Link to original post: [drupal=5370]Baptism in the Desert[/drupal]
Let's see if I got this...
Shił hózhǫ hoghangóó
It's good to be home. The camping trip was great, but a generous providence of misadventures definitely made the pining for hone strong.
Though I won't go into all of them, the most notable one is getting stuck in the wilderness of the southeast Utah desert. We were camping in Glen Canyon, with the nearest town (that I know of) being Bullfrog, UT, 60 miles away. The ranger on duty told as that since Lake Powell had recently gotten pretty silty from the rain, that it'd probably be more enjoyable (and less muddy) to go swimming at Farley Canyon about 12 miles up the road.
Not being told about the impassibility of the canyon except for a RATHER OBSCURE PATH OVER UNMARKED ROCKFACES, we drove there to check it out. The sand looked to be getting a bit soft, so I jumped out of the car to check and see if it was passable--it wasn't. But by the time we discovered that, our Volvo was at a 25 degree angle with the ground from sinking.
It was about 6PM--we brought water, but not nearly enough to be prepared for what was about to happen. We spent about 3 hours trying to dig ourselves out. Better still, the car was lined with some indigenous cactus-type plant. So, digging with our arms and whatever sticks we could find, we're getting ripped to shreds by the pseudo-cacti. Before long, it was getting dark, and we were 12 miles away from the campsite. We tried calling someone, but we were, as we later found out, 50 miles away from any vestige of phone reception. I tried climbing one of the smaller mesas to see if I could get a signal, but obviously it was pretty futile.
So, quickly recapping, we're about 3-4 miles off of the main drag in an unmarked trail (which was contrary to what the ranger told us), we have roughly 1/4 of a gallon of water for four people while the desert--even at night--is just osmosing the moisture out of us.
My friend PJ and I decided we'd had it and were gonna go try to find help. Halfway down the trail though I realized the mutual panic that'd ensue if we got lost without letting my folks know first, so we went back to formulate a plan with my folks. When we got back, they'd dug what looked like a convincing space for us to get traction. We stayed for another 10 minutes, and failed again for about the 7th time. That's when my dad had finally had it and agreed to go look for help with PJ. I was given the task of watching after my mom.
At this point, we drank a good amount of our water after laboring for three hours to a point where we were covered in testaceous red sand (and the next day, blowing out snot that was dark red/brown from all the dust we'd inhaled digging with our arms.)
At this point, not only had many things gone wrong, but a progressively burgeoning likelihood of many more things going wrong: rattlesnakes, pumas, getting lost, dehydrating, etc.
PJ and my Dad went off with the only real flashlight we had while I held down fort at the homebase, as it were. Since we had to split the water, my Mom and I only had 1/4 of a liter of water between us. For about three hours, we'd honk the horn in case PJ and my Dad got lost. Skipping the comparatively boring interim, three hours later, I hear my Dad's voice. Clearly beside myself with relief, I look behind to see not only his silhouette, but a silhouette being cast by the brights of a pick-up truck. Two local Navajo guys who lived in a 3-house community in Hite came to help dig us out and brought us water as well. It was an absolute miracle. For so many things to have gone wrong, but for so many to just as quickly go right.
What ended up happening was that PJ and my Dad made it about 3 miles up the road to find a Polish man named Peter taking a nap on the Farley Canyon access opening. After explaining the situation, he drove them the extra 10 miles to Hite, where they knocked on people's doors until the two Navajo finally responded and brought 'em back.
Took us another half hour to dig ourselves out, but this time, we had actual shovels, water and above all else: recourse. With their help, we pushed the car out of the sandpit and made it back.
I'm not sure what else to say about it other than it was probably one of the most invaluable experiences I'll ever have. I'd always heard about survival horror stories out in the desert, and though I wouldn't dare call this nearly as extreme as some, I think PJ, my mom, dad and myself are among a handful who can say that we actually got stranded in the desert wilderness.
Let's see if I got this...
Shił hózhǫ hoghangóó
It's good to be home. The camping trip was great, but a generous providence of misadventures definitely made the pining for hone strong.
Though I won't go into all of them, the most notable one is getting stuck in the wilderness of the southeast Utah desert. We were camping in Glen Canyon, with the nearest town (that I know of) being Bullfrog, UT, 60 miles away. The ranger on duty told as that since Lake Powell had recently gotten pretty silty from the rain, that it'd probably be more enjoyable (and less muddy) to go swimming at Farley Canyon about 12 miles up the road.
Not being told about the impassibility of the canyon except for a RATHER OBSCURE PATH OVER UNMARKED ROCKFACES, we drove there to check it out. The sand looked to be getting a bit soft, so I jumped out of the car to check and see if it was passable--it wasn't. But by the time we discovered that, our Volvo was at a 25 degree angle with the ground from sinking.
It was about 6PM--we brought water, but not nearly enough to be prepared for what was about to happen. We spent about 3 hours trying to dig ourselves out. Better still, the car was lined with some indigenous cactus-type plant. So, digging with our arms and whatever sticks we could find, we're getting ripped to shreds by the pseudo-cacti. Before long, it was getting dark, and we were 12 miles away from the campsite. We tried calling someone, but we were, as we later found out, 50 miles away from any vestige of phone reception. I tried climbing one of the smaller mesas to see if I could get a signal, but obviously it was pretty futile.
So, quickly recapping, we're about 3-4 miles off of the main drag in an unmarked trail (which was contrary to what the ranger told us), we have roughly 1/4 of a gallon of water for four people while the desert--even at night--is just osmosing the moisture out of us.
My friend PJ and I decided we'd had it and were gonna go try to find help. Halfway down the trail though I realized the mutual panic that'd ensue if we got lost without letting my folks know first, so we went back to formulate a plan with my folks. When we got back, they'd dug what looked like a convincing space for us to get traction. We stayed for another 10 minutes, and failed again for about the 7th time. That's when my dad had finally had it and agreed to go look for help with PJ. I was given the task of watching after my mom.
At this point, we drank a good amount of our water after laboring for three hours to a point where we were covered in testaceous red sand (and the next day, blowing out snot that was dark red/brown from all the dust we'd inhaled digging with our arms.)
At this point, not only had many things gone wrong, but a progressively burgeoning likelihood of many more things going wrong: rattlesnakes, pumas, getting lost, dehydrating, etc.
PJ and my Dad went off with the only real flashlight we had while I held down fort at the homebase, as it were. Since we had to split the water, my Mom and I only had 1/4 of a liter of water between us. For about three hours, we'd honk the horn in case PJ and my Dad got lost. Skipping the comparatively boring interim, three hours later, I hear my Dad's voice. Clearly beside myself with relief, I look behind to see not only his silhouette, but a silhouette being cast by the brights of a pick-up truck. Two local Navajo guys who lived in a 3-house community in Hite came to help dig us out and brought us water as well. It was an absolute miracle. For so many things to have gone wrong, but for so many to just as quickly go right.
What ended up happening was that PJ and my Dad made it about 3 miles up the road to find a Polish man named Peter taking a nap on the Farley Canyon access opening. After explaining the situation, he drove them the extra 10 miles to Hite, where they knocked on people's doors until the two Navajo finally responded and brought 'em back.
Took us another half hour to dig ourselves out, but this time, we had actual shovels, water and above all else: recourse. With their help, we pushed the car out of the sandpit and made it back.
I'm not sure what else to say about it other than it was probably one of the most invaluable experiences I'll ever have. I'd always heard about survival horror stories out in the desert, and though I wouldn't dare call this nearly as extreme as some, I think PJ, my mom, dad and myself are among a handful who can say that we actually got stranded in the desert wilderness.
