Stuck in quicksand free#

Heed his advice to avoid quicksand and escape if you get stuck. Shane Hobel is the founder of Mountain Scout Survival School and teaches BACKPACKER’s Outdoor Survival 101 online course. I couldn’t wait to thank her for saving my life. It had been almost 24 hours since Jessika had left me in the canyon. Our window was short, but minutes later the chopper appeared. But my leg was still numb and painful-I couldn’t hike, so we sat tight. More snow was forecasted, I gathered, and the weather didn’t look promising for a helicopter. I woke to 2 inches of fresh snow on my sleeping bag. I was anxious to get out of the canyon and see Jessika, but under the care of the rangers, I dozed off. It was too dark and snowy for a helicopter to fly in-we’d have to sleep here with the overnight gear they’d brought. I was so cold and couldn’t walk on my frozen leg. It felt glorious to be unstuck, but I wasn’t sure I would make it out of the canyon. The pain was terrible, but I could feel myself inching out of the mud. At the first pull, it felt like my joints would erupt-but then, I felt a shift. While one ranger armed the crank, one dug, and the two others lifted me by the shoulders. When more help arrived, they tried digging and lifting me, but the quicksand gripped my leg like a vise.

He tried digging with his hands, but each time he touched my leg it felt like piercing knives. It felt as if my hips were being torn apart, and my leg didn’t so much as budge. But as soon as he cranked the ratchet, I called out in pain. The ranger, Tim, tied a rope around my torso and rigged a pulley system to a rock. Jessika, he said, had made it out and called 911. I wiggled my head out to see a ranger approaching. The light returned and I yelled-and someone responded. I didn’t want to take my head out of my jacket for another false alarm, so I waited. I pictured her fallen and alone somewhere on the trail.Īn hour later, another light shone my way. If Jessika had made it out, help should be here by now. I was freezing and beginning to lose hope. But it was just the moonlight shining over the canyon walls. Could it be a helicopter? I perked up, my heart racing. Thank God he hadn’t joined on this trip.Īfter a few hours, a light penetrated my jacket. I thought about my 7-year-old son, who likes to hike with me. My sleeves were frozen solid and my legs numb. Everything ached-I was positioned awkwardly, fighting to keep my upper body out of the water. I pulled my arms and head inside my jacket, covering my face, and leaned on the stick that was planted in front of me. The sky darkened and snow began to dump harder. I was overcome with guilt-she was alone and in danger trying to rescue me. Water on top of the quicksand came up to my waist, and I shivered in my jacket and beanie. Thirty minutes later, snow began to fall. She wasn’t sure she could make it by herself. We’d seen no one else on the way in, and the only cell reception was back by the car, five hours away over boulder-strewn terrain. I watched the dread cross her face-she’d only ever hiked with me. It didn’t seem possible, but after 15 minutes struggling and soaking our clothes, we had to confront reality: We couldn’t get my leg free. We wedged a large stick next to my leg, but it wasn’t strong enough to release the cement-like mud. When that didn’t work, I dug frantically with my bare hands, but it was useless-the water filled in instantly, preventing any progress and freezing my fingers.

Stuck in quicksand free#

I tugged with all my strength, trying to brace with my free left leg. Jessika was safe-the nearby mud was solid-but now I was stuck. I lunged forward and pulled her out by her torso, but in doing so, my own right leg sank to the knee. She had sunk to her knees and couldn’t get free. There was no way around the pool, but it looked shallow so, testing the footing with the walking stick, we began to make our way across. I helped Jessika over large rocks and found a sturdy walking stick for balance.įour miles in, a pond-size puddle blocked the trail. Snow dusted the ground when we set out at 8 a.m. Our route would take us 10 miles round-trip to the Subway, a tunnel-like canyon accessed via boulder scrambles and creek crossings. Six hours prior, I’d embarked on a dayhike in Zion with my girlfriend, Jessika. I listened for footsteps or voices, but heard nothing except the gusts rippling the water around me. Only a chilly wind broke the silence of the ravine. The contrast of white atop the rust sandstone and pines looked lovely-I tried to focus on that instead of the numbness in my trapped leg. Heading out the door? Read this article on the new Outside+ app available now on iOS devices for members!Ī fresh layer of snow settled on my shoulders and hat.