How do I begin to describe the most difficult and symbolic journey that Rob and I shared. As tiring and strenuous as it might be, we were driven to visit the place where Dave lost his life. For all he had gone through, we felt it was the least we could do to honor him and pay our respects.
It was 8am on a beautiful, bright sunny, yet cool, morning in August with brilliant blue skies and white puffy clouds. We couldn’t have asked for a nicer day as we mounted our horses and headed into the canyons. As we walked along, our guide, Breck, would occasionally point out the trail that Dave had hiked that fateful day.
We crossed Deer Creek, the babbling brook where Dave spent his first and final night; the spot where Dave filled his water bottle and was told to empty it–with fatal results. We would serpentine through ponderosa and juniper pines, sage brush, and pinion pines with occasional sightings of rabbits, lizards, and a lone buck. Some of the trails were so narrow that the unyielding branches would snap and scratch our helmuts, legs, and arms.
The trails were challenging as the horses climbed and descended steep rock formations. The horses slipped from time-to-time causing rocks to break away and tumble down the steep slickrocks. To say that we were concerned would be an understatement.
After over 3 1/2 hours on challenging trails, from high above the canyon, Breck pointed to where the helicopter had landed to pick up Dave. And, finally, off in the distance we saw Cave 6600 — now known as Dave’s Cave. There it was; the cave that Dave struggled so hard to reach.
We continued along the trails to the point where it became too steep and unstable for the horses to continue. The remaining half-mile had to be traveled on foot. The sandy soil and fragile shale shifted under our feet making the descent to the cave a slow process.
Once we hit the solid trail, Breck, with a sympathetic nod to Rob, glanced toward a pile of rocks ahead. A cairn had been placed on the trail by fellow students to mark the spot where Dave had collapsed and died.
I felt as if the air had been sucked from my lungs as I stood in that spot with my thoughts and imagination careening out of control. The tears just wouldn’t stop as I could now literally see just how close Dave had been to the water.
As Rob and I were struggling with the magnitude of our emotions, I glanced into the brush and cottonwood trees surrounding the cave. For the first (and last) time since we started our journey, we saw four butterflies flitting about. How fitting and how comforting!
We continued to the cave; not even a five minute walk, and there was the life-saving trickling stream. All I could think was, “Awww Dave, you were soooo close!” We spread some of Dave’s ashes in the cave near the water and said, “Dave, NOW you have finally finished your journey!”
But we weren’t finished with ours. The climb out of the canyon was the first real example of what Dave had experienced. Even though we were fully hydrated, the short climb was a killer. It was the hardest physical challenge I ever faced. I could only climb 15 – 20 ft before my heart would hammer in my chest and I would be gasping for air. With the sand shifting beneath our feet, we would take six steps, but only accomplish half the distance. Rob did much better than I did, but he, too, felt the strain. He said it was “like trying to breathe through a straw.” We could only imagine what Dave felt traveling by foot-all day, in temperatures over 100 degrees, up-and-down the rocks, and with no water!!!
We mounted our horses for the trek back and said our goodbyes to Dave once again. We headed back facing the same challenges as our trip that morning, but with an added concern — severe lightning and thunderstorms had moved in. There we were climbing the slickrocks as lightning flashed all around us. As the water cascaded off the slickrocks and rushed under the horses’ hooves, Rob and I witnessed first-hand the beginnings of a flash flood. If we didn’t get out of the canyons quickly, we would have to take shelter and spend the night in a cave. and that was a frightening thought!!
The irony didn’t escape us. Dave had been racing toward the water and we were running from the water.
By the time we got back to the ranch, soaked to the bone, it had been an 8 hour journey. When I asked Rob how he felt about making the trip, he said that he felt “pride in completing the difficult physical challenge and facing the emotions that went with it” and that “even though it was sad and depressing, I am glad I could pay my respects to Dave.”
The beauty of the Utah canyons cannot be denied, but it was viewed through eyes of sadness and thoughts of “if only!”
We did what we set out to do—go to the place where Dave died, help him complete his journey, and send him our love!
I am so sad for you and your family.
This is the most tragic situation that
anyone could ever imagine. Deedee
From my family to yours, you are in our prayers and may you get the strength required to deliver this message to all.
wow…very moving and tear jerking…a wonderful thing to do in Dave’s memory!