A hiker, in his sixties, very experienced, got lost in the Park. It is easy to get disoriented there. The canyons are deceptively interlocked, forming a huge maze of sandy washes bounded by massive piles of granite.
I read about it in the paper on his sixth day missing. He was just out for the day, how much water could he have been carrying? It was hot, in the upper nineties here, so probably in the upper 80s there. Then the storms came. Somehow, I felt him safe. A helicopter found him. Alive, in good condition but very dehydrated.
Certain that he would die, he wrote his last thoughts to his wife and daughter. Love. Thoughts, of how to take care of them, who could be trusted, who he wished to be his pall bearers, he wrote on to his hat.
The story touched me. Facing the abyss and then reunion, it’s powerful stuff. We love a happy ending. Another part of me gives great thanks to the people who continued to search after the odds were against survival. This too is an important part of the story.