When you're lost, the best move is to stop moving

Quick answer: The second you think you're lost, stop walking. Drink some water, think, then either retrace your steps to the last spot you were sure of or stay put and make yourself easy to find. Three whistle blasts mean help. And the most important part of the plan happens before you leave: a parent or trusted adult knows where you're going and when you'll be back.

The mistake nearly everyone makes

You're on a trail you've never done. A creek crossing, a fork, a few minutes of looking at your phone. Then the trees all look the same and the path under your feet has gone faint.

Your body will tell you to move. Faster, in whatever direction feels right. That's the worst thing you can do. Every hundred yards you walk off the route, you make the search area bigger and your own position harder to guess.

Feeling lost is a normal, boring, fixable problem. The whole skill isn't letting it turn into a bigger one.

Step one: stop, and stay stopped for a minute

Sit down. Take off your pack. Drink some water and eat something, even if you're not hungry. A fed, hydrated brain makes much better decisions than a panicked one.

Then run through four questions, slowly:

• Where was I last sure of the trail? A sign, a bridge, a view you remember.
• How long ago was that? If it was ten minutes, you're probably close. If it was an hour, you're not.
• What's the light doing? Check how much daylight you have left.
• What do I have? Water, layers, a whistle, phone battery.

Say the answers out loud if you're with a friend. It sounds silly. It works.

Step two: go back or stay, and pick one

If you can see the trail behind you, or you're sure the last marker is a few minutes away, walk back slowly. Watch the ground. Stop if the path vanishes. Don't charge ahead hoping the next bend fixes it.

If you can't retrace it, stay where you are. This feels wrong. It's right. Anyone looking for you starts at the trailhead and works along the route you told them about. You want to be somewhere that's findable, not somewhere you wandered to at dusk.

The exception is danger right where you are, like rising water, a steep slope, or a falling tree. Then move to the nearest safe spot and stop again.

Don't try to hike out in the dark. Ever. Trails you can barely follow in daylight are a trap at night.

Step three: be easy to find

Searchers need something to notice. You can give them three.

Sound. A whistle carries much farther than a shouted voice, and it doesn't wear you out. Three blasts is the standard distress signal. Blow three, wait a minute, listen, repeat. A whistle costs a few dollars and weighs almost nothing. Clip one to your pack strap and you'll never think about it again.

Color. Move to an open spot if it's safe, like a clearing or a rock outcrop. Drape a bright jacket or pack cover over a bush. Dull green and gray clothes vanish in the woods.

Your phone. If you have any signal, call 911 and tell them the trail name, where you started, and what you can see around you. If a call won't go through, try a text, which can get through on a weaker signal where text-to-911 is available. Then protect the battery. Switch to low power mode, turn the screen brightness down, and stop scrolling. If you used your phone for the map and music all morning, that battery was spent before you got lost. (The same screen that eats your afternoons will do the same to your battery. A few of the habits in how to get your hours back without deleting a single app help on the trail too.)

Step four: stay warm and dry

Getting cold is the quiet danger. It sneaks up while you're sitting there feeling fine.

• Put on every layer you have, including the rain jacket if it's windy.
• Sit on your pack or a pile of leaves, not bare ground.
• Get out of the wind. A big rock or a thick stand of trees works.
• Keep your snacks close and eat a little every hour or so.
• Ration your water, but drink it. Don't drink from streams unless you have a way to treat it.

Keep your mind busy. Count your breaths. Sing, if it helps. Panic is mostly just a lot of adrenaline with nowhere to go, and slow breathing burns it off.

The plan that does the real work

Everything above is the backup. The plan that matters happens at home, before the trip.

Tell a parent or trusted adult four things:

• The trail name and the trailhead you're starting from
• Who's with you
• When you expect to be back
• What time they should call someone if they haven't heard from you

Text a photo of the trail map or sign at the start. That one picture can cut hours off a search.

Never hike alone as a teenager. Take a friend, a group, or a family member. Two people can think clearly, split up the jobs, and talk each other down.

Pack the basics every time, even for a short walk: water, a snack, a whistle, an extra layer, a rain jacket, a charged phone, and a small battery pack. Take a headlamp if there's any chance you'll be out near dark.

Deciding before you're in the moment

Notice what this plan has in common with the best advice for any high-pressure moment. You don't make the decision when you're scared. You make it earlier, when you can think straight, and then you follow it. It's the same idea behind writing down your standards before anyone tests them. Panic is a terrible decision-maker. A plan you wrote down on a kitchen counter isn't.

If you're not sure, say so early

One thing trips up smart, capable girls more than anything else. You suspect you took a wrong turn, but you don't want to be the one who makes a fuss. So you say nothing and keep walking.

Say it. "I don't think this is the trail" is a useful sentence, and any adult leading a trip would rather hear it at minute five than minute fifty. You won't be in trouble. Nobody who's been on a trail long enough hasn't taken a wrong turn.

If you're on a school, youth group or family outing, tell the adult in charge the second you lose sight of the group. Stay where you are and blow your whistle. They'll come to you.

Knowing what to do when it goes wrong is what lets you go farther out to begin with. So pack the whistle, send the text, and go.