Disaster on a Mountain By Patricia Lorenz
When Ruth Hagan was seventy-eight years old, she visited her daughter Judy and teenage granddaughter Marcy in California. They headed for their cabin, zigzagging forty miles up and down the mountains in their Bronco, from pavement to gravel to a narrow one-lane road of brittle shale and powdery dirt that wound terrifyingly close to cliffs.
After dinner Marcy announced the water tank was low and that she would take the Bronco down to the pump and get water. Ruth was nervous about her young granddaughter driving down the narrow dirt road by herself, but Judy reminded her that Marcy had been driving vehicles up there on the ranch roads since she was twelve.
"Just be careful, Marcy," her mother warned. "They've had a dry spell up here and the cliff side is pretty shaky. Be sure to hug the mountain side."
Ruth said a quick prayer as she and Judy watched Marcy from the big window where they could see the road winding down the mountainside. Fifteen minutes later Judy was still watching when suddenly she screamed, "Oh no! God help us! She went over the cliff, Momma! The Bronco and Marcy - they went over! We have to help her! Come on!"
The cabin door slammed and Judy took off running. Ruth ran behind her, but Judy was quickly out of sight after the first turn in the road. Ruth raced down the steep hill, breathing hard. She ran on and on, down the hill, up the next, trying to catch up with her daughter. It was getting harder and harder to see anything at dusk. Ruth stopped cold and looked around.
She screamed into the darkness "Judy, where are you?" Off to her immediate right and down the cliff she heard, "Down here, Mother! Don't come near the edge! I slipped on loose rocks and fell over. I'm down about twenty feet."
"Oh dear God, Judy, what can I do?"
"Just stay back, Momma! The road is giving out all over! I think I can crawl back up. I saw the white roof of the Bronco when I was falling, Momma, and I heard Marcy calling for help. She's alive! But she's way down there in the ravine. You have to go back to the cabin and phone for help. Tell them to send a helicopter. We have to get Marcy out!"
Ruth resisted looking over the edge to make sure Judy was really okay. She turned around and started running back up the hill she'd just stumbled down. Up one hill, down the next. She had one hill left to climb when she stumbled on loose dirt and rocks and fell on her face. Chest pains took her breath away. She started to sob. "Dear God," she prayed, "please help me get back to the cabin so I can call for help!"
At that moment something went through Ruth. It was like a powerful energy and she knew for certain that somebody was there to help her. She heard the words, "I am here." She stood up, completely relaxed and rested. A surge of pain-free energy propelled her forward.
Ruth ran on confidently, faster than she had before, and up that last big hill. She turned into the cabin driveway, pushed through the front door and dialed 911. She sputtered out the details of the disaster but unfortunately, she had no idea where she was. The dispatcher was totally confused. Ruth had to get Judy up to the phone so she could give directions. Ruth stepped out of the cabin into total darkness. She grabbed a three-foot-long walking stick propped against the cabin door and started running back down the switchback road.
She continued to run with energy and determination through the darkness. Up the hill, down the hill, up the second hill. Suddenly she stopped, not knowing where she was. "Marcy! Judy!" she shouted.
A faint voice cried from directly below. "I'm here, Grandma."
Another voice. "Momma!" It was Judy.
Ruth dropped to her knees, then lay flat on her belly as she scooted herself closer and closer to the edge of the cliff. She held the walking stick over the edge and asked Judy if she could see it.
"I see it, Momma, I'm almost there."
Ruth heard gravel rolling around where Judy was climbing. Within minutes, Judy grabbed the other end of the stick and Ruth pulled her 140-pound daughter up and over that cliff. Judy crawled into her mother's lap, shaking and sweating and immediately passed out.
Ruth held her close and stroked her wet forehead. "Judy, Judy, wake up. We have to get help for Marcy!" Ruth kept talking and rubbing her daughter's head. Finally, Judy came to. Ruth pulled her to her feet, and the two women started walking. Dazed and bleeding, Judy fell three times as they worked their way back to the cabin in the darkness.
When they reached the cabin they heard the phone ringing. It was the volunteer emergency crew on the other end. Judy sputtered out directions to where Marcy was. As soon as she hung up, she and her mother started down the mountain again to meet and guide the rescuers. They trudged up the hill, down the hill. Still full of energy, calm and confident, Ruth held on to Judy, for Judy's sake, not hers.
An hour later, the fire trucks, ambulance, paramedics and, finally, the Flight for Life helicopter arrived. It took three-and-a-half hours to cut Marcy free from the wreckage at the bottom of the cliff. At last the sheriff pulled her out of the back end of the Bronco and carried her to the waiting ambulance. She was rushed to the hospital for treatment of a crushed ankle and severely broken leg, foot and finger.
The next day, when the sheriff came to visit Marcy in the hospital, he shook his head and said, "That mountain didn't beat you."
Ruth Hagan knew the mountain didn't beat them because God was there that night, protecting her, guiding her, breathing strength into her frail body. Ruth, Judy and Marcy all have their lives to prove it.
