When navigating the treacherous, razor-sharp terrain of Granite Peak—Montana’s highest and notoriously unforgiving summit—seasoned mountaineers prepare for frostbite, sudden blizzards, and grueling altitude sickness.
They rarely prepare to become the victims of their own safety equipment.
Yet on a bright summer afternoon, 32-year-old David Cifaldi found himself staring down a surreal, life-threatening crisis that sounded more like a horrifying medical thriller than a weekend outdoor excursion: he was standing on the side of a mountain with a metal trekking pole driven straight through his torso, sticking out of both sides of his body like a spear.
What followed over the next six and a half hours was not a frantic call for an air ambulance, nor a collapse into blind panic.
Instead, it became a masterclass in clinical composure under extreme physical trauma—a grueling 10-mile self-rescue that saw Cifaldi hike through snowfields, navigate treacherous boulder fields, and guide his own evacuation off a mountain with a piece of aluminum impaled through his back muscle.
A Slipped Footing on Montana’s Hardest Climb
The high-stakes nightmare began roughly 10 miles into what was supposed to be a triumphant summit push up Granite Peak alongside two close friends.
Cifaldi, a seasoned outdoorsman and experienced emergency room nurse based in Billings, Montana, was traversing a technical section of loose rock when his footing suddenly gave way.
In a fraction of a second, Cifaldi lost his balance and tumbled downward. As he fell, the weight of his momentum drove one of his own carbon-fiber trekking poles directly into his side, puncturing his body with sickening force.
"It was just kind of a freak thing. I didn't even realize what had happened until I stood up and felt the resistance. The pole was skewered right through the middle of my back."
David Cifaldi describing the moment of impact on Granite Peak.
High on an exposed ridge, far beyond the reach of quick vehicular access or immediate medical aid, the reality of the situation hit the group with crushing weight. Cifaldi was stranded thousands of feet above sea level with an object lodged deep within his body—a scenario that, under normal circumstances, triggers immediate shock and potentially fatal blood loss.
“My Nurse Brain Clicked On”: The Art of Mountain Diagnosis
In trauma medicine, the gold standard rule for impalement injuries is simple: never remove the object.
An embedded object acts as a natural plug, holding pressure against punctured blood vessels and preventing catastrophic internal hemorrhage. Pulling it out on a remote mountain trail without a surgical team on standby is virtually a death sentence.
As panic threatened to overtake the scene, Cifaldi’s professional instincts immediately overrode his body’s natural fight-or-flight response.
“I think my nurse brain clicked on,” Cifaldi recalled. “As soon as I was able to self-assess and establish that this was not life-threatening right now, I was pretty convinced I was going to get off that mountain under my own power.”
To confirm his clinical suspicions, Cifaldi conducted a meticulous, step-by-step physical self-assessment right there on the rocks:
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Checking Vital Signs: He took slow, deliberate breaths to determine if the pole had pierced his chest cavity or collapsed a lung, listening for wheezing or painful spasms.
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Assessing Nerve Damage: He checked for numbness, loss of motor function, or lightheadedness that would indicate massive internal bleeding.
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Photographic Confirmation: Unable to see behind his own back, Cifaldi had his friends snap close-up photos of the entry and exit points on a smartphone.
Reviewing the images on the digital screen, the ER nurse reached a definitive diagnosis: the pole had passed entirely through his latissimus dorsi—the large muscle running down the side of the back—sticking out on both sides with roughly eight inches of metal bridging the two wounds, but entirely missing his ribcage, lungs, and primary arteries.
Jesse Ross, one of the friends hiking alongside Cifaldi, marveled at his companion’s unnatural calm during the ordeal.
"He self-assessed calmly: no bleeding, full feeling, no lightheadedness, nothing vital hit, and the pole stable in place."
Jesse Ross, describing Cifaldi's clinical self-evaluation.
The 10-Mile Trek: A Study in Grit and Humor
With search and rescue teams alerted and put on standby, Cifaldi faced a monumental choice: wait several hours for a complex, helicopter-based mountain extraction on an exposed ridge, or begin walking immediately under his own power.
Trusting his diagnosis that no vital organs had been compromised, Cifaldi made the audacious call to self-rescue.
To stabilize the pole and prevent it from shifting and tearing deeper into his muscle tissue as he walked, Cifaldi improvised a field harness. He repurposed the chest strap from his running vest as a makeshift sling, locking the metal rod firmly into position against his torso.
He then instructed one of his friends to hike directly behind him at all times, keeping a constant, vigilant eye on the exit wound for any sudden gushes of blood.
Then, he started walking.
For over six hours, Cifaldi picked his way down the mountain, crossing treacherous alpine snowfields, picking through jagged boulder fields, and descending past the steep, winding trails near Mystic Lake—all while carrying an eight-inch length of trekking pole through his back.
Remarkably, as the miles ticked away and the adrenaline began to level out, the group used humor to keep shock at bay.
“We started making kebab jokes,” Cifaldi laughed, recalling how they poked fun at the bizarre nature of his injury to maintain morale during the long descent.
Even in the grips of immense physical discomfort, Cifaldi’s medical ethics and empathy for others remained fully intact. As the group approached the heavily populated trails near Mystic Lake, Cifaldi asked one of his friends to hike ahead of the group to clear the path.
“He asked one of us to hike ahead and warn other hikers, so no children would have to see the wound,” Ross wrote in a online update. “David navigated the plateau’s snowfields and boulder fields entirely under his own power—never once complaining, staying in remarkably high spirits.”
The Road to Recovery and the Unfinished Peak
More than six grueling hours after the initial fall, the trio finally emerged at the trailhead parking lot.
Cifaldi was immediately loaded into an ambulance and transported to a regional medical center before being transferred to Intermountain Health in Billings, where a specialized surgical team safely removed the pole and flushed the deep puncture wounds to prevent severe infection.
While the surgery was successful, Cifaldi’s journey is far from over. He continues to undergo specialized treatment and physical therapy to repair the damaged latissimus muscle tissue, with additional reconstructive procedures still on the table.
To help offset the overwhelming medical bills and lost wages during his recovery, Ross launched a GoFundMe campaign, which quickly raised thousands of dollars from well-wishers, fellow nurses, and the outdoor community, creeping close to its $8,000 goal within days.
Looking back on the terrifying ordeal, Cifaldi harbors no illusions about how close he came to a tragic fate.
"A couple inches the other way, and this would be a different story. I feel very, very lucky."
Cifaldi reflecting on his narrow escape from permanent disability or death.
Yet, despite the traumatic ordeal, the experience hasn’t extinguished his passion for the outdoors. The mountain may have claimed a piece of his gear and a piece of his back muscle, but it didn’t break his spirit.
Cifaldi has already announced his intention to return to Granite Peak next summer—this time, to step onto the summit he was denied, and finish the climb on his own terms.