GSENM-Death Hollow

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GSENM: Part 2 of 4

We departed the Boulder Mail trailhead shortly before 10:30 AM. The trail is an old mail route between Boulder and Escalante. The trail was carved out of the wilderness by mules who would make the daily trip. The first telegraph line between the two cities is still partially intact and the route often intersects with the old wire that still hangs like a thread from the past along the trail.

Patrick took the lead, and I chose to hang in the back as the caboose for most of the morning. About midday, we stopped for an extended lunch along Sand Creek to let Dan catch up with our group. We encountered three individual hikers at various points that morning all headed in the opposite direction. As we prepared to resume our trek, Dan finally came within radio range. We continued up a lengthy incline and were able to visually spot Dan as he climbed to catch the group.

Reunited at last, Patrick picked up the pace as we set out for our next campsite at the bottom of Death Hollow along the similarly named Death Hollow Creek. Most of the trail traversed the characteristic arid slickrock, a barren, highly smoothed and rounded bedrock sculpted primarily by wind. Unlike its name, slickrock when dry, provides excellent traction.

Thanks to my conditioning, I was doing well with the numerous ascents and descents. We reached Death Hollow in the afternoon. From the top of Death Hollow, we saw the descent to our campsite would follow a steep, exposed, and narrow path down 800 to 900 feet to the creek bed below. I am sure everyone in the group had some trepidation about the path forward, but everyone kept their thoughts to themselves.

Dan chimed in with some quick advice. “Nose over toes, trust your gear! Don’t walk with your weight on your heel.”

Patrick reiterated “If anyone gets nervous or anything, they can always just stop and sit down and take your backpack off.”

The group cautiously descended the north face of Death Hallow. The long descent was arduous as your toes bore most of the weight on the steep decline. About two thirds of the way down, Patrick called for a water break and to attend to some developing blisters amongst the group.

With our campsite in view just another 150 to 200 feet down, we took to the trail again. As always, Patrick was leading. He was followed by Alice, myself, Alex, Richa and Dan. The trail changed to a mix of slickrock and sandstone that switched backed its way down the remaining cliff face.

As I was taking a step, a rock suddenly dislodged beneath my right foot. Everything after happened in slow motion.

The dislodged rock immediately created a mini avalanche of rock and sand that engulfed my body. I fell into this mini funnel shaped avalanche. As I hit the ground, I distinctly recall thinking, “OK. I fell, but that wasn’t too bad. I don’t think I’m hurt.” It was then that my backpack followed gravity’s path down the cliff face with me still attached.

Alex told me later that it cartwheeled me over and down the incline. My mind processed this all in an instant. I thought that if I were to continue falling, I would gain speed and surely break bones careening down the cliff. At that instant a small shrub appeared before my face. I knew that grabbing the thorny bugger, would hurt like heck, but I was unsure if there would be another opportunity, especially as I gained speed. I reached out with both arms to grab it not caring about the pain or scrapes I would receive. As I grabbed the shrub, I worried that I would just pull it out of the ground and continue my fall. Fortunately, my guardian angel (my love, Amy) fortified the shrub, and it stopped the 250 plus pound mass of backpack and me from tumbling down the slope further.

As I came to a stop, it was quiet.

Then a soft voice (Alex) called out to me. “Mark, . . . don’t . . . move.”

I assessed the situation. My backpack had slid up my body and was partially over my head. As I looked down below me. I saw Patrick scrambling to approach me from below to help stabilize me. Beyond him was nothing but bare rock between me and the bottom of Death Hollow 100 feet or so below.

The rest remains a bit of a blur to me as they got me back to the path and cleaned up minor scrapes and some limited bleeding. I do remember Dan, who is a bit of a storyteller, telling the group “When things like this happen, its crazy scary, but tomorrow or a week from now this is going to be the story of a lifetime!!!”

I appreciated his effort to calm me and the rest of the group down so that we could continue our descent to the bottom of Death Hallow. We would have time to reflect on events later. We completed our descent and waded down Death Hollow Creek about 100 feet to avoid the rampant poison ivy overtaking the path.

We made camp along the creek with towering cliffs on both sides. At the water’s edge, a large, majestic pine held onto the cliff face with half of its trunk hanging out over the creek with no support.

Dan and Patrick focused on cooking dinner and filtering water for the next day’s hike, leaving Alex, Richa, Alice and I free to decompress along the creek bed. The light began to fade as we were sandwiched between the steep walls of the hollow. Fortunately, a bright moon soon began to cast a subdued light that reflected off the walls of the hollow.

The temperature began to drop as night descended. The group lingered as the stars came out and everyone shared stories from their lives. One by one we drifted off to our tents to recharge after a big day on the trail. A universal truth about backpacking is that after a full day on the trail, there is no shame in hitting your sleeping bag by hiker’s midnight (9:00 PM).

The next morning, we awoke to a chill in the air. Dan and Patrick were already up heating water for the coffee drinkers and preparing breakfast for the group. The day before, I had avoided going back up the trail.  This morning, I wandered up the trail to get a look at the site of my close call. As I stood looking up the cliff face, we had descended the day before, my heart skipped a beat or two.

The slope was steep and I surely would have continued to gain speed in my descent. What caught my attention, however, was that the slope suddenly stopped and dropped straight down to the floor of the hollow. Although I had a hard time determining how far the drop was from a distance or where exactly my fall occurred, it was apparent that I would have had serious life-threatening injuries. The shrub probably saved my life. Patrick had indicated the night before that a rescue at the bottom of Death Hollow likely would have taken 10 to 12 hours.

I suspect I know how Death Hollow got its name. I wandered back to camp for breakfast sobered by my close call and thankful for that shrub. Dan later joked that it had been growing there for ten or twenty years, just for me to grab in a moment of desperate need. I find that a comforting thought.