What It’s Like to Rescue a Lost Dog on a Mountain

In October, hiker Joe Berman rescued a dog from the summit of Shadow Mountain in Phoenix, Arizona. The ordeal generated local headlines, as Berman had to navigate sheer rocks and treacherous terrain in the dark to save the mutt. In a written essay, Berman described the ordeal. 

I was doing my regular hike up Shadow Mountain outside of Phoenix, Arizona, when, at the summit, I encountered something unexpected. Near the top, a white dog was hiding behind the rocks. When I approached, it growled and tried to scurry away, but it was clear that one of its front legs was injured.

We were high on a ridge, and every time I moved closer, the dog put itself more in danger. With only three good legs, raw paws, and little energy, it struggled to stay upright. I couldn’t get close without putting both of us at risk. The ground was muddy and slick underneath the loose rocks from recent rainfall, with almost no stable footing.

I called my wife for help. It was getting dark, and I could hear coyotes in the near distance. This dog was not going to make it.

We reached out to non-emergency and animal control, but no one could offer immediate assistance. One no-kill shelter said there was nothing they could suggest. I explained that I was literally on the side of a rocky ravine with an injured dog, but help seemed impossible.

Meanwhile, my wife and stepdaughter searched online and discovered a social media post about a missing white dog that had been lost five days earlier, before the storms, nearly four miles away. It had to be the same one.

Eventually, I called 911. As I awaited a for the police to call me back with a plan, the dog panicked again, bolting and tumbling down the ravine twice. I knew I had to intervene, so I carefully positioned myself down the ravine under the dog’s location, trying to keep it from sliding farther down the slope. My phone battery was down to three percent, so I didn’t call. Instead, I used my flashlight to signal my location.

After some time, in the pitch black, park rangers and several mountain rescue teams began ascending the mountain. I could see their headlamps. It was like watching one of those survival documentaries in real life. I thought: what in the hell am I doing here, and why am I doing this? When one rescuer finally got within shouting distance, about 40 feet above, he told me it was too dangerous to come down to me, and that a helicopter was coming.

I would need to hold onto the dog, he said. Yes, this is the same dog that was injured, had been growling at me, and wouldn’t let me get near it. Every time I approached it, this dog made the situation worse.

As I heard the helicopter approaching, I lunged and threw my left arm and torso around the dog and buried my face in its neck while he pressed his head into my armpit. We sat like that for several hours as I clung to the mountain awaiting a plan or instructions from rescuers. I felt like the dog and I bonded. It was a little chaotic, but in those moments we found some comfort.

The surface we were on was crumbling, and the unstable ground offered no real footing. I clung to a small tree root sticking out of the ground above me, jutting from the slope. My legs cramped as I grasped for footing, my body trembled from the strain of my stiffened legs bracing us, and we waited in the dark for hours, unable to hear instructions over the noise of the rotor blades overhead.

We had slid probably four feet from where we started, and I continued to push rocks down as I tried to keep my footing. At one point, the tree root I clung to broke when I lifted my leg from my footing, trying to ease an uncomfortable muscle cramp. I knew I couldn’t stay and wait for help there any longer. We were slipping towards a sheer drop.

After three hours, I gathered my strength. Holding the dog under one arm, and using the other to brace myself, I climbed my way back toward the trail above me. There, rescue crews met me, placed the dog into a sling, and checked that I was okay. Together, we made our way, off of the trail.

At the base, a small crowd had gathered, including the dog’s owners, whom the police had contacted. Their reunion was pure joy. The dog, named Milo, limped happily into their arms, yelping and howling with joy, his tail wagging, exhausted but alive.

I accepted a bottle of water and walked quietly back down the trail towards home. The night had been terrifying, exhausting, and emotional. But thanks to a lot of luck and help, it was a story with a happy ending.

A huge thanks to all the rescuers and crew that assisted, and to my beautiful wife and stepdaughter, who helped with the logistics at the bottom and captured the photos and videos of the reunion.

Be sure to pet your puppies.

This report was edited for style and clarity.