If you clicked on this article seeking a story of the desperate plight of one stranded hiker struggling to survive overnight at subzero temperatures, I’m afraid you might be disappointed. I’m not painstakingly typing this using the nubs of my gangrene-wrought fingers, lost to the ravages of frostbite, because I’ve never had frostbite. In fact, I’ve never really got properly lost on a hike, never mind required the services of mountain rescue.
I do have friends who have spent unplanned nights in the wild. One, a diabetic, whose first date with her now-husband was a mountain biking trip in Fruita, CO that ended with them spending an accidental night on the slickrock rationing her insulin.
