Couple survive wintry ordeal -- together

After 23 years together, she and Jim had drifted apart. Suzanne did not know if the two could last another year, living together in uncomfortable silence.

The miracle would come, twofold: In what was planned to be a three-hour snowmobile trip, Suzanne and Jim got stranded, then lost, for five days on a freezing mountaintop.

Though they only had a snack-size package of sausage and a candy bar, they made it home against all odds. And the teamwork they relied on to survive renewed their strength in each other.

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Jim Shemwell, 45, had invited a friend to go snowmobiling last Wednesday with him and 43-year-old Suzanne, but after a last-minute cancellation the couple headed to Pilot Peak alone. The mountain -- nearly 7,000 feet above sea level and about 40 miles outside of Boise -- was covered in fresh powder.

"It was going to be a three-hour tour, just like Gilligan's Island," said Jim Shemwell from his bed at St. Alphonsus Hospital in Boise. "We went down into a bowl to play with the snowmobiles, but the powder was so soft and the slope was so steep that we couldn't get out."

After taking a careful look at the rough terrain, Jim and Suzanne Shemwell decided to drive the snowmobiles farther down the mountain and then work their way back to the pickup.

But the deep snow was hiding dangerous obstacles. First Jim drove into a creek, and Suzanne had to wait while he dug free. They tried winding along a steep side hill, but Suzanne's snowmobile slid into a tree, twisting her knee and ankle.

It was nearly 3:30 p.m. by then, and the couple made a decision: They would camp for the night, and ride Jim's snowmobile out at first light.

The Shemwells are practical people. Their youngest daughter, 8-year-old Taryn, was at a day-care center and they knew the owner would alert family when no one came to pick up the girl.

By the time Suzanne had used her 10 years experience as a Girl Scout leader to build a snow cave and Jim had gathered enough firewood for the night, phone calls were alerting friends and family that the two were missing.

The Idaho Mountain Search and Rescue team began organizing the search effort and found the Shemwell's pickup by 11:30. Daughters Dorinda Shemwell, 26, and Micaela Dingledeim, 20, notified family and nervously waited as a blizzard began to rage on the peak.

"We had some shop rags that we tore up and used to start the fire, and Suzanne stayed up that first night to keep it going," said Jim. "Our first snowcave was too small to fit both of us, so she was curled up next to the fire and I was curled up right behind her."

They had shared part of a package of Little Smokies sausages. Both expected to be home within 24 hours.

Thursday morning they climbed on Jim's snowmobile, but the steep terrain and soft powder burned out the clutch.

"It took us five hours to get as far as we could have walked in 15 minutes," said Jim. "We abandoned both machines and decided to walk to where we could follow some snowmobile tracks."

Jim took the lead, tramping down the snow so that Suzanne could walk behind. Just 5 feet tall, she was dwarfed by the 10-foot snowbanks created by nearly 5 feet of new snow. They scooped up handfuls of snow to eat, Jim stopping occasionally to wring out his 25-cent gloves.

By that evening, they had found no tracks. Again, they camped for the night. As if things were not hard enough, the handle broke on the tiny shovel-and-saw combination tool they needed for fire and shelter.

The last shop rag was wrapped around the saw blade so Jim could continue to cut wood for heat.

"The nights felt pretty long. The cold would cramp your muscles and it was not comfortable," he said.

They took turns keeping the fire alive, talking about what they would eat when they got home and how they would make it there.

"Jim is not a man of many words," said Suzanne. "But he kept me going. I got a little whiny sometimes, and once I got pretty frantic. But he calmed me down, helped me along."

Friday passed just like Thursday, except it marked the last of the Little Smokies. They could see the high dome of Pilot's Peak and crawled along the steep slope toward the top, where they knew they would find other snowmobilers.

The couple took turns yelling and blowing Suzanne's whistle, and prayed for salvation from the snow.

On Saturday, they thought their prayers were answered. First a plane flew overhead, then a helicopter. The Shemwells yelled and waved their multicolored helmets in the air, and waited for the rescuers to come. An hour later they knew no one had seen them.

"We were both in tears, crying, saying, "We're going home,"' said Jim. "When they didn't come, Suze was starting to get some doubts. But I told her we were going to the top of the mountain, and we were getting out of there."

Suzanne kept thinking of Taryn, nicknamed Tinkerbell.

"I knew we just had to get home for Tinkerbell. Our other two daughters are older, married, but Tinkerbell really needs us," she said.

Sunday morning was the hardest, Jim said.

"I knew we were close to not making it. I have prayed more during those five days than ever in my life, and I just felt we had to proceed on," he said.

Malnutrition and physical stress was wearing on the couple. Both had frostbite on their feet. Suzanne's big toes were blackened by the cold.

She was so weak that Jim tied the tow rope they had salvaged from the snowmobiles around her waist and pulled her up the mountain. Three-quarters of the way, they camped again.

Meanwhile, Rod Knopp, coordinator for the Idaho Mountain Search and Rescue effort, regretfully suspended the search. There had been several avalanches in the 50-square-mile area where they believed the Shemwells were stranded, and they could not risk any more lives until conditions got better.

On 11 a.m. Monday, Suzanne and Jim found what they had been looking for -- a thin ribbon in the snow marking the tracks of a snowmobiler. Despite the danger, some volunteers had not given up. Using the last bit of battery in their two-way radio, they finally contacted searchers Scott Marquart and Julio Eiguren.

Minutes later they were feasting on beef jerky, granola bars and protein shakes while tears streamed down their cold cheeks. By 3:30, they were on their way to St. Alphonsus Regional Medical Center, shouting messages of love and goodwill to friends and family gathered in the parking lot.

Both survived the ordeal intact; doctors say Suzanne won't even lose a toenail despite the frostbite.

"It was just teamwork that got us through it, pure and simple," said Jim as he prepared to be released on Tuesday. "Not panicking, not getting upset with each other and making decisions together."

Suzanne, who will be hospitalized a little longer, said Jim's strength kept her alive.

"Normally I'm the strong one, the controlling one," she said. "I had to really count on Jim up there, he pulled me along. He didn't abandon me -- we made it together."

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As she recovered Tuesday, a friend stopped by her hospital room to wish Suzanne well and ask her about the ordeal.

Jim and Suzanne's marriage had been struggling. They weren't sharing with each other anymore, and Suzanne often wondered if it was just a matter of time.

Surviving the Idaho wilderness for nearly a week may not solve all their problems, Suzanne said, but she whispered softly to her friend during a hug, "Everything happens for a reason."