When I was eight we were camping in Yosemite Valley. In the morning my dad told me to take the bucket and collect some pine cones for the fire. I went across the road and into the woods. I filled the bucked, turned around and I was lost. I'd had a little Cub Scout training and knew I should stay in one spot but I chose to ignore that advice and proceeded to head out.

I arrived at the Merced River, where I'd hiked the trail from camp to before, and for a while I was shocked that somehow I had crossed the river without noticing. How did I get on the other side of the river? Finally I realized I was just turned around, that I'd gone the opposite way. I started walking back into the forest. I didn't think to walk along the shore until I reached the trail or a road.

I'd dumped out my pine cones and was screaming for help, but I shut up when I saw a pair of backpackers in the distance, hiking on a trail with huge backpacks. I was so shy that my fear of dying in the woods was overcome and rather than run to them for help I shut up, stopped and watched them walk away. I didn't think to follow their trail.

Then I saw Half Dome looming nearer I thought and feared I was walking deeper into the wilderness and I turned away from it.

Finally I came out onto the campground road, recognized it, and realized I was a ways down from my campsite. I walked back down the road to our campsite, went inside the tent, lay down on the cot and cried my eyes out and when my parents came in I begged them to go home. Instead my mom and I went on a bus tour around the Valley and my dad took my sister horseback riding.

When I was 19 I took up backpacking and over the years since I've gone on several solo trips. A couple of times I even lost the trail for a short time. Other times I've purposely hiked and snowshoed cross-country. But with map and compass and some sense of direction I've never needed a search and rescue.