Lost Canyon

by Nina Revoyr

“Well, I’ll wait here,” Gwen said, bending to unshoulder her pack.

  “Me too,” Oscar said, unfastening his waist straps and letting his own pack fall.

  Todd made his way downstream to the left, feet crunching on fallen branches, and Tracy walked off to the right. Soon Todd was around a bend and out of sight; Tracy’s figure grew smaller but stayed visible as she walked along the riverbank. Oscar sat down and rooted around in the top of his pack and pulled out a Snickers bar. A lizard ran out on the boulder beside them, feinted in their direction, and then scooted away. In the silence the sound of the river was louder—patient and steady, speaking to the trees and the ridges above them, a conversation as old as time.

  “Want some?” he asked, holding the candy bar out to Gwen.

  “No thanks. That poor owl made me lose my appetite.”

  “Yeah, this is more than we bargained for, huh? Not exactly a leisurely stroll.”

  “Oh, I’ve been having a great time,” Gwen said quickly, glancing at him. “But this,” she said, gesturing toward the river. “I don’t know, it just makes me nervous.”

  “Do you get the sense,” Oscar said carefully, “that we’re in a bit over our heads?”

  “Maybe.” Gwen sounded noncommittal, and Oscar realized that whatever doubts she might have, they were still about herself and her own abilities—not about the wisdom of taking this unused route, not about the judgment of Tracy.

  Todd returned in a few minutes, looking discouraged. “No luck,” he said. “It actually gets worse down there—after that bend, there’s some rapids.”

  Tracy came walking up jauntily and after she heard his news, she said, “Well, there’s a spot up there that might work. A little wider, the water’s slower, no big rocks below—and a fallen log across the whole river.”

  “Is it big enough to walk across?” Todd asked.

  “No. It’s too skinny. But we could probably hold on to it and wade.”

  This didn’t sound promising to Oscar, but Todd, replied, “Well, okay! Let’s go check it out!”

  They all reshouldered their packs and made their way a quarter-mile upriver. When they got to the spot that Tracy had found, Oscar’s heart sank again. Sure it was wider here—maybe twenty-five feet—but the “log” was more like a sapling. The rocks beneath the water looked slippery and dangerous. This was no place to take a fall.

  “That’s not much of a log,” Todd remarked, echoing his thoughts.

  “I know,” Tracy said. “But it’s all we’ve got.”

  The fallen tree lay about two feet off the surface of the water, a few jagged points sticking out where branches had broken off. Oscar’s eyes followed the length of it to the stump on the other side, where the trunk was still attached by some strands of wood. The color of the exposed flesh there was shocking in its lightness; the tree might have fallen just that month, that very week.

  “I’m not sure it’ll hold,” Todd said now. “It’s not attached by very much.”

  “It’ll hold,” Tracy said.

  “Well, maybe one of us should test it first.”

  “I’ll go,” Tracy volunteered. She set her pack down and loaded her phone and bear spray into the lid. She collapsed her poles and shoved them into her pack handles-first, the points sticking out of the top. Then she sat on a rock and removed her shoes. “It’s too dangerous to wear your flip-flops,” she said. “You could really fuck up your feet. So take your socks off and put your shoes back on. Unclip the clips of your sternum and hip belt. If you lose your footing and start to get pulled backward, let the pack go or it’ll drag you down with it.”

  Oscar listened to these instructions with a detached wonder. Were they really learning how not to drown? Yes, they were. Before he knew it, Tracy had put her shoes and pack back on and had scrambled down the bank.

  “Uh, what if we do lose our footing?” Gwen asked.

  “Try to keep your head upstream and your feet downstream so they can brace you against any hard obstacles,” Tracy said. “And pray like hell.”

  She took hold of the tree and stepped sideways into the water, which quickly came up to her calves and then her knees. Her poles swayed behind her like antennas. About a third of the way across, the water reached her thighs, and she slowed down and gripped the log more tightly. Oscar could see the force of the current pulling her back, extending her arms until he thought she’d lose her grip. But she didn’t. Even as the water reached almost to her waist, even as her knuckles grew white from the effort of holding on, she stayed on her feet, she kept moving. Oscar looked at her face and saw that she was grinning.

  Then she was across and she pulled herself up onto the bank, letting out a whoop of triumph. “Piece of cake!” she yelled out. “Who’s next?”

  Todd looked soberly at Oscar and Gwen. “Let’s go across together. I’ll go first, and Oscar, you go last. Gwen, you stay in the middle.”

  “I don’t know if I can do this,” Gwen said.

  “Sure you can,” Todd replied reassuringly “And we’ll be on either side of you.”

  “Are you sure the log can support all of us?” asked Oscar.

  “I’m not sure,” Todd said. “But I’d rather take my chances than have Gwen try to cross on her own. But let’s hold on to each other, all right? And keep your center of gravity low.”

  Todd and Gwen collapsed their poles and stuck them into their packs. Todd maneuvered through the branches and plunged in first. He grabbed the log with his left hand and held on to Gwen with his right as she gingerly stepped in after him. Then it was Oscar’s turn, and he gasped as he lowered his foot in the river. The water was fucking cold—like just-melted ice. “Jesus,” he said.

  “Just ignore it if you can,” Todd instructed. Slowly, slowly, they crab-walked sideways into the river, each man with one hand on Gwen’s shoulder strap and one hand on the log. The rocks underfoot were slick and unstable. Oscar stepped onto one and it gave way beneath him; he grabbed the log with both hands in a panic. But he regained his balance and took hold of Gwen’s strap again. As the water crept up past their knees and then their thighs, Gwen made a noise between a groan and a yelp.

  “It’s okay,” Todd shouted, “you’re doing great!”

  But it wasn’t just the cold that bothered them now; it was the force of the water, the current pushing against them, as if the river had intention and purpose. Each time Oscar lifted a foot the current pulled it away; it took all of his strength and focus just to set it down again. The sound of the water was all around them, louder now, more insistent, as if the river was displeased with their presence. The bark was rough and sharp against his hand, but the tree held firm. Slowly, slowly, they made their way across. When they reached the other side, Tracy helped Todd out, then Gwen and Oscar. When he was clear of the water, Oscar scrambled up the bank and sat down. He had never been so glad to feel the ground beneath him.

  Gwen collapsed beside him. “Thank you, God.”

  “See, I told you we could make it,” Tracy said. “Piece of cake.”

  No one answered—they all just sat and tried to catch their breath. Oscar’s pack was wet about halfway down; he didn’t want to think about how soaked his stuff must be.

  “Hey, we need to dry off,” he said, beginning to shiver. “Think we can find some sun?”

  They looked around. The canyon was already in shade, and the sun had moved past the upper wall.

  “No luck till we get out of the woods and up on a ridge,” Tracy said. “But it would be good to change clothes, if you have anything dry.”

  They dug through their packs with varying success. Gwen changed back into her clothes from yesterday. Todd put on his shorts from the day before but his shirts were all soaked; he wore his fleece on bare skin and draped a half-wet shirt over his pack to dry. Tracy undid the bottom half of her convertible pants and removed the wet legs, not seeming to mind the wet tail of her shirt. She was cheerful, visibly charged up that they’d made it across the river, and Oscar realized that i
t wasn’t that Tracy didn’t feel the privations of being in the wilderness; it was that she actually embraced them.

  Oscar didn’t share this enthusiasm—especially once he’d examined his clothes and couldn’t find a single dry item. He had one pair of cargo shorts that was only half wet, but all of his tops were soaked. He changed into the cargo shorts and kept the same shirt on—at least the shoulders were dry.

  “We should dry off pretty quick once we’re moving,” Tracy said.

  “Does anyone need to rest for a bit?” Todd asked.

  “Not here,” Gwen said. “I don’t ever want to see this river again.”

  They collected their wet clothes and stuffed them into their packs. They reengaged their poles. Then they lifted their packs onto their shoulders, heavier now with all the wet clothes, and trudged back downstream, where the trail, or what they hoped was the trail, continued. They wound their way through a flat area of wood and started to climb again. Although they couldn’t see very far through the trees, Oscar thought from the way the sky opened up that the top of the ridge wasn’t far away. He was right. After half an hour of switchbacks, they’d reached the gap—and a clearing where the sun finally hit them. Far off in the distance, to the east, they saw a larger set of mountains—endless, imposing, majestic, their flanks draped with snow.

  “Wow,” Oscar said. “You want to take a break?”

  “Yes!” Todd said. “Let’s stop and dry off.” He stripped off his fleece and put his shirt back on.

  “And eat,” Gwen added. “What a view!”

  “All right,” agreed Tracy, but she sounded distracted. Oscar was about to get annoyed again—couldn’t she see they all needed to rest? But then he saw where she was looking and he understood why. Straight ahead of them, descending gently and parallel to the ridge, the trail continued on. But to the right there was another trail, which angled sharply down into a different canyon.

  “We seem to be at a junction,” Todd remarked.

  “There’s more than one trail out here?” Gwen asked. “Isn’t that kind of weird?”

  “Not really,” Tracy said. “There’s probably some offshoots. Maybe one of these is actually a game trail. Or maybe it leads to a campsite.”

  Oscar didn’t like to think about the second possibility—after two days of worrying that they were the only people out here, now he hoped that this was true. “Well, you have the map, right? Maybe that will tell us.”

  “Maybe,” Tracy said. “Let’s take a look. And eat.”

  They all sat heavily and removed their wet shoes and set them out to dry. Oscar was relieved for the break. He squeezed dollops of peanut butter onto a bagel and bit off huge chunks, and then wolfed down an apple. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was.

  The others were silent, eating their own lunches. Tracy finished off her sandwich and pulled the maps and compass out of her pack. She lay the topo map out on the ground and ran her fingers over it, as if trying to feel the right way to go.

  Todd leaned over her to look at it and made a disgusted sound. “That thing is useless. Lost Canyon isn’t even on there.”

  “I know, but there’s some landscape features we can work with,” said Tracy. “This must be the river we just crossed. And maybe this is the ridge we’re on now.”

  “I don’t know. And an inch on that is, what? Five miles?”

  “Yeah, you’re right. There’s no real detail. Let me look at the other map.” She unfolded the photocopy of the hand-drawn map, the top left corner of which was now wet. She held it carefully with one hand, looked at it, and frowned.

  “What?” Todd asked.

  “What?” Oscar echoed, and now he got up and made his way behind her.

  “It just gets a little blurry here,” she said. The line marking the trail had bled from the river water; the writing was now unreadable. Still, there clearly was the lake where they’d spent the night, a set of bumps that must have been the pass from this morning, and wavy lines that might have been the river. The trail continued up to the ridge where they’d stopped, and then veered right toward Lost Canyon. There was no sign—at least not as far as they could tell—of a trail straight ahead.

  “It must be the trail going that way,” said Tracy, pointing right.

  “I don’t know,” Todd said. “It looks like we should be heading here.” He tapped the paper to a point on the ridge.

  “But the loop has us always bearing right,” Tracy countered. “What do you think, Oscar?”

  Oscar wasn’t sure. All he knew was that they had already traveled five miles over rough terrain and he was feeling damned tired. He couldn’t believe that they were trusting this hand-drawn, faded, and now waterlogged map that had been made by God-knows-who, who might have been stoned or nature-drunk or just plain mischievous when he put these images on paper. Oscar took the GPS unit off his waistband and tried to pull up a map. But he hadn’t bought the detailed topo software, so all he could see was that they were somewhere in the mountains, with Fresno to the west. And that they now stood at just under 8,300 feet. There was no detail whatsoever. “I don’t know.”

  Todd was fiddling with Tracy’s compass, shifting and adjusting the black wheel on a rectangle of plastic. “That’s almost due east,” Todd said, pointing at the distant range. “And this,” he gestured toward the more defined trail, “goes south.”

  “So does this other one,” Tracy argued. “It just heads southwest a little.”

  “It could be either one,” said Oscar. “Gwen? What do you think?”

  Gwen was staring off, exhausted, not really engaged. “What?”

  “Which way do you think we should go?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “It’s up to you guys.”

  “Well, I think we go down,” Tracy said. “Why don’t we give it a shot? If it doesn’t seem right, we can always backtrack and take the other trail.”

  They could, but the thought of having to climb back up the slope with their heavy packs did not sound appealing to Oscar. He was pissed they were in this predicament, but what could they do? “Okay,” he agreed.

  And Todd said, “All right, we’ll try it. But let’s reassess in a mile or so. Okay?”

  They packed up their trash and put their socks and shoes back on. Gwen looked disheveled—a few strands of her hair were escaping from her hat, and her face was covered with sweat. Todd’s neck and cheeks had burned through his stubble and he looked dried out; his legs were streaked with mud from the river. Even Tracy seemed worse for the wear. Her black hiking shirt was dusty and there was a big bruise blooming on her shin, which disappeared when she zipped her pant legs back on. Oscar knew he looked no better. But he realized he liked how they looked. They’d spent two nights in the backcountry, hiked almost fourteen miles, crossed a river, and topped out at a significant pass. They were battle-tested now. They were for real.

  Tracy started down to the right, cutting steeply into the tight new canyon. Bushes and branches grew everywhere, scratching Oscar’s legs, and he was about to wonder aloud if this was a game trail when they were suddenly past the obstacles and the path opened up. It was narrow, but it was definitely a human trail—there was a deliberateness to the way the ground was cleared, and a few rocks and logs had been positioned to create steps. This wasn’t the smoothest, easiest trail, but it seemed to be the right one.

  They’d hiked about twenty minutes when Tracy yelled, “Ow! Shit!” She turned back toward them, covering her shoulder. When she moved her hand, there was a dime-sized circle of blood—and a small piece of curved metal protruding from her flesh.

  “Are you okay?” Gwen asked. “What is that?”

  Todd looked closer. “It’s a fish hook.”

  “How weird,” Gwen said. “Let me get my first aid stuff.” And quick as that, she slung her pack off and produced a small red bag, out of which she pulled tweezers, some kind of wipe, Neosporin.

  Todd rolled Tracy’s sleeve up and held her arm in his hand. “It hooked you good, b
ut I think we should be able to pull it right out. Can you take it?”

  “Sure,” Tracy said. Her face was resolute.

  Todd took out his Leatherman, opened the scissors, and cut off the short, curved end of the hook. Then he switched the tool to pliers and carefully pulled out the long part of the hook, working in a curving motion to follow the path it had taken through the flesh. Tracy’s face looked like she had smelled something awful—but there was no cry of pain, not even a sharp intake of breath. Then it came free, a sharp, bloody piece of metal, and the blood trickled out of the two small wounds. Gwen pressed some cotton against them, and they all stood and looked at each other.

  “Are you okay?” Oscar asked, feeling useless.

  “Yeah. It’ll be fine. But what the fuck? What’s a fish hook doing way out here?”

  “There’s probably a creek down here,” Todd said. “Maybe someone just lost some equipment.”

  “In a tree?”

  Todd shrugged. “Who knows? Didn’t the ranger say there are guys who live out in these woods?”

  Once the bleeding had slowed, Gwen dabbed some Neosporin onto the wound, applied a fresh ball of cotton, and pressed two strips of tape into place.

  “Thanks,” Tracy said. “You’re an expert.”

  “I’m with kids a lot,” Gwen replied. “You wouldn’t believe some of the stuff they get into.”

  As they continued down into the canyon the trail grew indistinct, until finally they reached a point where there was no trail at all, just a solid tangle of bushes and trees. The ground was covered with fallen pine needles and the forest was so thick here they couldn’t see more than twenty feet ahead. They stopped in a small clearing and looked at each other. One especially large tree was trailing its limbs like an exasperated woman, arms flung down and palms turned up in surrender.

  “Uh, we seem to have hit a dead end,” Todd observed.

  “Yeah,” Tracy said. “Weird.”

  They all stood silently for a moment. In the quiet they heard the trickle of an unseen creek.

  “Well,” Tracy said, “maybe you or I could go explore and see if the trail starts up again.”