Cifaldi sits with the pole<\/span> (Photo: Jesse Ross)<\/figcaption><\/figure>\nNavigating the snow-covered boulder fields of Granite Peak\u2019s aptly-named Froze-to-Death Plateau isn\u2019t easy on a good day. But when you have a 44-inch-long steel-tipped trekking pole dangerously close to your vital organs, it\u2019s a dance with death.<\/p>\n
\u201cI tried to look for snow where David wouldn\u2019t sink into his knee,\u201d recalls Ross. He even took time to stomp the snow down in a futile attempt to create steps. Every loose rock also warranted extra caution.<\/p>\n
Cifaldi sums that section of the trail up as \u201cincredibly mentally taxing.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI knew there was no second chance if I fell again and this thing went deeper or punctured a lung.\u201d<\/p>\n
While Ross and Cifaldi navigated each step with exhausting surgical precision, Reich\u2019s eyes stayed glued to Cifaldi\u2019s back. As the caboose, his job was to monitor the wound. The caravan had yet to see a single drop of blood. But one misstep or microadjustment would have serious consequences.<\/p>\n
Mile 3<\/h2>\n The shishkebab jokes kicked in around mile 3. Losing altitude lifted the hiker\u2019s spirits. As five trekking poles click-clacked down the rocky trail, humor became their crutch.<\/p>\n
It worked until it didn\u2019t. The bobbing of the pole moving through Cifalid went from mildly annoying to distractingly uncomfortable.<\/p>\n
And soon, the vegetation they had to traverse became as treacherous as the boulder field in their rearview.<\/p>\n
\u201cIf I catch this thing on one of these stupid little pine trees that\u2019s trying to grow here and it rips out of my side, we\u2019re in trouble,\u201d recalls Cifaldi. At this point, his friends were calling him Bob.<\/p>\n
The moniker had a short shelf-life as the sound of labored breathing replaced laughter.<\/p>\n
Mile 5<\/h2>\n If mile five had a name, it would be misery. Cerebrally spent after agonizing over every step for hours, Cifaldi fought the urge to give up. Knowing about the 36 switchbacks that lay ahead between the hikers and Mystic Lake was worse than his unwanted appendage.<\/p>\n
\u201cAt that point I thought I\u2019d rather be dead than continue,\u201d he recalls. Succumbing to exhaustion, the men stopped to refuel. \u201cWe didn\u2019t need anyone bonking,\u201d says Ross.<\/p>\n
The three looked up and reflected on how perfect the day was: blue skies, no wind, and a pleasant temperature that didn\u2019t require adding or shedding layers, something Cifaldi appreciated.<\/p>\n
Below, the zig-zagging trail seemed to stretch for miles, more ominous than a storm cloud.<\/p>\n
Heading straight down and cutting their time in half was tempting. But the hikers didn\u2019t dare. Littered with rocks and roots, that shortcut was a minefield.<\/p>\n
Mile 7<\/h2>\n The largest body of water in the Beartooth Mountains, Mystic Lake is a popular destination for day-trippers. But as the trio traded the steep switchbacks they\u2019d had to themselves for a well-worn path, a new dread set in.<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t need somebody else fainting because of this,\u201d David remembers thinking. He was a nurse, but with a trekking pole still holding him prisoner, he was in no position to help a stranger if they fell, too.<\/p>\n
Ross ran ahead to warn an approaching group of teenagers and a middle-aged man. Reich kept pace behind David, still looking for blood.<\/p>\n
Mile 8<\/h2>\n The last miles to the trailhead were no freebies. At this point, the men, who had left Billings at 1 A.M., had been awake for nearly 12 hours. Wired by adrenaline but tired after 17-plus miles of hiking, they trudged on.<\/p>\n
The Final Stretch<\/h2>\n From the parking lot at the trailhead, it was still 70 minutes by car, on a mostly dirt road, to the nearest hospital.<\/p>\n
Ross\u2019s knuckles turned white as he gripped the steering wheel, dodging potholes and slowing to a near-crawl around curves.<\/p>\n
That was the closest Cifaldi, who felt every crushed stone beneath their tires, came to snapping.<\/p>\n
\u201cI was like, dude, hit the gas. Get me out of here!\u201d<\/p>\n
That afternoon, two surgeons at St. Vincent Regional Hospital removed the trekking pole. Cifaldi returned to work at the same hospital just seven days later.<\/p>\nHiking Granite Peak at sunrise<\/span> (Photo: Jesse Ross)<\/figcaption><\/figure>\nUnfinished Business<\/h2>\n Survivor\u2019s guilt is usually reserved for someone who lives through something that others don\u2019t. No one died on Granite Peak that day. But Cifaldi apologized, multiple times, for being the reason they didn\u2019t summit.<\/p>\n
Multiple times, his friends told him not to worry.<\/p>\n
What Ross and Reich haven\u2019t done, however, is discourage him from a second attempt.\u00a0They\u2019ve already talked about it.<\/p>\n
\u201cI think it would be good for all of us to go back and do it next year,\u201d says Ross, who has no plans to retire his trekking poles just because of what happened to his friend. \u201cThey\u2019re so nice for pacing.\u201d<\/p>\n
Cifaldi doesn\u2019t plan on rawdogging it either. Despite all the damage\u2014physical and financial\u2014caused by his $40 trekking pole set from Amazon, he knows it\u2019s a wise investment.<\/p>\n
\u201cTrekking poles are essential for stability,\u201d he said. \u201cThey actually saved Jesse\u2019s life a few years ago when he lost his footing and was sliding down a snowfield. He was able to jam the pole into the snow and stop his slide. That\u2019s reason enough for me to carry them.\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/div>\nSource link <\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"Published July 31, 2026 10:59AM By now, you\u2019ve probably read the headlines: some version of \u201chiker impaled by trekking pole.\u201d Media as far away as England, India, and Turkey have covered the horrific incident that took place on a remote trail leading to Montana\u2019s highest peak. The photos are hard to look at. They show<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":16088,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[35],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-16087","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","category-wild-living"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/wildgreenquest.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/16087","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/wildgreenquest.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/wildgreenquest.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/wildgreenquest.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/wildgreenquest.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=16087"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/wildgreenquest.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/16087\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/wildgreenquest.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/16088"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/wildgreenquest.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=16087"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/wildgreenquest.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=16087"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/wildgreenquest.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=16087"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
![\"Cifaldi](\"https:\/\/cdn.outsideonline.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/07\/pole.jpg?width=3840&auto=webp&quality=75&fit=cover\"\/)
![\"Hiking](\"https:\/\/cdn.outsideonline.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/07\/sunrise.jpg?width=3840&auto=webp&quality=75&fit=cover\"\/)