Buckskin Gulch

The military combat jet careened. Off course and accelerating it arced upward then downward away from the buildings and road. I watched with great concern as the jet plowed headlong into a barren field, exploding on impact. The fire ball was both brilliantly bright and deathly dark as smoke and flame billowed toward the sky. I awoke with a calm sense of dread. A disaster dream. An omen.

Before you dismiss my omen as some cheap literary device, let me explain. After following my dreams now for over 35 years and a careful and broad study of all things Carl Jung, I have cultivated deep respect for my night symbols. I’ve had these dreams before. Not the aircraft crash specifically, not reoccurring disaster dreams but dreams where the energy is so pointed and startling I have to take notice. Dreams that demand attention. The last of the disaster dreams was a train wreck. It happened right in front of me, big and brash. A true calamity. Three days later I came down with pleurisy.

I pondered the plane crash as I drank my morning coffee.

“When ya leavin?” She asked.
“We drive down Wednesday and we’ll be on the trail Thursday…first light.”
“Are you sure you want to do this? It really seems crazy to me.”
“Yea, it’s crazy. That’s the appeal. We’ll be safe.”
“And you’re going to sleep on the ground.”
“Yea.” I imagined the pain of back and hips, “That will be the worst part.”
“I hate sleeping on the ground…” Her words trailed off as she faded into her own imagination.

We sat silent, sipping our coffee. Should I tell her about my dream? She will know what it means. Just be a big fight if she knew about the dream. I won’t tell her, not now. It will ruin my trip, she’ll be upset. No, I won’t tell her now, but god damn I will be wary and alert. Something’s stirring. I won’t be caught off-guard. Be prepared.

“Can I tell you one thing?” she asked.
I looked up from my cup.
“I want you to listen…don’t blow me off on this.”
Mildly annoyed I nodded my concession.
“If you get down there and something goes wrong, don’t get pulled in by the group, don’t succumb to group-think. Take care of yourself. Don’t let the group kill you.”
“That’s weird advice.”
“Yea, whatever. I have a bad feeling about this. Just promise me that one thing.”
I mustered up a reassuring smile.
“I promise.”
I’m definitely not telling her about my dream. How the hell does she pick up on these things?
I reflected on the dream for the rest of the day.

After finishing my coffee along with a light breakfast it was time for training. I fetched my backpack and lugged it into the kitchen. Positioning the pack on the counter I backed in and pushed my arms through the straps. Leaning forward, I pulled the 45 pounds onto my back and buckled the waste strap. A few more tugs and strap pulls and I was ready. Time to go walk around the gully for an hour. Today I will go two and a half miles, slightly father than yesterday. I’ve had this routine for the past three weeks. I was getting used to the weight, had worked out the kinks, was as comfortable as I could be with that much weight on my back. It was heavy, so I wanted to be ready. The dream was in the back of my mind when I stepped out the door and headed toward the trail.

My legs moved slowly under the weight. My back flexed and relaxed with the cadence of my footfalls. The creaking of my backpack presented a counterpoint to my labored breath. It was a symphony of struggle, of work, and strain. All necessary to prepare my body for the forty-mile trek through the last real wilderness in the lower 48. We would enter the Buckskin Gulch through Wire Pass, proceed to the Paria River then down to Lee’s Ferry. It was a route that was both beautiful and treacherous. Buckskin is the longest slot canyon in North America, clocked in at just over 13 miles long. The widest part of the Gulch was just over 100 feet, the narrows were, well, narrow. 48 inches. The canyon itself towers over 600 feet and is filled with slick mud, quick sand, and deep stagnant pools of bone chilling water. Besides the rattle snakes and scorpions, the greatest threat to life and limb is flashflood. That and stupidity.

I received an invitation to join the hike months ago. My friend Christy came up with the idea. Buckskin Gulch is within a Federally managed wilderness and requires a permit, the application must be submitted some 6 months in advance. With a bit of luck and good timing one could obtain permission for 10 people to camp for up to 7 days within the canyon system. We only needed four. Four days in September, when daytime temperatures were starting to decline. When nights were cool and the weather stable. Monsoon season would be over; the winter storms were months away and one could travel the route in relative safety. Still there was always the ever present and pressing risk. Chaos rules the hinterlands.

Christy is a successful attorney in the Utah resort town of Park City. An avid outdoor enthusiast, accomplished skier, long distance runner, river rat, and desert dog, Christy has a true heart-love for the red rock country of southern Utah; that great swath of canyons and dry river washes crisscrossing the Eastern reaches of the Colorado Plateau. She was the one to hassle through the permit process. She was the one to announce the special dispensation decreed by the sacred trust of our federal government. 10 special people could enter the hallowed area without fear of arrest or punishment. Oh, the honor, oh the rarity! I felt like I had won the fucking golden ticket.

To be sure, when I first received the invite I was skeptical. Here I am in my late 50’s, soft in the belly and undoubtedly on the decline. I didn’t seriously consider going. Not a bit. The trials of such a hike were formidable, something I generally shun. It was a trek for the young and stout. For those like Christy, those who could run 10 miles a stretch, for those who climbed mountains, for those who camped in tents by streams. Not for me, and not because I am a stranger to the outdoors, far from it. I’m an avid skier and frequent my mountain bike. I also know how to camp. It’s just, over the last 30 years I have evolved. From sleeping on the ground to staying in a motel. In other words, I’m refined. A sophisticate. One who knows the value of a good quality king-sized and a free breakfast bar from 6 to 10. I would certainly not be going on this trip. The email chain went something like this:

Christy: I have a permit to hike Buckskin Gulch the weekend of September 18. It’s a 3-night trip from Wire Pass to Lee's Ferry. Epic Utah hike! Who's in?

Me: I would love to go but I’m old, fat, and out of shape! No gear, bad knees, back boobs, and slab tit. Bad back, planter fasciitis, hemorrhoids, and erectile dysfunction. Thanks for thinking of me!

Christy: What?

Me again: Did I mention loose bowels, crickets, and a general malaise of disposition?

Christy: To quote a SNL favorite, you sound like a really attractive guy!

Ok, I used the ED purely for dramatic effect, I can still get it up… really. Anyway, so that was that, I got the invitation and I gracefully declined. Onward. Or so I thought. The next day Christy called me up.

“Hey Christy, how ya doing?”
“Doing great, I want to talk about Buckskin.”
“You got my email right?” I asked with a smile.
“Yea, funny.” She deadpanned.
“There’s no way I can make that trip.” I complained.
Christy immediately started to whine like a 6-month old baby, complete with snot. She was mocking me with the primal technique of challenging my manhood. I was mildly amused.
“Oh stop” I protested, “really, that kind of trip is beyond me.”
“Have you seen the pictures?” She asked. She was making an end run around my fears, she knows I share her love for Southern Utah red rock. It worked.
“I have seen the pictures.” I said in a church whisper. “It’s over-the-top. How fricken cool would that be?”
“There is only one thing I want to say to you.” Christy said, teeing me up for the long drive. “What’s that?”
“If you don’t go on this trip now, when will you?”
That idea lay between us for several seconds, rising into a menace.
“I want you to think about it for a while.” Christy said. “Just think about it. I really want you to go. It will be so much more with you there.”
Touching.

I promised her I would think it through. Mostly just to get her off the phone. But the idea had been set in my mind, the seed was planted and by golly it grew, sprouted, leafed out and flowered. Before long I was seriously thinking about going. Within the week, I made the decision to do the hike. My wife deemed me mad.

There is one thing about backpacking the Buckskin Gulch. It’s kind of a biggie. There are no resources on that route, including potable water. One brings everything one needs. There are a few springs along the way but they are well into the canyon, the first being a day’s hike in. Water weighs 8.36 lbs. per gallon. A person in the desert requires one gallon of water per day. Four days? Four gallons. Yep, 33.44 lbs. of water…per person. There was no way around it, the packs would be heavy.

Because I didn’t have a pack, or any gear, I committed myself and my resources to procuring the needed equipment. Items needed to be comfortable and not die. The dollars began flying out of my wallet. Quality camping equipment is not cheap. Quality camping equipment that is light enough to carry in a pack is redonkulusly spendy. After several trips to REI and a mind-numbing sum of $858. I know, right? I had the best equipment available and it was ultralight-weight (my sleeping bag weighs 22 ounces). I rationalized this expenditure by telling myself backpacking was my new hobby. I am now equipped to explore all those remote places I’ve always wanted to see. Uh huh.

In August as our departure date approached, Christy called a couple of meetings. We discussed food, logistics, and timing. The group was ever changing; people joining, dropping out, others coming on. The main corps was Christy, Christine, Piper, Cam, Rob, and me. Later we were joined by Rick, Heidi, and Gwyn. There were two meetings and an on-going email thread (more like a spider’s web). I noticed a layer of chaos, a harbinger, in the operation, even at this beginning stage. Group dynamics…whew! There was no central command, we were a loose affiliation of hikers. We had a loose idea of what we were doing.

Meanwhile, I studied the route. Maps, blogs, and books. In my life, through personal experience, I’ve developed a sober respect for the desert. Determined to be prepared and informed I made myself familiar with the route, focusing on the Buckskin, as that’s where the real danger is. In the literature, a particular feature kept coming up, a place called the Middle Route. In case of flash flood, it was the only place to safely exit the canyon.

I also struck up a dialog with a guy named Yermo Welsh. His name came to me while searching for a shuttle service. Shuttle service? Yes, another unseen expense. The idea is to park our cars at Lees Ferry then shuttle to the trail head. The three-day hike ends at Lee’s Ferry where our vehicles would be waiting. Shuttle service is highly competitive around Page, Arizona. Competitive because the rates charged are north of $200 per car load. And the demand is high. People hiking and people floating the Colorado all need shuttles. Anyone with a car was in the game. Because no one in our group was paying attention to the shuttles requirement, I decided to take on the task. After talking to three or four different outfits I found myself phone-to-phone with Yermo.

Yermo is a guy who runs a guide company out of Big Water, Utah. His unusual name is a take on Guillermo. Originally from New Mexico he is of mixed Native-American descent and migrated up to the Big Water area years ago. He spends his time wandering the desert with or without tourists in tow. He is a study of the ancient Indian cultures that historically lived in the area, reads petroglyphs, and listens to truth-whispers of dessert plants. A real man-of-the-land. Yermo has a couple of vehicles he hires out for shuttling, he serves with the Kane County search and rescue team, and is the resident guide for some of the high-end adventure resorts in the area. The man knows his way around. The Buckskin Gulch is one of his specialties.

“This is Yermo…” His voice crackled on the cell phone, he sounded remote, he was obviously driving.
“Hi Yermo,” I introduced myself. “I need shuttle service from Lees Ferry to the Wire Pass. I’m with a group that’s gonna hike the Buckskin.”
“How many people?”

This was a trick question. You see, we still didn’t have a solid count. We were only two weeks away and still didn’t know who was going or not. This situation deserves a few words of explanation; it set the tone for events to come. The best word to describe it is ambiguity. Christy had secured the hiking permits. Each permit allows 10 people the right to pass through the canyon unmolested by BLM Rangers. Two passes are issued per day. 20 people. Christy thought she had purchased both passes (turns out she only got one, to no consequence). Christy’s invitation went out to a lot of folks. There was a loose count of names.

“There could be as many as twelve.” I said to Yermo.
“Twelve? With Gear?”
“Yes, we will all have packs.”
“I can do it but I’ll have to bring in another truck for that. I can fit 7, plus gear in my two trucks. But I can get another.”
“How much will it cost?”
With three cars, the bill would be around $750.00

Yermo gets in the Buckskin Gulch at least once a week and keeps open ears about conditions in and around the area. It had been raining for two weeks. Yermo said the Buckskin Gulch was currently impassable. We would keep in touch going forward. He could give me updates on conditions. If there were any chance of rain during our hike we would be advised to cancel the trip.

We made arrangements and I emailed the info to the group, adding to the spider’s web. Of course, this arrangement did not meet everyone’s needs or schedules. Over the remaining two weeks I had several more calls with Yermo, every time modifying the count. Sometimes up sometimes down. Each time I called it became more of a joke between us. By the time we showed up for the ride out to the trail head it was just me, Piper, and Christine. All the others made arrangements with other shuttles.

Yermo charged us $250 for the ride. We rode out in his Hummer H2, with our gear stowed up on the roof rack. Let’s see, that plus gas puts me in around $1000. The rolling tally grows. He dropped us off at sunset for my first night on the ground.

I woke up the next morning surprisingly refreshed and without back or hip pain. Wow, I guess spending the big bucks does have benefits. The equipment I used was sturdy, warm, and comfortable. It was the only night I would use it. Soon the rest of the group were delivered to the Wire Pass trail head. They rolled up in an old yellow suburban. There we all were, fresh faced and excited about the trip ahead. We took our obligatory group photos, tightened our belts and headed down the trail.

The weather was cool, the sky a brilliant blue. No sign of rain, our biggest threat. The path took us into a wash, it was not difficult at all. As everyone was getting used to their packs the mood was light and fun. Humor was the word of the day. Within the hour we came to our first major obstacle. The high canyon walls of the Wire Pass narrowed down to about 5 feet across. At the end of this was a 6 ft drop. Robert, an experienced rock climber, went first. I followed and the rest shuttled their packs to us before climbing down. No problems at all.

The trail continued down to some very thin passages and eventually opened into the upper Buckskin Gulch where the canyon is several hundred feet wide and open to the sun. We left Wire Pass and entered the Buckskin Gulch.

The landscape of the Buckskin Gulch isn’t hard to explain. However, it is hard to communicate the effects of being there. To give you an idea of what it’s like requires a brief explanation of the general geology of the region. Southern Utah’s geography is dominated by a formation known as the Colorado Plateau. The Plateau, or province, as it is known in science circles is roughly centered on the four-corners region and covers parts of Utah, Arizona, New Mexico, and Colorado. Here, this will help: The province was uplifted and divided into great blocks by faults or monoclinal flexures and thus exposed to long-lasting denudation in a mid-Tertiary cycle of erosion. No? Ok, think Grand Canyon, on a teensy scale. That is all you need to know. Towering walls of red-rock sandstone sculpted into fantastic shapes by wind, rain, and temperature. Giant balanced rocks atop tiny impossible towers. Hoodoo’s, goblins, fins, spires, arches, natural bridges, the list goes on to describe this other-worldly landscape.

A slot canyon is just that; it is a slot cut into the rock by water erosion. High walls that are very close together, hence the word slot. To walk between the walls deep in the slot fires the imagination and brings to life the Spirit of adventure. Cut off from a panoramic view one is confined to the closed-in winding course of the path. It is a path cut by water. Water carves these spaces. Water shapes and defines these spaces. Therefor the rock canyon walls appear as water, waves, curves and flows. Rock water. Sparse vegetation cling stubbornly, growing from tiny cracks and fissures. Small and hardy trees, shrubbery, cacti, and other desert flora find surprising ways to flourish in this hostile environ. These are water canyons, albeit dry, and if it rains guess where the water goes?

All this wonder is lit from above. It is this light which creates the sense of mystery. The light finds its way into these narrow spaces and bounces around creating a fantastic visage of glowing reflected-light and dark somber shadows. Sometimes, at certain mid-day hours, the light is direct and glares in brilliant patches contrasting the otherwise subdued color palette. And that color palette strains the imagination. Spectrums of reds, yellows, and tan supported by black, umber, browns and deep purple. When you look up from the bottom and see the brilliant blue sky it is extra brilliant and extra blue because it is set against the colors of the canyon.

The last, and perhaps most underrated thing about the canyon is the quiet. There is a stillness. That stillness is ancient, and knowing, and patient. It can feel slow, thick and poignant. It can be tender or it can be terrifying. Still and silent, it embraces you, it holds you and carries you. It is so quiet the wings of a crow can sound like a whip. A cricket’s chirp can resonate in your chest. And the noise of your own head can sound like a scream. You hear any movement be it natures or mans. (of course man is nature, so whatever).

With nine of us in the canyon the silence immediately gave way to the hijinks of the group. One of the main topics for fun were Christy’s shoes. Gawd they were ugly. Black with peach piping. Somehow she had managed to match the shoes with her outfit; Such a talent in the dressing room. This meme floated in and out of our conversation as we moved down the canyon and into the narrows.

Leading the charge on Christy’s abhorrent fashion decision was Christine who has been (and still is) Christy’s lifelong friend. In fact, they have known each other for, dare I say it? Over 40 years. They are so close as to actually be doppelgängers. 5’7”, slender athletic build, dark hair, grey eyes. It is a bit disconcerting, they walk the same, they look the same, they talk the same, use the same speech inflections, they have the same humor, they even have the same name, kinda. Christine rode down in my truck from Salt Lake City. She was in the back seat and more than once I had to check myself because I thought she was Christy when she talked. God help us.

Next on the list of top funny fucks walking the canyon was Gwyn. Gwyn is average height with blond hair and athletic build. I voted her (in my own private poll) funniest and most fun person on the trip (I came in second). Deadpan sarcasm, blunt force wit, and human jukebox. She took the role of Christine’s side kick on the fashion critique and the two were hilarious. But when Gwyn brought out her special human jukebox bit we all knew she could be star of her own show. Her jukebox bit was triggered by the most casual of comments, whereby she would burst into song, her deep buttery voice echoing about the canyon.

Someone says: “Really…believe it!”
Gwyn, singing: “I believe in miracles, where you from? Sexy thing sexy thing..”
Someone says: “My jeans are a bit hot..”
Gwyn, singing: “Billy Jean snot my lova”
Someone says: “Oh, look a little frog… poor thing…”
Gwyn, singing: “I’m justa poor boy from a poor famalee…”
Someone says: “AHHH! I felt something touching my leg in the water…”
Gwyn, singing: “Like a virgin…touched for the very first time…”

There were four men on the trail, Cam, Rob, me and Rick.

Cam is six-something, clean cut, with an honest face. Of the group, he seemed to be in the best shape. Maybe because he is just a young pup at 39 years old. Avid skier, avalanche survivor, outdoor guy. Great sense of humor; and fuel to Gwyn’s jukebox fire.

Gwyn, singing: “Buying bread from a man in Brussels,

“He was six-foot-four and full of muscles…”

Rob was the MD on the trip. A quiet, thoughtful and genuine man in his 60’s Rob is 5’7 with sharp features and intelligent eyes. He likes rock climbing, candle light dinners, and getting caught in the rain. Rob is in great physical shape. His legs are slightly bowed and his pack took the shape of a round shell perched upon his back. As he walked with trekking poles he had a smooth, rolling gate. It reminded me of a centipede. Rob is a practicing dermatologist.

Gwyn, singing: “I’ve got you under my skin….”

Rick, a tall, lanky, sandy haired guy is 62 and works insurance. He has a long stride and is a former Scout leader. Being a Mormon in Utah means taking the troop out for monthly camps. Rick’s troop never missed a beat. In winter they camped in snow caves. I think he actually lives outdoors. Skier, runner, camper, hiker, biker, piker. Tall and lanky, and somewhat skanky.

Then there was Heidi, a registered nurse. She was the only one who had been through the gulch before. She is short, feisty, and likes to talk, a lot. With her kids raised Heidi spends much of her time doing what she likes most, hiking and adventure… oh, and talking. Her story includes a backpacking trip over the Pacific Crest Trail from Oregon to Canada. That is one tough nurse. Because of her past hike through Buckskin she assumed the role of authority.

Finally, there was a smart, quiet woman named Piper. Average height with very light hair, athletic build, and growing older like all of us. She is a Connecticuter, a nutmegger, but had transplanted to Utah years ago. Settling in the SLC suburb of Holiday she worked for the city of Alta, one of the best ski hills in the world. She was a friend of Christine and was brave enough to throw in with the likes of us, the group that now clamored down the gulch, yucking it up, singing songs, and in a high spirit of comradery and adventure.

Gwyn, singing: “We’re on the road to nowhere…..HA!...”

The beauty of the place bowled us over, each in our own way. The high sides of the canyon went from smooth and curvy to shear vertical, straight-up-and-down, and back. The top of the canyon walls was 400-500 feet above us. Those walls came together in close 30-foot narrows and then, after another ½ mile, opened into great halls where rock giants set down for dinner. The grandeur and sublime geometry touched each of us. The floor of the canyon was starting to dry out after the last flash-flood just days before. There were long stretches of mud-covered sand. The last humans to pass, left a trail of footprints which we followed. Straying off the dry path proved unnavigable as the mud was (as my grandpap used to say) slicker than a bug’s ear. I stepped onto the “suicide mud” and zippity-do-dah I was on my ass, my left trekking pole snapped under the stress of my weight. Being at the rear of the line no one witnessed my ker-splat. I ditched my broken pole behind a rock.

The trail was blocked in many places by deep pools of ice-cold water. We waded through these pools in single file looking out for the deep places where you could disappear over your head.

For all the terrain challenges the going was fairly easy. We were in a drainage; We were walking downhill, the floor was flat in most places, and there was a clear “path-of-least-resistance” laid down by those who went through yesterday. We moved as a noisy chattering cavalcade. Walking individually at times, then pairing off, and at times in groups of four or more. For the first hour or so we were all walking together and the mood was lighthearted.

______________

Despite the preparations we made, and despite the considerable experience of the outdoors shared by all of us, there was one thing missing from our confederacy. Before I mention the missing link let me set this up. I met an old woman on an airplane long ago when I was in my Jungian phase. Somehow, we were discussing societal archetypes. It was all about American societal structures, trends, and outcomes. She said something that I didn’t appreciate at the time, because I was too new. She told me that deep within the American psyche lived The Rebel.

Since then I have come to fully understand this. The Rebel. We started our country with a big “Fuck Off!” to England. Since that time our country has reinforced this archetype over and over again. Slave revolts, women’s suffrage, the 60’s peace movement. We celebrate characters like James Dean, who was the Rebel without a cause. We cheer for the Rebel Forces in Star Wars. Ché Guevera is a popular icon. In our most current events any weirdo that’s weirder than the last weirdo gets pushed up the pop charts. We love the rebel, we love Bernie Sanders who stands against the tide of reason with his socialist garbage, still we love him because he is the consummate outsider. Barak Obama, I contend, is that very thing, the outsider, the rebel. Fuck America, let’s change it!
We American’s have learned to express this ‘rebel’ archetype in the most poignant way possible, we express the rebel with our individuality. To be an individual is to rebel against the group, the society. The Rebel is enshrined in our constitution, as individual rights. It is in our social fabric. It is one of our highest values. “Be Yourself.” You see it all around.

So what were we missing on that day, in that canyon? We had no leader. The formality of a disciplined structure was never discussed, never given a thought. We were a group of people that wasn’t a group. We were a gathering of individuals. We all walked alone, together. Certainly we shared friendship and we shared a common goal but the goal was ill-defined and left open for interpretation. We had no formal structure, because culturally, we don’t know how. There was no one looking out for our collective good. We all had our own individual misconceptions about what we were doing. I say misconceptions only because of the outcomes. We all were walking alone, in the gravity of the slowest person, who walked behind, not in front.

This lack of a cohesive group and its concomitant lack of leadership played deeply in the outcome of our trek.

There is another thing. A condition that seems to apply to the broader of American society. We have become insulated from Nature. Most of us do not understand it, and certainly don’t fear it. With cell phones, instant connectivity, and a camera in every hand, even the most remote places seem familiar and accessible. Our advanced technology has greatly improved our outdoor gear, including apparel. The marketing of such products has presented the outdoors as less threatening, less dangerous. Add to that the extreme-sports trend of people flinging themselves from cliffs and flying bikes down narrow winding dirt tracks and you have a recipe for unexperienced and underprepared individuals showing up in very dangerous places ready for their instant adventure. Adventure in a bag. Deposit your money here.

We go to places like Burning Man and need to be reminded to drink water, to wear sunscreen, and to protect ourselves from the acid winds that scour your skin off. We go to the ocean and jump in without knowing the real, deadly, power of water. Most of our outdoor experience comes from watching it on a screen and very little of actually being there.

Now, to be fair, each one of us in the non-group-group had been outdoors before, a lot. We were experienced. Still, there was a cavalier attitude among the group. It was like we were walking in the park, just next to General Hospital. The casual nature of the group in the canyon reflected this attribute of our modern collective society. We have become so isolated from Nature that when we go into the unknown we have a strange, false confidence. A veneer of control. It reminds me of Krakauer’s, “Into Thin Air”.

“Hey! I’ve got some money, let’s go climb Everest.”
“I’m in! What could go wrong?”

You see this attitude on vivid display while on any trail in the US back county. People hiking in flip flops, not carrying water, tugging along small children. Unexperienced and unprepared. Where we were, in and around Page, AZ. People come from all over the world to see nature’s marvels. I was at the Wire Pass trail head about three weeks before our trip into Buckskin Gulch. Remember, Wire Pass is the shortcut into Buckskin Gulch. I was down for the weekend doing business and wanted to see the terrain and conditions. For the entire weekend the weather had been spitting out rain, coughing up wind, and bringing an unseasonable chill upon the land. Cautiously I drove pass the warning sign: Road Impassable When Wet.

At the trail head I met a man from New Jersey. He was there with his family, all seven of them from 7 to 70. He was driving a rental car from Las Vegas; a white suburban. We were standing at the trailhead sign together. The sign contained a general map of the area. He was asking questions; I was eyeing the dark thunderhead gathering just to the West.
“Is this the way to the Wave?” He asked.
The Wave is a popular picture on the internet.
“Yea, The Wave is about a three-hour hike, over here…” I pointed to a place on the map.
“Can we make it?” He asked, wide eyed.
I just looked at him. I noticed his street shoes, his street clothing, his lack of Sun, his obvious naiveté.
“Have you ever been hiking here?” I questioned.
He smiled and shook his head. He didn’t understand the reason for my question.
“Do you see that cloud?”
He looked at the sky like it was a Disney attraction.
“If it starts raining, and it looks like it will, these roads will get very dangerous. Impossible to drive on.”
His frown showed his disappointment in my answer.
I felt the responsibility to at least tell this guy the truth. “Look, don’t go hiking now, it can be extreme and dangerous, snakes, scorpions. The rain will make it even more dangerous. There are slot canyons down there. Flash floods kill people every year. It’s not safe right now.”
That was my pitch. It really wasn’t safe. I took another look at the sky and decided to get out while I could. Heavy rain was imminent. As I pulled out of the trail head parking lot the New Jersey man was setting off down the trail with his family, young and old, all in inappropriate and unknowing, attire. Each looking for their instant adventure, the best money can buy. I shook my head in disbelief. 10 minutes later it started raining. 20 minutes later the road was impassable. I made it to the highway just in time to see the wash flash in a raging torrent of rain water.

Those people obviously did not understand the constant threat that nature holds above their heads. I only hope they all made it out alive. Again, Chaos rules the hinterlands. This may sound a bit paranoid but really, who is prepared for a flashflood? Who is prepared for tsunami? Who is prepared for earthquake? Not many. Because we don’t HAVE to be prepared. In our society those who prepare are mocked. We call them Preppers. They have a reality TV show. So odd.

This is our current American gestalt. No problem, it’s all good. Even when it’s not. ___________

As the morning progressed, the spirit of the Rebel and the Anti-Prepper showed up. The group began to separate. Christine and the funny fucks were goofing off at the rear of the line. They had found some marvels that impeded their momentum. A tarantula, a beautiful rock, cacti, and other natural wonderments. Rick was grumbling about it as he, Rob, and Heidi trudged along at an even pace, at the front of the line were Piper and me. We would stop about every hour for a rest, each time we did it took longer and longer for the others to catch up. I started to get concerned. At one of the rest stops I spoke about it with Christy.

“Shouldn’t we be moving a little faster?”
“Oh, come on, what’s the hurry?”
“I don’t want to be hiking in the dark.”
“Do you know something?” She asked.
“What?”
“This is one of the best days I can ever remember having. Being here, in this place, with all my friends, with you…I am so happy…I don’t want it to end.”
Christy was truly in a state of bliss, she was trying to preserve the experience, didn’t want to feel rushed. She continued, “Are you even seeing the scenery?”
“Of course I’m seeing the scenery.” I replied, mildly annoyed. “It’s a 10-hour grunt down to the river, and we aren’t making good time. I just think we should be keeping a steady pace.”
“We’re fine.” She assured.
Our conversation splashed into the group and soon we were all comparing thoughts on timing and distance. Heidi pulled out her pedometer and the results indicated we had come some 4-odd miles. That quelled my nags and we all continued on, all at our own pace.

Piper and I were in the front of the group walking slow but steady. My pack was heavy but I had grown used to the weight. I was enjoying the scenery, the extraordinary light, and the cool temps. Another hour passed, Piper and I stopped for a rest. Looking and listening back, we could see nor hear no one.
“Pretty quiet.”
“Yea, where are they?”
“Here let me try my whistle.”
Piper drew out here emergency whistle and blew hard. I plugged my ears. The sound was loud and shrill; Hillary Clinton comes to mind. The echoes bounced around and slowly died. We waited for a response. None came.
“Do you think it’s weird the’re so far behind?” Piper sounded worried.
“Yea, I do.” Said I, “I wonder if something happened.”
“Should we go back and see?”
“Let’s wait a while and see if they show, I’ll give it 15 minutes.”
My watch read 11:51 am. I pulled out a Cliff Bar® The sound of my nervous chewing woke up a napping crow. He flew away in a huff.
Meanwhile, almost a mile back in the canyon Christy, Cam, Christine, and Gwyn were having a gay time posing for pictures, throwing rocks, and hanging out. There was no thought of the passing day nor the 10 miles that lay ahead. It was careless and free. It was also a complete disregard of the group, risky business in the wilds.

Piper and I waited 45 minutes before Christy and crew strolled up. My personality type was generating a palpable anxiety. I hate waiting. Especially in the light of important deadlines. I thought it best we proceed more directly to our goal. And we stay together. That was the dialog going on in my head, But I certainly didn’t want to be the bitchy one. I kept my mouth shut, causing significant internal dissonance. It was decided to have lunch and rest. Oh, did I say that I was already rested and ready to go? No… I didn’t. Fuck.

Everyone dropped their packs on the ground and pulled out their trail food. I started the conversation about time. The word coming from Heidi was we were half way and making good time. Based on her pedometer we had walked 6 miles. My intuition denied this reason. Pedometers are notoriously inaccurate being affected by travel speed, where the device is placed on the body, and the stride of the wearer. Heidi is the shortest of our group. Standing tall at 5’1”. I pulled out my map to get the bearings. 6 miles into the canyon was the Middle Route. We had not arrived there. Before the Middle Route there are two miles of deep stagnant pools. We hadn’t come to these pools yet. It was not likely we had come 6 miles. I was able to demonstrate that we were not anywhere near the halfway mark. Indeed, the truth was we had only come about three miles into the canyon, 4 miles from the trail head. That left us 10 miles ahead and it was nearing 1:00 pm. If we could travel at the average pace of 2 miles per hour we could get to camp before sundown. I made my case and we reached a consensus.

After lunch there was a renewed spirit to “get moving.” It was 1:15pm. The group was finally all marching along at the same pace. We all knew we were woefully behind schedule. 15 minutes later we came across the second major obstacle in the canyon. A rock fall. Blocking the canyon. Boulders of enormous size with plant matter and branches and sticks crammed into the spaces by the repeated flash floods raging through the area. The rock fall rose 30 feet high and was 40 feet from front to back. It completely blocked the canyon and obviously, we had to climb over it. I thought it strange this was not noted on any map, nor did I read about it in my research. There are other features in the canyon well noted but not this one. It was here where Rebel and Anti-Prepper came to collect their tribute. The chaos and lack of discipline in our group reached its’ peak.

As I approached the rock fall, Rob and Rick were already there. Rob had chosen a route to scale up the left side. Rick was pushing him up from the bottom. Rob had his pack on. I remember thinking to myself, “Self, why does Rob have his pack on? Doesn’t he know the risk of losing his balance?” I rationalized it as “Oh, shut up, Rick is an experienced rock climber. He knows what he’s doing.” His chosen route was steep and not easy. Gwyn and Heidi decided not to follow, they choose another, ‘easier’ way. I dropped my pack and followed Rob. Rick threw my pack up after me. The others followed Gwyn up the right side, some had their packs on some did not. With no clear authority it was every man for himself.
Had anyone stopped to analyze the obstacle we would have surely spotted a trail to the far right. It passes around the bottom of the rock fall. It’s a clear and easy path, no climbing needed. But Rebel and Anti-Prepper were hiking among us and no one stopped to think, or look. We were on group autopilot. Yee-haw!

Christy, was one of the last to climb up the rock face. Before she started climbing she saw signs of that trail we missed. She paused momentarily but the others had already proceeded up the steep and so she instinctively followed, keeping her pack on as she climbed. Rick was at the bottom trying to be helpful.

One of the things about climbing on sandstone is the risk. It is called Slick Rock for a reason. A little bit of sand will act like ball bearings underfoot; Think Charlie Chaplin slipping on a banana peel. Also, the very nature of sandstone makes it easy to crumble, slide, or give way. After all it is made of sand. It can be treacherous.

Christy was three quarters of the way up when the extra weight of her pack and the nature of the sandstone came in play. Her foothold gave way, crumbling beneath the weight. As her foot slipped she instinctively turned her head to look back and down. Moving her head those few inches shifted her center of gravity and threw her off balance. The weight of the pack pulled her off the rock, backwards and headfirst. Back dive. Christy fell 18 feet and landed upside down in a pile of rock. Her head barely missed a large, sharp boulder. Instead her leg received the glancing blow cutting deep into her thigh. The backpack took the first blunt-force impact as she landed on a steep collection of pumpkin sized rocks. During the impact Christy’s head whiplashed up and back. There was a soft “pop” and she slid down the rocky incline coming to rest in the deeps of the canyon. Rick watched the fall in slow motion, helplessly.

I stood up on the top of the boulder pile looking down at the commotion below. I felt an empty hole where my heart used to be. The echo of frightened and stressed-out voices bounced between the narrow canyon walls. Everyone knew the protocol, “Don’t move!”. Christy lay upside down, crumpled in a heap. The side of her backpack had torn open and the contents were spilled out, scattered up and down the face of the cliff. Just seconds before, Christy had been standing up there, up on the cliff face; carefree, happy to be alive, thrilled to be with friends. Now, a second later it all crashed down. She lay head down, bleeding from a gash on her leg, the blood dripping downward onto her chest and neck. She was conscious but stunned.

Rick was the first to reach her. A moment later Cameron and Heidi were there. I watched from above, no reason to climb down. She was in good hands. As good as one would get down here at the bottom of the gulch. Reality became clearer and I was washed over by a surging sense of guilt. “I knew this would happen.” I told myself. “There is no reason for this. Why didn’t I just step up and take charge?”

The frantic voices continued. I could hear Christy talking now. Her voice carried a tone of desperate fear. She was scared, she wanted to get up, she was okay, just let me up… That wasn’t going to happen. Her friends surrounded her and kept her from moving. First aid! Get the first aid kits! The call came out and the response was immediate. Rob ran by me carrying a red plastic box, huge by backpacking standards. He skittered down the cliff and was by Christy’s side in seconds. I said a silent prayer, calling on the Gods to help us, to help Christy.

“This is so stupid.” My internal voice was responding to the trauma. “Why was she climbing with her pack on? Why didn’t I say something? I saw how stupid it was… I should have said something; I could have said something.”

Christy was getting frantic. She wanted to get up. She was demanding to get up. Cameron jumped in to help calm her down. “Christy,” Cameron’s voice was soothing, calming, gentle. “Christy, you’re going to be alright. You need to be calm. Don’t get excited, we’re all here.
We’re going to take care of you. Just breath for a minute, we’ll get you out of here, just breath while we figure out if you’re hurt.” From that point on, Cam didn’t leave her side. He was right next to her with his calming voice. She responded accordingly and began to calm down.

Heidi, a professional nurse, went to work to assess the damage. Both her and Rob worked together. First aid on the bleeding wounds while conducting nerve damage protocol. Gwyn came up and stood by me on top of the rock. Together we watched with grim attachment. We could barely see Christy because of the deep shadows. She was laying upside down between two car-sized boulders on a steep bank of loose rock and sand. She was surrounded by Rob, Heidi, and Cameron. Rick stood to the side fetching supplies from the first aid box.

“This didn’t have to happen.” I said to Gwyn. She was wide-eyed and clearly troubled seeing her friend laying wounded at the bottom of the ditch. “There’s nothing we could have done different.” She responded. I shook my head in retort, “I Completely disagree, why was she climbing with that pack on? That’s just dangerous. See what happens?” Gwyn stepped back, “What should she have done?” The question was as infuriating as it was naïve. I clenched my teeth and hissed, “She shouldn’t have been climbing with that pack on!” Gwyn got defensive, “I climbed up with my pack on. Come on, it was an accident.”

In the depth’s we could hear Heidi quizzing Christy … “can you feel this?” “Yes.” “good, how about this?” “yea…” This continued for several minutes.

“Someone needs to go for help.” I said to Gwyn. By the look on her face I knew she disagreed. Her words confirmed it. “We need to wait and see what her condition is. You are overreacting.” The humorous Gwyn had faded away and now, in front of me, was a new Gwyn, a protective Gwyn. She felt I was dissing Christy and now needed to defend her. I was shaking my head in complete disagreement. “She broke her fricken neck! How can I over react to that?” “Don’t say that! You don’t know her condition yet. We need to wait. We’ll know soon enough.” She left me there and walked back to where Christine and Piper were watching. I followed her.

“We should go for help.” I said to Christine, Piper looked up. Gwyn Stood with her arms folded. “Don’t you think it’s a bit early for that?” Said Christine. “Let’s see what happens.”
My intuition, which I trust implicitly, disagreed. Someone would be going for help, the sooner the better. But I was outnumbered. Again, I let my instincts take the back seat. I walked back over to where I had been standing and watched as Heidi made the last tests to see if Christy was paralyzed.

I couldn’t help but feel like this could have been avoided. Completely avoided, and I was partly to blame. Five minutes passed, Heidi finished up the nerve damage testing, Christy was not paralyzed. Whew! The mood lightened, ever so cautiously. Very Carefully and very, very slowly, Rob and Heidi unfolded Christy’s legs and laid her out flat, being diligent not to move her head or neck. Now the question came as to what to do from here. She was lying in a downhill position; it was clear she would have to be moved to a more suitable spot. The proper thing to do was to immobilize Christy’s neck and gently move her to where she could lay flat. How could we keep Christy’s head still? We could fashion a neck brace. Any other ideas?

I had one. An hour before, Christy had found a piece of refuse, flotsam, jammed between two rocks. Carried down the gulch by flash flood this large square platter was made of black rigid plastic. It could have come from a car. Maybe it was a floor pan, or the lid to a spare-tire compartment. Christy had picked it up an assigned the group to carry it out, to dispose of it properly. Christy always wanted to save the world. She had a passion, or perhaps a psychosis, about trash. She couldn’t pass up this piece of polycarbonate sheeting and leave it to spoil the natural wonders of this wilderness gulch. To her it was immoral. That plastic flat had been brought to this place and was lying up on the rock next to where I stood. It would make the perfect spinal board to secure Christy’s head, neck, and shoulders. A spinal board is designed to provide rigid support during movement of a patient with spinal injuries. Spinal boards are standard issue to any first-responder trauma care. I suggested its use and passed it down the cliff face to Rick. Heidi was at the bottom looking up. “Are you kidding? Is this a joke?” There was true scorn in her voice. I was a bit surprised at the response. “It’s just an idea.” I said, “You need to keep her head from moving. Use that as a backboard.” Heidi turn her back to me, ignoring my words. The others also pretended not to hear. Meanwhile, Rob loaded Christy up with pain meds and anti-inflammatory pills.

The snub irritated me. Especially when Rob, Cameron, and Rick helped Christy to her feet and walked her 25 feet to a more level spot to lay down. I have a photo, taken from my perch, of Christy holding the back of her neck, cradling it with a protective hand, as they helped her lay down on some clothing laid out as a bed. The risk was enormous. I walked back over to Gwyn, Christine, and Piper. “She shouldn’t be moving around like that.” I said. Gwyn the protector spoke up, “Rob and Heidi know what they’re doing. I don’t see you down there helping.”

Her words were so far out from reality, so directed in spite that I had to stop myself from reacting. I paused and took a step back, time to observe. Something else was going on. My wife’s words rang in the back of my head. “If you get down there and something goes wrong, don’t get pulled in by the group, don’t succumb to group-think…”
I stood there, remote, in the wilderness, blaming myself for not acting in the best interest of the group, yet now being rejected by that very group. I suddenly felt lonely. Yet, for Christy’s sake, someone needed to challenge the stupidity. I turned my attention to Christy again, watching the continued activity below.

“I think I’ll be okay.” She was saying. Speaking in a high-toned fight-or-flight voice.
“You just rest for a little bit more.” Cam was still at her side keeping her calm.
“It’s been long enough. We need to get going, I can walk, we can make it.”
“Let’s wait at least until the pain killers kick in.”
“I’m feeling them now; it’s helping a lot. We should go, I can make it.”

Christy had organized the group. She was the de facto leader, even though she wasn’t leading. Every person in that canyon had a deference to Christy and her presumed authority. That was it! The group had crowned Christy as Queen, Queen of the canyon. How silly of me to not understand that sooner. This could get bad. I had to challenge the Queen. I will face slaughter. My wife’s words now distilled, were poignant and dangerous.

“If you get down there and something goes wrong, don’t get pulled in by the group, don’t succumb to group-think. Take care of yourself. Don’t let the group kill you.”

How the hell does my wife do that?

Several minutes later Heidi climbed up to the top to retrieve something from her backpack, which laid in a pile with the other packs we had shuttled over the rock fall.

“Heidi, I think someone should go for help.” She stopped and looked up. A very short woman, standing 5’1”, she was feisty, and focused. I, being 6’8” am very tall and generally make people uncomfortable. “We need to wait.” She told me. “Wait for what?” I asked, as gently as I could. “Christy wants to walk out of here.” I took a deep breath. “We both know that’s stupid, she’s in bad shape.” As soon as the word ‘stupid’ left my lips I wanted to retract it, not an effective tack. Heidi bristled. “Stupid? What do you know? You should leave this to us professionals.” She was referring to her and Rob. “We need to wait till the meds kick in, then we’ll see what she wants to do.”

I had to be careful, group dynamics can be dicey. “You two are the professionals, and I certainly defer to your judgement. But make sure it’s your judgement and not Christy’s.”
“Of course.” Heidi dismissed my comments. “I need to get back down there.” She left me and climbed back down the face to where Christy lay barking orders to those around her.
They wanted to wait, so we waited. We moved the rest of the gear to the back side of the rock fall. Our packs were strewn about, hiking poles in a pile. I sat on the sandy ground, leaned up against a boulder, along with Piper, Christine, and Rick at the newly established “Camp Breakneck”. It was a name coined by Christine in an attempt to bring some levity to a very serious situation. The attempt was met with short lived, half-hearted weary smiles. We were talking options. We had very few. One, Christy was fine and we would continue our hike. Two, we go for help. I was clear, the hike was over. Strangely, I seemed to be the only one; Perhaps with Piper being the exception. Everyone else was in a state of suspension, just waiting for Christy to get up a walk again. No one was taking the lead on decision making. The group was paralyzed in a dream-like state of denial.

According to Psychology Today, the phenomenon known as groupthink “occurs when a group values harmony and coherence over accurate analysis and critical evaluation. It causes individual members of the group to unquestioningly follow the word of the leader and it strongly discourages any disagreement with the consensus.”

One major characteristic of groupthink is conformity. Many people will go along with the group regardless of what they might think as individuals. A famous experiment by psychologist Solomon Asch demonstrates this powerful effect. The experiment considers the length of three lines compared to the prototype line. Asked to choose which of three lines was the same length as a prototype line, nearly every subject chose correctly when acting alone. But then Asch put each subject into a group of several confederates, all of whom had been instructed to pick the wrong line on one of the “tests.” Sure enough, almost 75% of the subjects agreed with the group at least once—even though many later confessed they knew the group’s answer was wrong.

I could see everyone in a state of groupthink, group dynamics if you will. There was a distinct danger, immediate and potent. Not a danger like the group would turn on each other, or me, starting a violent purge of dissent. Nothing like that. The danger was a submission to some false higher authority, to some collective dream, that would end up costing Christy’s life. I could feel it, and see it, and hear it in the discussions going on. Piper was the exception. She was not circling in that orbit. She and I were discussing the topic, groupthink, and what was going on with our comrades. It made sense. Of the group, only Piper and I didn’t have a direct connection to the others. Christy, Christine, Heidi, Gwyn, Cam, Rob, and Rick had been friends for years, Piper and I were tag-alongs. We both knew Christy through other circles. This was the first time both of us had the chance to know the others in an intimate setting like camping together. We were not bonded. Still the pull of the group was strong. And dangerous.

I asked about going for help. Rick started off on an idea of someone running to the trailhead to make a phone call. I had camped at the trailhead and was certain there was no phone service. The Middle Route was probably the best bet. We could get to the plateau and be assured a phone signal. Rick suggested one person run to the trail head and another to the Middle route. Anti-prepper. “Probably not a good idea, in case the runner gets hurt and is all alone”. The solution to this event was very clear to me. I had trouble understanding why others were so foggy on what needed to be done. I kept quiet, doling out my ideas in a strategic and diplomatic method. I didn’t know these people and they didn’t know me.

After another hour Rob came walking over the rock fall. He had news. “We’re moving on.” My heart fell. Christine was surprised. “We’re sure she’s okay?” Rob tilted his head to the right, above his raised shoulder. “Well, we think Christy sprained her neck… severely. The meds have kicked in and she thinks she can make it” I was skeptical, “Do YOU think she can make it?” Rob hesitated; unconfident. “I think it depends on how much pain she can take.” This was too much, it made me angry. “She won’t be able to carry her pack.” I said flatly. Rob agreed “We need to spread her gear around; all carry a bit of it.”

Internally I was thinking. Really? We are walking out of here? To where? It’s 40 miles. What are you people thinking?

Internally: I set fuses into my nervous system’s stash of C4 explosives.
Externally: A frown of disappointment spread over my face.

Christy needed a neck brace so I offered up my extra Ace bandage. Rob took it and returned to the front where Heidi and Cam were getting Christy ready. Christine and Gwyn began emptying Christy’s back pack. They were making neat little piles of equal weight. Rick got into the action as well and was directing the effort to distribute Christy’s gear.

Internally: I lit the fuse….and plugged my ears.
Externally: I feigned helping the others divvy up Christy’s spoils.

There was a commotion up on the rock pile. We all turned to look. The sight was horrific and stunning. It was Christy, her face grimaced with pain, being propped up by Heidi, Rob, and Cam. Each one encouraging her as if re-learning to walk. She was wearing the makeshift neck brace and took small painful steps with those ass-ugly shoes. Christine and Gwyn darted over to help get Christy down the steep edge of the rock fall. They guided her feet into footholds as Rob and Cam held her up on each side.

They started to walk her down the back side of the rock fall; A steep little patch of loose rock and sand. Christy is flinching from the intense pain. In a hot flash second my anger boils up.

Internally: one second count down...BOOM!.
Externally:

“What the hell is going on here?” My tone is sharp. My voice booms around the canyon walls. Everyone stops and looks, the group falls silent; A long pause. “We’re walking out.” Christy says painfully… I am incredulous, “Walking out? Where? To the middle Route? You can’t walk. You can’t make that! Whitehouse trailhead is two days and Lee’s Ferry is three! What the fuck do you think you’re doing? You aren’t walking out of here! Seriously! You’re hurt! Badly! This has gone far enough. You guys need to immobilize her, she needs to stay down. I’m going for help. We need help, we’ve got five hours before dark. Fuck!”

I am like that. I save my emotions, I let them build, then I let them go. I exploded. My rant captures everyone’s attention and breaks the spell. It is like a switch. There is immediate agreement. One second the group is invested in helping Christy hike on, the next the group is in full-on rescue mode. I rise up and take charge. A sudden sense of urgency descends upon us.

“Rick, you’re coming with me.” I demand. “We’ll need water, food, and a light.” Rick agrees and scrambles to get his things together. In the rush of utility, we pull our packs apart looking for the essentials, stuff is spilling over the sandy ground. “Anyone have a day pack?” The answer is no, so we load our pockets with Cliff Bars and top off our water bottles. I grab my wallet and jam it in my pocket. The people that aren’t helping Christy are gathered around Rick and I offering advice and support, handing us this and that.

Out of necessity, we are ready in a flash. I pull out my map for one last review. I estimate our position and draw some quick conclusions. We are probably a bit closer to the Middle Route than the trail head. For sure, there is no cell service at the trail head. We will have to get up high, up to the plateau for a chance to call for help. Rick starts questioning this route. In no mood for more committee meetings I quickly re-enforced my plan. I am thumping on the map.

“Listen carefully, we are going to the middle route, here, climb to the plateau and see about cell service. You have ATT and I have Verizon; Two chances to grab a network signal. If not, we continue down this road to the ranger station. This could take around four hours so let’s get going.” Rick just stands there blinking. There is no more dissent. He saves that for later.

With urgency, we said our goodbyes and were gone. The last thing I remember of the camp was the blank faces and hollowed demeanor of those we left behind. Everyone was stricken with the reality of fact. Christy was critically injured and time mattered. Rick went first in a full-on run. He was obviously in fight or flight, I needed to calm him down. “Rick! Wait up… look, we are definitely in a hurry, but if we run through here we increase our chances of getting hurt, slipping, spraining an ankle, ya know, getting hurt. Let’s slow down the pace enough to be safe but still make good time.” Rick quickly saw the logic and agreed. He settled into a pace that lessened our risk. He wanted to lead so I followed.

Rick and I moved swiftly with a dark and grim urgency. We were trotting and speed walking over uneven terrain. The air was still and cool; the sun leaning west. Sometimes the trail was suicide mud, sometimes rocks, then an occasional pool of water. It was beautiful yet dangerous. I was finally feeling like we were doing the right thing. The ambiguity of the group dynamic had ceased. There were no doubts, there was only one goal. We pressed ourselves forward.

The tragedy of Christy’s fall became clearer; the unnecessary risk, the overly-casual attitudes, the real danger to her life. This reality, horrifying, pushed into my conscious mind, ensconced at the root of my amygdala. I knew it. I dreamed it. I had been warned. I didn’t speak out. I handled myself poorly. That was my grim determination. It drove me, toward the possibility of redemption. We needed a successful rescue.

Just after Christy fell, I fell too; into a detached mode of observation. A response I have developed to trauma, thanks to my children and their various life threatening accidents. A survival strategy for me, I get to shut down my emotional reaction and move my psychic resources to my reason. I get to keep my head and respond effectively to emergencies, making decisions based on reason not emotion. It isn’t a conscious process, it happens automatically. Over the years, it has served my family well. Obviously, the downside is the aftermath. Suppressed emotions don’t go away, no, they burst out after the initial situation. Sometimes violently. As I move through the canyon my emotions are on hold, steeping, fermenting, getting ready for their grand debut.

Mentally, intentionally, I am praying; attempting to connect my soul to the bigger wheel, the sublime cosmos of higher intention. I think it will help. Rock-solid faith. As I run I looked for a sign. There! A crow overhead; he calls three times. Look! A small, agile frog hops off the trail out of harm’s way. Yikes! A snake lay lifeless, cold, and still, across the path. To me these are signs of life, yet signs of struggle. My goal is set, my body on autopilot. I settle in to the pace of our run and open to the bigger pool of life, I chant inwardly, calmingly, with serious intention of life or death commitment.

Even now, despite the urgency, natural beauty captures what is left of my imagination. I am bowled over by the beauty of the canyon. Stark, sublime, beckoning, still, wild. Mystery. The water-carved canyon walls tower upward while squeezing together in uncanny narrows. Shadows contrast with lightening-bright pockets of sunshine. It is quite remarkable. We continue moving. Our footsteps keep rhythm with our beating hearts and our advancing desires to get help.

Back at camp the others settle in for a long wait. They build a fire, set up tents, cook dinner. Domestic things. Civilized things. Christy is placed on a litter of pads and covered with coats and pull-overs, anything to keep the cool air from sucking the heat out of her immobile body. She is well cared for. Each person does what they can to help. It is a time of uncertainty and stress. It is also a time of unity, and bonding. So, the group keeps up the humor, trying to make it light. As light as can be under these circumstances.

Rick and I continue and time ticks by. After an hour of straight ahead speed Rick stops and I catch up. He is looking at the trail ahead. It is water. As far as we can see; up to the far away bend. Water. We had come to the cesspools. The cesspools; exactly like their namesake. They are a permanent water feature in the canyon. Water that is stagnant, gag smelly, and covered with floating debris. Oh, and ice cold, “ball-shrinking-cold”, and chest deep. This water feature in marked on my map. It gives me an idea of where we are and how far we have to go. Yet, this will slow us down. We wade into the pools, keeping our phones above our heads. The phones must make it. This part of the canyon is deepest, and darkest. It isn’t long before my legs are numb from the cold.
It takes another hour to get through the water obstacles. We come out of the cesspools and the canyon widens up. We increase our speed again. Of course, our goal is to find the Middle Route. Neither of us know how to recognize it. Doubt settings in. As we move down the trail we find places that look like one could climb out. But they are very technical and don’t seem right. We keep going.

Earlier in the day, when we were leaving the trailhead. I noticed two young men, maybe even boys, milling around. They exit their 4-wheel jeep; they have on day packs, are wearing shorts, they are ready for a hike. They observe our large group for a while and turn to walk away on a trail I know goes nowhere. I figured they were just avoiding getting caught in our orbit. We are a large and noisy group. Sure enough, a bit later, when we are all well into the canyon these two come up from behind, overtaking our cavalcade. We talk for a few minutes and they proceed ahead enjoying the speed of their lightweight daypacks. Just in for a day hike, no need for extensive gear. That was four or five hours ago.

So, I’m happy when we, again, meet these two young men as they are heading back up the canyon to the trailhead. We stop and talk. What happened? Where are we going? The conversation is predictable. These two guys tried to make it to the middle route, but they ran out of time, slowed by the cesspools. They were now hiking back to the trailhead. Trying to make it before dark. I think they are put there, in that spot, now, just for us. They have pictures of the middle route! Brilliant! They show us the pics on their phones giving us the information we need. They also give us some small plastic bags. “To keep your phones dry.” There are more deep pools ahead. Feeling hopeful, Rick and I gird up and take off with renewed gusto. It didn’t last long, the kids were right, more deep pools were in front of us. We waded into the chest deep water. Ice cold.

Another memory flashed in. It also happened earlier that day, before Yermo dropped us off. I was asking questions and being curious. I asked him about the Middle Route, what does it look like? How do we find it? He pulled out his phone and brought up a picture. It showed a narrow rock gap and a log jammed in between. The height of the log was the key, it was about four feet from the sandy canyon floor. “You have to go under or over.” He said. “When you see this log jam, you’re close.”

Still in the water, my legs are now completely numb and I start to have intuitions about hypothermia. We are keeping up the pace as safely as possible. We come out of the water and have a nice long run of relatively easy terrain. After another hour, we finally come to the log jam promised by Yermo. I step over it, Rick crawls under. My spirits rise.

Soon after the log jam we finally arrive at the middle route. It’s been three hours since we left Christy in the care of the group. Three hours of trotting, speed hiking, stumbling, and wading. I am impressed my body can do that. Once we were there we find it easy to identify. There are no doubts. The high canyon walls on both sides dip downward and spread wide. This opens the sky and lets the light in, warming up and drying out. A clearly worn path strikes up the north wall leading to the bottom of the route. Then there is a very steep section, after that it flattens out, then up another steep to the top. Looking up, it certainly requires some skills to ascend. The cliffs were steep and high. The route pushed up through this obstacle in an unseen trail winding its way to the top. This was doable but there is considerable risk. Especially for first timers with no idea of the route.

“Okay” I say, “3-points of contact at all times, moving one leg or hand at a time.” Rick looks annoyed at my advice but nods his understanding. We start up, Rick going first. There is a short scramble up to the first challenge. A crack. Six feet high, 18” wide. Above this, the cliff flattens out to a landing. Without much thought Rick starts up the crack, I stay below to spot him. This crack was difficult at best and dangerous at worst. Rick struggles, pants, and swears as he lodges himself between the two sides, pushing from back to front. His knees and elbows are tearing against the sandstone, his face displays sheer determination. For 15 minutes, he inches his way up, every gain coming at tremendous effort. As he approaches the very top he stops. His breathing is labored, blood is streaming down his leg, he is nearing on total fatigue. I was coaxing him, encouraging him, cheering him on. I think he is going to give up and come down when through sheer force of will and one last gasp effort he throws his leg over the crest and pushes up and over the top. He lay at the top for a while panting and swearing. “That was quite an effort!” I say. He looked down at me. His mind was somewhere else. “Ok, your turn”, he says as he turns and continues up to the flats.

I start up the crack, but being taller than Rick I have even more difficulties. I also don’t have anyone below me to help if I fall. Rick moved on and I am alone in that dangerous spot. It takes five minutes of effort for me to realize there is no way I will make it up safely. I lower myself back down to the base, and stand back to catch my breath. Looking up at the cliffs I see something that makes me wa my head. The trail. Sure enough, there is an easy path up around to the left hand side. We hadn’t stopped to look at what we were doing. This is the reoccurring theme of our trip. I scramble up the path, noticing the hand-holds that were chipped into the rock. It is easy and safe. When I get up to the landing Rick was near the top of the route. He looked down with surprise.

“How did you make it so fast?” He asks.
“I found the trail.”
“The trail?” Rick sounded disappointed, “Well, just stay there and rest. Take it easy for a minute. Just wait here.”

Just wait here? Wait for what? More bizarre behavior in the canyon, what is it with this place? Then it hit me, after all we have been through, the fricking Rebel and Anti-prepper are STILL living large in Rick’s psyche. His motivation is transparent. Obviously in some primitive competitive process he regards me as a threat. His response is to disregard me all together. He turns and disappears over the top edge of the cliff. After a brief rest, I finish the remainder of the climb, it is a steep sandstone cliff with hand-holds carved into the rock. I reach the top of the route and Rick is gone. Taken off. I scan the immediate area and see his blue shorts disappear around a spire of rock 300 yards above me. Cupping my hands around my mouth I bellow out his name. My voice is absorbed into the desert silence. There is no response, he was ignoring me. Unbelievable. I am on my own.

It is now 6 pm. The sun is slanting low to the west, dark is an hour away. My immediate surrounding is deep sand, washed up against steep red-sandstone outcrops. The flora of pinon pine, sage, and jimson weed dot the land. It gives a living texture to the otherwise barren and remote spot. The smell is potent pine and faint juniper berry. Taking stock, I have 2 cups of water, and a cliff bar. I check my phone; no signal. Looking up I scan the plateau 1500 feet high and two miles away. That is where I will get a phone signal. Up there is the trail head and the road leading out to civilization. I review my map, get my bearings, and start off to find the way up. Every man for himself. Brilliant.

With very little effort I pick up the trail. Sure enough, Rick had gone the wrong way. My path is marked with cairns and footprints. So remote, yet still signs of life. The trail follows a ravine winding upward from the middle route. I was headed due north. Rick had headed off to the East. I was heading toward the trailhead. Rick was heading who knows where. The trail, deep sand mixed with small respites of hardened sandstone, was torturous in the direct sun. Even in late afternoon the heat was severe. By the time I had climbed the 1500 feet and reached the top I was utterly exhausted. It had been over four hours since we left the group. Just as the sun set I drank my last swallow of water, fell to the ground, and called 911.

In that second before the phone rang I was overcome with a feeling of sublime satisfaction. It was mixed in with the endorphins and adrenaline. Accomplishment. I did it. I reached my goal. I used up my physical resources, ran myself for 4 hours, put myself in dangers way, all for someone else, all for Christy. This is life, well lived, with purpose. I was resting on that solid foundation, connected to the world, to the cosmos, fully awake and alive; fully present in that moment, suspended in time, no past or future. Completely satisfied with the little I had, my minimal clothing, my empty water bottle, my shoes, my hat.

In that second before the phone rang I was transcended. My selfish little world withered and I witnessed an opening. It was an opening in the illusion of my life. An opening where I could view something more, something bigger, something real and potent and sustaining. Something eternal. I saw the wheel, turning slowly, with intention and purpose. I was part of something bigger than myself. Christy would live. I was feeling victory.

“9-11, what is your emergency?”
“Oh, thank God. My friend fell and injured her neck in the Buckskin Gulch. We need search and rescue.”

The conversation started from there. Rural 911 service is much more casual than in the city. It has a more human feel to it. The woman on the line is knowledgeable and professional and when she starts using first names of the deputies and leaders of the search and rescue teams I know we are in good hands. The ball was rolling. I was told to wait at the trailhead, someone would be out within the hour to pick me up and take me into town. I start to relax.
My next call is to Yermo. He works with search and rescue, he knows the Buckskin intimately, I could tell him where the group was waiting.

“Hey Yermo, it’s Mark Neihart. We had an accident.”
“What happened?”
“One of our crew fell and broke her neck.”
“Where?”
“At the first rock fall, you know, where it blocks the canyon, the first one, not the one on the map.”
“I know exactly where that is; how did she fall?”
“She was climbing over the rocks and fell.”
“Why was she climbing?”

I thought the last question was odd and I didn’t understand it at the time. I thought Yermo was just being a dick and I let it pass. But he knew something I did not. There was a trail around the rock fall and no one should have been climbing. It was unnecessary. In our leaderless groupthink, we completely missed it, just as Rick and I missed the real trail up the Middle Route. I gave Yermo as much information as I could and he engaged. He also told me to stay put, he was on his way.

Then I called my wife. Worried sick since I left, she was greatly affected when I told her what happened. I recited the key points of my story. When I told her about Christy falling I started to shake. Remember those emotions that were put on hold? Way down there in the bottom of the gulch? Way back there when they had no purpose? Well “Here’s Johnny!” A flurry of post trauma stress blew over my nervous system.

“Are you okay?” She was asking me. I tried playing it cool but my voice betrayed me.
“Yea, I’m okay.” She could tell I was not.
“You’re coming home now, right?” I hadn’t even thought that far.
“Um, no, my pack’s still in the canyon.”
“What are you going to do?”
“The sheriff’s picking me up. I’m going into town to get a shower, a beer, and a bed.”
“You aren’t going to try and finish the hike are you? I mean, you’re done, right?”
“I don’t know.”
“Promise me you won’t try and finish the hike, it’s been cursed from the start, promise me.” “Well, I think the hike’s over.” I said, “But I don’t know what’s going to happen. All of our cars are at Lee’s Ferry, I’m going to have to get there.”
“I want you to come home.” She said, “I knew something was up, and I don’t think it’s over. Don’t go back.”
“Well, I’ll let you know what I’m doing, can’t promise anything at this stage.”
We blew each other noisy kisses and hung up with the understanding that I would stay in touch as the situation advanced.
The emotional tide was rising. My anger flared up as I turned my attention to finding Rick. The dumbass. I took a short walk up to the top of the bluff and looked out over the land. From that vantage one can see for 30 miles. Far out over the broken parts of the Colorado Plateau. 1500 feet down, at the base of the cliff, I could see the rugged outline of the Buckskin Gulch. I scanned the area. About a mile away, across a deep and wide ravine I saw a man in blue. It was Rick trudging along the top of the cliff, blazing his own trail. Surely he would have cell service now, I sent him a text message directing him towards the trail head. 25 minutes later he came walking up the road.

“Rick, what the hell were you thinking running off like that?”
“What?”
“Are you kidding me? With all that’s happened? That was a rookie move, you put my life in danger.”
“Look we made it” he protested, “what’s the big deal?”
“The big deal?” It was beyond my comprehension that Rick didn’t understand what I was complaining about. He displayed no understanding about the protocol of rescue, teamwork, wilderness travel, or safety. This destroyed my last remaining notions that the group I was with knew anything about safety in the outlands. I was sailing on a ship of fools.
“The big deal is safety. The big deal is teamwork. The big deal is my life.”
Rick dismissed my words with a shrug. “The big deal is Christy, and her life. You’re fine, you made it just fine.”
I sat down on a soft bank of sand. For the time being I was stuck with this asshole. It was going to be a long night.

About an hour later the Sheriff’s deputy pulled up. His cruiser was a late model 4-wheel drive pickup with a hard shell. He loaded us up with much needed water, he also had some trail food. We hydrated and snacked and regained our vigor. Minutes later, Yermo drove up in his Humvee. He was with a young man named Wryght, a local guide and part of the search and rescue.

With a sense of urgency, we all discussed a plan forward. There weren’t many options. Search and rescue had been activated and the machine was in motion. Christy would be extracted sometime that night. We gave them as much information as we could about her condition, the place they were camped, the details of the accident. Fortunately, there was no weather in the area, our group was in no immediate danger of flashflood. Logistically, we needed to get our backpacks. Yermo informed me the Search and Rescue would not retrieve our packs, they would extract Christy, that was all. Wright had an idea;
“Just leave ‘em be, the next storm will float them all the way to Lee’s Ferry, you can get ‘em there.”
Hardy-har-har! Hey Wryght, don’t quit your day job!

Yermo would figure something out, at least that is what he said, and I trusted he would not let us down. There was nothing left to discuss. I requested a ride into town where I could get a room, a shower, and a bed.
“What, you’re leaving?” Yermo was agitated, “You have people in the canyon!”
“Not sure what else I can do.” I said. I motioned to my shorts and thin shirt, “I’m not dressed for a night in the desert cold, and I imagine Christy is in good hands now.”
Yermo understood, but I saw in him a distinct loyalty and sense of duty. That made me trust him all the more.

Rick and I loaded up into the Sheriff’s truck and he took us into Page, Arizona. It is about 40 miles from the Middle Route trail head. We were cruising 90 miles an hour while the Sheriff drove with his legs and texted on his phone. “Do as I say, not as I do.”

Page is a small town just over the Utah-Arizona line on the boarder of the Navajo Reservation. It was built in the 50’s for the men who constructed Glenn Canyon dam. Today it is a major tourist town; The gateway to the Grand Canyon, as well as Lake Powell. In any given moment one will encounter people from all over the world. It is a bit surreal sitting in the local Denny’s and hearing twelve languages spoken, from Urdu to Mandarin.

All I wanted was a decent room, a meal, and a shower. Then, to fall asleep and forget about this day for a while. But it wouldn’t be quite that easy. The Sheriff dropped us off at one of the 70 or so motels crowding the tiny town. When we walked into the lobby we got more than a few double-takes. Both Rick and I were covered head to toe in mud. Our clothes were red with dirt and our shoes were caked. We were two old white guys in shorts, tees, and ball caps, dirty as naughty children, with no possessions. Oh, and the smell? Yes, there was a smell, wading through the cesspools assured that. As the entire lobby stared, I approached the reception with contrition and humbleness. Two Navajo women stood behind the desk and greeted me with barely a smile or a nod.

Most of the service jobs in Page are filled with the good people from the reservation, the Navaho. They run the town, the shops, the restaurants, and hotels, even the local taxi. Many of these people, although very polite, have a noticeably detached countenance, an almost stoic disposition. It borders on unfriendly and is a bit unnerving. I noticed it immediately as I stood at the front desk. I didn’t know if it was me or just the zeitgeist of this little outpost.

“Hi,” I said to the two stone-faced ladies, “I’m sorry to come into your hotel like this but my friend fell and broke her neck in the Buckskin Gulch and I had to run 6 hours through the mud and water for help, I left all my things down there and need a place to stay tonight. Search and rescue is working to get her out…and…I…” My voice trailed out because there was no reaction from either of these women. Nothing, they just stared into my eyes like they were tracing the cracks in my soul, gauging my imperfections, balancing out my shortcomings. I stuttered…
“Do you have a room for two?”
“We are sold out tonight,” said the one on the right. Her voice came out monotone. No inflections, no emotive.
“Oh dear, could you help me? Please? I don’t have a car; the Sheriff drove us here. Do you know if there are any rooms around?”
She looked at me, silence. After a long pause, “It’s late and most of the hotels are sold out by now.”
“Oh no,” says I, “What should I do?” I was trying hard to come off as needy, trying to elicit sympathy, but I look like a 6’8” squalid homeless man with no prospects for good.
After another long, uncomfortable pause, she nodded, “Let me make a phone call.”

The woman got on the phone and after calling three separate numbers she finally found a place with some rooms. I was put on the line and asked to give my credit card number for the reservation. It didn’t matter that I was just up the road and would be there in minutes. Nope, they wanted a credit card number.

This is when I discovered Rick didn’t have the foresight to bring his wallet. I took a deep breath, and let out a muted sigh. I was buying. The stoic lady on the other end of the phone line, at the very ordinary Super 8 Hotel wanted a credit card. Fine, how much is it? What’s that? $270…?? blink….blink….”In Page?!” Yep, $270 per night for a $80 room. The town has over 75 motels and all of them were full. We were lucky to find a room at that hour. I gave her my credit card number and shook my head. Then I asked where they were located. Oh, across town, about two miles. I handed the phone back to the unsmiling desk clerk, she knew what I needed. Without any discussion, she dialed a number and said about five words, then she hung up. “The taxi will be here soon.”

Page has one taxi. Not one taxi company, one taxi. The taxi is piloted by another stoic Navajo woman. She pulled up about 30 minutes later and we climbed in. Straight-faced and deadpan she drove us to the Super 8 while we tried our best to make her smile. We were asking stupid, childish questions, rapid fire, dumb things.
“Can your car fly?”
“Do dogs live around here.”
“What’s the deal with the speed limit?”
“Do you ever fear sliding off the road and falling into the Grand Canyon?”
You know, DUMB stuff.
The charm offensive finally broke through her hardened persona and the corners of her mouth bent up ever so slightly, like the Mona Lisa. It was all we could get, but still, I hold it as one of my better accomplishments.

Our room was a very typical Super 8 with two double beds and a TV. We washed our shoes in the tub, rinsed the filth from our clothes, and washed the stink from our hair. We ate a meal, drank a few beers and spent a mostly sleepless night on vigil. I got to know Rick a little more. It didn’t help.

Out in the wild lands the rescue operation was underway. Just after my phone call to 911, the Kane County Search and Rescue (KCSAR) operations kicked in. An Incident Chief (IC) was assigned to the case and notification went out over EverBridge dispatch system. The EverBridge calls together the volunteer SAR personnel from around the area. Within the hour, a chopper was dispatched to the Buckskin with a forward group. Their job was to find Christy and the others. They located Camp Breakneck just before Sundown; halfway between Wire Pass and the Middle Route. After finding a landing zone, two men were dropped off just South of the canyon. They assessed the site and started setting anchors to deploy their equipment for the rescue. Meanwhile, the copter began shuttling in the SAR ropes-teams that had mustered on the other side of the Buckskin up by the Middle Route trail head.

Christy lay 500 feet down in a narrow gulch. To reach her was not just an up and down consideration. There were a series of shelves between the top and the bottom. The rescue ‘attendant’ would have to lower down the face of a 100-foot cliff, then out across a 15-foot shelf, then down another 200 feet, then out, then the final drop into the depths of the Buckskin.

The equipment used for such operations is sophisticated. The attendant would be tied in two separate & independent ways to a redundant, dual-capability two-rope system. Each of these two systems can function independently in case the other fails. The entire system begins with anchors, set into the solid rock 40 feet back from the edge. As with all components there are redundant anchors as well.

The anchors are linked to a focal point with tow straps where redundant MPD’s are rigged. An MPD, which stands for Multi-Purpose Device, is basically a high-tech pulley that applies friction when lowering and a rope-grabbing feature when raising. Kind of like a fishing reel. Two of these MPD’s are deployed, each with an operator plus a back-up person who feeds the ropes out of a bag to both MPD operators. Two 600 foot ropes were used as the main lines.

The two ropes run to the edge to a device called an Arizona Vortex. The Vortex is essentially a tripod with two pulleys mounted at its’ top. Like everything, it is redundantly anchored and rigged. The Vortex cantilevers over the cliffs edge making an easier, smoother edge transition both going down and up. This device is manned by two edge-personnel who manage the pulleys, monitor the tripod, and assist the attendant getting up and down the edge. The edge-personnel are tied into independent anchors and attached by an adjustable rope grab such as a prusik and to the end of their own separate rope.

During the lowering phase, these five people, three at the focal point and two at the edge manage the equipment while lowering the attendant and rescue litter/basket into the canyon. These operations are controlled by one person who is designated as Ops. All commands are given through that one person's voice and nobody in the system acts until the Ops person calls for an action.

Once the attendant finally reached the bottom, the group sprang to action. In a flurry of activity, and relief, Christy was stabilized, secured and, along with her backpack, strapped into the basket. The group was given instructions for the next day; Take Mark and Rick’s packs to the Middle Route and wait. Yermo will be there, with me and Rick, to retrieve the gear and guide the party out.
Raising the attendant and patient is done by hand. Three men on each rope pull when instructed by the Ops. The system has a 3:1 mechanical advantage, so when the men pull three feet of rope the attendant and patient rise one foot. No electrical motors are used; the people pulling can feel if the rope gets hung up. They use this ‘feel’ to to stop pulling when the rope gets caught. This avoids breaking something (including rope, gear, or people).

It is interesting to note that during the raising process, the attendant was free hanging at certain points. While free hanging, he needs to be below the basket so he can stabilize it.
When the pair reached the outcropping of rock where his feet could touch again, he had to move from below the litter to above it, so he could maneuver the patient over the outcrop. He moves up and down with an Aztek, a portable pulley & prussik based system which gives him a 5:1 mechanical advantage. During this operation, he changed from lower attendant position to upper attendant position three times.

Once they had Christy to the summit the crew carried her litter to a waiting helicopter for the 40-minute ride to St. George, Utah. She arrived at the hospital just after 3:00 AM.

With the operation over, the men struck down the gear. It took an hour and a half to get everything put away and loaded into the helicopter. Yet, when the time came to lift-off the helicopter developed mechanical issues. The pilot was forced to call another copter for the job. The entire crew finally got back to their vehicles as the sun was just peeking over the furthest cliffs. The rescue has been recorded as one of the most technical and difficult in the area.

Back In our hotel, we were trying to sleep but text messages and phone calls kept coming in. At 1:30 am we got news that Christy was out of the canyon. She was being flown to St. George for treatment. At 4:30 we got a call from Christy and received the confirmation of what we all knew; she had broken her C2 vertebra and was indeed, lucky to be alive. She was already scheduled for required surgery. At 5:30 we got a call from Yermo that our ride would be picking us up around 9 to haul us back to the canyon. Through this flurry of activity, I managed to bag a couple hours of sleep.

In the morning, with filthy yet dry clothes, we ate the free continental breakfast, then checked out of the hotel. Yermo’s partner, Wryght, picked us up and we drove back out to the Middle Route Trail head. Wryght was pumping on one hour of sleep after spending the night with the SAR team pulling Christy out of the canyon. He looked like shit and would have been home sleeping but the rescue was still an active operation. The remaining group had to be accounted for. It was an hour’s drive back to the trail head, plenty of time to chat about the technical aspects of the rescue.

When we arrived, the morning had broken brilliant; clear and warm. Yermo was waiting there with a young couple from DC; Eugenia and Michael. The two had hired Yermo for a guided adventure. Yermo was playing double-duty. We all got to know each other. They cringed as we told them our story, and it added to the thrill of what they were about to do. We hiked down. Judged by their boots, this was probably their first time in the dessert. Eugenia had on a pair of off-white FRWD’s (the sole fell off before she made it back) and Michael was slogging along in Givenchy leather high-tops. They were wide-eyed and stayed very close to Yermo as he led us down the trail to the tops of the steep cliffs descending into the Buckskin. Yermo was in professional-guide mode. He had a presentation, obviously rehearsed over the countless times he had hiked this route. His knowledge of the area, geographically and historically, was impressive. Indian lore and ancient cultures seemed his specialty. I was glad to be in the care of an experienced guide who took the desert seriously.

We followed Yermo down his chosen course. Chosen mostly for the show he was putting on for his clients. Yermo had secret caches along the route down. He would suddenly stop and lift a large rock, underneath would be several semi-precious gems, or pieces of pottery he had found in the desert (or perhaps purchased at the local rock shop…). His route also was mapped to pass by several panels of rock art, petroglyphs, and such. Each one was shown to us with a full interpretation of the symbols complete with history of indigenous tribes and how they interacted with the surrounding land. We were walking in a dry wash when we came upon some footprints in the sand. Yermo stopped and pointed down to the tracks.
“A man, walked down from there” he said pointing up the hill, “he turned and looked down the wash, then up the wash. Then he walked that way.” Again, pointing up the wash. “These were your footprints Mark.” I looked again, sure enough those WERE mine! It was at that moment I nicknamed him the Crocodile Dundee of the SouthWest. He was half native and half BS.

After an hour of this we made it to the bottom. Scrambling down the Middle Route trail was intense. It’s one thing climbing up a steep cliff and quite another climbing down. Yermo made it safe. The Breakneck crew were not there yet. We walked into the canyon, that spot is wide open and very light. The day was bright and the temperature had grown hot. Rick and I decided to walk back up the canyon and meet the crew to get our packs. Yermo took Eugenia and Michael on their own private hike in the other direction.

It took about 30 minutes and Rick and I came upon the group. Among shouts of comradery, we all greeted each other. They had proceeded steadily and there were no stragglers. Considering the circumstances most were in good spirits, certainly with an underlying tone of soberness. Piper and Cameron had carried my pack out, not an easy task. I retrieved it from them with many thanks and weighted myself down. Then, we proceeded to the middle route amidst the chatter of each other’s stories. We arrived to find Yermo and the DC kids there. They had had a grand adventure that peaked with Michael finding a snake in his boot. Oddly, a garter snake had found its way into Michaels boot when they were walking through one of the deep pools. The snake gushed from his boot when he walked out of the water. Obviously, Michael was completely freaked out, not to mention his girlfriend. Even more so when Yermo picked the cold creature up, looked it in the eye, then stuffed in into his shirt to warm it up. When they emerged from the shade Yermo removed the snake from his shirt a laid it in the sun. Snake Rescue. I know, right?

On the hike down Michael and I had been talking about signs. I mentioned to him I had been watching the signs the day before as I was running out for help. The sign of the snake in the boot brought this conversation full circle. It had significant cosmic relevance for both me and Michael. The cold dying creature was rescued, retrieved, and brought out to be placed in the life-giving sun.

At the Middle Route, everyone threw off their packs, for a rest and a convention. There we were, 12 people in all. Yermo and his guests were sunning on a rock (along with the snake) while the rest of us reorganized our packs for the next stretch. Earlier that morning, before the group left Camp Breakneck they had packed everything in distributive fashion. Each carried their share of the entire load. Now was the time to pull everything out and repack according to ownership. It was a bit chaotic, we were all lined up along the far bank of the gulch, in the sun. There were piles of clothes, food, bags, shoes, poles, bottles, and whatever else was being carried. We sorted through the piles comparing our memories with the items.
“I think this is mine…”
“Anyone see my pullover?”
“You mean this?”
“That’s my water bottle…”
The canyon buzzed as we emptied out the gear, sorted, retrieved, and then re-stowed. After, we had a meeting. A committee meeting. I hate committees.

Yermo had come down to lead the group out. Yet clearly, many were not ready to give up the hike completely. Yes, we had missed our window. The permit was for three days only, and Lee’s Ferry was still 30 miles out. That wasn’t the only option. There was still another, shorter route down to the Paria River then left, up the canyon to the White House trailhead. The Whitehouse was closer to the highway than the Middle Route, nearer to the ranger station. Taking this route, the group would emerge the next afternoon. We handled the decision in typical group fashion, by consensus building. Always a messy and maddening process.

Regardless, I had made my decision, I was out, I had had enough. I would be hiking back up the Middle Route and let Yermo drop me off in Page. I didn’t feel safe continuing. Piper felt the same. She decided to go with Yermo as well. The rest of the group would continue down the canyon, spend the night at the confluence, then hike up to the White House trail head.
Probably 10 miles total. I mentioned I was going to get my car at Lee’s Ferry. Rob and Rick had cars there too. After some additional dialogue, I committed to bring their cars from Lee’s ferry and park them at the ranger station at the Whitehouse trail head. The final details included locking the car keys in Rob’s car, Rob could get in with his car remote.

I already had arranged for my brother Paul to shuttle me out to Lee’s Ferry to retrieve my car. With Piper coming, she could drive one car and if we could all get a ride, Paul could drive the other.

With that, Piper, me, Yermo, and the DC kids chugged our way back up the hill to the trailhead. It is one thing to hike that route unburdened, quite another with a 50 lb pack. It was very challenging. The route is steep with deep sand. In the heat of the day it was a physical challenge that taxed my will and my strength.
We arrive at the trail head again. After a long rest with beer and trail snacks we were off. Wright took me and Piper to another hotel in Page, oh yea, another $270, cha-ching! I arranged for my brother Paul and his friend Mike to take us out to Lee’s Ferry to retrieve the cars.

The next morning, we all drove out to Lees Ferry to get the cars. Par for the course, both Rob and Rick’s cars were on empty. After fueling up we motored the 60 miles back to White House trail head. We parked the cars and locked the keys in Rob’s car as agreed. Piper and I headed for Salt Lake City.

Several hours later the phone rings. It’s Rick. “Where are the keys?”
He had run ahead of the group, up to the cars from the trail head, about two miles. He wanted to know where the keys were. It was the final touch to a perfectly fucked up weekend. The cherry on the sundae, the curly-q on the soft-serve ice cream cone. I only could shake my head at the compete buffoonery and absurdity. We told him they were locked in Rob’s car, just like we all talked about the day prior. Duh. He had to go back to the group and get the remote for Rob’s car. Blink, blink…stare…

EPILOGUE:

It wasn’t long after I made it back home that I began writing this story. I needed to process the experience to understand what happened. Personally, I was experiencing symptoms of post trauma stress and wanted to get the bugs cleared out. Watching a friend critically injured followed up by crazy behavior in a group of near strangers seared my trust button, fried my cognitive circuits. Much of it didn’t make sense and I needed to make sense of it. If only to right my listing boat.

Of course, one of the ways to clear up cognitive crabs is to share em with someone. To talk about it. To this end I started sharing my story with Christy, who has been a longtime supporter of my artistic creations. When I mentioned I was writing the story, Christy begged me to share my progress. I started sending her experts and instead of helping it only amplified the crazy.

I’ll finish my story with a string of emails shared between Christy and I. Our running conversation provides the perfect resolution bringing this whole episode to a close:

~ I began by sending Christy the first page of the story ~

Christy replied: “You didn't tell me about your dream. You, my sister and my mom had premonitions about this trip.

I replied: “You know, Doug had a premonition dream too! That is why he ultimately dropped out. He told me about his dream when I got back.”

~ Then, I sent some pages describing archetypal Anti-prepper and Rebel ~

Christy replied: “Everyone gets to have their own experience. Mine could not have been farther from yours. I have never felt so close to a group of people in my life. I trusted and still trust most of those people, with one exception. I was the one who fell and I fell because of no one or nothing except a slip. Your negativity about my fall is sad. You deserve to have your own anger about having to hike out for help but not about my fall and my injuries. Sorry my accident ruined your trip.

Maybe one day you and I will talk about this and when we do I hope I have the opportunity to point out the ironies in what you seem to be pissed off about. Of everyone, you were the most separate from the group and in my opinion that is likely because you were the least prepared to be doing what we were doing. You were also the guy who wanted to leave everyone the first morning and hike on your own. I said no and so did Christine. The group always stays together.”

I Responded: “Don’t be so glum! I think you are misunderstanding my story. First, your accident was just that, an accident, and it didn’t ruin my trip it turned it into a true adventure. This story is not an indictment of you or your friends, nor am I trying to exclude myself from the group.
We were all there; we were all a part of the outcome. Personally, I am writing the story trying to understand what happened and why it happened. Of course, that includes adding drama, conflict, and resolution. That is what a good story is. I find the group dynamic fascinating. Tying this dynamic to the larger American society is interesting and helps to explain some of the dynamics in the group. Of course, our outcome was the best possible so maybe you can minimize the event now. Anyway, still very glad you are still with us!”

~ More response to Anti-prepper ~

Christy: “Maybe I am misunderstanding it but it seems critical of a group of people who just love being outside, seeing beautiful places. It wasn't the padded city experience with all its protections. Seeing places that few people get to see comes with risk. That's part of the adventure of it - even for the guy from New Jersey and his family. Who are we to dictate what is and isn't right for them? I am glad he is showing his kids such a beautiful place in nature, whether it is entirely safe or not. The fact that someone is willing to take risks is what propels them to expand their boundaries. Otherwise they might just sit home in front of a screen forever. Nothing wrong with stepping outside the comfort zone.”

Anyway, I just disagree with your perspective about needing a guided tour. I despise those and still think we had plenty of good minds in our group - and yes, it was definitely a group that cared about each other. I saw that in a huge way lying there for 13 hours waiting for help. It's your story and if it's helping you process a traumatic incident then good for you.
And by the way, I appreciate you going for help and how hard that must have been. My closer bond with the group includes you, even if I don't like your story.

Me: “Oh. You think a leader means a guide, a guided tour. That is a misunderstanding. I have more to say but have to go. More to follow.”

~ I followed this exchange with this ~

Me: “So, I can’t let this go. You talk about risk which is one of the main themes in my story. I know you are uncomfortable with my perspective. Let me help you understand.

Perhaps you don’t know or don’t remember, my son Chris, at 7 years-old suffered a compound fracture in the back canyons of the San Rafael. 40 miles out. This trauma lives with me still. I was fortunate I didn’t have to amputate his leg in the field. It took him a year to heal. I don’t take risk lightly. The risk in any back-country travel is much more than we want to believe. Ask Cameron. The denial, ignorance, or downplaying of risk is one of the themes in the excerpt I sent you. Serious risk is ever present when in the wilderness.

Part of my experience in Buckskin was some of the group wasn’t taking the hike seriously. I wasn’t the only one who felt this way, I am the only one saying it now, out loud. I know you didn’t experience this the way I and others did. Because of my premonition dream and my risk tolerance I was on high alert. I do believe we were all well prepared, we all have experience in the back country, that didn’t bother me. I never thought we should have a professional guide. The route is easy enough and I assumed the group knew and respected the risk. I still think that is true. Yet there was a casual lightheartedness in the group that belies the reality of travel in that place. Personally, I never take the risk lightly, it has proved to be too dangerous and unpredictable.

That is why I insisted we go for help just after your fall. I wanted to get help. I was very vocal about it. I was told to wait, wait and see. You don’t know about the conversations and conflict going on while you were being given first aid. The group was stuck, paralyzed (no pun intended). We decided to defer to the medical team, Rob and Heidi. I knew you were seriously injured, hell, we all did. You did. But still there was a false hope that somehow you were fine and we could all just keep going. What happened there is we took the existing and considerable risk and multiplied it by about 1000. Somehow, you think I am out of line for pointing it out. It still scares the complete fuck from me. I take it seriously.

So when some guy with his innocent and vulnerable family are hiking into a narrow wash with heavy rain imminent it is my duty to warm him. You asked, ‘who are we to dictate what is and isn't right for them?’ We are the ones who KNOW! Do you let your kids play in the street? We are the ones that have a responsibility to protect those misguided people from getting killed. It is the only compassionate thing to do. Pushing boundaries is a very human thing to do. Doing it safely is something else.
Another thing I want to say; Something changed in me that day. Heidi noticed it, others too. It is hard to describe but it comes down to being connected. I was connected to what I can only call the Brotherhood. It’s a concept described by Sabastian Junger in his book ‘Tribe’. It is more than belonging to a group, it revolves around taking responsibility for others, beyond oneself. Junger is a war journalist and saw this in the soldiers he covered. It is a very deep, sublime connection that transcends the politics of the group. This happened to me over those two days I was caring for you. Those two days I was pushing myself to my physical limits, for you; for the group. I came away feeling a strange new connection to myself, an internal power, something solid and sober. Maybe I finally grew up.

I know you think I am being the turd in the punchbowl, all’s well that ends well, and all that. Why am I bothering to even say all this? Well, I can’t answer that yet. But I have a legitimate perspective on our shared experience. My hope is you don’t shut it out and you try to learn from it. Maybe this letter will help.”

Christy responded: “I don't really know how to respond to this; I just deleted the 3 responses I drafted. I don't recall fights or conversations after the fall. I was trying to figure out first, if I was alive, and secondly, if I was paralyzed. No one took it more seriously than me. I was scared as hell and trying very hard not to ruin it for everyone. Right or wrong, that is what was going through my head - don't ruin this trip. Also, rule #1 that I've learned through years of dealing with catastrophic accidents, stay calm. Chaos kills. It was hard but staying calm was the only way through it.

The six people that stayed with me kept things light and that kept me from going into shock. I was in horrible pain and, again, scared. My right arm wasn't working properly; I knew I had impacted my spinal cord and I knew I had a broken neck but I tried to stay positive. Panic is the worst thing you can do in that kind of situation. I can't imagine lying there for 12 hours, being scared and anxious the whole time, focusing on my injury and pain. I consciously chose not to do that. I knew staying calm was the only way through it. You call it cavalier or lighthearted; I think it saved my life to be with those calm people. I'd hike any day with the easygoing, fun people before the uptight ones who are afraid of everything. No one lacked proper respect for where we were. Caution is healthy but fear is poison.

Do I let my kids play in the street? Yep, sometimes, after informing them of the risks. I don't want to deny you your experience. Mine was and is very different. I will forever deal with the effects of my fall, but that's my experience, alone. Will I stop exploring wild places? No way. Will I avoid all risks? Nope. Have I learned something? Absolutely.

And finally, you talk about taking care of me for two days - I'll give you the hike out for help, and I've expressed my appreciation for that, but then didn't you leave the group and go home? The rest of them stayed together, finished the hike together and then drove immediately to St. George to see if I was ok. A real "tribe", staying together through the hard, crappy stuff. I was so happy to see them; I also needed to know if they were ok. I knew it was hard on everyone.”
Me: “Christy, you are clearly misunderstanding my words. I’m sorry to upset you. It is obviously too early for this discussion. Maybe we should give it a rest.”

~~~~~

These tense and difficult exchanges left me wondering why Christy was taking my story so hard. In her final letter I found the clue I was looking for. After Christy fell she was immediately surrounded by her friends. Her experience was one of care and love. That is why she couldn’t connect with my story. With that piece of the puzzle I understood how this story ends, how all my experienced conflict could be resolved.

~ I sent one last note to Christy ~

Me: “Hey, I get it. Where you are coming from. The problem with excerpts is you only see a sliver of the whole. Of course, the group was the thing that saved you, now I understand why you are so distraught about my presentation. I now understand your point of view. Here this should help”:

“The most amazing and caring thing I have ever seen happened in the Buckskin. I was witness to and participated in the pure expression of humanity. Everyone in the group demonstrated the upmost selfless acts of giving and support. It was the truest form of friendship. The love that was there, in that canyon, is what saved your life; So very genuine and directly from the heart. Each one of us would have given anything necessary to assure your safety and comfort. And we did, each of us in our own way. The clearest example I saw of the love that surrounded you shown through Cameron. His empathy was so sweet and pure. What an amazing man. His gentle voice echoing in the canyon was calming to all of us. He was sure and steady and sincere. He stayed close by your side, holding your hand, caressing you, enveloping you in healing supportive love energy. To have him in our midst was a true blessing. Of course, he was just a part. The entire group could not have been any more devoted. Rob and Heidi went to work immediately, giving their all to assess your injuries and support you. They were well prepared for the job. Rob had a 10 lb first aid kit outfitted for any contingency. Heidi with her nursing skills put her full attention on the details of your care and pain management. Rick was by your side ready to jump in a fire if it would help you. Christine and Gwyn used their special humor to keep things light, such a talent in acute circumstances. Piper was there, rubbing your feet, hands-on compassion. The entire crew stayed by your side and literally covered you with love. I have a vision of you surrounded by a glowing golden light, friends all around you in support keeping the darkness of night at bay. Keeping you alive. They stayed there, till the early hours of the morning and assured your safety until the search and rescue team arrived. They would have all gladly stayed there for days if needed. This love and devotion did not end with the search and rescue, it continues today and will so forever as far as I can tell.”

~ The next day Christy wrote back ~

“Mark, thank you, that just brought me to tears. That's what I felt that day.

I hope we can talk about the experience some day. I process deeply every day and just spent an hour with an amazing woman who faced her own near-death in an accident. So many similar experiences and phases of recovery. I'm not even close to there yet. I still have horrible flashes of the fall and I still get scared about my right arm and neck not working. Like me, this woman immediately tried to get up. It was our reaction to vulnerability - don't allow it! That was the stupidest part of the whole experience, me trying to move. That's the fight or flight reaction - I had to be ok!

Love you!”

THE END