind ever since my friend Todd and I walked out of that wilderness. I wonder often how the human body -- unconditioned for such a challenge and at an age that is no longer young -- hold up to the conditions it faced. I know this -- something deep in me reminds me of this continually: I never should have walked out of that wilderness. In terms of human anatomy and physical science, it should not have happened.
But we did, and the ‘why’ of that is what I most want to tell you.
(Ah, friends, thanks for coming along. It is a testimony I want all those I know and love to hear, to hear and be inspired, even as I am.)
The miracle that I will always remember is the realization of the things that could have happened, so very easily, of the things that should have happened in many cases, but did not, things that were far more likely to happen than not. Far more than once one misstep on the hike takes you down as high as an eighty-foot drop. Perhaps, the Lord will show us one day the dangers that lurked walking through as high to four to six feet of high grass and weeds and through swampy terrain, or the dangers that stood by in the middle of nowhere, deep in an uninhabited wilderness, both in the loneliness of darkness and in a deep forest in the day where the sun could barely shine. I am told, so you'll know, that this region of Yellowstone is the most remote realm in North America, going as deep as thirty miles from the nearest civilization. For Todd and me, we only ventured into its depth from seventeen to twenty miles.
And, more, how many wrong trails were there that, if I had taken would have turned this story into a search for a missing hiker. Just one. Read the papers. It happens every day this time of the year. A misstep or that one wrong trail would have made for a compelling story, too – but it could have made for a tragic one, too.
And, remembering, that, even in saying that, those realities, carved in words, form perhaps the most acute understatement of anything I've ever written in a quarter of a century.
–Where the trail divides
Here is where you who travel with us may take different trails. Opinions will vary. Four consecutive days – every day from Tuesday, July 13 to Friday, July 16 – my hiking buddy and good friend Todd Perrin and I went separate ways. We broke that long recognized principle of 'leave no friend behind' hiking mantra. My first niece Leah Hays noted that truism to the amazin’ blonde one day in the midst of the unfolding drama.
Duly noted, Ms. Leah.
This is the juncture where the story really begins. Many of you will debate whether it was right or wrong, wise or foolish. In fact, within an hour of each other on Thursday night, two different hikers whose paths Todd and I both crossed approached Todd from both directions (I really feel for Todd at this point and hate to think of it): One man – either a Mr. Lyons that we met or a Mr. DiMaggio, I am not sure which spoke – mildly critiqued Todd for leaving his hiking partner behind, while the other – an old cowboy and schoolteacher named Dale from Idaho Falls– praised him for its wisdom.
We will come to that part of the story, in time, but to make one thing clear: The decision to separate was mine, not Todd’s. On each occasion, I sent Todd ahead, insisted on it. To me, it was the best way we could find our way to safety. There are several reasons behind my rationale, as we’ll see, but the bottom line was that I had tremendous confidence in Todd’s safety and survival ability. The only true danger to Todd, in my mind, would be if he actually did happen upon a bear (which, I think, was Todd's greatest fear, though I could be wrong); but– truth is – the bears were the least of my fears in the entire debacle, and, that, even though I would be the one who actually happened upon one.
Even then, the danger involved in walking up on a bear in this country where bears are prolific would not have diminished that danger had we been together. I guess, the worst case, the bear would have a choice as to which one of us he ate. Alone, he would have only one entrée from which to choose. I say that jokingly, of course, but you understand. There are other dangers we faced in separating, too, but none so great that I thought warranted his going at my very limited rate of speed when we needed to find our way as soon as possible.
In this entire chronicle, I can assure you that that I will only have good things to say about my friend Todd. We never had a cross word, not even one. That, alone, is amazing. But know that Todd is a strong hiker – he has run half-marathons and done much long-distance running – and the strength he displayed was truly amazing. To look at him you might think he is a computer Brainiac– which he probably is – but make no mistake: Todd is a strong man, a relentless hiker, and one of the best men I’ve ever met, on top of it all. With his strength and wherewithal in that wilderness, I had little fear for him as he plodded on ahead on three consecutive days (I went ahead on the fourth and final separation).
But there are two of us involved – I understand that – and common wisdom is that the stronger does not leave the weaker behind. And even though my legs were dead after one day of hiking – that fact I cannot overstate but will try as we go along – I had confidence in my own ability to survive, even if our separation became permanent due to one or the other taking a trail that led us down different paths. I say ‘my own ability,’ but you who know me well are aware that I know that I did not stand at the mercy of my own ability. Someone far greater walked ahead of me on that trail those days, and He walked ahead of Todd, too.
Whatever confidence I had with my friend miles ahead was due to the knowledge that 'if we may live, to the Lord we live; if also we may die, to the Lord we die’ – Romans 14:8.
Anything I do, anything I have done, anything I ever will do are all owing to the Lord’s working in me and to that ‘power that works in me,’ as says the same apostle.
As I tell this story, both today and in the years to come, I will say this with some hint of pride. No, not selfish pride – no, not ever, as our old brother Don McCord would say – but with a pride of satisfaction that the Lord helped me every step. He helped me do something I had no business doing, He aided me in getting out of something I had no business getting out of, and He steadied the ship in a hundred different situations that could have all gone another direction.
No, I never should have been able to walk out of that wilderness into safety. But I did, by the Lord’s grace. Todd Perrin had the same grace applied to him.
--Each step, each mile
Never was a step easy – not one, in the forty-one miles that we traveled. We have tried to determine as precisely as we can the miles we hiked in those six days, and I estimate that the two of us who were able to go on after Day One went somewhere between forty-one and fifty miles. By each day, here is my best estimation:
Day 1 -- 8 1/2 miles
Day 2 -- 7 miles
Day 3 -- 6 miles
Day 4 -- 4 miles
Day 5 -- 7 miles
Day 6 -- 10 miles
The number that jumps out is the ten miles on the final day. I still wonder, ‘How can that happen?’ I think I understand why. You will, too, by Day Ten.
What I know regarding distance is that every day was a day of at least ten hours of almost non-stop, all-day traveling, the two exceptions being Day One and Day Four. On Day One, Sunday, July 11, we hiked eight and one-half miles starting at 4:30 pm; so it was a full day's hike in half a day of time. That haste of that day, I believe, was the original culprit.
But then to go the final day, Day Six, trudging out ten grueling miles, three of which is straight up a hot, dusty mountain – now, that was truly something else.
If you need a thesis, perhaps this one will serve well: Above all else, this is a story of God’s amazing, amazing grace and unyielding Providence. That one will do.
We walked a long trail, but I remember: No one walks the trail alone.
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