In the summer of 1977 I was a substitute camp counselor for one week at a private youth camp, the Navajo Trails Ranch in Bicknell, Utah. During that week, I helped to teach six young teenagers how to rock climb in the wilds of the remote Henry Mountains. We spent the week at a primitive campsite on Mount Pennell and climbed every day on "The Horn," a granite face about two miles from where we were camped.
While doing a first ascent of the well-named, "Humility Crack," I got stuck in the last part of the climb and had to be rescued after agonizing hours of struggle to make the last pitch. No sooner had I reached solid ground and joined the group to return to the ranch, when our pickup truck ran out of gas in the middle of the desert. We had to abandon the truck and all our supplies to face a twenty mile hike in the dark to the nearest town or highway. The following are my journal entries describing the experience. I was 19.
August 21 1977 Navajo Trails Ranch
This camp is in a beautiful spot near Bicknell, Utah, not too far from Capitol Reef. We’re surrounded by red rock in fanciful shapes and colored like permanent sunset. Along with cabins, mess hall and kitchen, there are lawns, fire pits and huge cottonwood trees. Up on the hill is a rope swing hanging from a giant tree--the kind of swing with the knot in the end. About ten kids were waiting in line to take a turn swinging, and I went to join them. We had a beautiful view of the valley as we flew out, hanging on for dear life--a great way to spend the afternoon.
The other climbing counselor, Mark, told me we should be up at 6 the next morning to pack the food for the trip and now here I am in bed, listening to the girls whisper and gossip. Moths keep fluttering into the flashlight beam.
The people here are outrageous--they know movie stars, directors and presidents (of the U.S.) and are millionaires, etc. etc. I always used to read books about summer camps like this, and here I am! Its pretty fun.
I’d better get to sleep now.
August 22, 1977 (Monday) Rock Climbing Camp Day One
We ended up with six kids in our rock climbing group--including 2 girls. We took off from the ranch in Bicknell in an old World War II era ½ ton pickup truck that was called "The Toad." Most of the kids rode in the back, along with the supplies.
We headed east on Highway 24 toward Hanksville, and then south on Highway 95 toward Ticaboo. Mark gave me the wheel for awhile, and I drove while everyone fell asleep. I struggled to stay awake myself--the sun was in my eyes and I was gritting my teeth and shaking my head back and forth to keep from dozing off.
The truck was hard to drive. The back end would fishtail wildly when I went over 40. At one point it went out of control and swerved into oncoming traffic--it was terrifying. The kids woke up in time to see us weaving out of our lane--we were all horrified. I gripped the wheel and slowed down, managing to steer back into my lane, but just barely.
"How long have you been driving?" Martha asked me. I was annoyed and sputtered that I was a good driver. She had no idea what it was like trying to drive that piece of junk.
We reached the turn off from the highway and Mark took the wheel again. The rest of the way to our campsite on Mount Pennell was on dirt roads and it had just rained--water was lying on the ground and in the gullies. We came to a big, dry wash, only it wasn’t dry, it was 10 feet wide and one foot deep with water. We charged on through, and after a long time on the bumpy road, we climbed up out of the flat desert, into the mountains.
On Mount Pennell we saw some aspens and pines, but it was mostly bare--overgrazed with sagebrush, scrub oak, cliffrose and other shrubs eaten back right down to the ground. Mark told us there are free-roaming buffalo in the Henry Mountains, but we didn’t see any on the way.
Our campsite is up on the east side of Mount Pennell. There is a spring, a square of stacked logs to sit on, a makeshift table, some stunted trees and a locked BLM cabin. I think we are at about 8000 feet. From here you can see "The Horn," to the north--a large granite outcropping colored yellow and pink. It looks very strange and scroungy like the rest of the land. There are rolling hills as far as I can see--spread out against the sky, into the pine hills and down to the desert valley. Its so beautiful.
We set up camp and cooked dinner--corn on the cob and macaroni. Mark and I got the kids situated in sleeping bags and small tube tents, and then we set up a three man tent for Donny and me.
After that, I sat around the fire with the kids, telling terrible jokes and laughing like crazy. Everyone kept interrupting and teasing each other unmercifully. The kids were comparing slang--Martha, Tony and Paula are from back east and they can’t stand the dialect out here. In the middle of all the noise we were making, Mark, who had turned in early, yelled out in his sleep, from his tent,
"We’re in the middle of a highway!" Everyone started laughing and Paula began making car noises. Finally the kids got sick of telling jokes, and we all went to bed. I tried to sleep, but couldn’t, and in the middle of the night went out to sit by the fire for a long time, watching the full heaven of stars.
Rock Climbing Camp Day Two--Belay Basics, Aid Climbing, and Rappeling on The Horn
August 23, 1977 Tuesday
We cooked a late breakfast, then got our gear together and set off on foot for The Horn, two miles away. Mark hiked like a madman, leaving me far behind him. We got to the base of the climbing area, and he set up an aid route with an overhang in it. Dave belayed as Martha, Bruce, Paula and Don tried it, one by one. [An aid route is where you use etriers which attach to the rope, and a web loop to step in and you ascend by moving the etriers up the rope, rather than using hand and footholds in the rock.]
Martha made a lot of fuss, but had no real problems. I had to tell her every little thing to do--these kids have never done anything like this before. Bruce was terribly clumsy and got all twisted up, but he made it. Don, age nine, set off like a firecracker, without hesitation--his movements were beautiful and smooth, but he couldn’t reach one of the placements, and while he was trying to reach it, he dropped an etrier, so he had to come down.
Paula was the worst--she was doing fine, but she was so scared through the whole thing, she had to be coaxed or coerced every minute. She kept begging me to let her down, but I kept saying, "No, no, no." I was as scared as she was, but I really wanted her to do it if she could. At the overhang she got completely messed up. Poor Dave had already lowered Don and he was tired and sore. I kept telling Paula to try again, and she was crying a little. I knew what she was going through! Finally she got too tired and I had Dave lower her.
I went last, to clean, and I zipped up the route. I was working hard, but I wasn’t scared at all, and Dave was raving about how fast I was going. Bruce sent up encouraging remarks from below. Mark was hanging on belay from the top of Ant Crack and he was laughing from up there, watching us.
Tony wanted to aid climb, but we knew he couldn’t reach the placements, so we told him to try Ant Crack. Its about 40 feet up with a rappel down. He didn’t want to try it--he was too scared. Mark told him he’d get it if he didn’t. Finally he agreed to try it. The next thing we knew, he was at the top, getting ready to rappel down. We were so proud of him, and we all yelled up encouraging words. I took a picture of him and then he rappeled down. It started to rain and it was COLD. Only a few of us had coats. Mark was rappeling down while we huddled in a little shallow cave. It was four o’clock and we ate lunch, feeling very tired. Mark joined us--shivering and wet. We discovered that Tony had matches and we soon had a fire, nice and hot.
When it stopped raining, we set off to hike back. Mark, as usual, was about a half mile ahead of everyone. Back at camp, I built a fire and Mark got dinner going. We had pizza, burnt black on the bottom, and potatoes and fruit. It started to rain just after dinner, so we got everything put under the truck and settled in our tents and sleeping bags.
Climbing Mount Pennell and Babysitting Bruce
August 25, 1977 Wednesday
We got up and ate breakfast on a windy, cold day.
"If I tell you something, will you promise not to get mad?" Martha asked. She confessed that several of the kids had explored the BLM cabin, and figured out how to take the pins out of the door hinges so they could get in, even though it was locked. I was kind of amazed that they would think of such a thing. It would never occur to me to even look at the door hinges. She said they didn’t take anything or hurt anything in the cabin, so I’m glad I don’t have to turn her in to the authorities for juvenile vandalism, or give her a stern lecture.
We decided not to go rock climbing because it was too cold to use the climbing gear, so we went to summit Mount Pennell instead. We about halfway there, high on the mountain when Bruce started having problems breathing.
Its pathetic how he never brushes his hair--it hangs in little wisps. He never washes his face or brushes his teeth. He brought nothing but his sleeping bag on this five day trip. Its funny that his parents are rich enough to send him to this camp (Its $500 for 7 weeks) and pay for plane fare from Maryland, and no one has taught him to brush his hair or wash his face.
We held a conference and decided Bruce better go back to camp. Tony volunteered to take him--he shares a tent with Bruce and takes care of him, kind of. Tony is a really interesting kid himself. He’s the same size as Donny, only Donny is nine and Tony is twelve. Tony is skinny, bright, from New York, and he speaks French nearly as well as English. He has a gorgeous accent. I knew Tony really wanted to get to the top of the mountain, so I volunteered to go back with Bruce. I’ve been to the top of a mountain before and I’m the counselor, so I said I’d take Bruce back to camp. The others were excited to keep going up to the summit.
Along the hills, on the way back, I noticed tiny little matted plants growing-- phlox an inch high, matchweed and asters, Indian paintbrush and little ferny things and parsley things. I picked some yarrow to take back to the campsite for tea. The wind was blowing fiercely as we returned to camp. We built a fire and cooked up the tea, threw some potatoes in the fire and ate sandwiches.
I’m sitting in the cab of the truck now with Bruce. Its blowing like crazy outside.
Evening:
Mark and the rest got back around four. The sun came out and we lay around, getting warm and enjoying it. For dinner Mark made some delicious fry bread doughnuts from scratch and we all hungrily waited our turn for them. Then the kids made spaghetti and we had ash bread too, smeared with butter. It was very good.
You should see the sunsets from here--they’re outrageous. Far down in the desert, below these green mountains, the sun lights the tops of the pink mesas which spread like a rose and blue ocean. Its all ethereal, misty and distant until a wayward shaft of sun hits like a gold spotlight on the dark, earthy green and brown of the mountains.
We walked out west on the road--the sky was faintly peach. The hills were translucent green and the sky behind was blue and misty--layered like a watercolor. Back at camp, we told our usual round of bad jokes. Martha’s favorite expressions are:
"How repulsive!!!" Or , "You bum!" Whenever anything happens, we all yell, in unison, "How repulsive!!! You bum!!!" Then we fall on the ground laughing. Finally we exhausted our supply of jokes and all went to bed.
Ant Crack and Humility Crack
August 25, 1977 Thursday
I got up as soon as the sun was up. I made hot chocolate, washed up and felt good, looking out at a sky that was totally blue. The wind was blowing wildly, and it was cold as usual. We got ready for climbing, made sandwiches and ate cold cereal. A chipmunk chewed on our marshmallows.
"Ooh, chipmunk spit!" Said Martha. Thanks to the wind, there was an inch of dirt in the bottom of my cereal. Everyone was anxious to leave our campsite and get back to the ranch. All they could talk about was asking over and over how early we could leave the next day.
We set off for the climb. There were horny toads scuttling out of our way, and I saw a buffalo on the slopes across from us. I belayed Mark up Ant Crack and then Dave went up in a record 10 minutes. Bruce fumbled his way up, and little Don sweated it out next. The rest of the kids were up in the cave talking. I was next, in my harness which I had helped the kids tie into the ropes so many times. Ant Crack was pretty easy--a 5.5 route, meaning there were easy hand and footholds making it more like climbing a ladder than technical climbing. It was fun to scramble up--it reminded me of climbing playground equipment. We were surrounded by the spectacular scenery of the nearby Henry Mountains and surrounding red rock Canyonlands. The only problem during the climb was my boots kept catching. I had to shake them like crazy.
Once I came to a sort of hard spot and I stopped to psych myself up. I noticed my rope was coming from my back instead of front. When I pulled it, I found my bowline had worked loose and I was only being held by a couple of loops! I had to tie in again with one hand as I stood in that crack--it was scary. Then I rappeled down, which was kind of fun.
Mark, Dave, Don and I hiked around the corner of The Horn for a half mile to Humility Crack. Mark set up aid to the first pitch and got on belay somehow (he had to send down the etriers to Don). The first placement was 10 feet up; the next was another 6--too far to reach. Dave and I tried everything we could think of, but we couldn’t reach them, and it was getting late.
Mark rappeled down, and we headed back to camp across those big, bleak, wild hills. It was late and the mountains were a dark silhouette against the sky. The land around us was a broad, smooth sweep which took my breath away at how open and uncluttered it was.
By the time we got to camp, it was dark and the kids had built a fire and cleaned all the pots and put away the food. Imagine!!! We made enchiladas which were delicious. Every time I did a chore, Mark would tell me I didn’t have to do it. He said he wanted me to come down so he could work for me and I could relax. He said I work too hard.
It was blowing fiercely--clear, but cold. Mark slept outside and Don and I shared the tent which was wracked with wind all night.
Stuck in Humility Crack and Stranded in the Desert--a Really Long Day
August 26, 1977 Friday
In the morning the sun was deep orange and flickering from the green trees, filling the aspens and hills with intense gold light. It was beautiful as Mark and I packed up and set off for The Horn with Dave driving us. The kids stayed behind at camp to relax and Mark and I went to climb Humility Crack--my first multi-pitch climb. The day was fresh and new and completely cloudless.
It was a hard hike from the truck to the base of the Horn through scratchy bushes and big boulders. At the base, we got all strapped in our harnesses. Mark retraced his route from the day before and set up a belay. I followed, cleaning and carrying the hardware as I went up. The view was beautiful. From above, everything looked flat--all the steep boulder fields, all the hills--flat.
I got really used to standing in my rest step so I could remove nuts with both hands. It was perfectly silent. Rarely a bird flew by. The low roar of wind in the trees below was the only sound. I made it up the first pitch to Mark. He then led on up--around a nice little mountain mahogany bush. I followed.
The bush was a scratchy challenge. The second nut [protection placement] was so loose it came out if I touched it. I took it out a few times and put it back, then got up the courage to step in the webbing attached to it. It held and I moved up the vertical rock wall.
It was taking us a lot longer than we planned. The sun was far up in the sky. I thought of the kids and felt guilty because I knew how much they wanted to get back to the ranch, and we were delaying them.
The third pitch was free to a ceiling and overhang which was aid. That was strange, seeing Mark dangle around in the air and work around a thorny little Hawthorne bush. About halfway, he said to watch out because he though he might peel. I hung onto the rope for dear life and sure enough, he fell about 10 or 15 feet and hung, swaying under the ceiling in the air.
"Are you all right?" I yelled. He grinned and said, "Sh*%" as his etriers fell about 20 feet. I lowered him, and he had to go all the way back, and this time he made it over the bush and did aid till the crack got too big, then he jammed. Immediately I saw him "layback" about 20 feet (that freaked me!!) I’ve never laybacked before. He said I could do it, as I girded up my loins and started off. I must have picked the hardest part up--I got opposite the chimney and it was too steep to get over there. [To "layback" is to pull toward your body with your fingers in a narrow crack while pushing with your feet against a 90 degree rock face--the opposing forces keep you positioned.]
I didn’t know what to do. I hemmed and hawed around. Mark was mad because I didn’t get moving. Finally I jumped up and let him pendulum me. I tore a 4 inch hole in my pants and a cut in my leg as I swung out, grabbed the side and started setting up in the ceiling. That was freaky--up and around, right thought the thorn bush. There were scratches all over me. Then I went to the free part--Oh man!!! Laybacking with 3 pitches of sheer exposure below me! Mark was right above me, coaching me. There I was, laybacking for the first time in my life for all I was worth. It was strenuous!!!
When I got to the top of the pitch close to the ledge I asked,
"Can I pull on the rope this last bit?"
"You betcha!" Mark said. He was so pleased.
The next pitch was a chimney--a very deep crack halfway up. Mark could see Dave and Martha up above--they had driven over to make sure we were okay. Martha was so glad to see Mark she nearly cried. One of her friends nearly died rock climbing.
It was four o’clock--hours later than we expected to be done. Mark made it to the top and I unhooked the anchor and tried to send up the haul bag in front of me. I pushed and pushed on it, but I couldn’t get it into the chimney. I tried for ages and re-tied it on and Mark and Dave were really getting impatient. Finally we just re-strung the rope outside of the protection and they hauled that up and I worked my way into the crack.
I started out by jamming my knees, elbows, palms against opposite walls in the crack. Dave and Mark pulled on the rope while I inched my way up. I got so tired after a few feet-- I can’t describe how tired I was, but then Dave and Mark would haul on the rope and I’d struggle upward so the rope wouldn’t cut off the circulation around my waist. It seemed like forever, and I heard Mark say to Dave,
"I’ll never take a girl on a challenging climb. They go to pieces." He was mad at me.
Dave, by contrast, offered encouraging words like,
"Good girl." I heard him say, "She’s really working, Mark." As the ropes around my waist tightened up, I couldn’t breathe and felt like my ribs would crack.
"I can’t do it--its killing me," I said, nearly crying. I wanted so much to get up that last pitch.
"What’s your harness tied with?" Mark asked.
"A bowline on a coil," I replied.
"A bowline on a coil!!! No wonder!!! You have to re-tie that!" He had to direct me how to tie in a different knot, while I held myself between two rock walls by pushing in opposite directions. I got the harness re-tied and it was bearable to let Dave and Mark haul me while I scrambled to inch my way up.
The last 10 feet of the chimney was too tight to jam--they had to mostly haul me in. Finally, after an eternity of tortuous struggle on all our parts, I climbed up and out of Humility Crack and onto flat ground where the truck and the kids were waiting. Never have I been so glad to finish anything as I was that climb. The name "Humility Crack" was perfect. Maybe "Humiliation Crack" would have been even better!
It was 7 o’clock and I hadn’t had a thing to eat all day, nor water. My mouth and lips were parched. I untied from the harness and stored the gear.
As we walked to the truck, I felt every muscle in my entire body aching. I thought I might faint, but I didn’t say anything. Martha and Paula ran up to me,
"We’re so proud of you," they said. I was surprised and touched because after all, I’d held them up from their fondest desire of getting back to camp.
My knees were a mass of bruises and scrapes--my elbows too, and my hands and arms. The truck was low on gas and many roads were washed out, so we had to go out of our way to get back. The sun was just setting when the truck stalled and died. It was out of gas and we were miles from anywhere in the middle of the desert. This was the final straw in an unbelievably trying day. Mark told us we would have to walk to the highway. He took charge as he seemed to do so easily, dividing the water and food among the kids and telling them to leave everything else behind.
I didn’t feel upset--everything was so surreal. The kids were surprisingly cheerful --six city kids from rich families back east, walking in the desert, knowing we were 20 miles from the nearest town and telephone.
The sky was lavender, fading to dark blue as walked due east. My muscles loosened up as I walked, and Mark asked me how I was doing now and then. The sunset cooled and turned into a moonlit night. The countryside was silent and deserted as far as we could see. It was like a dream--the eight of us walking along in the dark.
We must have walked 5 miles or so when we came upon some mining camp trailers. There were lights on in one of the trailers, so the kids went wild. Mark told them to "can it," and he went up and knocked on the door of the trailer.
I wondered what must it have been like for the miner, out in the absolute middle of nowhere, to all of a sudden have 8 kids appear at his trailer? A man answered the door. Martha said,
"Trick or treat for UNICEF." I was mortified. Mark sheepishly asked the man if he could help us--we’d run out of gas.
The man agreed--he was taciturn and weathered, but he seemed like an angel straight from heaven to me. He piled us all in his pickup and took us to Hanksville. It was a long ride, and I fell asleep leaning on my hand. I can’t imagine how long it would have taken us to walk that distance. The miner dropped us off at the burger joint "The Big Hank," and wouldn’t accept any money for his gas.
Mark counted up all his cash and divided it among us. We were each allotted 60 cents. In those days that was enough to buy French fries. We were starving and drooling for the famous "Big Hank Burger" but we couldn’t afford it. We drove the cashier crazy as we all ordered our 60 cent meals.
Mark called the ranch and someone was sent to come get us. We sat in a stupor, long past the time the drive in closed at 11. The guy working there was really nice and said we could stay as long as we liked. Mark lay down on the floor and so did Don. I sat gazing out at the car lights going back and forth on Highway 24.
Finally, around midnight a truck drove up--it was Steve and Cecilia to get Mark and go after "The Toad." I stayed with the kids in the drive in. They were amazingly well-behaved, but then, they had showed that they could act mature during all our trials and tribulations. We were all hungry, tired, anxious to get in the shower and into bed after camping all week, but instead we were lying on the cold, hard floor of a burger joint.
Soon, Don’s dad arrived in the nice, comfortable van with soft, clean seats and drove us all back to the ranch. It was so delicious to be taken care of again. He gave us candy bars and apples as we told him about our adventure.
Back at camp, Mont gave me a sleeping bag and I went to sleep in the girl’s bunk. It was 2 in the morning. At 4 I woke up--the Toad was back with our stuff--in a terrible mess--muddy and mixed up. I went back to sleep, and none of the kids even said goodbye to me before leaving camp for good.
Back at the Ranch
I got up the next day at 8:30. I showered, ate breakfast, and most of the kids in the camp were gone--only a few counselors were still there.
Liz came up to me to ask if I could help her with her sleeping bag zipper. She was crying so hard, her eyes were swimming with make-up, and she couldn’t see. I knew why she was crying--she was saying goodbye to her boyfriend--another counselor, and she might not ever see him again as they were so young and lived so far apart. She cried and cried, unselfconsciously while I struggled with the zipper and wished I could do more for her than fix her sleeping bag.
Epilogue
I never felt the need to do technical rock climbing again after that experience. My nephew Jon tried to get me to do some climbing with his kids and niece one Fourth of July. I was pretty sure I didn’t want to.
