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The Guardian - UK
The Guardian - UK
Lifestyle
Emine Saner

I fell at the top of a mountain – and knew I had to haul my broken body down or die in the snow

Jean Muenchrath in Estes Park, Colorado, US.
‘The last thought in my head was, God, please don’t let me fall’ … Jean Muenchrath in Estes Park, Colorado, US. Photograph: Rebecca Stumpf/The Guardian

As Jean Muenchrath stood at the summit of Mount Whitney, a storm thundered in. It was May 1982, and here, at the highest point of the contiguous US, she and her boyfriend Ken were coming to the end of a month-long ski and hike, 223 miles along the John Muir Trail, through the Sierra Nevada mountain range in California.

The trip had been gruelling at times – equipment had broken and they had been threatened by bears and avalanches. But it had also been exhilarating. At 22, Muenchrath was fit, strong and an experienced hiker. She had skied since she was a child and worked as a ranger for the US national park service in Montana; she and Ken, who she had met at university, had been on many smaller adventures while preparing for this one.

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