The Escalante was the last river discovered in the lower forty-eight. To call it remote is a weak understatement. It is a deep , vast maze of Utah slickrock, petroglyphs, snakes, mountain lions, and ancient ruins left by the mysterious Anasazi.
I arrived alone, one year to the day after my heart had crapped out at the age of thirty-seven. I’d been implanted with a pacemaker. An avid hiker and outdoorsman, I had spent months afterwards afraid to exert myself. I went to the Escalante because I imagined that the best cure was to do the hardest thing I could imagine: I would spend two weeks raftpacking the canyon alone, and learning to trust my heart again.
I confidently launched my raft, laden with my carefully organized and stowed supplies, and sat proudly at the helm, prepared to live life to the fullest, to face my fears head-on.
A hundred yards later I hit the first rapid, the boat flipped, and I helplessly I watched my supplies explode into the white water and down the river.
I spent the remainder of Day One searching for my supplies, and hauling them back to the launch point.
The next day I relaunched, much the wiser. Over the next thirteen days I got to know the Escalante intimately, and myself as well.
The canyon progressively deepens and darkens as it winds sinuously towards Lake Powell. The walls tower to incomprehensible heights, alive and electric with the neon paint of desert varnish. The rushing water has undercut the stone for millions of years, causing the cliffs to overarch the river until the sky overhangs with rock a thousand feet above.
Every alcove and slot canyon glowing red with reflected sunlight begs exploration; but the river slides you slowly past and the canyon opens around the next bend, revealing an even more spectacular and haunting vista.
One morning before dawn, I sat with my back against a sheer cliff, sipping my coffee. Suddenly something flew past my shoulder. I heard a meaty “PLUMF!” as a stone the size of a softball buried itself in the soft sand beside me. This stone had fallen hundreds of feet, and missed the top of my head by a mere foot.
I sipped my coffee, smiled, and thought about the fragility of life, the wonders of luck, fate and chance.
On the ninth day of incessantly bumping down the river, I was laid low by back strain. For three days I lay unmoving, staring up at the towering walls. From a nest far above, an eagle led her chicks in ever-widening arcs across the sky, teaching them to fly.
When one is alone for long periods, the inner voice becomes a burdensome, nagging companion. It thinks everything you think, and then repeats it back to you. If you think, ‘I need to get water,’ it says “we need to get water.” If you tell it to shut up, it simply tells you to shut up. The Voice is never, ever quiet. It is absolutely maddening.
On the twelfth day, eager to escape my beautiful prison, I cached most of what I’d brought for later retrieval, and started hiking out with a light backpack. I was many miles from where I had planned to emerge. Fence Canyon wound up and up onto the plateau, and with each passing mile I felt stronger. Unable to sleep in the chill of the open desert without a bag, I walked through the night. By noon the following day, I had hiked for nearly 31 hours straight.
The trail petered out at a dead wash. I stood stunned.
Quickly I realized my grievous error: I’d made a wrong turn in the desert during the night.
The last known spring was a day behind me. The desert heat was blinding. I had an inch of water left. The battery on the satellite phone was flashing red.
There was no more room for error. Not one inch.
I stood there, and had a great struggle with Ego.
“If you have to be rescued,” said Ego, “you will feel like a buffoon.”
Replied Sensibility, “If you wind up dead because of Ego, you are an idiot.”
This was the most difficult challenge I had ever faced.
Pride can propel us to great heights – but the deserts and mountains are littered with the bones of proud, dead hikers.
I admitted defeat, and sheepishly made the call.
Over the course of that call, I made an amazing discovery, like a cool, refreshing breeze through my soul: I felt great about myself. I’d not only survived all of the physical challenges, I’d also battled EGO – and won!
I hung up the phone and crawled under a juniper bush into the shade, laughing at myself proudly, and waited for rescue.
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