Peaceful silence is one of the many reasons people explore the Adirondack backcountry. The quiet stillness, interrupted only by natural sounds, provides an ideal opportunity for recharging spiritual batteries, something increasingly crucial in the modern world where haste and expediency rule. This tranquility is fragile however, easily shattered by a jet flying overhead, the revving of a motor engine, a gun discharging or any other incongruent sound.

Another man-made and unnatural sound, although quite rare, completely shatters the illusion of solitude and remoteness, leaving any wilderness enthusiast shaken to their very core. This unwelcome intrusion does not come from an aggressive motor enthusiast, logger or other wilderness antagonist, but frequently courtesy of a fellow adventurer. It is a backcountry breakdown, and it can happen to anyone, at anytime, anywhere.
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Like most people, I began my Adirondack backcountry career wide-eyed and naive, almost completely ignorant of the dangers. My ignorance was largely irrelevant in those early days, as I mostly hiked with others and we rarely strayed from marked trails. That innocence was quickly shattered however, as a single traumatic event infused me with a backcountry anxiety that remains to this day.

Unlike common backcountry fears such as isolation, aggressive wild animals, or bloodthirsty insect hordes, mine is both rational and reasonable. Being crushed by a falling tree is the fear that plagues my mind.
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