By Tan Nguyen
I was excited to go on my first Mule Pack trip with GLS. I’d seen stunning photos from previous outings featuring breathtaking views and gourmet meals, and the best part: I’d get to go backpacking without the heavy lifting. With the mules carrying most of our gear, all I needed was a light pack for the day hike into camp. I looked forward to meeting new people and bonding over delicious meals against the stunning backdrop of the Sierras. Expecting a relaxing week filled with hiking and naps, I soon realized the trip would be far more eventful than I had anticipated—in ways that felt straight out of CPR and Wilderness First Aid classes.
On the first day, we arrived at camp, set up, and settled in with appetizers. As we began enjoying the food, I noticed a haze in the sky and caught the scent of smoke. It turned out to be drifting in from the Coffee Pot wildfire in Sequoia National Park. Although we were a safe distance from the fire, one group member became concerned about her ability to breathe. As a medical professional, she understood the urgency of her situation: her pulse oximeter read below 80, and she needed to return to a lower elevation immediately.
Initially, Alan planned to hike down with her, but after some discussion, the group decided he should stay behind. So, Jackie and I offered to accompany her to the cars and drive back into town. This meant we’d be hiking after dark, which posed a challenge. I had experience from my recent thru-hike, so I felt prepared, but I was relieved that Jackie would be joining me. We quickly packed the essentials—I grabbed my headlamp, a power bank, a water filter, warm clothes, a sleeping pad, and a sleeping bag…just in case we needed them.
As we hiked, we took turns leading the way, lighting the path ahead while the other stayed close behind, watching her balance and gait. We maintained a steady conversation, listening for any slurred speech or signs of fatigue. When her pace slowed, we paused to let her catch her breath. Fortunately, she had a can of oxygen, which she used whenever her pulse ox levels dipped, taking a few breaths to stabilize. The oxygen made a significant difference, but even with it, hiking was tough for her; the trail was well-maintained and easy to follow for Jackie and me, but much more challenging when you’re exhausted and struggling to breathe.
We faced two stream crossings along the trail, and I wondered if we’d navigate them smoothly. Luckily, she managed both without issues, surprising me with her resilience given her condition. However, fatigue eventually set in. To help, we carried her backpack, easing her load and allowing her to regain a steady pace. Before long, we reached our cars without any problems.
The next part involved driving down the winding road from the Cottonwood parking lot to Lone Pine—challenging enough in the daylight, but even more so at night. When we finally arrived in Lone Pine, she graciously offered Jackie and me rooms for the night. After a good rest, we woke to find she was feeling much better. We enjoyed breakfast together, sharing stories about our adventures before wishing her a safe drive home. Once we said our goodbyes, Jackie and I prepared for our third hike back to camp.
After returning to camp, I enjoyed a few relaxing days before resuming plans to summit Mt. Langley. I expected everything to be uneventful from this point on, thinking no further surprises would arise. Little did I know, another surprise awaited me near the summit.
Greg and Liz also planned to summit Langley, so we decided to tackle it together. The day before, we discussed which route to take. After seeing others safely descend Old Army Pass, we chose the same path up to Mt. Langley. It was quite a hike, but we were making good progress. Then things got interesting.
We reached a point where the trail seemed to disappear, ending at a vertical wall on the right and some boulders on the left. We noticed a woman watching two young hikers scramble up what appeared to be a vertical wall. It turned out she was lost, having intended to summit alone, but her phone screen was black, leaving her without a way to navigate. I initially thought she must’ve dropped her phone and broken it! Fortunately, our phones were working, and we located the trail, so she decided to follow us. The only problem was that getting to the trail involved scrambling up some rocks, and she was petrified of heights. Still, she was determined to go up, so we guided her.
Once she made it past the rock scramble, she looked tired and needed a moment to recover. Other hikers were coming down, and I hoped she would consider turning around and letting them assist her. When we reached the top half an hour later, I was surprised to see her making her way up as well. However, she still faced the issue of her black phone screen and had no way to navigate. Upon closer inspection, we discovered that her brightness had accidentally been set to zero. I reset it, and she was able to use her phone again, underscoring the importance of having a backup navigation method. It was clear she had underestimated the challenge of summiting a fourteener; she hadn’t packed any electrolytes or backup navigation and seemed to be winging it—a risky choice, especially alone.
I offered her some extra electrolytes from my pack. On the way down, it was evident that she was exhausted; she couldn’t remember where she’d last put her hiking poles. Fortunately, Greg and Liz managed to find them for her. After that, it was smooth sailing, and she had no trouble navigating her way back to her tent.
That was a close call! This could have turned disastrous since she didn’t have a backup navigation method or a functioning device to call for help if needed—and worse, she was out there alone. Thankfully, everything turned out okay. When we returned, everyone was happy to see us, and we shared a few laughs about our adventures. We enjoyed a lovely dinner under the stars, grateful for good company and the spectacular Milky Way overhead.
During the trip, another situation arose, but a lighter one. George showed us the sole of his hiking shoe, which had come halfway off, barely hanging on. I borrowed some duct tape from Alan and demonstrated how I would wrap it temporarily to last through our hike back to the car. That night, three of us gathered with headlamps on to “operate” on his shoe, duct tape in hand. We looked like we were performing surgery! Crisis averted. It just goes to show that you never know when your gear will fail on you, which is why it’s wise to have some duct tape on hand.
As the trip came to an end, we all helped break down camp and put away our tents and gear for the mules to pick up. We gathered for a group photo when George approached us, calmly showing us his swollen left hand. He explained that he had tripped over a tent guy line and bruised his palm when it struck a big rock. Fortunately, Jackie had experience taping athletes, so she examined his hand. He mentioned that it hurt when pressure was applied, so she used KT tape from my emergency kit to immobilize it and reduce the risk of further injury. George also took some medication to alleviate the inflammation, and Jackie advised him to soak his hand in the cold stream to reduce the swelling.
We leisurely hiked back to the mule packing station, and I picked some ripe currants along the way. We all made it back, including George, his duct-taped shoes, and his swollen left hand.
This trip was definitely memorable. I learned a lot and was able to apply many of the first-aid skills I had acquired in both basic and wilderness first-aid courses. Keep your ten essentials handy—you never know when you’ll need them. Don’t hike alone and unprepared—always have a backup navigation method and a way to call for help, like a Garmin inReach. And don’t forget to learn CPR, as well as basic and wilderness first aid.
Also read Alan’s trip report for the Cottonwood Lakes Mule Pack trip
