Five baby aspirin, a 28-year-old soldier and a gutsy California Highway Patrol helicopter pilot with two paramedics on board saved Ken Simpson's life.
Otherwise, the Turlock man's ashes would be scattered by now close to the rocky canyon in the Emigrant Wilderness where he had a heart attack Aug. 18.
That's when Simpson, 69, and his best buddy, Bob Daniel, 73, were heading for The Hole, the name they gave to a place on the south fork of the Stanislaus River where they've frequently camped over the past 40 years. Two younger men were with them -- Daniel's grandson, former Modestan Ryen Overlin, an Army staff sergeant stationed at Fort Lewis, Wash., and Overlin's nephew, Brett Bussell, a 16-year-old senior at Enochs High School.
It was a farewell hike for the older two, a chance to say goodbye to the rustic spot where they had snagged so many fish and memories.
"It was to be our last time in," said Daniel -- the last time they would carry their 60- to 80-pound packs down the rugged mountain to the riverbed. "Then when Kenny and I bite the big one, that's where we're supposed to end up."
The two had first taken Overlin to the spot when he was about 9 years old, teaching him to fish and hike. He calls them both "Grandpa" and was looking forward to passing their legacy on to his nephew.
On that Tuesday morning, the group had breakfast at a Turlock restaurant before driving to the dirt road beyond Dodge Ridge that dead-ends at the Gianelli trailhead. The four had been hiking for more than two hours from that spot when Simpson stopped.
"He thought it was the bacon he'd eaten that was giving him heartburn," Daniel said.
So Simpson took some antacid and the group continued. But about 10 minutes later, he took off his 75-pound backpack and sat down, complaining that his arm and chest hurt, and that he felt dizzy and nauseous.
"Ryen and his granddad decided I was having a heart attack," Simpson said. "He told his granddad we'd better find a place for a chopper to come in."
Overlin had a piece of canvas, bright orange on one side and pink on the other, in his pack.
"I like to be prepared," he said from his home in Washington. "I pretty much pack that anywhere I go. We use that at work to signal helicopters."
Overlin and Daniel took the canvas to a flat place near the river.
Baby aspirin helped, too
Overlin couldn't get a cell phone signal, so he said he would hike out, then take the truck, if he still had no signal, to drive for help. He left his grandfather at the river and Bussell with Simpson in a shady spot on the mountain.
"It usually takes two and a half to three hours to come out of there," Simpson said. "It's big rocks, tough country, with some timber around it. He (Overlin) made it out of there in one hour. He ran part of the way up the mountain and crawled up part way. He made it to the truck, and still couldn't get a signal, so he drove down to the Summit Ranger Station."
A ranger put out a call for a helicopter. The Sheriff's Department didn't have a chopper available, but worked with Overlin to plot the coordinates to find Simpson. A helicopter pilot from Sonora offered his help, but his copter was too big for the canyon. A CHP rescue chopper was heading home to Auburn after completing another call and volunteered to go.
In the four hours between the time he was stricken and the helicopter arrived, Simpson was in a lot of pain. "I had five small baby aspirin," he said. "I took them one a day and we planned to be there for five days, so that's why I had five. I took them all while we were waiting. They said it probably saved my heart."
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