The water we splashed down our parched gullets quenched our sudden thirst from the onsetting panic.
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The BSA is a worldwide organization of boys ranging in ages of eleven to eighteen year olds, who practice wilderness and life skills. My particular troop has one wilderness outing every month and several over the summer including a variety of activities. These challenge us by promoting logical thinking in problem solving. Little did I know, that all my instructions were about to pay off.
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The signups stared me in the face as I advanced upon them. The almost full list revealed two empty spaces; one of which my parents had convinced me to fill with my own name. The opportunity outweighed the unknown so my hand scribbled my signature, barely legibly upon the listing. The challenge proposed by cowardice had been defeated and all that was left to do was prepare for the backpacking trip.
“Wake up! I have breakfast ready for you downstairs.” my mother whispered from my now open door. Begrudgingly I exited my comfortable slumber to throw on my hiking gear. After a nourishing homemade meal provided by my mother, the drive to the meeting point for the trip was silent.
The ride to the mountains, after the farewells, provided several hours to mentally prepare myself for the undertaking of the Pacific Crest Trail.
The first few days of hiking involved many hills and, the endless muttering of “Are we there yet?” and “My legs are about to fall off!” plagued the minimal discussion between hikers. Only until the second day did I realize that I was more skilled and an adept outdoorsman than the other boys, or so I thought.
The middle of the third day is where we met an unusual sight. Between two large hills, there was a rubble field made of volcanic rocks. Compared to the steep slopes surrounding it, the detritus followed it’s own contours and was scattered with fossilized trees of all sizes. Because of this phenomenon, one was not able to see across the expanse considering how there were hills and gullies within all the rocks. The path, marked only by a trail of dirt, entered from the left side and followed a winding brook through the debris. As the path sloped downward after three minutes of traversing, we had arrived.
Having had a shorter hiking day, we now had to restock our provisions with supplies brought from a truck. Every boy went in pair for safety reasons however I was far from safe.
After one trip lasting about ten minutes, the prospect of  working for the rest of the after noon loomed ahead of me.  I shook this thought off saying,You are a  leader. You have to set a good example for the younger scouts.
Nonetheless, my brain repined the minimal time requirement for this task. This lead to the rash decision, after a minute of self-consultation, to cross the rubble field and abandon the trail with a younger scout.
The first few minutes were not easy for the lay of the land made a straight path difficult to find amidst all the gullies. After a length of time, I began to question my decision. We should be there by now. Where is the trail? Maybe this was an ill thought decision. Are we lost?
We began to panic. Our breaths began to increase in frequency. I forced myself to stifle the tears of anxiety away from my eyes. A stream was right next to us so we began to drink. The water we splashed down our parched gullets quenched our sudden thirst from the fear. I began to wonder, however irrational, if I would see my family again. Then all of my instruction regarding wilderness survival flooded my memory. First, stay calm. The thought and recollection of the process of survival helped calm my nerves. Next, Stay where you are. This was easy, we were now to scared to have any adventurous thoughts. Call for help. I began to wonder how this was possible, then I realized I possessed a whistle and by a most fortunate series of event was wearing it. I immediately began to call for help. Trying to ease the tension, I quipped about how we wouldn’t die because we still had some food from the truck. After an uncountable period of self reflection, unbearable silence, and a wet face, we perceived the sound of walking and we began to make as much sound as possible.
Our adults had come to look for us and they determined our location based on the whistle. Once they had us safely back in their care they gave us purified water. I found it had to drink because of the shock my body and mind was in. All I could think or say was, “I’m sorry” over and over again. Their calm and forgiving attitude helped aid me in my recovery. They kept affirming that in the situation I had “done the right thing”. I owe my life to that whistle and always carry it with me when I am hiking or backpacking.