[pct-l] PCT-L Huntington Lake Lost & Injured, Recovered

[wqua@gte.net (wqua)]

EDISON LAKE

Wally Qua

An Injured Innocent on the PCT Finds Friends

Submit to PCT web page at PCT-L


In late August of 1999, my wife Dot and I revisited =93primitive=94 Lake
Edison, after an absence of perhaps thirty three years. We were
surprised to find a small motel, store, and restaraunt there, where we
had known nothing at all. Our family had known the area since the mid
thirties, and we had spent time there at lower lakes since the early
fifties. It was nice to be there again, and we decided to stay
overnight.

While there, a young German student appeared at our outside breakfast
table, and an amazing tale unfurled. He had just finished all of his
Ph.D. work in Germany, and had come to California to complete his dream
of hiking the Pacific Crest Trail from Canada to Mexico. He was fairly
knowledgeable, but was hiking the trail alone. And like many Europeans,
he had absolutely no idea how big the USA was, or how lonely the PCT
could be, how far between people and mile posts.

He had made it all of the way down on the trail, to a point just east of
Lake Edison, and there he had fallen, badly injuring his knee, so that
he was barely able to walk. Furthermore, no one in the states had any
idea where he was, so there would not be any search started to find him.
Ponder that for a while.

Somehow, he did make it to the lake, but only with great difficulty. He
had thought that, as in Europe, there would be many people around the
lake to help him. Of course, there were not, and he began to despair. He
had fallen a day or two earlier, and this was a Sunday morning, with no
one in sight, just miles of lake in front of him. A prayer seemed to be
in order, and necessary.

And this was a special day, because any day but today, he could have
been completely stranded unless some wandering fisherman had seen him,
but he saw no one on the lake this morning. He was unable to now
continue further. A stranger in a foreign land; legal, but lost in a
wilderness. Supplies running low, and in need of medical assistance. Not
your preferred situation.

Somewhat later in the morning, he thought that he could make out some
kind of boat far out on the water. Just maybe =85 Dare he hope that this
was true? He thought that this was some funny kind of boat, if indeed it
was a boat and not his imagination playing tricks on him. He watched and
waited as he could do nothing else, and the image began to grow, it was
a boat! Would they see him? Excitement, yet fear too gripped him. He
continued to wait and watch, watch and wait, very aware of his situation
and injuries. If they did see him, would they be willing to help at all?

The boat continued toward the eastern shore, and seemed to be headed in
his general direction, but was he visible enough? Would they come even
if they saw him, or were their attentions directed elsewhere? Another
prayer for intervention before the bears discovered him injured and
alone.

The boat continued to where he was, finally acknowledging his presence.
He was standing in the normal landing spot?the only one? that the boat
used to ferry hikers to the eastern shore. And only one day a week, on
Sunday. Another week or ten days, and the ferry would have stopped
running.

The hikers helped him aboard, with his gear. They admired his courage,
but could not believe that his map resources were so meager. Just
large-scale ones, with no details at all. How could he possibly have
made it so far? Yet, he was now among people who cared.

Like most students, he had little money. The ferry (a pontoon boat with
outboard engine and canopy) carried him back to the road end where the
modest motel was located. He was warmly welcomed, and given whatever he
needed without charge, by American outdoors people and families who
reached out to him in every way possible, not arrogant people he had
been told he would meet.

We met him at breakfast paid for by others who were glad to help.
Several of us heard his incredible story; no braggadocio, just a
narration of what had happened. Now that his trip was obviously ended;
what did he intend to do? He was not sure. He did have an airline ticket
home, but had no way of getting to San Diego airport. He did have a
friend in San Francisco, but no money for bus fare; and besides, there
were no busses within miles of where he was. Besides, he was not sure of
where San Francisco ws, relative to where he now was.

We could help some, others also offered to assist him. We always carry
an library of maps of wherever we intend to go, covering the widest
possible choice of areas. We marked up a stack of detail maps of Edison,
Huntington, Shaver, and Fresno. We added state and county maps into San
Francisco. He was reluctant to take them from us, or to take our time in
marking them for him. We assured him that maps were for people who
really needed them, and he certainly did.

Someone else said that they could take him to Fresno, if that would
help. Another said that he was going to San Francisco after dropping his
friends off in Fresno, and that he was welcome to join him for that part
of the trip.

Another found the telephone number of his friend and the address, then
offered to pay for the call. All of this from folk whom he did not know,
and had no way of paying back. All that his new friends wanted to do was
give him a hand when he absolutely did need it. He could not believe it,
and kept repeating his thanks and amazement. Again and again.

We left him there among new =93family=94 who were taking good care of him,
and returned to ours down the hill, thankful and joyous that California
Americans had lifted the hope and opinion of one lost and fearful
stranger.


Wally Qua, Arcadia California wqua@gte.net.