A Cold Look at Hypothermia
My introduction to near hypothermia was in my early teens. I lived in Iowa at the time and signed up for an overnight winter camping trip with the Boy Scouts. I was woefully unprepared. My gear included a cotton Coleman sleeping bag purchased with S&H Green stamps and only rated for 50 degrees at best. I had no sleeping pad. That night temperatures dropped into the 20s.
I was doing OK at first. I had fallen asleep and was maintaining my body heat satisfactorily by sleeping in my hat, coat and clothes. That all fell apart when at 2 AM we were awakened by our scout leaders to look at the stars. They were magnificent, but I was losing body heat rapidly and upon returning to my tent I spent the rest of the night shivering, unable to sleep. By morning all I wanted was to go home and warm up. I swore I would never go camping again.
Human bodies require a body temperature of 98.6 degrees Fahrenheit to function properly. If conditions are such that our bodies are too cold or too hot to maintain that core temperature we feel discomfort and will voluntarily take action to correct the problem. But if we are in a situation where we can’t reach a controlled environment to sustain our target temperature, then involuntary processes kick in. If we are too cold, for example, our muscles will start rapidly contracting and relaxing – we start shivering. This results in the generation of heat. Blood flow to our extremities will slow, helping to maintain optimal temperatures for vital organs. If all those processes fail our core temperature can drop below its normal desired range and we will fall into what is called hypothermia. That is what nearly happened to me on the Long Trail.
It was mid September and I was hiking up Belvidere Mountain in light mist. The morning was unseasonably warm and I was wearing shorts and a light wool t-shirt. Because of exertion I was drenched with sweat as I neared the top. As I started descending a cold front moved through. The mist turned into a steady rain driven by a strong headwind. Temperatures dropped into the upper 40s. I put on my rain shell, but I was soaked through and through. I was losing heat rapidly and since I was now hiking downhill my body was not generating much heat.
By the time I reached a shelter I was shivering uncontrollably. My hands were locked in a claw-like shape from gripping my trekking poles. I could not grab the zipper to open my pack. With help from other hikers I retrieved dry clothing and my down coat from my gear. I stripped off my wet clothes and changed. Modesty was not an issue; I was in trouble. It was now well past noon and I had consumed nothing since breakfast. I ate a large meal and, slowly, felt warmth return to my body.
Arm chair quarterbacks will no doubt berate me for all I should have done. My take-aways from this ordeal include the importance of moisture control. Dry and cold are largely manageable. Wet and cold are deadly. You don’t need sub zero temperatures to die of hypothermia. My Gortex rain shell was of little use in this debacle. If I had put on my down coat over my soaking wet shirt in the pouring rain it would have rendered the insulation useless before I could get the rain jacket on. I should have had a mid layer. I should have put on rain pants. I now carry an umbrella on hikes. It has been a game changer and proved its worth on my Appalachian Trail through hike. I survived even worse weather over longer periods of time with ease because of that umbrella. The other angle I missed was nutrition. Hikers burn a lot of calories and food represents energy not only for covering miles; it also is the energy source for keeping warm. You’ve got to have gas in the tank.
In reading stories of tragedy involving hypothermia it is common for victims to shed all of their clothing before they die as if they are overheating. Do they know what is happening when they reach this point? Is it a relief to experience this false sense of warmth? These are rhetorical questions, of course. In truth, I never want to find out. Of the many dangers presented in the wilderness, for me, weather ranks among the most feared.
