Read Online Journal of the Dead by Jason Kersten - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jason Kersten
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day’s heat sent them to shade.
“Leave no trace,” one of the park’s camping guidelines had read. Raffi and David did their best to follow it to the letter as they broke camp. They bagged up all their garbage, patrolled their gear, and as they started back to the car, they were pleasantly satisfied that the little side canyon lay almost exactly as they had found it.
It was perfect walking weather: seventy-five degrees, with a few clouds low in the sky. As the friends ambled along the canyon floor they took their time and enjoyed the rustle and hum of the desert wildlife. Dave wore his camera around his neck and kept an eye out for potential shots. So far, he’d taken far fewer photos on the trip than he’d expected, and now that he was in the West he was hoping to make up for it.
After hiking just over a mile, they came to a cairn on the edge of the riverbed. Next to it was a path through a small brush field that appeared to head toward the canyon’s eastern slopes, which they remembered coming down the previous evening. They also remembered thinking that all that easy downhill going would beuphill going the next morning, so now they paused to rest and pulled out their water bottles.
There wasn’t much left from the last night’s hike and then boiling the hot dogs—about a half pint each. But there was a full bottle of Gatorade waiting for them back at the car, only minutes away. They polished off the remainder to fortify themselves for the climb out.
Setting off again, they followed the trail into the brush field for about a hundred yards, and were quietly surprised when it took them right back into riverbed. Another fifty or so yards later, they both started to get a funny feeling. None of the surroundings seemed familiar.
“The trail out must be somewhere back in the field, because this one looks like it just keeps on going down the canyon,” they reasoned.
They promptly about-faced and paced off the entire path again, this time meticulously scanning the canyon slopes to their left as they searched for more cairns marking the trail out. But all they saw was an unbroken face of cactus, brush, and limestone boulders.
They stood at the edge of the brush field and thought it out: if they didn’t recognize anything after the field, and there was no junction in the field itself, then the only logical conclusion was that the exit was even farther back, probably no more than a few hundred yards. They left the field and backtracked up the canyon floor, confident that their logic was sound. After reversing a hundred yards or so they saw something that seemed reassuring: several cairns, lying in a wide spot in the bed, a flood wash where a small side canyon joined Rattlesnake’s main channel. They were looking for a junction, and the cairns sitting in this natural convergenceseemed to suggest that the exit trail passed through the area as well. Knowing that their car was to the east, they resumed searching the slopes in that direction for more cairns, expecting to see one any second. But once again, they were mystified to see none.
They pulled out the topographical map Raffi had bought the night before. Published by Trails Illustrated in 1996 and designed in collaboration with the park service, it was a high-quality rendering of the entire park, made of ultrathin, waterproof plastic. On one side were extensive maps of the caverns, while the other offered a detailed topography of the park’s backcountry, complete with trails, roads, springs, riverbeds, and explanatory text. The $7.95 Raffi had shelled out for it the night before had seemed steep, but now they were hoping it would pay off.
They’d both seen topographical maps before, but neither of them had actually used one, and at first glance it was intimidating. Unfolded, the map was about twelve square feet with intricate, hair-thin contour lines exploding everywhere. But they knew the basic idea: the denser areas represented rapid increases in
“Leave no trace,” one of the park’s camping guidelines had read. Raffi and David did their best to follow it to the letter as they broke camp. They bagged up all their garbage, patrolled their gear, and as they started back to the car, they were pleasantly satisfied that the little side canyon lay almost exactly as they had found it.
It was perfect walking weather: seventy-five degrees, with a few clouds low in the sky. As the friends ambled along the canyon floor they took their time and enjoyed the rustle and hum of the desert wildlife. Dave wore his camera around his neck and kept an eye out for potential shots. So far, he’d taken far fewer photos on the trip than he’d expected, and now that he was in the West he was hoping to make up for it.
After hiking just over a mile, they came to a cairn on the edge of the riverbed. Next to it was a path through a small brush field that appeared to head toward the canyon’s eastern slopes, which they remembered coming down the previous evening. They also remembered thinking that all that easy downhill going would beuphill going the next morning, so now they paused to rest and pulled out their water bottles.
There wasn’t much left from the last night’s hike and then boiling the hot dogs—about a half pint each. But there was a full bottle of Gatorade waiting for them back at the car, only minutes away. They polished off the remainder to fortify themselves for the climb out.
Setting off again, they followed the trail into the brush field for about a hundred yards, and were quietly surprised when it took them right back into riverbed. Another fifty or so yards later, they both started to get a funny feeling. None of the surroundings seemed familiar.
“The trail out must be somewhere back in the field, because this one looks like it just keeps on going down the canyon,” they reasoned.
They promptly about-faced and paced off the entire path again, this time meticulously scanning the canyon slopes to their left as they searched for more cairns marking the trail out. But all they saw was an unbroken face of cactus, brush, and limestone boulders.
They stood at the edge of the brush field and thought it out: if they didn’t recognize anything after the field, and there was no junction in the field itself, then the only logical conclusion was that the exit was even farther back, probably no more than a few hundred yards. They left the field and backtracked up the canyon floor, confident that their logic was sound. After reversing a hundred yards or so they saw something that seemed reassuring: several cairns, lying in a wide spot in the bed, a flood wash where a small side canyon joined Rattlesnake’s main channel. They were looking for a junction, and the cairns sitting in this natural convergenceseemed to suggest that the exit trail passed through the area as well. Knowing that their car was to the east, they resumed searching the slopes in that direction for more cairns, expecting to see one any second. But once again, they were mystified to see none.
They pulled out the topographical map Raffi had bought the night before. Published by Trails Illustrated in 1996 and designed in collaboration with the park service, it was a high-quality rendering of the entire park, made of ultrathin, waterproof plastic. On one side were extensive maps of the caverns, while the other offered a detailed topography of the park’s backcountry, complete with trails, roads, springs, riverbeds, and explanatory text. The $7.95 Raffi had shelled out for it the night before had seemed steep, but now they were hoping it would pay off.
They’d both seen topographical maps before, but neither of them had actually used one, and at first glance it was intimidating. Unfolded, the map was about twelve square feet with intricate, hair-thin contour lines exploding everywhere. But they knew the basic idea: the denser areas represented rapid increases in
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