I Spent 24 Hours Stuck in a Hole on the Side of a Mountain

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Bad Decisions

I Spent 24 Hours Stuck in a Hole on the Side of a Mountain

Alexander Katritsis thought climbing a mountain would help him deal with his grief. Instead, he fell down a slope and his problems only got worse.

This article originally appeared on VICE Greece

In September 2016, my grandfather died. We had always been very close, and for a while, I had no idea how to deal with the loss. Hiking and being out in nature has always had a calming, almost therapeutic effect on me, so together with a friend, I decided to get away from Athens for a day and have an adventure.

We left at dawn and headed for Mount Giona, about 160 miles from Athens. We arrived in the early afternoon, and agreed to go all the way and climb its highest peak, Pyramida, which stands at 2,510 metres (8,235 ft). We knew it would be difficult – it's a steep and rocky hike – but I figured it was just the challenge I needed to put my mind at ease.

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Right from the moment we started climbing, I was much faster than my friend. I hadn't often felt this kind of focus when climbing a mountain, and I was determined to go as quickly and as high as I could. Soon enough, I was above the clouds. My friend yelled at me to slow down a couple of times, but I didn't listen. My inflated ego didn't feel like slowing down for anything or anyone. I hiked as if I was trying to conquer the mountain – I wanted to be the first mortal at its peak and plant my flag. I don't know if I can blame the terrible decisions I made on that mountain completely on my grief, but the fact is that I became reckless.

I assumed I would land on my feet, like people do in movies. I didn't.

I was close to the summit when, after a few hours of climbing, I found myself surrounded by fog. Though I couldn't see the final stretch anymore, I regrettably decided to continue to climb. I called out to my friend, but he didn't respond – I realised I hadn't heard from him in a while. The fog only got thicker and I began to worry. In a panic, I thought I had to go back and started to walk down. Bu, scared and disoriented as I was, I followed the wrong path and, instead of walking down, I went sideways.

With the little remaining phone battery I had, I called the police. I could have stayed put to make it easier for them to find me, but that would have been the smart thing to do and doing the smart thing wasn't my instinct that day. So of course, I kept walking.

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After about three or four miles, I decided to find shelter for the night. From a distance, I noticed a spot that could work – a small cave. But as I came closer, I realised it was at the bottom of an incredibly steep slope which went down at least 65 feet. Using my hands to steady myself, I scrambled down the slope for a bit until I couldn't find a way to keep my balance and stay in control any longer. I looked at how much further I had to go, and decided to jump the last bit – it didn't seem too far and I assumed I would land on my feet, like people do in movies. I did not.

I crashed face-down on the rocky clearing below. It felt like I had been hit by a car. I had lost my glasses and shoes, I had cuts and scratches everywhere. After a few minutes I tried to stand up, but I couldn't – I had ruptured the ligaments in my knee and standing up, my knees couldn't support my weight.


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Despite all that, I was pretty lucky – I had crashed close to the small cave. When I crawled in and was unable to fit my legs in, I realised it was more a hole than a cave, but I had no choice. What followed was the longest night of my life – it felt endless. As the temperature dropped to zero, I started to hallucinate thanks to the potent mixture of extreme pain, cold and hunger. Though I knew there weren't any wild animals living that high up, I started to imagine a bunch of them creeping up on me. I forced myself to stay awake, because I was afraid I would never wake up again.

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When it was finally morning, the sun was warm enough that I could fall asleep for a bit. But the pain I was in made sure that I could not close my eyes for long. During the moments I was awake, I shouted for help, but nobody could hear me. My voice echoed around the slopes. It felt horrible to be all alone there, beaten and helpless. The only thing that could possibly save me was my voice, and that was proving useless. I prayed to God and to my mother, who had also died a while ago.

Surprisingly, at some point during the day, I was able to turn my phone back on. It had been switched off for a couple of hours, and discovered I had 2 percent battery power left. I called the police but couldn't tell them where to go, because I didn't know where I was myself.

I got more depressed every time the helicopter hovered over me without noticing me.

Shortly after that call though, a helicopter appeared directly above me. I crawled out of my little cave and frantically waved at it, but nobody saw me. It kept returning every half hour, but I got more depressed every time it hovered over me without noticing me. In the afternoon, when the clouds began to roll in, the helicopter stopped coming back.

I realised I was going to have to spend another night in the hole, so I collected any leaves I could find and ate them. As I prepared myself for the night, I suddenly heard voices coming from afar – it was a rescue team. I shouted out to them, and it didn't take long for them to find me. They gave me water, sandwiches, chocolates and clothes. Unfortunately, because of budget cuts to their rescue service, they had to make do without a stretcher. The only way they could get me to safety was by tying me to their backs and carrying me uphill and on uneven ground, all the way to where the helicopter could pick us up. The guys were in their 50s, but they managed very well.

When we reached the top of the slope, they lit a fire. It took the helicopter about an hour to locate us. When I arrived at the hospital, my family, the friend I had climbed the mountain with and some other friends were waiting for me. You can imagine that the whole scene became quite emotional.

I'm still recovering. The ligament I tore is pretty vital for me being able to walk and function, and I've had two surgeries to fix it. The work I'm doing in the gym has saved me – it's helped me not only to strengthen my body, but also my character. Feeling depressed wouldn't cause me to run up a mountain without any preparation anymore.

But spending that night alone and helpless up there changed me, too – it's changed what I think I can do, and what I should achieve. In the future, I'll be running towards some new life goals, not towards a foggy mountain peak.