A Story About Dave: The Day I Lost My Best Friend

This is a guest post by Kevin Avakian.

This hike started as all our other hikes started, with one exception, I needed to drive this time. Dave’s wife’s car had brake issues, and she needed to use his. I got up early, grabbed a coffee to go, loaded my truck with my hiking equipment, and headed up 93 to Dave’s house in Manchester, NH.

I remember driving and thinking to myself that I needed to tell Dave and Lisa how much I loved them. It was just something that hit me on my way. I knew I would not feel awkward or uncomfortable telling them either. I truly did love them. Dave brought so much to my life with hiking and his calm way of life, and Lisa was always so easy to be around. She has a smile like I have never seen before.

When I got to Dave’s house, he was packing a few last-minute things into his backpack. We all chatted for a few minutes, and then Dave and I jumped in my truck and headed north on 93 to route 302 to Jefferson, NH. It was a good three-hour ride to get to the trail. Our rides always seemed quick as we talked about everything for the entire ride.

On our way this time, we stopped at the Tilton Diner for breakfast. Many times Dave and Lisa would prepare a big breakfast for when I got to their house. Other times we would just stop for breakfast. As usual, we were giving the waitress a hard time, but in a fun way with lots of laughs. After breakfast, we drove next door to the gas station, where I filled my tank for the next part of our ride. We also grabbed some protein bars and a few other snacks.

This hike we were going to be checking out the conditions on Mt Washington, a hike I had never done but which Dave had done several times. From Ammonoosuc you can see Mt Washington and get an idea of the snow. Our plan was to pick a good weekend in April to climb Washington. He knew that if we took the Ammonoosuc Ravine Trail we could see Mt Washington and be better prepared for that hike. Ammonoosuc Ravine Trail is a 4.5-mile hike to the summit with an elevation of about 3500 ft. It is considered to be on the moderate side of a difficult hike. As you crest the summit, you can see The Lakes of the Clouds.

On March 12th, the day of the hike, the weather at the trailhead was fairly clear but a little chilly — mid-20s. Nothing that we needed to worry about. If it were not safe, Dave would not have done it. As an experienced hiker, he knew what trails were safe for the conditions of the day. I had confidence in Dave and respected his decisions. It was fine on this day.

Left to right: Lisa, Dave, and the author. Photo courtesy Kevin Avakian

When we reached the trailhead, we got out of the truck, grabbed our boots, and started dressing for the hike. I remember Dave was a bit pissed at me, as I was not totally prepared with the clothing I was wearing. I forgot to bring an extra coat for the higher altitudes. Maybe my baggie full of homemade jerky helped him get over it quickly. He took his phone out of his pocket and handed it to me, I locked it in my glove box, locked my truck, and we headed to the trail with our backpacks and trekking poles.

As we started the hike, I had Dave stop at the trailhead sign and took a picture from my cellphone. I would take many pictures on our hikes, for memories and to send to Dave during the week after our hikes so we could talk about them. I also took pictures of Dave at the different signs because Lisa wanted to make a scrapbook for him, so I made sure to make him stop for these pictures. I did not let him know why because this book was going to be a surprise. Dave would get a little stubborn when I took the pictures, but he always seemed able to work up a smile for the photo.

Fall and winter hiking was always fun and a bit challenging for me. Nevertheless, it also made the winter pass quickly as we pretty much hiked every other weekend. The week before a planned hike we would talk about where to go and psych each other up for it. Then the week after we would send pictures of the hike and talk about how much fun it was. I liked winter hiking the most; it always made me feel I had made a big accomplishment. It pushed me.

As we headed up the snow-packed trail, it was like most other hikes. There were easy parts and difficult parts, scenic spots and spots where we needed to stop and enjoy the views and take a gulp of water or Gatorade. As we moved up the trail, we sometimes would bump into other hikers and if these hikers were friendly, Dave would always chat it up with them, whether it be just to talk or, if the hikers were returning, to ask about conditions.

On this hike, we met a father and son who were coming back down. I remember the father had a large, heavy camera with him. I am sure he got some great pictures, but carrying this size camera must have been challenging. Of course, Dave chatted it up with them for a bit, and we got the conditions and what we should expect further up.

As we continued, we came to an area where there had been an avalanche earlier in the season. Trees were downed and the trail got a little spicy, but we managed through. Some of the trail was very narrow, with small drop-offs along the side. We had to watch our steps there. We both wore crampons to keep our footing on the icy parts.

After what I guess was about 4 hours and 3 to 3.5 miles, we stopped. It was foggy, but there was an airiness to it, kind of had crystal flakes in the fog. Hard to explain. I wanted to continue a bit more to see what was up further. Maybe see The Lake of the Clouds if it wasn’t too foggy. Dave said to go ahead. He was going to wait there. I did not think too much about it, because he had done that on past hikes, and then I would get a picture during the week with me in the distance. I have a few of those pictures on my computer.

Dave, 13Mar11. Photo courtesy Kevin Avakian

I hiked up for a short distance, but I started losing sight of Dave, so I turned back. As I got closer, I noticed some reddish/orange spots on the snow. Dave had been spitting what looked to be his pasta dinner from the night before. This was not unusual, as he would eat Zantac like candy. He told me it was just his heartburn kicking up on him.

Well as we continued our downward journey, I noticed Dave slowing down and even needing to stop a few times. At this point, I started getting a little concerned, but I was still thinking it may have been heartburn, or maybe I was really hoping that’s all it was. At one point, I said when we get off the trail we should (maybe) go to the local emergency room. He agreed. I knew it was more serious. I got nervous and asked if he wanted to stop, but he said no. I offered to take his backpack and he handed it to me. This was when my panic kicked in.

We took a few more steps, and Dave collapsed on the trail. We were alone. Dave was unconscious. My first thought was I had to perform CPR. I was so afraid that I would not remember how. I tilted his head back, pulled his tongue from blocking his air passage, and gave him mouth-to-mouth. I guess that was the old style, but it was the only thing that I could think of at that moment.

It worked after a few minutes, or 10 minutes, or an hour. Who knows? I was alone with my best friend’s head in my arms, unconscious. I am sure it was only a short time, but it felt like forever. Anyway, he regained consciousness. I cushioned his head with my jacket — not my heavy one, because I had forgotten it. I started covering him with whatever I had on and whatever was in my backpack. I was down to my T-shirt, but I never felt the cold.

After I made Dave as comfortable as I could, I pulled out my Blackberry. I called 911, and to my surprise I had reception. I gave them the trail we were on and approximately our elevation and miles in. They wanted to know if they could reach us by helicopter, but because of the tree cover, that would be impossible.

The operator then told me that they would send a team up. I asked her to stay on the line with me until they arrived, and she said she would. I was in a complete panic at this point. She calmly asked me several questions about Dave’s condition. She made me ask Dave questions, and he answered me in his smart-ass but weakened tone. I asked where he lived. He struggled to say, “Under a bridge.” Knowing Dave, he was hoping to relieve some of my anxiety.

We stayed alone for a few more minutes and he lost consciousness again. His eyes rolled up in his head and he was turning blue. Was this it for him? Could I do it again? What if I couldn’t? These questions all hit me! The 911 operator had me give him compressions this time. I did this with my head tilted to keep my phone pinned to my ear as she counted for me. I was able to bring him back again.

After he came back, my phone slipped from my ear and slid down the trail about 30 feet. I needed to get it; I needed to hear the voice on the other end to keep me calm and to continue giving me directions for Dave’s survival. I stayed on the phone for what seemed to be hours. I remember her asking if I had any aspirin to give Dave. Neither of us had packed it, even though we both spoke of it in the past.

Dave and I waited for the rescue team to reach us. Dave, for the most part was unaware of what was going on. After some time, maybe two hours, a group of hikers crossed our trail. I asked if anyone had any aspirin. One hiker asked, “What do you need aspirin for?” All I could think to myself was, “just give me the fuckin aspirin and figure it out after!” However, I was grateful that I was no longer alone. One of the hikers happened to have some. We gave it to Dave.

These hikers were more prepared than I was. They had sleeping bags, sleeping pads, and a few more essentials for this type of hike. I am guessing they stayed at the hut the night before. We took Dave’s crampons off and worked him into a sleeping bag, then onto the pad for more warmth. I think they gave me some food and water, but I cannot be sure. One was a first responder, and another was an intern. I think there were five in total. This made me feel a little more at ease, thinking they would have more experience in case I lost Dave again. They stayed with Dave and me for the entire rescue. This came in the form of a young man from NH Parks, who finally arrived carrying oxygen bottles. He hooked a bottle up and filled Dave’s nose and mouth with air.

It was so difficult for me to understand what was happening. Dave was active, and in good shape by my reckoning. He was always doing something. Whether it was working on his house or his cottage, riding his motorcycle, or hiking. He always kept busy. Beyond hiking, Dave and I did lots of riding. I used to spend the first weekend of Laconia Bike Week with him. Always fun and memorable. We also did Americade in NY a few years in a row. No matter what we did together, it was sure to be fun and stories would follow. Dave always had my back. I guess it was time for me to have his.

After a while, another team of four arrived with a rescue basket. At this point Dave was conscious but unable to speak. They lifted him from the ground to the basket and we started our descent. Between the rescuers, the hikers who helped, and myself, I think there were about 11 or 12 of us now. We took turns carrying the basket. At any given point, there were eight on the basket, three on his right, three on his left, one pulling a rope in the front and another on a rope at the back.

It was a difficult carry as the trail would sometimes narrow, forcing us to step off to either side. Keeping the basket level was difficult. At one point, I stepped off the trail and I could hear and feel my leg giving out. I would later need meniscus surgery from this injury. And as bad as the pain was, I don’t think I felt it at the time.

The trail had many obstacles, narrowed trails, small stream crossings, etc. This trail was already challenging enough without having to extract an injured hiker. Nevertheless, we all pushed; we all found some sort of inner strength to work through exhaustion, injuries, hunger, cold, and now darkness setting in. I still to this day do not know where my strength came from.

I am not sure how long it took from when Dave first collapsed until he was back at the trailhead where we started. At the end of the extraction, one of the hikers asked if he could have his jacket back. I did not even remember putting it on. I guess seeing me in a T-shirt with the temperatures in the low 20s, he could only assume I was cold. I don’t ever remember feeling cold.

At the trailhead, an ambulance was waiting for Dave. They lifted him to a gurney, then gently rolled him into the ambulance. He was sitting up at this point. I can still see him, an oxygen mask covering his nose and mouth, wearing one of my light jackets and a blanket over his knees. They shut the door and headed off to Littleton Hospital, approximately 70 miles from Canada. I followed, keeping a distance. It was snowing, and we needed to travel through the Notch, which got dicey with the wind, blinding snow, and slippery conditions. To top it off, the four-wheel drive on my truck wasn’t working. I think my dad or someone was watching over me on that trip.

Before we left the trailhead, I pulled Dave’s phone out of my glove box, found Lisa’s number, and called her. When I told Lisa what had happened, she told me not to “fuck around.” I wished I was. I told her where we were headed and to meet us there. Apparently, Lisa had a dream the night before that Dave had a heart attack. She thought that maybe Dave told me and we were playing a joke on her. This would be a joke that I never would have been part of, and I know Dave would not have either. We have played jokes before, but nothing like that.

We arrived at the hospital somewhere around 10 p.m., but this is just a guess. Everything happened so quickly, but took forever, if that makes any sense. I remember reaching the door of the ambulance where Dave was sitting up, mask still covering his mouth and nose, looking at me and giving me the “Thumbs Up” sign and a quick wink. I needed that more than anything. That “Thumbs Up” told me “thank you,” “I am proud of you,” and “you did everything right.” I was told to have a seat in the emergency waiting room until someone came to talk to me.

I was sitting for maybe 45 minutes when the emergency room doctor came out to see me. Though I was not family, Dave told her that I was his best friend and I could hear anything. She told me he either aspirated or ingested. I said, “That’s good, right?” Thinking that anything would be better than a heart attack. Feeling, in kind of a selfish way, that he’d get better within a short time and we’d be back up on the trails. She said neither was good.

But in my eyes, anything was better than a heart attack. The doctor returned to see Dave, and I sat back down trying to figure out what I was going to say to Lisa when she got there. She arrived shortly thereafter. I told her what I was told and took her to where she could see Dave.

I again waited alone while Lisa saw Dave and the doctor. It seemed to take forever. When she returned, she had a double “Thumbs Up”! I was now even more encouraged that Dave and I would be on the trails again, even sooner than I’d thought. The ER doctor told Lisa that Dave had double pneumonia. I thought, that’s even better, a few months and he’ll be up and maybe not hiking, but I’ll be with my best friend riding our motorcycles and causing trouble with Lisa! We could do Mt. Washington another year, maybe next year.

Lisa told me that Dave wanted me to go home because I’d had a rough day. Words that did not surprise me from his mouth. I figured Dave was safe with his wife by his side now. I left for home. The roads were slippery and it took a little while. I got home and collapsed of exhaustion.

I woke at around 6 with a waiting message from Lisa. I was afraid to listen to it. It was the most painful message. Dave had died. I guess they transported him from Littleton to Dartmouth Hitchcock, a better hospital for Dave’s condition. Lisa saw the doctor there and was told that Dave was the sickest person in the hospital.

I often wonder if I did everything right on that mountain. I wonder whether, if he had never given me his love for hiking, maybe that day would not have happened. What I do know is that Dave was not going to die on the 12th of March, as that was the same date as my father’s death. He was not going to die on my watch. He fought so I would not lose my love for hiking. Moreover, he was not going to die without telling Lisa that he loved her and hearing those words from her mouth.

The Trek photo

To this day, I still have occasional nightmares of that day. They are very vivid, but in my dreams, I feel the cold that I did not feel on the mountain. Crazy. There has not been one day that I do not think of that hike, but I also think of the many other hikes that we shared.

Hiking is not the same for me now. I have tried. I have tried being the “Dave” of the hike. Taking people on trails, teaching them what I learned from Dave as he taught me. I have many great memories and pictures from our many hikes. I guess that is going to be what I hold onto until I can somehow find that love again.

I remember talking to my mother about a year after this. She was worried about me and suggested that I should get help to deal with what happened. I told her I was not ready to give up the pain I was feeling. I am not sure why I felt I needed to hold on. Was it that I was afraid that I would forget Dave? Was it that I was punishing myself for what happened? Or did I think I could deal with this on my own? Might have been everything.

Dave left behind a wife, two sons, a few grandchildren, his mother, many friends, and me.

To this day, I still have not summited Mt Washington, but I hope to someday.

This story was difficult for me to re-live on paper. I still re-live it sometimes in dreams, or in passing thoughts that come into my head of that day, but I get past it by remembering all the good times we spent hiking, riding, and hanging out together. It seems that maybe the good thoughts have beaten out the bad ones.

Dave, you’ll always be a brother to me. I miss you and wish we could have done Mt. Washington together. When that day finally gets there for me, you’ll be with me through every step.

About the Author

Photo courtesy Kevin Avakian

Kevin Avakian enjoys hiking — though it’s been minimal lately — and taking rides on his motorcycle. He is married with two kids: Ashley, 35, and Michael, 33. His wife is Valerie. He will be 66 in November.

Featured image courtesy of Kevin Avakian.