I got lost once while I was backpacking. I was in the Sierra and I was sure I knew my way. I had given my topographical map to the guys I had been hiking with, so they wouldn't get lost. Yes, I know I was stupid for backpacking in the wilderness alone. Once I realized I was lost, I tried to stay calm and find some point of reference. From high atop a ridge I could see a small lake below. The lake had a familiar shape, so I immediately knew where I was. The only challenge left was to descend the ridge to get to the lake.
After an hour of slowly climbing down shale and even rappelling a little, I was near the bottom. My final step to the path that skirted the lake was an 18 inch "leap" from a large rock. With adrenaline pumping due to my recovery from near disaster, I jumped from the rock, and twisted my ankle.
A few minutes went by as I assessed my stupidity and the damage to my foot. I now knew I was only about two miles from my car, but I had a new problem. I couldn't put much weight on my foot. With the help of a walking stick, I stumbled my way down the trail, sweating profusely.
About a mile later I saw two college age girls coming up the trail. The smart person would have asked them for help. Well, I have not been accused of being smart to many times. I quickly wiped my brow, walked as straight and steady as I could and hummed a happy tune. As we passed each other, one of the girls said, "Are you OK? Do you need some help?" I told them I was doing fine and wished them a good day. Once I rounded the bend, I let out a muffled groan. Eventually I made it back to my car, which by the way, was a stick shift, drove myself back home, and received mo lack of grief and "input" from my family when I told them the story.
Long story...short moral...
When you need help, ask.
Paul
