February 16, 2017 marked my 49th birthday. It was a great week culminating with an enthusiastically anticipated trip to the Sipsey Wilderness Area in north Alabama with several guys from Church. Sipsey has been a favorite hiking destination since I became familiar with it during my three boys’ scouting days. I am not sure how many trips I had made to Sipsey before the ill-fated one described here– at least five.
Sipsey is beautiful. The internet says it is 25,000 acres. Located within the larger Bankhead National Forest in a hilly portion of northwestern Alabama, it certainly is wilderness. There is no cell coverage within the whole network of trails. But the hiking is great. There are hardwood forested rocky hills, clear streams and a few waterfalls. Arguably, it is the best hiking within a four hour drive of Jackson, Mississippi.
The weather was perfect that weekend. I don’t know if Billy Dempsey had arranged for that, but he did manage to wrangle the Church van for our trip. The seven of us headed out for Alabama Friday afternoon. We overnighted at a hotel that night and landed at Thompson Trailhead about 11am on Saturday morning. After a little hiking we found one of the preferred campsites along Sipsey Creek and made camp.
 |
| Jeremiah, Sebastian and Griffin |
The next morning we decided to include a side hike to the big tree. The big tree is supposedly the largest tree in Alabama. It sits in a ravine or bowl-like area nearly in the center of the Wilderness Area-- a good five miles from the nearest trailhead. During rainy times, there are a couple waterfalls that make the setting impressive indeed. It’s a very big tree. I can attest that it takes 7 scouts with outstretched arms to make a ring around it.
 |
| Along the trail |
The trail to the big tree was still suffering the effects of a not-so-recent tornado. There were many trees down across the path. As hiking goes, it was moderately difficult. At 2pm we were about 200 yards shy of the big tree. After the umpteenth log crossing I came to three trees down in my path. Instead of stepping between them, I ill advisedly stepped on top of one and attempted to hop over the other two. My foot slipped and I went down pretty hard landing on my back and wedged between two trunks. I was dazed. I remember looking up at Bill Hatcliff’s face who had been right behind me. He had a pained look of anticipation as though he was about to hear a blood curdling scream. Stooped over with both hands outstretched he asked if I was ok.
I remember thinking that I felt ok but something wasn't right. I was looking at the bottom of my shoe when I should be seeing the laces. My right foot had bent at the ankle towards the left until it was 180 degrees from normal. It was obviously broken or at the very least horribly dislocated. But oddly, it didn’t hurt. The magnitude of my situation was slowly sinking in. My head was a blur of, “no, no, no ,no, this isn’t happening.” Before I realized it, my foot was put back in the natural position and sticks were tied to either side to keep it there. I’m pretty sure Bill did most of that.
The other guys were all around by then. It was clear our trip was over. We won’t be seeing the big tree-- I needed medical care. I felt terrible for bringing our hike to a screeching halt. But there was nothing to do but face facts. We needed to somehow get me the 5 miles out to our van at the trailhead.
The first real pain I felt is when we sat me up to make an attempt at walking out with someone under both of my arms. We didn’t get 2 steps. Even the tiniest bit of pressure put on that ankle was excruciating. I knew immediately that I was not going out vertically.
There was a lot of discussion. It was decided that two of our party would hike out and get help. By then, it was about 3pm. Billy and Sebastian Bjernegard hiked out. Billy told me later he hiked about 18 miles that day in total. It would be nearly dark before they made it to the trailhead and certainly dark for any return trip. I figured a rescue team would wait for daylight before coming in after me so the remaining five of us got comfortable right there on the trail. Griffin and Jeremiah made a small fire as it got dark and we ate some of our snacks. At some point there was a visit from a scout leader whose troop had moved in and camped just down the trail. They offered help but there was really nothing to do but wait.
It got really dark. I was feeling pretty good so long as I stayed still. We just passed the time waiting for morning. With the fire going it was almost like a normal night camping. Then about 9pm we saw lights coming up the trail. As they got closer, it looked like an army. There were 15 or so EMT types climbing the hill. Headlamps, fireman coats, heavy boots, helmets, radios and other gear. We were very surprised to see them. Billy and Sebastian had guided them in.
There was some shuffling around but the crowd seemed oddly quiet. An EMT bent down and looked at my leg. Not saying much, he sat down beside me. That’s when I noticed nearly all of them were either hunched over with their hands on their knees or had sat down on the nearest rock or downed tree. It dawned on me that they had just hiked 5 somewhat strenuous miles in full gear at night. None of them had brought water. None of them were wearing anything close to hiking boots.
I heard one of them attempting to radio back to the trailhead where they had set up a command center. He gave up and announced there was no communication in or out. Radios and cell phones just didn’t work this far out.
The guy sitting beside me called another EMT over and told him, “I hate to say this, but I don’t feel so good.” Some of these guys were bigger than me-- and I’m pretty big for a hiker. I began to worry that my broken leg had fallen a few notches down our collective triage list. There may be some heart concerns more pressing at the moment. Our guys began dispensing water to the EMT’s. We had to filter more out of the creek to keep up with demand.
After a bit, the group got more talkative. The reason for the big crowd became apparent when someone said the dispatcher had stretched the truth a little bit. Speaking of my situation, he broadcasted something about an 18 year old cheerleader stuck in the woods. That would also explain why they were so dejected at the moment.
There was discussion about next steps. Someone mentioned airlifting. It sounded like a few of them were concerned that there was nothing for them to do.
As they regained composure, a majority of them began heading back down the trail. The crowd was thinning. By 11pm there were only 5 of my rescue army remaining-- the crew with the orange plastic stretcher. I was thankful because they seemed the most capable of getting my big self to the trailhead and waiting ambulance. This remaining crew turned out to be the Moulton Alabama Volunteer Fire Department-- and they were a Godsend.
Chief Jolly brought some enthusiasm to the situation. He was ready to move. After getting me on board, they arranged themselves around the stretcher. They used straps with the intent of dragging me down the trail. One of our guys, Ken Seawright, would be our point man and keep us on the right path the whole way.
The first 100 yards or so were excruciating. Every 6 feet we had another obstacle for me to go over or get dragged underneath. I was in and out of the stretcher. If I couldn't fit under a downed tree, I’d be set on top of it and my legs would get carried over. Then I’d hobble back down into the stretcher. Once we finally cleared the “Big Tree Trail” and got on the more traveled path things got better. The ground was more even and the trail was more clear of obstacles.
 |
| Ken, Matthew, Chief Jolly, Collis, Dwayne and hiking buddy, Ken Seawright |
Moulton can be proud of their volunteer fire department. They worked extremely hard pulling me through Sipsey. All of those guys are standouts in my book. Collis, who introduced himself as “The black lumberjack,” had come straight from a Sunday evening Church service when he got the call. I remember looking up and seeing his dark slacks and white dress shirt getting more and more dirty as the night wore on. I hoped he hadn’t completely ruined his Church clothes.
Matthew was the young one. I remember him debating whether he would go to class the next day. Dwayne pulled like a madman and Ken would offer me water every so often even though I was doing nothing but watching the trees go by on my back.
They all kept their humor. I was ribbed for having gone to the center of the wilderness area to break a leg. “The rocks and trees look just the same at the trailhead. Why do you have to go five miles in?”
As the night wore on, we made some progress down the trail eventually getting within choppy radio contact with the folks at the trailhead. It may have been about 3am at that point. I heard the talk back and forth. Airlift? No, the Park Service won’t allow it unless it is life and death. Chief Jolly says, “Life and death? We could make that argument.” The group decided to take a break. We all tried to sleep.
Before daybreak the Moulton crew was back at it. They were relentless. I was carried over streams and dragged between boulders and around trees. We made more progress. Things felt much better in the foggy morning light. Another EMT crew met us on the trail. They had water and snacks. The closer we got, the better the radio reception. We began hearing a helicopter. I was not crazy about the idea of a helicopter ride. How much would that cost? Can they drop a basket through the tree canopy?
When we were about a mile out, the radio voices suggested that airlifting was now an option. What did we want to do? Part of me wanted this over fast but I still wasn’t crazy about getting lifted out in a basket. Chief Jolly sealed it when he knelt beside me and said his crew had gotten me this far and it would mean a lot to them to carry it through. You gotta respect a man with a mission. Carry on!
We got off the trail about 10am. There were numerous emergency vehicles at the trailhead and at least one news van. We were told the helicopter we had been hearing was a news helicopter, not a rescue helicopter. I briefly saw the rest of my hiking crew as I was put in the back of an ambulance. The doors closed and I watched the scene get smaller through the back windows as we drove off. The EMT slipped my shoe off and started cutting my sock. The grossly swollen skin on my ankle was every color of the rainbow. I took a picture with my phone.
 |
| The ride out |
As the ambulance maneuvered out of the wilderness and into the land of cell coverage, my phone began to blow up. I got messages from people I hadn’t heard from since high school. Apparently, the story had gotten out far and wide. It must have been a really slow news day because my story made all the newscasts and print media outlets across several states. Even today, a google search pulls up the story out of the Washington Times. “Mississippi man rescued in Alabama forest after accident.”
I called my wife and gave her a rundown of the previous 24 hours. Things were looking up. My ambulance ride ended at the hospital in Jasper, Alabama. Billy’s wife, Debbie, was there. I think she beat Billy and the guys if I remember right. It was great to see a familiar face. A couple x-rays later and I was in the Church van on the road home with a new boot, a pair of crutches and instructions to see an orthopedic surgeon as soon as possible.
In Jackson the next day, I found out I had broken my fibula (the smaller of the two calf bones) and a couple bones in my ankle. Surgery was scheduled right away. In the waiting room, I got a text from the wife of one of the scout leaders who had been just down the hill from us Sunday night. No idea how they got my phone number. They were thinking about me and wanted an update. The number of well wishers was humbling and encouraging.
I don’t remember much of the surgery. They put a few pins in my ankle and a rod from just below my knee to my ankle. The leg was closed up with 45 staples and I was scheduled for many months of physical therapy. It took a full year to get back to normal.
Lot’s of time to reflect. It’s humbling to be the one who’s down and out. You learn a lot in those times. I generally don’t like attention. My comfort zone consists of quietly maintaining the status quo somewhere under the radar and out of the line of fire.
I was embarrassed at having been the one to ruin a great hiking trip. Compound the extraordinary effort put forth by my hiking buddies and so many EMT types (some of them volunteers) all solely for my benefit and the crazy news coverage of my plight and you have a perfect brew for an introvert’s nightmare.
I look back and hope I mustered up enough communicative skills at the time to show my appreciation for all the effort that went into getting me off the trail. I thought about that a lot after getting back to Jackson. Back in the surgery waiting room, I looked up the address of Dreamland BBQ in Tuscaloosa. I had them send a full meal to the Moulton Volunteer Fire Department. I hope that went a little way in repaying the favor.
Six years later, the surgery scar on my leg is almost unnoticeable and I rarely feel any evidence that there was ever any damage. I’d call it 100% recovery. I haven't been back to Sipsey, but I haven’t ruled it out either.
