Mountain Lessons Learned the Hard Way

Aug. 2, 2026

My head hurts and I’m in a fog. Even after the first cup of coffee I’m sitting here on the computer feeling like my eyes aren’t all the way open. Maybe the right word would more accurately be drained. 

Will and I wanted to go swimming yesterday and decided to explore a new spot. Guffey, CO is a small mountain town at 8,600 ft elevation with a gorge and nice swimming hole called Paradise Cove with cool, clear water— a mixture of snow melt from high mountain country and fresh spring water. It was just what we were looking for.

There was a small gravel parking lot and two porta-potties. I was happy to see there were parking spots available so it probably wasn’t going to be too crowded. The trail through the gorge isn’t maintained well. There’s some navigating around boulders, loose gravel, some steeper parts and a small stream to cross. Although it’s not a very difficult 1/3 mile hike, there are no steps carved out or railings to grab because we are on BLM land. Public lands typically don’t have the trail maintenance, signage or any “extras” like trash bins, picnic tables, campsites etc…like parks would have. Will sat and “scooted” down parts of the hike and “monkey crawled” over others.

We could hear the splashing long before we could see it. Will was super excited when he turned a corner and he could finally see Paradise Cove.  There was a line of young people at the top of a cliff taking turns diving into the pool. There were lots of encouraging hollers from below and loud smacks as bodies hit the water from 80 ft above. We could hear music playing, dogs barking and folks just having a good time.

It’s a small area with a tiny beach and a waterfall. We put our bag and towels on a boulder and Will quickly took off his shirt and headed straight for the water. There’s not a lot of space to swim between the cliff divers and big boulders around the pool. He was smiling wide watching everyone having fun as he gradually waded deeper in. I took off my shoes and tiptoed between rocks before settling on a tree stump and pulling out my phone to make some cliff diving and swimming reels. The water was very cold and reminded me of Barton Springs. 

These guys didn't know it yet but they were about to become rescuers and get some serious exercise.

Will eventually waded in up to his neck but it took a while. I was sitting in the sun and my feet were in shallow water. The pool was mostly shaded this late in the afternoon plus the water was deep and much cooler in the center.  He spun around in the water with arms extended out like wings and made bird sounds. He stood near the waterfall and made “meditation fingers” to show he was feeling zen. The sun was moving behind the cliffs and I wanted to make sure we had plenty of time for the hike back before it went down. I motioned for Will to come over and he began moving my way. He took his time and as he neared to me he told me to look at his hands as he held them up. “Look at my hands, mom!” he said while holding them up and studying them himself. He still had his blue Crocs on his feet but as he walked he complained that his feet were hurting.

After he got out of the water I wrapped a towel around him and we walked over to the big boulder where I had put our stuff. Will told me to look at his hands again and as I reached for his right hand he began to collapse on top of the boulder he was aiming to sit on. Will was on his back so I pulled his arms forward and sat him up. I couldn’t tell if he was being silly and entertaining the people on the beach or if he had slipped because he was wearing a wet bathing suit and had said his feet were hurting. I propped him up and told him to scoot over to the next rock because it was flat, but his body slid down and on to the ground with his eyes closed. His face had lost all color and gone completely white. Something was definitely wrong.

Will opened his eyes and repeatedly uttered “I want to go home. I want to go home. I want to go home.” He arched his back and buried his head into my shoulder as I held him. He whimpered and didn’t seem to understand me when I spoke to him. His body had gone limp. His head and neck were in an awkward position pushed against the rock while the rest of his body laid straight on the sand, cold to the touch. I shifted his head and shoulders and wrapped our Houston Texans comforter around his body. I had grabbed it on the way out of the house this morning because it’s old and I didn’t care if it got dirty plus it’s comfy to sit on. Right now I was grateful for the warmth it provided. Will mumbled again that his feet hurt so I wrapped them in a towel. I wrapped his hands in a towel and his dry t-shirt around his head. I rubbed his cheeks, wiped his head and alternately rubbed his hands and feet with vigor. (I later learned that rubbing is NOT a good idea.) I kept talking to him and asking him how he was feeling and it was obvious he was disoriented.  I gave him water and goldfish crackers one at a time which he really appreciated. I don’t know how long this went on for but it seemed like a really long time. Every now and then I’d peek at his hands and feet and they were modeled with purple splotches like they had been tie-dyed. His toenails and fingernails had all turned purple. The skin on his arms and torso had a purplish tint. His face still had no color and his nipples had turned a waxy white.

I had done everything I could think of and he had not improved. 

What should I do now? Who can I call? I picked up my phone for the first time since we exited the water. I had zero bars, just the SOS icon. The cove was emptying out as the sunlight faded. Fewer people were coming down the trail to swim. It would start getting cooler shortly, and at 8,600 ft elevation it would be sooner than later.

Up until that moment I had been operating on cortisol and adrenaline alone. Automatic mom-mode had kicked in. There was no time for emotion, just to find the problem and try to fix it. But now what? I was pretty sure he was hypothermic and I had never dealt with hypothermia before. I was unsure if I was even doing the right things for him. I felt alone. There was no way I would be able to carry him uphill for 1/3 of a mile on an unmaintained rocky trail. For the first time since I can remember I felt helpless and scared. 

I looked around and noticed a couple of people were watching us. Maybe they had been watching all along and I didn’t realize it. Some men had just come down the trail and entered the beach area. There were maybe five of them, all similarly and overly dressed for this swimming hole. They appeared to be in their 30’s and were speaking a language I did not recognize. I stared at one of them and when our eyes met I quietly asked for help. He came a little closer and asked me in perfect English to repeat what I had said. 

“Do you know first aid?” I uttered again.

It has always been incredibly difficult for me to ask for help. I learned to take care of myself, my brother Mike and problem solve from a very young age. Too young, actually. Survival meant self-reliance and never trusting that someone would do anything for or save me. 

The man answered, “No, but if he’s cold try warming him.” 

Big help that was. 

But that exchange had opened the door for the people who had been standing by quietly and wanting to step in and help. A young couple from Denver brought us a blanket and told me they had a satellite phone. The man asked me who to call but I didn’t know. “Call 911 I guess,” I told him.

He took off running to higher ground where he could get a stronger signal. His girlfriend brought us an extra dry towel to wrap around Will and came and sat with me. Another young woman joined us and told me that earlier this summer she had worked at a camp for kids with disabilities and knows how much kids with Down syndrome love the water. She said she had enjoyed watching Will have a good time in the water and was surprised to see him in trouble after he got out. She offered to stay with us until help arrived.

I tried to guess how long he was in the water for. It couldn’t have been very long, maybe 20 minutes max. The boy is a fish and has swam in some pretty cold places before. He and his brother Trevor will swim in just about any body of water. They have even braved the Yellowstone River together which is also mostly snow melt and usually runs between 60º - 70º in the summer. Barton Springs is 68º year round and he’s been going there since he was a little boy. Lord knows he’s got a little extra natural insulation, too.

The young man with the satellite phone returned and said help was on the way. What did that mean? This little mountain town was pretty isolated and the hike down the gorge would take awhile especially if carrying equipment. Turns out we didn’t have to wait too long before the first EMT from the county volunteer fire department arrived. 

Adam is a loud, colorful character in his 30’s with a long thin ponytail and a commanding voice. He announced his presence then checked Will’s vitals and asked him questions. He apologetically confessed to me that he couldn’t tell if Will’s nonsensical answers were due to him being disoriented and confused or just not understanding the questions. I told him not to worry and that I can usually differentiate. Adam peeled away the blankets and towels covering Will and noticed the vertical scar from his heart surgery. He proceeded to lift his shirt revealing his own vertical chest scar and pronounced that he and Will were matching scar brothers. Will loved that and we got a little smile.

Another five or so EMT’s showed up about 25 minutes later. Four of them were easily in their 70’s and I felt a little panicked. No way would these guys be able to get Will up the rocky trail. Will’s pulse was low, his oxygen saturation was low, his blood pressure was high and he still had no color. A few minutes later two more volunteer EMT’s arrived (also a little long in the tooth) with a basket stretcher and Adam announced to all the men in the area that they would be carrying the basket stretcher up the trail to the parking lot where the ambulance was waiting. No one hesitated and started gathering around ready to help as Will was loaded and strapped in. Adam started shouting some loud directions in Spanish towards the group of overdressed men who had arrived earlier. They looked at each other confused while Adam apologized to them for his broken Spanish. “We speak Persian,” one of the men told me “we are from Afghanistan.” None of them corrected Adam which was a little funny to me. 

It was a sight. Leading the procession line was one of the EMT’s followed by ten men of various ages and nationalities carrying Will on the basket stretcher. Some were in swim trunks, no shirts, all wet, others were smartly dressed and dry, there was a father (with his two tween sons close behind) and the young man from Denver with the satellite phone who had originally called for help. All the partners, kids, and pets of those men were next in line and carrying all the bags, towels and other supplies they had brought for the day. Behind them were the rest of the EMT’s and last was me.

  It had taken me a second to pack up all our things and return what others had lent us. When I started walking up the trail my legs began to shake. They shook so much that they gave out and I found myself on the ground and unable to breathe. I was having a panic attack. I had remained in mom-mode for close to what I estimate to be 90 minutes. I comforted William with no tears or visible signs of panic for all that time only to collapse myself as soon as I knew he was safe. 

Adam saw me and came over. He talked me through it and breathed with me until I felt steady again. Then he surprised me and with tears in his eyes told me how much I reminded him of his own mother and how she had passed away recently. He shared that he had been a preemie and spent a lot of time in the hospital. He said he required a lot of extra attention as a child and his mom took good care of him even though it was hard for her. He told me I was strong for keeping it together even though I was scared and it reminded him of how his mom had to be for him. He gave me his arm and let me lean on him with my wobbly legs as we hiked up. I teased him that I wasn’t that much older than him and we laughed. He told me that the reason he became an EMT was because of his own health struggles as a kid and how he enjoys helping others.

My legs stopped shaking by the time we reached the ambulance. It felt like it had taken no time at all. The EMT’s put William in the ambulance while everyone else stood around thirsty and out of breath. The ambulance was warm and toasty and a nice man named Bob was waiting inside. I sensed that something must have happened between the men who carried William up and out of the gorge. They were talking amongst themselves, slapping each other on the back and thanking one another saying things like ‘I’m glad to have met you.”  They obviously felt a bond. Together they had all helped save this stranger they had never met. A man with Down syndrome who in his innocence couldn’t recognize his own distress or express it other than to say he wanted to go home and his feet hurt. All these strangers united to help us without hesitation. 

I owed them so much but all I had to give were thank you’s—and I handed those out over and over again. I don’t know who those people were, their names, their stories or where they came from. I do know that in our time of need I watched us all unite in our humanity for the sake of helping one man. I am filled with intense gratitude and faith in my fellow man. This is who we are as humans. We are not the negative noise that bombards our senses every day from greedy men with evil intentions. People are good.

On our way to the hospital I found out that all the EMT’s had come to the cove directly from the Fire Chief’s wedding. Not to worry, I was told, all the good stuff was over with by the time they got the call. The closest hospital was in Woodland Park, and after a 45 minute ambulance ride Will was seen right away. He did have hypothermia but his vitals were much better and some color had returned to his face. His hands and feet were cool to the touch but no longer had the purple splotches. Even though his fingernails were still purple we were assured that his extremities would warm up and appear normal within 24 hours—and they did. Will is doing fine.

I learned that the water in Paradise Cove is 38º. Those of us sitting in the sunshine with our feet in the shallow end of the pool had no idea how frigid the water really is. I also figured out that the reason Will was acting like a bird with wings was because his hands were hurting. It’s also why he was making his “meditation fingers” and complaining that his feet hurt when he was emerging from the water. He was in pain and likely confused. If he had stayed in the water even another 5 minutes he likely would have lost consciousness and started drowning. 

We don’t have BLM land in Texas. It’s not something I’m familiar with and now that we have had this experience it’s important to recognize a few things. It’s public land and free to access. You can camp, mine, graze cattle, fly drones, hunt, mountain bike etc… There are not many rules or infrastructure. Don’t expect to see rangers, roads, trails, trail markers or other signage giving warnings or alerting danger.  In addition to the trails not being maintained and dangerous in some spots, there was nothing to indicate how deep or cold the water is. There’s not a life ring to toss out if needed or an emergency phone box. You're on your own, and it's important to know this ahead of time before hanging out on BLM land. Lesson learned.

We are forever grateful to the volunteers at Southern Park County Fire Protection District in Guffey, CO.