Lost and found in Death Hollow

I walked into the desert a lost teenager. I walked out of the desert found.

I wasn't the best of kids or the worst of kids. But in the summer of 1997 I lied to my parents. My best friend, Mike Haupt, was out of town with his family. This gave me the perfect opportunity to tell my parents I was going backpacking with Mike. But I wasn't. I was going by myself, on my own vision quest.

My Father, early in his career, was in the psychology department at Springville High School. He was part of a Nebo school district summer school program that helped kids who were struggling and otherwise flunking in school. If they endured a week in the deserts of Escalante they were allowed to come back to school. There was plenty of therapizing and meaningful activity on these trips. I remember as a little kid, just sobbing when Dad would leave in the summer to go on these week long backpacking sojourns. He was also a basketball coach and would leave on basketball trips and camps all the time, and those didn't seem to bother me. My Mom believes my little spirit knew I was supposed to be with him. Sometime in the late 80's or early 90's the survival program shut down. However, my Father continued to do backpacking trips with high school kids for years after this. There was no longer a stigma of being a "Flunky." Kids just wanted to go out on a cool camping trip with people they liked.

As I got older my desire to go on these trips increased until finally my Father relented when I was 13. My first official "Survival" trip was trans formative. Everything about it spoke to my soul. The feel of a breeze when you step up to a cliff edge, the heightened awareness of your taste buds as powdered tang slides over them, the creak and rhythm of your backpack, the respectful awe of your companions as you turn a corner or top a rise and view the scenic panorama before you for the first or hundredth time.

I was hooked. Christmases and birthdays became excuses for me to ask for expensive gear. My mind was in the desert, or was the desert in my mind? There is something about those lonesome desert canyons that gets into you. It was always there, and still is, to this day. A sirens call, like a compass that perpetually points to the north, my heart perpetually points to the south. I know it is there, waiting.

My Father began doing something on these trips. To this day I don't know why he did it. As youth began to repeat their trips with him into the desert, he would give them an earth, Indian or survival name. His only requirement to earn this name was to do four solo's.

Solo's on survival were a holdout from the therapeutic days. My Dad didn't do it for that purpose, at least not on purpose. He just knew it made the trip better and gave it depth. But solo was a time you spent completely alone. No music, no companionship, no distractions (unless you count the mosquitoes and horse flies). We would generally spend about 24 hrs. by ourselves and then a leader would pick us up and lead us to camp. In my Dad's program, there was no processing this event. We didn't explain to anyone the deep truths that happen as you make it through a night alone in the canyons. It was just something we did. There was an unspoken pride that was worn like a badge of honor. A look shared that said "I accomplished this thing".

My Dad required 4 solo's to receive your survival name. I'm sure by the summer of 1997 I had done 2 or 3 solo's. I wanted my name, I craved it. I decided to do a thing I had heard other youth talk about around the fire. A Native American ceremony called a vision quest. To be fair, I don't think any of us really understood what a vision quest was or what the requirements were. I just knew that young boys at a certain age would leave their home for an undetermined amount of time with nothing and would search for wisdom or a vision.

This sounded amazing to me. So sometime in the summer of 1997 I let my parents know I was going hiking in Escalante. Accompanied by best fried (My big lie). They didn't seem to mind. Of course I didn't mention that I wasn't taking food or anything with me. I was going to do something amazing. Something big to earn my survival name. I jumped into my black Honda Civic and followed my inner compass south.

I don't remember much about the journey to Escalante. I don't remember what music I listened to or where I gassed up. I do remember stopping at a gas station in Boulder and getting a drink of water from their stand pipe. Letting it pour into my hand while I slurped it up annoyingly. For some reason purchasing a beverage seemed against the spirit of what I was trying to do (I am well aware of the irony of my traveling in an air conditioned motorized vehicle.)

I arrived at the Escalante Bridge trail head and put on an old pair of Tevas, locked the doors to my car and started up the trail. My destination was Death Hollow. I felt giddy with excitement at being in my favorite place, all by myself. I felt like I could fly without the encumbering North Face backpack that I loved so much. I made amazing time up the trail. I barely needed a drink from the spring at Sand Creek. I kept going, faster and faster. And then suddenly there it was, the confluence of the Escalante and Death Hollow. I always found it fascinating to watch the murky, lukewarm water of the Escalante swirl and combine with the clear, cold water from Death Hollow. After my hurried pace, this delay at the confluence confused my body. My leg muscles twitched with the anticipation of more strenuous exercise.

I set off again and within minutes was to my destination. Scout cave, with its beautiful desert patina walls, and deep swim hole from a seasonal waterfall. This was my oasis, my secret paradise. It was patrolled only by the plentiful leaves of dozens of poison ivy plants who obviously loved it as well. I steered clear of these plants due to my allergic reaction to them. If they touched me anywhere it would spread throughout my body and cause a lot of pain and suffering.

I pulled myself out of the deep water and onto the path that lead to the cave. I didn't have a shirt on and it seemed too much of a bother to put it on. So I started down the path and past the sentinels of poison ivy who guarded this area with their leaves reaching into the path. I danced around them, avoiding them, dodging and weaving and playing like a little child.

Finally I ascended the rocks that worked as a stairway into the cave and looked at my temporary home. It was much the same as I remembered it. Except one glaring unwanted interior design element. Someone had taken a large piece of charcoal and had written on the wall in letters 3' tall by 5' wide "GO JAZZ!" I'm sure Karl Malone and John Stockton would appreciate the southern Utah fandom, but I didn't. The Jazz were in the NBA finals with the Chicago Bulls in 1996 and Jazz hysteria had gripped the state. Apparently not even my holiest of holies, Death Hollow, was saved from the rabid need to express support for the only professional sports team Utah has ever had.

I set to work scrubbing and manically cleaning the wall. I went back and forth to the river over a dozen times to wet my shirt and use it to scrub the sandstone in an effort to remove the sports graffiti. I took little to no heed of the poison Ivy as I made this trek. Finally, with the sunlight splashing the last of its rays on the rim of the eastern canyon I finished my task. I leaned back on a slab of ancient rock that had fallen from the roof long ago and appreciating the coolness of its course surface placed my damp sandy shirt under my head, and fell asleep.

I awoke to the stillness of a desert night. With only the sound of the river, a croaking frog and the night crickets for company. I was disoriented, cold and sore. My thighs were cramped from my hurried pace from the trail head, and my neck and back were sore from laying on the big slab of rock. Why was I so cold! And what was on my chest? I had fallen asleep without my shirt and the mosquitoes must have had their way with me. I had never been in these canyons without the insulating accouterments of modernity. A sleeping bag from Sierra Designs, a Thermarest ground pad, an MSR stove, a Bic lighter and a whole food bag filled with food like Big Hunk bars, bit-o-honey's, ranch corn nuts and all the other decadent camping food we always brought. I don't know what time it was, but it seemed like I sat there curled up shivering for hours before the first dim light of dawn began to creep into the cave.

With all the excitement of the previous day, setting off on an adventure, hiking really fast, destroying an evil desecration of my sacred site and my exhausted power nap on the rock, I hadn't realized my lack of food. But in that gray morning light, I discovered a sensation that I had rarely known in my life. Hunger. I highly doubt I had gone without two consecutive meals my whole entire life (including fast Sundays...) This thought of my lack of food jerked me out of my zombie like state quickly. I truly realized in that moment, what I had done. I was alone, with no food and no equipment in one of the most inhospitable environments on the planet.

I had a moment of panic. I decided to lay out all of my earthly belongings and take an inventory. I had a Stussy hat, Pearl Jam shirt, Army pants cut off into shorts, Teva's, a Swiss Army pocket knife and in one of my cargo pant pockets was a small first aid kit containing, bandaids, neosporin, a small roll of white medical tape and an elastic ACE bandage and hidden in the other cargo pocket was one old piece of Gator-aid Gum. And that was it, my whole world spread out on the same tortuous slab of rock I had slept on.

In that moment I really stopped to analyze why I was here. The excitement had worn off and I was sore, tired and hungry. Why was I here? It seemed cool and interesting to say I was going to do a vision quest. But what did that really mean? I knew next to nothing about the Native American way to do a vision quest. Was a vision quest part of their warrior culture or the religious culture? Were they the same thing? I ended up with more questions than I had answers to. But the thought of religion got my brain turning.

I had been raised a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. I wouldn't say I had an ultra strict religious upbringing. My parents were good people that lived their religion, but not in an overbearing pushy way. My Mom would allow me to stay home from church if I wanted to. In fact, a year or two before, I was exercising this right and hadn't attended church in a few weeks, when there was a knock on the door. It was my whole Teachers Quorum class. Brother Pope, with a big smile on his face, let me know that the class missed me and asked if it was okay if we had class inside my house. I was so taken aback by this request that I invited them in. I didn't even have a shirt on and Brother Pope joyfully taught the lesson. At the end of class he asked if I was alright and if I needed anything. He then let me know that he would be back with the class next week to continue our lessons. When I shut the door I let out an exasperated breath. Why was Brother Pope so stubborn!

A year or so before this event at my house, my friends and I in the ward had been really rough on our teachers. We enjoyed making them uncomfortable and we even took pride in making one of the Sunday school teacher ladies cry. It was so easy to do. All I had to do, when I was asked to say the opening prayer was say "Dear Heavenly Father, thanks for this day and please bless Sister Perry that she won't cry today." And that was it. She would start crying and we didn't have to have a boring lesson. After Sister Perry left that day, I remember hearing we were getting a new teacher. His name was Brother Pope. He came into our class and took all the uncomfortable stuff we could dish his way and laughed it off. When we became too annoying he would ask one of us to leave the class, and at first I thought it was funny. I didn't have to sit in the class. But after going to the bathroom, getting a drink and wandering the halls for a minute, I became bored and went back to class and asked if I could come back. He always allowed us back, and day by day, week by week he brought us under control. Then when the time came for us to graduate to a new class, we were so excited to be rid of Brother Pope. We came to church the next week expecting to find a fresh new pair of teachers to play with. And when we opened the door, there sitting in front, preparing the chalk board was Brother Pope! With that stupid smile on his face and his annoyingly joyful laugh. Why was he so happy all the time? Didn't he know there were serious problems in the world? The Jazz couldn't beat the Bulls, my favorite basketball card company no longer put bubble gum in the card pack, my overdue balance at Larsen video was approaching the cut off limit and Priscilla Hepler no longer wanted to go out with me. What right did Brother Pope have to smile and laugh when all this was going on?

So sitting in my house, with no shirt on, I knew it was useless. He was going to keep smiling, He was going to keep laughing and he definitely was going to keep coming. I gave in, and decided I wasn't going to miss any more church. I had come to appreciate and even respect Brother Pope. He was always willing to talk to us. He didn't treat us like little kids. He talked to us like he talked to any other man. I had been discussing the history of the Mayans and the Incas with him, trying to figure out which ones were the Nephites and which were the Lamanites. He had promised to meet with me after church with the Bishop and explain it to me and he had. He and the other advisers invited us to visit members of our ward who were in need of help and instead of being the bad kids at church, we had blue haired Grandmothers and newly married couples slapping us on the back, thanking us for our visits and the little acts of service that they had for us. Suddenly, we weren't the bad kids anymore. We shrugged off that perception of being bad and slipped on a more comfortable one of being respected and loved by our ward.

It was with these thoughts and thoughts of a lesson that we had been given about the founding of our church, that I thought about that scripture in James 1:5. Something to the effect of "If you don't know something, ask God." So, with Brother Pope's voice in my head, I decided to kneel down and do what I had been taught by my parents to do since I was a little kid, pray. I began to pray like I had never prayed before. I rambled and talked and sat there quietly. I asked the Lord if I should really be out there. I told him I was going to start a fast (easy to do since I hadn't brought any food) and that I was seeking guidance and direction in my life. I remember telling the Lord that I was setting a goal to be out there three nights and four days. I remember trying to bargain with the Lord and tell him, that if I can do this great thing, can he help me with direction in my life. And I remember feeling good about this deal, and finishing my prayer and attempting to stand up, which was difficult because I had been kneeling for so long.

During my prayer I had been driven crazy by the mosquito bites on my chest. I had rubbed and scratched until it felt raw. I looked down and realized with horror that it wasn't mosquito bites. It was poison ivy and with my itching I had spread the urushiol oil all over my chest. It was red, raw, inflamed and openly oozing fluid. I knew this was bad. I had itched for weeks the last time this happened. The Doctor had even said it was possible that I could stop breathing if I got into it again. I went to the water and attempted to scrub it off with water and sand. I knew I should probably wash it with warm soapy water, but I didn't have any of that and my Dad taught me to clean my 2 cup cup with muddy sand and water, so I figured it would work on poison ivy as well. The sand in the open wounds wasn't the best feeling, but the coolness of the water seemed to help the itchy sores. By night fall the pain and itching was unbearable. As the shadows in the canyon darkened and the sun went down I began to scare myself with thoughts of an allergic reaction and dying out there in, the aptly named, Death Hollow.

Between the uncomfortable sand, the cold, the poison ivy, hunger pains and my own racing mind, I couldn't sleep. It was the longest night of my life. Somewhere in the middle of the night I gave up and would have hiked out, except I was too cold and scared of hiking in the dark, for fear of getting lost. By the morning I knew I wasn't going to make my goal of 3 nights and 4 days. I was miserable! Was a vision quest supposed to be this hard?! My mind was dark and brooding. I was mad I had put myself in this position, mad at the poison ivy, mad at my parents (standard teenage angst) and mad at God that I wasn't receiving any help. I remember being mad at everyone and everything. I remember thinking I will give it an hour to warm up and I will finish my fast, say a prayer and leave Death Hollow in semi defeat.

The hour past and I knelt to pray. I expressed my frustrations to God. I told him all the reasons I felt justified in being mad at everyone, including him. I gave him my excuses of why I couldn't finish my last night in the canyon. I let him know I was going to have to break my deal with him. I couldn't stand the pain of the poison ivy any more. It just hurt too much. Wasn't I justified in seeking help for this potentially dangerous situation? Tears were streaming down my face. I was failing again. I couldn't even keep the smallest of promises. I was too hungry! I was feeling weak from lack of sleep, poison ivy and no food for the third day. As the tears dripped off my nose, I told him I was done. I was going home and I told him sorry. Sorry for not being better. For not being a better son, brother, friend or good priesthood holder. I couldn't take another night of itching, pain, hunger and cold. And it was in that moment of sadness as I was closing my prayer that I felt something. I felt it internally, a coolness in contrast to the heat and itching of my outer skin. A calmness that replaced the turmoil I felt inside. How does someone accurately describe a feeling of true peace? I then heard it. A voice, as real as any I have ever heard. It said "Ask me." My eyes shot open, and I looked around the canyon. Knowing I was alone, but in disbelief of what I had just felt and heard. I knew the voice came from within, but I know it wasn't my regular internal voice. I continued to kneel and re-closed my eyes. Stunned a little, I seemed to be at a loss of words or thoughts to come up with any decent thing to ask. So I asked the most pertinent thing to me at that moment. "Father, can you help me with this burning pain and itch of my skin?" And I waited. I cleared my brain, trying hard not to put thoughts or words there that were mine. I began to think I had imagined the communication, but my inner peace continued. I then saw something, I saw it with my eyes closed. It was like I was looking down on the desert from high up above and I came down on the desert. I knew I was headed towards Death Hollow. As I came closer I could see distinct trees and the river. I also saw a man and this man was walking up Death Hollow. I was watching from above and I watched this man move confidently and steadily forward until he was on the land mass right in front of Scout cave. I watched him crouch over a little bush. I couldn't see what the bush was and the view zoomed in even more. I could now only see his hands and they were removing the leaves off a regular sage brush bush. I remember thinking, even as I continued to watch, that isn't a special or magical plant, It's just regular sage brush. I then felt rather than heard a feeling of slight loving chastisement. Much the way you would hush a child if they talked out during a favorite movie or a quiet moment. I turned my attention back to the man and his dark hands. He was taking the sage leaves and crushing them slightly with a rock. Similar to someone kneading bread. Just slowly mashing them up. He then scooped some water and dripped it on the mass of leaves and stood up. He approached the cave where I was and came so close to me with his hand outstretched with the sage poultice that I opened my eyes.

It was like coming out of a deep sleep. I hadn't even noticed the pain in my legs or the burning itch of my chest. But when I opened my eyes it all flashed back. I rolled to my side in the cool sand and kicked my legs out and stretched them and stifled an involuntary cry of pain. How long had I been kneeling there? Hours? Did I just have a dream? But the calmness in my heart remained. As soon as the pain in my legs receded I walked over to the nearest sage bush and began to remove the leaves, reverently, and then began to mash them the same way I had seen. I then took the mash and headed back to the cave. I laid down and put the poultice all over my inflamed chest. The cool relief was almost immediate. I still felt the itch but the coolness helped so much that I audibly exclaimed my appreciation. I laid there for a few hours as the itch began to subside and feeling a strange tingling sensation on my chest. And I realized that, in my opinion, a miracle had just occurred. I was absolutely miserable, and now I wasn't. The contrast was so stark that I felt like, had I sprouted wings and flown back to my car, it wouldn't have been more remarkable. I took the Ace bandage and wrapped it around my torso pinning the sage brush mash to my chest. The areas where the bandage wouldn't reach, I used the medical tape to hold the sage on.

With the pain and burning of my chest subsiding, the hunger in my stomach became my chief complaint. I decided to end my fast and ask Heavenly Father for permission to end my trip early or help in finding food. At this point I figured if he could take away my pain from the poison ivy, he could help me with anything. So once again I knelt down and prayed. I gave thanks for the miracle I had received and I ended my fast and asked for help with my hunger. I half way thought that I would feel good about leaving the canyon and going into Escalante to eat a big burger. But that wasn't the impression I received. I had a strong feeling to go on a hike and my needs would be provided for. I closed my prayer and that calm feeling in my heart remained.

But sitting on that rock in the cave, and overlooking the canyon. The thought hit me hard how easy it would be to just head south, down river and go into town where there was a guaranteed meal. Hadn't I done enough? Why would I go up canyon towards the narrows? What food could possibly be up there? I walked down the trail to the river where my decision had to be made. To the south and the assurance of food or to the north and further into the wilderness and the unknown. The shadows were getting deeper in the canyon at this time. I knew that if I went south that I would barely make it to my car before heavy night fall. If I turned north I was committed again for the night. And the thought of shivering in that cave for another night almost had me turn south. But in that moment of decision a scripture burst into my head. Proverbs 3:5-6 "Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths."

This is one of the very few scriptures I had memorized. My Grandpa Packard would quote it to me so often that I couldn't help but have it burned into my memory. So with that scripture in mind I turned my back on the easier tempting way to the south, and I began making my way up river to the north.

I made my way towards a bright spot on the canyon wall. The afternoon sun was catching it and it seemed ablaze. I came to where the canyon ceases to have banks and the sheer cliff walls go up for hundreds if not thousands of feet. It has always been an amazing place. But this time it was surreal. The feeling that I was being guided was almost palpable. I rounded a corner and there was a large boulder laying in the creek. The walls were sheer on both sides. There was a miniscule corner of land where a small tree clung to a patch of sand. There was a feeling that something was there and I almost expected a thanksgiving meal to be sitting there ready for me. And when I looked... there was nothing there. Except a patch of light hitting the little tree. And I looked around bewildered. Was I crazy? What was I doing? Following a feeling?

And that is when it happened again for the second and final time. I heard the powerful voice that resonated inside me. It said "Dig!" Nothing beautiful, just a forceful command. This time my eyes were open, but that didn't stop me from jumping from the shock of it. I followed the light and realized the light was shining through the tree and illuminating a patch of ground below the tree. I used my hands and began to dig at the sand. The first few inches were dry and easily scooped out. Then I got into sand that was a bit more moist and compact. And my fingers hit something. I dug around it and its outline was square. I pried at it and it popped out. It was a little box of weather proof matches. The card board box was flimsy from the moisture in the sand, but it still held the matches. I put the box in one of my cargo pockets and I looked back down into the hole I had made and the light shone and glinted off of the top of something. I began to dig again and found the round metal outline of a large can of some kind. I must have looked like a sea turtle throwing great showers of sand into the air to make a home for its babies. I couldn't believe it. I pulled from the hole a large can of family sized Spaghettio's! I cradled it in my arms like a new mother holding her baby for the first time. I had never liked Spaghettio's, it had always seemed like gross mushy baby food. But this can was like a treasure to me. It was my most prized possession. I sat on that sand bank and wept. This can of Spaghettio's wasn't just valuable because of the caloric value of its contents. It represented so much more. There was a God! He listened to me. He heard my pathetic prayers and provided for me in the middle of the desert. This realization struck me hard. I didn't feel worthy of this gift that I had been given. I sobbed out my gratitude.

I made my way back to the cave with my treasure cradled in my arms. I stepped up the stony staircase and placed my can on my table rock. I withdrew my Swiss army knife and snapped out the can opener. I began the slow process of puncturing and perforating the cans top to gain access to its precious contents. Sometimes the juice would spurt out and I would lick it off my dirty fingers with joy. Once I had the can open I grabbed a stick and I was getting ready to just eat it cold, when the thought struck me, I have matches! Being led to miracle corner and finding the can of food overshadowed the smaller miracle of instant fire. But I was appreciative of it now! I set out and gathered more wood to augment the couple of piles that already existed in the cave. I built a fire and placed the Spaghettio's into it. The heat of the fire felt amazing and the smell of smoke was intoxicating. I'd always loved the smell of a campfire, but this fire was special. I wasn't supposed to have it. I couldn't believe I was having this experience. So as the flames warmed the can and the smoke swirled about my face and stung my eyes, I shut them and gave thanks for this most unlikely of meals. I thanked him for my amazing family, who had brought me up the right way and led me to this moment in my life. I thanked him for the other leaders and people who had influenced my life. I thanked him for my friends. I thanked him for the body that I had. I continued to thank him up until I smelled charring spaghettio's. I maneuvered the can out of the coal bed and let it cool a bit. And then I ate. Nothing had ever tasted so good in all my life. I savored every bite and licked the can clean.

I added some more logs to the fire and just laid down in the sand along side it and fell asleep. It was an amazing nights sleep. I woke up only twice to put more logs on the fire. When I awoke in the morning, I cleaned the fire and gathered my meager belongings and started down the canyon towards my car.

I looked back at my cave one time and seemed to see the man from my dream with his arm raised in what seemed like a farewell. I'm fairly certain I only imagined this part, but I did leave with a sense of having come into this canyon lost, and leaving it found.