The Man Who Chronicled His Own Death, and His Incredible Dog

The story of Hiker Mike Turner and Andy the Black Lab

A self-photo of Mike Turner and his dog, Andy, taken in 1998. Credit: Associated Press

Wander in Wonder

On July 30, 1998, a man named Mike Turner headed into the wildlands of Wyoming, a midwestern state in the United States. Turner was a pastor at the Boone Memorial Presbyterian Church in Caldwell, Idaho. Standing at 6-foot-6, Turner was a big man, but he nonetheless opted not to travel alone. His black lab, Andy, tagged along.

Since childhood, Turner found awe in nature and backpacked into it often. His wife once stated, “Mike saw God’s hand everywhere, in church just as much as in the backcountry.” When first he became a minister in 1976, he commemorated the event with an 18-day hike into the Wind River Range in Wyoming. Now, at 48-years-old, he set out for the same place.

He planned nine days for his hike, much of it off-trail. This meant he would not follow the demarked paths, which also suggested he would not likely encounter anyone along his way once he departed the designated area. His itinerary put him on a 60-mile (96.5 km) trek across the range, one of the remotest parts of the continental United States.

Wyoming, the state through which the range passes, is also the least populated. Forty-eight peaks of the range exceed 12,500 feet (3,810 m). Turner’s route anticipated traversing two passes over the Continental Divide near 12,000 feet. He also intended to cross several glaciers.

In a diary he kept with him, he called the trip his “Wander in Wonder.” That diary would provide an eerie and heartbreaking account of his final moments.

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On the fourth day into his hike, Turner encountered a lake over 11,000 feet (3,352 m) up in the mountains. Boulders lay strewn about in a vast field over which he picked his steps. He learned quickly that the giant stones were not as stable as they looked, shifting slightly whenever he applied his weight. In an instant, what started as a superficial wobble turned into a full cascade.

A later analysis of the scene indicated that two or more boulders probably dislodged at once, causing Turner to lose his footing. Whatever happened next must have felt like it passed in the blink of an eye. When the dust settled, Turner found his legs locked between two monstrosities. Although completely pinned, he suffered only trivial injuries—scrapes and bruises, nothing more. Nevertheless, he could not move his legs at all.

Turner was not paralyzed. His legs were simply held down by several tons of rock that had settled so solidly, it was as if the boulders had never been in any other spot before. His black lab Andy looked on in confusion, completely unaffected by the rockslide. Turner immediately recognized his predicament. He tried pushing the rocks or dislodging his legs, but both seemed immovable. He was trapped.

When fatigue defeated any further attempt to free himself, Turner took to his diary and penned the first words detailing his situation:

About 2 hours ago a large rock rolled upon me and trapped my legs. I was very careful, be sure of that, but I hurt… I am in your hands Lord…I don’t know what I face.

Evidently, after writing this he realized he needed to prepare for the night. At that elevation, the weather would turn cold. He probably recognized the futility in spending any additional energy trying to do anything more than bundling up, particularly after a long day of hiking. Without further adieu, he took some rest.

Upon waking, he reassessed his circumstances, then logged them in his journal:

I am concerned about first losing my legs, second running out of snow to melt for water, and fuel, third hypothermia. My biggest concern is water. I have only 2 quarts left. The irony is that the lake is only 30 feet away…I am drinking 1 quart today, saving a quart for tomorrow. I am also saving my urine. I wonder how it will taste with Crystal Light?

His words detailed the torturous situation he faced. As an avid hiker, he knew well how short of a time humans can survive without water. His own supplies were severely limited. Only a dusting of snow sat in close enough reach for consumption, and it would melt away before long. Yet, there before him, in full resplendent view, glistened hundreds of thousands of some of the most pristine water on Earth. Trapped as he was, however, it would serve only as a vicious reminder of how thirsty he would become.

Turner did not lack the tools to extend his survival while he contemplated what to do next. Incredibly, his pack, stove, sleeping bag, food stores, and bottled water all stayed with him during his fall. He knew, though, that the tiniest wrong move could cause him to drop any of them. Should that occur, the item would serve as another painful reminder of the proximity, but inaccessibility, of his salvation.

Thinking again about drinking water, Turner pondered the numerous ironies of his situation. Rainfall, for instance, served as a double-edged sword. He wrote:

On one hand, a rainstorm could save my life, giving me the water I need. I’ve got plans to catch every available drop…but then the rain is also my worst enemy because if I get soaked my legs will get very cold…A rain…would be very hard to survive.

Even though the ability to procure freshwater stayed at the top of his priorities, freezing to death lingered as a possibility. Although it was August, the temperature that high up could precipitously plummet even during the day. Sometimes, the heat proved more challenging. Temperatures in the area during his entrapment ranged between 39° and 100° Fahrenheit (3.8° - 37.7° Celsius).

Moreover, Turner was not positioned anywhere near a designated trail. For him, discovery by another would almost certainly come only by air, and only after his wife realized he was missing—something she would not consider for about another week. Thus, exposure presented a real problem.

Later evidence revealed that Turner established a makeshift camp to protect himself from the elements to the extent possible. He used pieces of his tent to serve as a scoop to collect water in the event that it did rain, and as a shade from the relentless sun. To keep warm at night and during daytime cold spells, he covered himself with his bedroll. Once he felt comfortable, he took time to contemplate some more:

I had dreamed of a special time alone with God, facing the elements, the passes, thinking about my life, the direction of the church, about my family. Indeed this has been all of those things only magnified 100 times. Thoughts about life, God, people, risk, filling my time. When I think about it this way, I believe I will survive, smarter or wiser, more thoughtful, more aware of my limits…I do feel confident in my Christian hope. God will make a way either earthly or heavenly. My only dread is not seeing my family and being present with them in body. That’s what I think about.

Despite his early musings, Turner’s disposition slowly turned regretful. He was keenly aware that he had essentially put himself in this situation. Sure, he could not have anticipated the rockslide, but the area in which it occurred made finding him incredibly difficult, if not impossible.

I feel so foolish taking this longer pass. So lonely, more than I imagined…Who would have guessed that 4 days would have gone by and no one has come this way?

After his water ran out and the snow around him was gone, Turner’s desperation for water amplified. Using a string from his coat, he tied off his water bottle and attempted to throw it into the lake. It fell short, jamming into the rocks. He could not retrieve it. On top of that, his body began suffering from hypothermia.

On around the fourth day, Turner began hallucinating—or perhaps vividly daydreaming. In the journal, he discussed ‘seeing’ his family.

They had been on the rock. I cried out aloud for you. The rock seemed to have moved…[I]t is like others are present, only it is Andy and then I am doing something because ‘they’ suggested it.

Coming back to the realization that only Andy physically remained with him, he turned back to God. Turner flipped between anger and despair.

God is with me but I am angry with him. Why this terrible injustice, or is it the product of pride? This sense of wrestling against God or the angel of God is distressing. What can I do against God?…I don’t want to be fighting against God’s will. How am I failing him or what does he need me to teach? What is the purpose of this ordeal? Will I ever know, or continue to be puzzled, angered, and feel quite abandoned by the one I serve?

The next day, not only did his emotional pain stir, so too did the physical. He recounted another attempt to escape:

Last evening I was getting my bedding set around my feet, my bedding can’t get down there normally, when I noticed something like a cast on the front of my leg. It was my leg without feeling. I felt like I had to get out and began working from 9 p.m. to 12, slowly levering the rock. Now it is tighter. I cried out and cried out to God who doesn’t seem to care about my suffering, struggling, and pain, and the loss of my left leg. I begged and prayed for some help in moving the rock but none seemed to come.

Turner’s situation declined quickly. The elements and lack of sustenance wore him down. His emotional condition equally suffered. Eventually, his weakness caused him to lose his grip on the journal; it fell out of reach. Undeterred, he pulled a pocket Bible from his coat and, over the next little while, scrawled his last words.

Shutting down. Getting low. Thought I would be found yesterday…Many thoughts, most of church, future for kids, some friends…I love you Diane, terribly sorry for stupid [unreadable word]…

Fading to nothing. So skinny…

God loves [unreadable word] Love Dad, Mike.

His final dated entry occurred around ten days after the start of his ordeal.

A No-Show

Turner’s wife Diane and some family members waited at the Big Sandy trailhead on Saturday, August 8. The couple had established this place as their meeting point, from which she would pick him up and return home. They set a location called Dad’s Lake as a secondary rendezvous if Turner did not arrive at Big Sandy. Dad’s Lake would enable Turner’s family to help carry some of his gear out of the wilderness back to the trailhead.

When Turner never showed up at Big Sandy, his wife felt irritated at first. “I figured he was out there taking pictures, leaving the rest of us to carry the gear to the first lake, our ‘plan B’ if we didn’t meet up at the trailhead.”

Before Turner left for his hike, his youngest daughter had asked what they should do if he did not return. The family laughed about it then, apparently thinking the little girl meant ‘did not return on time.’ So they decided that after 4pm on the Saturday they intended to meet, if the family found no sign of him they would call for help. That deadline ultimately came and went.

Diane knew that in Wind River, rescue teams charged for the cost of searches and rescues. She worried about scrambling anyone unnecessarily, so she opted to wait a bit longer. As darkness descended on the night of their expected reunification she felt very worried, but decided to put off the request until morning. The next day the sun rose, but Turner did not appear with it. At 10 am, she called 9-1-1.

Danny Holgate of the Sublette County Sheriff’s Office hurried to Diane’s camp. She advised him of her understanding of Turner’s route. With 18 years of experience conducting searches and rescues in those mountains, Holgate quietly held a grim outlook. The search area was vast, covering remote and difficult terrain. Some of the highest passes would challenge even the helicopters.

A very large team of searchers, including volunteers from Turner’s church, mustered at his entry point to the mountains. They set out in groups. Others posted flyers at every adjacent trailhead and camp that included pictures and descriptions of him and Andy. The company that made Turner’s boots sent the Sheriff’s office an image of their usual print pattern to help trackers.

Notwithstanding such a concerted effort, all the teams came up empty. Turner was nowhere to be found. Officer Holgate figured that after three days of searching, the effort would change focus to a body recovery. Stats from previous searches indicated that 75% of all lost victims die after that time. Turner had been missing far longer.

On August 23, two weeks from the date Diane reported him missing, the search for Turner was finally called off. Holgate told the family that he would restart it if they uncovered any lead, but with snow starting to fly and the amount of time that had passed, he could not justify continuing. Mountain searches are not only expensive, but potentially dangerous for volunteers.

Then, something remarkable happened.

Five days after the searches stopped, on August 28, Andy—Turner’s dog—suddenly appeared on a trail before a couple of hikers. With bloodied paws, and obviously undernourished, the hikers immediately brought the dog to the sheriff’s office. These wanderers knew of Turner’s case, having seen posters on their trailhead that included pictures of Andy. Diane later recounted, “Andy being found alive opened up a whole new realm of emotions for me. I was hopeful but still trying to be realistic.”

Three days after Andy’s miraculous emergence from the wilderness, searchers resumed their efforts. Another fortuitous event occurred on precisely the same day. Well off any official trail, a man named Jeff Stewart hiked alone along an unnamed lake—the same one Turner had stared upon daily, longing for water. Stewart also traversed the rock field. With such precarious footing, he caught sight of something peculiar by mere chance, focused as he was upon his own safety. There, fifty yards from him in this otherwise extremely lonely place, sat a man on the rocks.

Having seen the posters and news about Turner, he immediately recognized whom he looked upon. “So [he] called out, ‘Hey, are you all right?’” The seated man did not respond in any way.

To illustrate just how far from civilization Turner sat, it took Stewart almost four days to hike his way to the nearest park station to report his discovery (remember, in 1998 cellphones were not ubiquitous). He carried with him Turner’s wallet as proof of his claim. Of course, when Stewart had checked on Turner, the latter was already deceased, probably for almost two weeks.

After recovering the body, the medical examiner determined Turner’s date of death to be August 11. That was nine days after becoming trapped, and the same day the first helicopter took to the air in search of him. He died from a combination of dehydration and exposure to the elements.

The Aftermath

Years later, Diane referred to Turner’s journal as a “gift.” She released the parts of it that detailed his calamity, but she kept others private that consisted of messages to her and their children. Of those writings, she said “Not being able to say goodbye was hard. But because he was able to, that made it a little easier.” To that, she added “We knew an extended solo hike could be dangerous, but I’ve always believed that to live fully sometimes involves risk.”

Turner’s story provides a lesson for hikers about taking precautions, especially if going alone. It illustrates the dangers in traveling to remote and potentially dangerous places, but also the beauty. Less noticed in this saga, however, is Andy the dog.

Despite the terrible adversity of being subject to the elements and facing death by starvation himself, it is believed that Andy stayed by Turner’s side at least until his death, and possibly well after. With Turner having succumbed to his injuries, Andy persevered, following his incredible nose back to civilization. His hike back led him across dozens of miles of difficult terrain at elevation, paws battered, and completely alone in the wild replete with predators. Through his persistence and instinct, he found his way to human helpers.

Incredibly, before Jeff Stewart reached the park station to report discovering Turner’s body, Andy had joined the reinvigorated search efforts. Throughout his stay at the alpine lake at Turner’s side, he had lost twenty pounds, a substantial percentage of his weight. Yet he eagerly leapt back on the trail, evidently intent on leading the searchers to Turner. Had Stewart not lucked upon Turner’s location and advised police, searchers almost certainly would have found him themselves.

The team led by Andy was just a mile from Turner’s location when the call came over the radio about Stewart’s report. Absent that call, in another couple hours they would probably have arrived at the very spot. Andy had never given up. No matter what happened, the dog was committed to bringing help to his human.

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Sources

O’Grady, K. (2024, February 29). The Worst Death in the History of Backpacking (with proof). Kyle Hates Hiking. YouTube.

Rennicke, J. (2023, April 7). I Cried Out Aloud for You. Backpacker. https://www.backpacker.com/trips/trips-by-state/wyoming-trails/trapped-the-mike-turner-story/

Rennicke, J. (2022, February 20). Mountains of Faith. Jeff Rennicke. https://jeffrennicke.com/mountains-of-faith/

Rodine, K. (2008, September 12). Late Pastor’s Journal Continues to Sustain Others. Gillette News Record. https://www.gillettenewsrecord.com/news/article_ddd640d4-9984-514e-ab3a-b13b4e373e4e.html

Rodine, K. (2008b, September 13). Pastor’s Dying Words Still an Inspiration. Deseret News. https://www.deseret.com/2008/9/13/20274485/pastor-s-dying-words-still-an-inspiration/

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Robert Vanwey is the co-director of the Dharma Farm School of Translation and Philosophy. He is also the executive director of the EALS Global Foundation, which focuses on education in and the application of technology in environmental disaster mitigation.

If you like Rob’s work, you can also follow him at the Evidence Files Medium for more on law, history, and politics.