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| Hiking | 9.00 Miles |
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| | Hiking | 9.00 Miles | | | |
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| partners | | My son and I planned to visit a Long Canyon ruin that he’d located, this one featuring handholds. From that vantage point, we’d try to locate a certain aged elusive ladder. Plans change…
I took a snack break before the final climb to the ruins, and at the handholds, marveled at how small those somewhat helpful holds were. Had 700 or so years of erosion removed the outer layers of rock so that only the farthest reaches of the holds were left? Or were the ancients that small? Did they have footwear? I had a lot of time to think as I struggled with that final 6 feet, but I proudly completed that lofty ascent on my own.
We reveled in the fantastic scenery from the ruins and wondered if the original inhabitants ever (or always?) took this for granted. We ate a snack, admired the craftsmanship of the ruin, then proceeded to locate that ladder.
We brought up a photo of it that we’d unknowingly photographed on a previous visit, only realizing later that it was in the picture! We tried to match landmarks, but after a time concluded that we must not have the angle we needed and descended for a different view.
Monsoon clouds began to gather in earnest. It occurred to me that perhaps we shouldn’t be trying to find the ladder this trip. As I headed down a small slope, thunder rolled behind the mountainside to the north. I called out to ask John how he’d ended up with a small canyon separating us. He motioned a route, and off I went. I stepped up…the next thing I knew, I was gently resting on my left hip and elbow on a large flat rock, legs out in front of me. With my right foot making a really ugly angle with the rest of my leg.
“John! Wait! I think I broke something!”
I didn’t feel any pain, and I didn’t recall hearing anything snap. That had to be good. Maybe. But that angle. I couldn’t walk on that foot with it that way. I tried pushing it back into position. And it went, with some grinding going on inside. I probably shouldn’t do that. But at least it was in a better position.
We devised a splint to keep the ankle in position using some wide sturdy branch pieces, my bandana, and my sun shirt. John helped me up, and I tested the foot. Yikes! It was only pain free with no weight on it. And it was the kind of pain I knew with a certainty that I shouldn’t push through or attempt to walk off.
It was 2:40. Storms could be rolling in anytime. And we had 4.5 miles to the trailhead, the first half mile of that off trail. I tried using a longer heavy branch for support on one side and John on the other. That wasn’t going to work. He tried to carry me on his back. He was making progress, but with the terrain so rough, I was afraid we were an(other) accident just waiting to happen. I decided to just close my eyes. He was strong, and he was sure-footed. But when he bumped the ankle against a boulder, he, too, decided this wasn’t the answer.
I told him I could probably crabwalk. But I had to keep the ankle aligned. Sharp pain was now shooting when it would drift into its original broken position. I untied the laces on that boot and gripped them in the opposite hand in order to keep the ankle aligned. And I made some progress with John scouting the best route. But it was excruciatingly slow, and off trail as we were, I met obstacle after obstacle. The small things you step over without even thinking were all major hurdles in my position.
In our transportation trials, we’d moved about 20 yards in over 30 minutes. We decided we needed help. Neither of us had cell phone reception. John would take both phones to higher ground.
He bounded up to a high spot. There, my phone had just enough reception for John to call 911 and talk to the dispatcher, but she couldn’t hear him, the call disconnected, and he couldn’t get through again.
It’d been almost an hour now since I fell. He’d have to go for help. We took stock of what we had with us, and who should have what. He took both phones. He’d start hiking back and continue calling 911 until he was successful. He said he could be awhile, like an hour. It was 3:30.
It started to thunder again, and in anticipation of lightning, I scooted from bare rock to a place to sit that had some soil built up. It started to sprinkle, and I dug out my rain jacket and my pack cover. And I heard a helicopter. It was over the canyon to the south. I stood with the safety-green pack cover and waved it, lightly touching down my right foot for just a moment and realized that standing was not a good idea. The helicopter flew off.
It was so very quiet, the entire landscape waiting for the storm.
I heard another helicopter, this time over the canyon to the north. Closer this time. I waved and waved. And it flew off.
It was getting late. Way past an hour. How was this going to turn out?
Then finally, a bit of wildlife decided to keep me company, and I tried to identify the bird I heard. A song of hope just when I needed it! But I ended up identifying it as a mechanical whistle. Even better luck! John! I returned his whistle with my own. Closer and closer, we continued to return whistles, guiding him in.
“Are you alone?”
“I brought friends.” It was 5:30.
And two Sedona firemen appeared. Relief doesn’t begin to express what I felt.
They were friendly, fantastic, and encouraging as they completed their medical routine. John related that he’d heard on their radios on the hike back that a severe storm would likely hit the area in 45 minutes.
Thunder and lightning were increasing, and the team proposed that we might all seek shelter in some of the Native American ruins caves in the area if the weather turned too severe.
The fire chief caught up and told John that this was going to take a long time. He said we wouldn’t get out by midnight. My ankle was secured in a specialized brace, I got strapped onto a gurney, and with a team of 4 rescuers, we set off.
It was a rough journey. John scouted best routes, but there was rocky chute after rocky chute to navigate. When 4 more firemen showed up, one thanked me for “being petite.” He said that it never happens this way --the further out people are from rescue, usually the bigger they are. That made my night!
Through the deep dusk and mist, I raised my head once to view the red rocks across the way, saying good bye to Sedona for I didn’t know how long.
When that slow off-trail half mile was complete, they set my gurney on a wheel that could be used on the trail. It may have been easier, but the firemen were so skilled that carrying me down the rough ground, they were actually smoother than the wheel!
I learned that John had seen only one person on the way to the trailhead, a runner with no cell phone. He didn’t have reception on either phone all the way to the trailhead, and not at the trailhead either and had to drive partway back to Sedona before he did.
The forecasted storm went around us. About a mile from the trailhead, we cut off the trail and to a four-wheeled vehicle they had waiting on the golf course adjacent to Long Canyon. That took us to the ambulance waiting on Long Canyon Road. We were out by 8:30 PM.
When the splint was removed for the X-ray in the ER, the nurse said we hardly needed an X-ray. But of course I got one. It showed the ankle to be broken in three places. I had a common hiking break.
Later, we learned that it was only broken in two places. But I still needed surgery, and it was a long 12-week recovery and 6 months of excellent PT. But my two hours alone below the ruins is actually a memory I will always cherish. It was something I wouldn’t have experienced otherwise. |
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Route 
It was fun to take some time and examine the details of the map. There is a wooden sign near it, but it took a long time just discerning the last word, “petroglyphs.” We never did figure out the first word and wished we had paper and pencil or charcoal to try a quick rubbing. (Writing this, I realize that we actually might have come up with some charcoal from old burned areas.)
