A couple of us were riding our mountain bikes after work at Hobbs State Park-Conservation Area when we rolled up behind two hikers on the Hidden Diversity Multiuse Trail.
“Is this the way back to the trailhead?” one of the hikers asked. “We’ve been out here for hours.”
The hikers weren’t really lost. Just anxious to know if they were walking in the right direction. We assured them they were. The two arrived safely back at the trailhead before we had our bikes loaded.
Our encounter was a reminder of how terrifying it is to be truly lost in the woods or on a trail. It’s not a fun feeling when the sun gets low, shadows grow long and you don’t know where you are.
Ironically, the most recent getting-lost episode for me involved mountain biking.
One autumn weekend, Tom and Karen Mowry of Nob Hill and I were in the Mountain View area to hike the beautiful Sylamore Creek Trail. We’d brought our mountain bikes along to ride some of the nearby Syllamo Mountain Bike Trail.
One evening we set out for a four-mile ride around one of the Syllamo loops, a jaunt of about an hour.
We must have zigged where we should have zagged. Two hours later we were still on the trail without a clue where.
The sick and frightening sensation of being lost filled my gut.
We kept on pedaling, feeling our way this way and that, until we came to a gravel road. Still we had no idea where we were. Should take the gravel road and if we did, which way?
All we knew was town was “that way.” Off we pedaled down the road not knowing where it’d take us.
In about two miles there it was, the trailhead. I hugged the car. We found it by dead reckoning and luck with 15 minutes of daylight to spare.
Spend time poking around in the woods and it’s going to happen. You’re going to take the wrong fork of a trail or otherwise get turned around in the woods.
So it’s a good idea to stash a headlamp, lighter and energy bars or trail mix in your pack when you head out to hike. Nobody ever plans to spend an unexpected night outdoors.
You might even get lost on your own property. That happened many moons ago when my roommate, Hog Ears, and I lived in our backwoods bachelor cabin on a thousand acres of Ozarks heaven.
It was a fine autumn day and I set out for an afternoon squirrel hunt.
My mind wandered from one daydream to another.
When I snapped out of it two hours later, I didn’t recognize a thing around me except the shotgun in my hand.
I walked and walked.
Nothing in the woods looked familiar. That was the first time I felt the panic of being lost.
Weary feet carried me up a hill that opened into a glade on top. From here I could see our neighbor’s barn and knew which way to go.
This time I got back home with five minutes of daylight to spare and not one squirrel.
FLIP PUTTHOFF IS OUTDOORS EDITOR FOR NWA MEDIA FOLLOW HIM ON TWITTER AT TWITTER.COM/NWAFLIP.
Outdoor, Pages 6 on 02/14/2013