Lost is kind of a loaded word, isn’t it? It can mean so many different things to different people. There’s wandering-through-the-forest lost, stuck-on-a-deserted-island lost, or driving-around-the-suburbs lost. Being lost can be terrifying or exhilarating, petrifying or liberating. It all depends on the circumstances, so I am going to define some various states of lost.
Type 1 Lost: You know where you are, you know how to go back, but you’re not sure how to continue. (E.g. your route runs into an impassable cliff or other obstacle.)
Type 2 Lost: You don’t really know where you are or how to continue, but you’re certain you could find your way back. (E.g. you’re off trail but the terrain is recognizable going back the direction you came.)
Type 3 Lost: You don’t know where you are, how to go back, or how to continue. You’re up a proverbial creek. (Maybe you wandered into thick woods with no terrain visibility. Or you woke up with no memory of who you are or how you got there. It happens.)
To this day I have never been Type 3 Lost, and I hope to keep it that way. And until very recently I could say I had never been Type 2 Lost. That is, until Stephanie and I decided to go backpacking in Cajas National Park, Ecuador.
Dusting off the Backpacking Cobwebs
Cajas National Park is located just 45 minutes west of Cuenca at an elevation of about 4000 meters (13,100 feet). It is known for its gorgeous, untouched Andean scenery, hundreds of lakes, rapidly changing weather, and (unbeknownst to us) terrible and/or nonexistent trails. Trekking in Cajas National Park seemed like the perfect chance to reintroduce ourselves to backpacking after a rather long hiatus, and get our systems dialed for the rest of South America. So we picked up supplies, searched unsuccessfully for maps, printed maps from a somewhat official looking website, and piled onto the bus from Cuenca to the park.
Mistake Number 1: Listening to the Ranger and Changing Our Plan
We started with a plan to follow a fairly straight forward route that traverses the park from north to south, starting at the visitor center and ending at the road that marks the southern edge of the park. When we arrived at the visitor center to register, we explained our route to the ranger that was on duty. He suggested that we instead walk a kilometer down the highway to a more well-traveled trailhead, follow that for a couple hours, and then branch off through untraveled territory to connect to our intended route. Never mind that he knows the terrain of the park like the back of his hand; he was so positive and helpful that we were convinced that his was the better plan and off we went.
The day started off just fine. We easily found the trail head and enjoyed gorgeous weather while we traveled through new and stunning terrain. The mountains there are so unlike anything I have seen in North America and so I was soaking in the scenery and not worrying about a thing. Although the trails were muddy and the terrain challenging, we moved quickly and soon we arrived at our point of deviation. We pulled out the map and after a few minutes of consideration, we agreed that if we climb one of two gulleys to get over a ridge, we should be able to drop down the other side to our camp spot for the night near a string of lakes. We saw that there should be a large, steep peak and a small lake once we crest the ridge that would confirm our position.
Up we went, and as we reached the top of the gulley we saw exactly what we suspected, a small lake with a large peak behind it. So we continued to bushwack along in search of our destined trail which proved harder than anticipated.
The terrain was comprised of round, rolling knolls that limited our sight which made it difficult to follow the topo map that was lacking in detail to begin with. Not to mention that each time we reached a low point between hills the ground would turn into a sticky mud that made deciphering trails all the more impossible. So we stayed the course and found hints of trails from time to time, and while not 100% convinced these were the trail we soon spotted a string of lakes below us. After some off-trail shenanigans (again) we found an acceptable campsite for the night on a small point jutting out into a lake.
That night was crystal clear and bitterly cold. Fortunately, I had extra thick socks and my sleeping bag from Enlightened Equipment to get me through. (Seriously awesome, awesome gear. We can’t recommend them enough.) That morning we slept in late and woke up to the remaining water from our bedtime tea frozen in the pot. We may be on the equator, but 13,000 feet is 13,000 feet.
Mistake Number 2: Not Paying Attention to the GPS
Although we planned to navigate with our maps and compass, we did bring along Stephanie’s phone to use as a GPS, which we generally left off to save the battery. We had Ecuador maps downloaded in Maps.me, but I was suspicious of that app because it had frequently shown us driving in the middle of a field while we were on a paved highway, it didn’t show topography, and the trails shown within the park didn’t match what we had on our maps. So, on the evening of day one when Stephanie turned her phone on briefly and it showed us slightly off from where we believed we were, I wasn’t the least bit surprised and I blew it off. The terrain and the lakes we were looking at matched what was on the map, so I didn’t dwell on it.
On the morning of day two as we happily ate our breakfast, we had no idea that we had made a pretty big mistake the previous afternoon. That big mountain that we used as our landmark? There was a bigger, similarly shaped mountain hiding behind it, and a narrow valley between the two. THAT is where we were supposed to be, but we (really just me) were hasty with our reading of the (terrible) map and overlooked that large fact.
Blissfully unaware, we set out from camp southward following a decent trail (by Cajas standards) that we were sure was our intended route. Of course, as soon as we reached a stream the trail disappeared into the surrounding bog and we spent the next few hours tromping through mud and tall grass towards an obvious saddle adjacent to two distinct rocky peaks that matched what the terrain was supposed to look like on our crappy maps.
Mistake Number 3: Using Lakes for Navigation
As I mentioned previously, Cajas contains hundreds of lakes. As we realized too late, the sheer number of lakes makes them nearly useless for navigation. Whatever funny shaped lake you are looking at on the map, there is almost surely a lake of the same size and shape within a half a kilometer of you. So every time we crested a ridge and saw exactly the lake we expected to see on the other side (at which we would pat ourselves on the back for not being lost), all we were seeing was a coincidence.
The same goes for all of the terrain features. I am at home in the Cascades, which follow relatively predictable patterns of glacier carved peaks and valleys. Cajas is a maze of rolling hills and craggy knolls which all look identical on a map, fooling the Type-2-Lost traveler into believing they are where they aren’t.
We carried on through day two, following the occasional game or human trail which quickly petered out into more bushwacking. After climbing one pass, we dropped down to a definitely-the-right-one lake, and followed a stream up another pass to a plateau, where we expected to see a very large lake, our destination for the day. We reached the plateau, and there it was, a massive lake. Huzzah! We’re not lost! Back pats all around.
We settled into a gorgeous camp site with pre-gathered wood and a fire pit, and I wandered down to the lake for a couple hours of unsuccessful fishing. Upon my return, Steph greeted me with some form of “we have a problem”. She had checked the GPS again, and it showed us on the eastern shore of a different huge lake. And this time it wasn’t only off by a couple hundred meters, but a couple kilometers. Shit. Double checking my phone’s coordinates only confirmed our fears. We had essentially done a big S through some of the most challenging terrain of the park, only to arrive at the wrong lake.
The Escape
Back to the maps. There was another route leading from our location to the southern road along a river, as told by Maps.me so we could still complete our north-south traverse. The problem was it dropped 1000 meters, likely into a thickly vegetated cloud forest, and judging by the lack of trails, venturing into that kind of unknown territory could be dangerous. Ultimately, we settled on a route that would loop back to the northern road which followed mostly new terrain so we could still enjoy the day. Where we ended up was only a pass away from the largest and most obvious lake which we came to on the first day while we were still on the main (day-hiker) trails. Once over this pass we should be able to see it visually and make our way back to that main trail to hike out the way we came in.
Fortunately, it worked. 10 miles and three grueling passes later we made it back to the northern road. We flagged down a passing bus and soon we were back in Cuenca, eating delicious burgers at a shameless In-N-Out copycat.
I have had a lot of time to think about all the big and little mistakes that led to that epic screw up. Really, it all comes down to one thing. I have been backpacking, climbing, and skiing in the mountains since I was a child, and I have always felt at home doing those things. So the fact is, I was overly confident. I approached a new area in a new country with a stupid lack of seriousness, agreed to change our route without a second thought, rushed through the maps, and worst of all I ignored Stephanie’s intuition whenever she expressed doubts about our route or location.
At the very beginning of this trip when we were in Moab, Utah, we spent a night drinking with a crew of local mountain bikers. One of them, an older and extremely experienced rider, had recently recovered from a serious accident which put him in the hospital for a month, wiped his memory, and nearly killed him. The accident had happened at dusk, on a trail that he rides almost daily. He was clearly humbled, and he shared his insight on accidents that happen to experienced adventurers. They are almost always due to the lackadaisical attitude of people who are so confident that nothing could go wrong. Fortunately for us, we don’t have any serious injuries to heal from for the mistakes we made, but all the same I feel like I have a much more solid grasp of the lessons he was trying to share after our mishap in Cajas.
Self-flagellation aside, we actually did have a great time. The landscapes in Cajas are unbelievably gorgeous, we had stellar weather, and we felt pretty fit for hiking at 13000+ ft. I never felt like we were at real risk as we were “only” Type 2 Lost, we had plenty of food and fuel, and we were well equipped with warm clothing and good sleeping gear (again shout out to Enlightened). I came out the other side feeling positive about the experience and grateful for the lessons provided by the mountains. This time the lesson was humility, one that I certainly won’t forget.