After a good night's sleep and breakfast at our starting camp, Day 3 was meant to be the second leg of our trek with our Ranger still guiding us. They were there to help us sharpen our camping skills, and the plan was for them to eventually leave us on our own, likely by early Day 4.
Our journey that day took us 4.5 miles from Ponderosa Park to Miners Park, involving a substantial +1,209 feet of elevation gain and -1,274 feet of loss. This promised a challenging traverse, another day with over a thousand feet of up and down. Miners Park was supposed to offer showers, which we'd hoped would be a huge morale booster, and it was also our crucial Food Pickup day. We were also scheduled for active programs: a Trail Building Project at North Fork Urraca (our conservation project) and Climbing & Rappelling, all adding to the physical exertion. The weather forecast was consistent with previous days: hot during the day with afternoon rain potential. But what was supposed to happen and what did happen diverged wildly.
As we arrived at Miners Park, we were in the middle of attempting to set up camp—struggling with our rainfly and trying to get our bear bag hung—when a wicked hailstorm hit. It was sudden and relentless. We got utterly soaked to the bone, every single one of us, even those who had brought the proper raingear (which I, unfortunately, didn't have at that point).
The storm forced us to abandon our setup and retreat to the relative shelter of the main cabin porch to wait it out. It lasted for a good hour, drenching us thoroughly, and was immediately followed by whipping winds that cut right through our wet clothes. Our conservation project, a 45-minute journey out to North Fork Urraca, was immediately canceled, and we also missed lunch. There would be no showers today, at least not the indoor kind!
It was after moving from the cabin porch to a different enclosed awning, trying to warm ourselves with hot apple cider, that things got really difficult. That's when the uncontrollable shivering began. I found I couldn't even hold food in my hand, let alone bring it to my mouth. I thought it was funny at the time, which my crew took to be a sign that hypothermia was starting to set in.
D&D rules indicate that when the temperature is at or below 0 degrees Fahrenheit, a creature exposed to the cold must succeed on a DC 10 Constitution saving throw at the end of each hour or gain one level of exhaustion. Creatures with resistance or immunity to cold damage automatically succeed on the saving throw, as do creatures wearing cold weather gear (thick coats, gloves, and the like) and creatures naturally adapted to cold climates. I of course had left my rain gear behind, and it's important to note that the temperature alone isn't the issue, but rather the creature's personal temperature (that is, it wasn't 0 degrees outside, but the whipping wind on my wet clothes had lowered my temperature below 0 degrese).
Our adult leader, seeing my state, quickly rallied the crew. They formed a tight "disco circle" around me, providing much-needed warmth until I could finally stop shivering enough to eat.
The rain eventually subsided, but the damage was done – we were all absolutely soaked. We set up camp as best we could in the soggy conditions. Amidst the dampness and cold, our Ranger performed an act of true kindness that night, perhaps to lift our spirits. He made us a special treat: bacon and cheese tortillas. We ate dinner with our sister troop (another crew following the same path, so we were never far from another group on the trail). After filling our bellies with this unexpected comfort food, our Ranger gathered us around to read a story – Dr. Seuss's "The Lorax", emphasizing the importance of respecting nature and the consequences of greed. We then signed cards pledging to respect the wilderness before finally calling it a night.
The night continued to be brutal, with rain on and off and whipping winds so fierce that we couldn't even hang our clothes out to dry; they would have just blown away. This became our toughest night on the trail, and the profound fear of being caught in another such storm would haunt us throughout the remainder of the entire hike.
Our journey that day took us 4.5 miles from Ponderosa Park to Miners Park, involving a substantial +1,209 feet of elevation gain and -1,274 feet of loss. This promised a challenging traverse, another day with over a thousand feet of up and down. Miners Park was supposed to offer showers, which we'd hoped would be a huge morale booster, and it was also our crucial Food Pickup day. We were also scheduled for active programs: a Trail Building Project at North Fork Urraca (our conservation project) and Climbing & Rappelling, all adding to the physical exertion. The weather forecast was consistent with previous days: hot during the day with afternoon rain potential. But what was supposed to happen and what did happen diverged wildly.
As we arrived at Miners Park, we were in the middle of attempting to set up camp—struggling with our rainfly and trying to get our bear bag hung—when a wicked hailstorm hit. It was sudden and relentless. We got utterly soaked to the bone, every single one of us, even those who had brought the proper raingear (which I, unfortunately, didn't have at that point).
The storm forced us to abandon our setup and retreat to the relative shelter of the main cabin porch to wait it out. It lasted for a good hour, drenching us thoroughly, and was immediately followed by whipping winds that cut right through our wet clothes. Our conservation project, a 45-minute journey out to North Fork Urraca, was immediately canceled, and we also missed lunch. There would be no showers today, at least not the indoor kind!
It was after moving from the cabin porch to a different enclosed awning, trying to warm ourselves with hot apple cider, that things got really difficult. That's when the uncontrollable shivering began. I found I couldn't even hold food in my hand, let alone bring it to my mouth. I thought it was funny at the time, which my crew took to be a sign that hypothermia was starting to set in.
D&D rules indicate that when the temperature is at or below 0 degrees Fahrenheit, a creature exposed to the cold must succeed on a DC 10 Constitution saving throw at the end of each hour or gain one level of exhaustion. Creatures with resistance or immunity to cold damage automatically succeed on the saving throw, as do creatures wearing cold weather gear (thick coats, gloves, and the like) and creatures naturally adapted to cold climates. I of course had left my rain gear behind, and it's important to note that the temperature alone isn't the issue, but rather the creature's personal temperature (that is, it wasn't 0 degrees outside, but the whipping wind on my wet clothes had lowered my temperature below 0 degrese).
Our adult leader, seeing my state, quickly rallied the crew. They formed a tight "disco circle" around me, providing much-needed warmth until I could finally stop shivering enough to eat.
The rain eventually subsided, but the damage was done – we were all absolutely soaked. We set up camp as best we could in the soggy conditions. Amidst the dampness and cold, our Ranger performed an act of true kindness that night, perhaps to lift our spirits. He made us a special treat: bacon and cheese tortillas. We ate dinner with our sister troop (another crew following the same path, so we were never far from another group on the trail). After filling our bellies with this unexpected comfort food, our Ranger gathered us around to read a story – Dr. Seuss's "The Lorax", emphasizing the importance of respecting nature and the consequences of greed. We then signed cards pledging to respect the wilderness before finally calling it a night.
The night continued to be brutal, with rain on and off and whipping winds so fierce that we couldn't even hang our clothes out to dry; they would have just blown away. This became our toughest night on the trail, and the profound fear of being caught in another such storm would haunt us throughout the remainder of the entire hike.
