Backpacker

04 10.PHOTOS BY LISA SULLY (3); DENNIS LEWON; COURTESY``````“YOU GO AHEAD. We’ll meet you at thecampsite.” That was the consensus from my momand her friend Diana, who were hiking moreslowly than their grandchildren. It was a reunionof sorts, with three generations backpacking to alake in Northern California’s Trinity Alps this pastsummer, and it was no surprise that the 72 yearolds weren’t keeping pace with the teenagers.It was the first day, and we were planning tocamp 5 miles in, halfway to the lake, at a spot weknew from previous trips. Our families startedhiking here when I was about 10 years old, andwe returned most summers because of thewildflower-filled meadows, granite cirque, andperfect jumping cliff that rose out of the clear, coldwater. I was looking forward to introducing my12-year-old son to that sheer rock.We decided that Lisa, Diana’s daughter, wouldstay with Team Grandma, and the rest of us (fivekids and two adults) would push on to set up camp.The second part of the plan went fine. We arrivedat the creekside site, cooled off in a swimming hole,pitched tents, hung bear-bag lines. Everything wasready for the late arrivals. Except they didn’t arrive.At dusk, more than two hours after weexpected to see them, I knew something waswrong. I packed a few things—headlamp, water,snack, shell—and set off back down the trail.The weather was warm and clear, and the patha gentle descent. It was easy going even byheadlamp, and I had plenty of time to worryabout what might have gone wrong.As it happened, I had just finished editing“Searching for Pops” for this issue (page 71). In thisheart-wrenching story, Robert Woodie recountsthe week he spent looking for his 74-year-oldfather, who didn’t return as planned from a solobackpacking trip in the High Sierra. His tale is a``````powerful reminder that the wilderness where welove to play is no playground.I thought about Woodie’s search for his dad asI looked for my mom, shining my light to eitherside of the trail, hoping to see the reflection of atent. They had all their gear—perhaps they’d justgotten tired and decided to camp along the way?Like Woodie, I thought about all thebackpacking trips I’d done as a kid, how thoseexperiences shaped my relationship with myparents, shaped my life. And like Woodie, I couldn’thelp fearing the worst: that a place I love had takensomeone I love.I arrived at the trailhead without having seenany sign of the missing trio. I was relieved, butmystified: How had we missed each other? Hadthey hiked past us somehow? Taken a wrongturn? Both were unlikely. Maybe I’d hiked bythem in the dark and they were still somewherealong the trail, injured? I decided to hike back atdawn, when I could see better.At daybreak, I covered the 5 miles back to ourcamp in a rush, assuming this time I’d spot them.But no. Just the creek and cedars and leopardlilies. I thought of Woodie again, and of the beautyhe found even as he was searching with dread inhis heart. I was surprised to find myself feelingthe same way, my anxiety tempered by the green-gold of the meadow in the sunrise light.Twelve hours after the grandmas and Lisavanished, they walked into camp. They’d misseda turn and gone so far in the wrong direction thatthey’d been forced to spend the night there. Theywere fine, more embarrassed than anything (it’s awell-marked turn, no matter what my mom says).I hope I never have to search for a missinghiker again. But if I do, at least I can say my momprepared me well.Lost and FoundSearching for a missing hiker makes you see the trail in a new light.editor’s noteBY DENNIS LEWON``````Pure LandIn 2007, Southwest FieldEditor Annette McGivneyreported on a tragedy inthe Grand Canyon for thismagazine. A Japanesehiker was murderedon her way to HavasuFalls, and McGivney’sinvestigation led herfrom the Arizona desertto Japan. In her newbook, Pure Land ($20;coming out in Octoberfrom Aquarius Press),McGivney delves deeperinto the lives of TomomiHanamure, the victim,and Randy Wescogame,the Havasupai teenagerwho killed her. She alsodetails how the crimeled her to the edge ofa personal crisis, andultimately how naturesaved her from a tragedyof her own.``````Clockwise from top left: Lewon andhis mom, Elaine; Horseshoe Lake;three generations of backpackers;the missed trail junction.