This one’s for
@FISH I don’t remember if this happened in 1975 or 1976.
I took up backpacking when stationed at Plattsburgh AFB. I would rent equipment from the base rec center for the weekend and usually drove to Vermont to hike segments of the Long Trail. This trail goes from the southern border of Vermont to the Canadian border and cross crosses the state to go over every mountain of at least 3000’. I think the total length of the trail is 270 miles. This was a well maintained trail with a log leanto every 3 miles and a small log cabin every 7 miles. First come, first served.
I found an offshoot trail that led to a place called French Camp which was always vacant. In 4-5 trips in I never saw another person. I hiked in for Labor Day weekend. As I started up the trail about 4-5 miles from the camp it started to snow. Very early for snow even there and it was a wet, heavy snow.
I got to the cabin and started gathering and splitting wood for the pot belly stove inside. I ate some bread and cheese, drank one of my two bottles of Liebfraumilch I had carried in, stoked the fire and curled up in my sleeping bag. It was absolutely quiet except for an occasional pop from the wood stove.
Sometime around 2:00 am I heard children crying and the door burst open. A family of four dragged themselves in, nearly psychotic from hyperthermia. The young boy and girl could not have been 10 years old. Their parents were sobbing and incoherent. I jumped up and got the fire roaring.
I always carried two cans of chicken noodle soup as an emergency ration. I warmed them up on the stove to try and get them some body heat. I looked around outside. There was almost two feet of heavy wet snow. If I hadn’t been there I am positive they would have all died before they could have gotten a fire going.
Before it got light I had them all tucked in their sleeping bags warmed by the fire.
At the break of day I scouted around outside. The tracks they made at 2am were covered with more snow. I asked the fellow where he had parked. They had parked at Smugglers Notch ski area. For them to take the main trail out, it was going to be about a 7-8 mile hike out in snow over 2 feet deep. None of them were dressed for cold weather.
I never took the main trail to get to French Camp. I took a steep trail which wasn’t maintained that basically went straight up and down the mountain. I went and checked the trail and it was fairly clear. Most of the snow was still up in the tree tops.
I had them pack up and told them I was going to check the trail. They were afraid I was going to leave them. It took a lot of convincing to assure them I would be back. I carried my pack up and it was rough going but it was passable and if I could get them up that way it would cut more than 5 miles off their hike out. I knew it was the only way they were going to be able to hike out on their own.
Once I got to the top of the mountain I dropped my pack and ran/walked down the trail as fast as I could. It had started snowing lightly and I had no idea what we were in for. I herded them together, grabbed the man’s pack and one of the kid’s and convinced them to follow me. He carried the youngest child.
I told them to take it as slow as necessary and I would be right back. I raced up the mountain, dropped the packs and ran/slid back down. I just made a round trip of about two miles and they had made it about 100 feet. It was going to be a long day. I grabbed the woman’s pack and the other child’s pack and became worried. They wanted to go back to the cabin. I knew there was no more food and we had used up almost all of the firewood the night before. I didn’t see that as an option. Before they could argue anymore I raced up the mountain, dropped the packs and raced back down. They were still hiking up but slowly. I grabbed up the boy, the Dad had the little girl, and we slowly but surely made our way up to the top.
We gathered up the packs, tying the two kids packs to mine. We still had about a mile to go but this was all downhill using one of the main ski runs at Smugglers Notch. I looked at the ski lift to the left of us and sure wished it had been operating. It was slow going because of all the snow but they followed behind me as a I did my best to plow a trail for them. As we descended the amount of snow decreased quite a bit due to the lower altitude. That made the last quarter mile or so seem like a walk in the park compared to what I had just been through.
I got them in the car and let them warm up with the heat while I packed their bags in the back. I put mine in and the guy asked what I was doing. I told him I needed a ride to my car which was about 5 miles up the road. He started to argue saying he needed to get his family to town to get something to eat. I started to get my bag out. I guess the woman saw the dejection in my face. She got out of the car and loaded my pack back in and said it was the least they could do. They asked for my address so they could send a thank you note and a Christmas card. I looked for that Christmas card for years. When I used to tell this story I used to say they sent me Christmas cards for years afterwards. That part wasn’t true. It was only what I had wished for.
I know I saved their lives that weekend. I hope they had the chance to pay it forward some day.
I hope they went camping again. I certainly did. I haven’t been back there since 1978. I am trying to figure out if I can get back to French Camp when the colors change this fall. It is one of the most beautiful and tranquil areas I have ever been.