Only by Blood and Suffering: Regaining Lost Freedom

by LaVoy Finicum

  “My wife and children are out here, could I talk to someone please? You don’t need to unlock your door, I just want to talk to you. I think I have something that you might like to trade for.”

  From inside of the motor home and older man’s voice spoke up, “We don’t need anything. Go away!”

  It was Jill’s soft voice that turned the tide of my failing negotiations. “Sir,” she replied, “Please, may we have just a moment of your time?”

  This time a woman’s voice could be heard. “For Pete’s sake, George, there are children out there. Open that door.”

  Muffled voices could be heard bantering back and forth inside. A light came on and the door opened. An older man, dressed in cotton thermal underwear, stepped away from the door he had just opened. In the left hand he held a battery powered lamp and in the right hand a long kitchen knife. A grandmotherly looking woman peered around the door and looked at my family. “George, let them come in; can’t you see they have a baby?”

  The man stepped back another step but kept a tight grip on the knife. I stepped into the motor home and my family followed me. It was a lovely motor home and roomy. The lamp was placed on a table and we were soon seated. The old man also took a seat, but with a suspicious gaze, and did not release his grip on the knife.

  I started. “Thank you. I appreciate your time and hospitality.” The man still glared. “I will get right to the point.” In a succinct and straightforward manner I laid out what I believed had just happened. I then laid out the grim scenarios that they would likely face in the coming days. Even in the poor light I could see their faces turn a little more ashen.

  “I believe that we may be able to trade a few items that may benefit each other.” I continued, “I need a couple of mountain bikes. I am taking my family across the canyon.”

  “What?” replied the old lady. You will never make it with those little ones.”

  “You may be right Ma’am, but I know the country and my family lives on the other side. With those bikes it gives me a fighting chance.”

  “If what you say is right, why should we give you the bikes? We’ll need them.” The old man joined the conversation for the first time.

  “That is right, sir. You may need them but I’ll bet that by 9:00 this morning they will be gone. Someone will take them off the back of your bumper anyway.”

  “Why didn’t you take them yourselves? We couldn’t have stopped you.” The old woman said.

  “Because, they are not ours,” Jill said simply.

  They were beginning to grasp and understand the seriousness of the situation.

  “I may be able to help you,” I said. With that, I asked Jill to hand me the snubbed nose revolver. “This will do a lot more keeping you and your things safe than that knife you have. I will trade you this and the bullets for your two bikes.”

  Taking the keys to the Escalade and U-Haul trailer from my pocket, I handed them to the old man, along with the pistol.

  My white Escalade is a couple of hundred yards back of here. These are the keys to it and the U-Haul trailer. There is food and some good supplies in it. With a little of that food you may be able to trade for another set of bikes. You will be in a much better position than you are now.”

  As the old lady had said, I could have just taken the bikes. But a core value that the Old Cowboy, my father, had instilled in me would not let me cross that line. It was a hard and fast line in his world. If you did not earn it, if you did not pay for it, if it was not given to you, it wasn’t yours. The thought of the gold jewelry in my pockets and the cash in my shirt caused me to pause. What side of the line was I standing on when I took that stuff? Right now I was going to call it a gift from God because I really, really needed those bikes.

  Reaching inside of my shirt, I pulled out five bundles of hundred dollar bills. “And if people don’t know how valuable food has just become, here is some cash for the fools that think this paper still has value.”

  George may have been a cranky old man but he wasn’t a stupid old man. Within five minutes Jill and I were peddling up the dark freeway with our children and packs strapped to us.

  “Look out for the bad men tied up by the trailer,” I called back as we left.

  The small flakes of snow were still falling but the roads were still passable for the bikes. I was glad that Jill was not a couch potato. She loved swimming and aerobics. With Jamie bundled to her front and a pack on her back, she was able to keep up with me as I led the way. With my skills as a computer programmer, which skills now were of no value, I had made a good living. I liked spoiling my wife and was able to give her lots of extra stuff. All the extra stuff that had seemed so important just a short time ago meant nothing now. It was all stripped away and only that of real value was left standing—my wife and children.

  I had always loved them but that feeling was now intensified. Jill’s willingness to trust and jump out into the dark with me made her even dearer to my heart. I could not fail her. I could not fail our children.

  It was a steady climb in elevation to the mountain valley of Williams, but we made good time. It was still a couple of hours before morning when we crested the valley ridge and coasted into town. It was dark and very quiet. Peddling down Rail Road Avenue, I shined my light on the street signs as I passed them. I was looking for Highway 64 and at the east end of town I found it. From here it was 58 miles straight north to the rim of the Grand Canyon.

  I paused a moment to check on Jill and the baby. “How are you and the little one doing?” I asked.

  “Dan, the baby is fussing. I need to change her diaper and feed her.”

  There was a store front that faced east, Pine Country Store by name. It had a wood boardwalk with a porch roof over it. It gave a little shelter from the breeze and falling snow. “Here, Jill. You can change the baby here.”

  I took off my coat and laid it on the boardwalk. Jill unbundled Jamie and laid her on the coat. Jill then took her coat off and handed it to me. “Please hold this close to the baby as I change her to block the breeze and keep her from getting chilled,” she asked of me.

  Little Will stood shivering by the wall as Jill and I knelt over the baby. Jill worked quickly as I held the coat and flashlight. Baby Jamie was soon bundled back up and Jill sat on the step of the store to nurse her.

  “We would be in a bad way right now,” I thought to myself, “if Jill had chosen to bottle feed and not nurse. All I have to do is take care of mom and she will take care of baby.”

  The nursing was often disrupted as the baby would cough, cry and then try to nurse again. I wished that I had gotten her to the doctor.

  “She feels like she has a fever, Dan.” I could feel the worry in her voice.

  It was 58 miles to the rim. From there, seven miles down the Kaibab Trail to Phantom Ranch. The last seven miles would drop us over 4,500 feet in elevation. It would be warmer there. It would be closer to home.

  I was worried. The cough and fever worried me. Of all the times for the baby to get sick, this was not one of them. “Jill, it is 68 miles to Phantom Ranch. If we can keep an eight to ten mile an hour clip, even with stops for rest, we can be there before dark.”

  With that we loaded packs, children and peddled north. It was a long dreary day. Worry for the little one gave us new determination and we pushed ourselves physically. One could not tell where the sun was through the snow clouds but it was sometime in the afternoon when we hit the guard shack at the park entrance. There was no park ranger and we peddled through without stopping. We rode through the little town and then past the ranger station. People were standing outside the station. They seemed lost and waiting for the park ranger to emerge from the building to give them guidance.

  The large group turned their heads and watched as we peddled by. We did not wave, we did not acknowledge them. They were sheep waiting for a shepherd that would not come. How many generations had it been, as the quiet beat of government drums grew ever louder, beating out the mantra, “W
e can help, we can make it fair, you can trust us.” The “Good Government Shepherds” were not here for these sheep and in the days and weeks to come they would be torn by wolves.

  The sign for the Kaibab Trail was ahead and without pausing we went over the rim. The last seven miles down the steep canyon would not have been hard were it not for the loads we packed. The weight of our children and packs caused our muscles to ache. I was feeling exhausted and again was amazed at the iron will of my wife. Even with that iron will I could see she was nearing her limit.

  I was glad that the trail was wide and easy to travel. Even with our exhaustion it did not take long for us to descend more than 4,500 feet in elevation. Soon we had reached the narrow suspension bridge that spanned the river at the bottom of the canyon. We had done it. We had made the trip before darkness came upon us and it was much warmer here. Warmer was a relative term but, compared to the bitter winter weather at the rim, this was almost pleasant.

  Dismounting our bikes we walked them through the small rock tunnel that opened onto the bridge. The bridge was narrow and still high above the water. The river bank on the opposite side had a sandy beach. This was the boat beach for the river trips that passed here. There were six boats pulled up to the beach, two from one company and four from another. This was the place I was looking for. I knew this place.

  After high school, I had the opportunity to work my way through the canyon twice as a swamper. A young man with a strong back could get a free river boat trip through the Grand Canyon if he would be a swamper. A swamper was one that did all the loading and unloading of the boats at each campsite.

  Across the bridge and past the boat beach was a large side ravine called Bright Angel Canyon. It was a pleasant spot with a ranger station and a dozen other small buildings all nestled beneath large cottonwood trees. Here I could find rest and shelter for my family.

  Jill was exhausted, Little Will could not keep his eyes open and the baby was sick, but we had made it to Phantom Ranch.1 I judged that there were about 45 minutes of daylight left with one hurdle still to cross.

  “Jill,” I spoke encouragingly, “Just a little further before we stop.”

  We needed to get these bikes across the bridge and hidden before a park ranger saw us. Isolated down here in the bottom of the Grand Canyon, they would not yet know what had happened. We had no permit to be here, plus, we had come on mountain bikes. These were arrestable offenses.

  Crossing over the bridge, I quickly hid the bikes behind some rocks above the boat beach. Taking Jill and the children another 100 feet, I secreted them in a clump of willows.

  “Stay here, I’ll be back.”

  “Please hurry, Dan,” Jill’s voice was pleading. “The baby is getting worse.”

  “I must not let them down, I must not fail them,” were the thoughts that raced through my mind as I walked towards the buildings. My plan was simple. With six boats beached tonight, the park rangers would not remember every face. I walked past the ranger station as if I was a tourist enjoying the evening.

  A hefty female park ranger stood by the front. There was an air of authority and arrogance about her and one could assume that she was the head ranger. I waved to her and she half nodded back.

  Beyond the ranger station were more than a half dozen guest cabins built of native stone. The boatmen and tourists were scattered about visiting in pairs and small groups. I sat on a picnic bench and tried to look relaxed. I studied the people in each group. As I studied their faces and body language, l looked for someone with a sincere and friendly face. A young couple caught my eye. They sat alone in front of the far cabin. With smiling faces, they were engaged in a cheerful conversation. Within five minutes of watching them, they stood up and walked into the cabin. When their door shut, I left the picnic bench and causally walked to the cabin. I struggled to appear nonchalant as I knocked on the door. The door opened and I was greeted by a smiling young woman.

  Manufacturing a smile of my own, I started. “Hi. How are you two enjoying your trip so far?”

  “It’s wonderful,” she replied, looking a little quizzical.

  “Yeah, it’s a great trip isn’t it? This is my third trip to Phantom Ranch.” That was the truth. “But I’m a little puzzled with some events. Do you have a moment?”

  Thinking I was a tourist from the other outfit, I was quickly welcomed in.

  After a little chit chat, I laid the bait. “Are any of your boatmen’s satellite phones working?”

  “No,” the young man replied. “Our boatman said it was the first time he could not get out with his satellite phone, but he didn’t seem too worried.”

  “How about the landline phone at the ranger station?” I queried.

  “The ranger lady said that line disruption happens here once in a while. Although, it is a little coincidental,” he added.

  “What if I told you that I’m not a tourist from the other outfit; that I have just come down from the South Rim and there is no phone service there either? Along with no phone service, there is no power and it is the same in the town of Williams.”

  “No way!” The girl said, not so cheery now. “I heard that the helicopter didn’t make its scheduled drop at the ranger station today. I wonder if it’s related.”

  That was the response I was waiting for. “It is, and it’s a lot worse than no phone and no power. I think that our country has been attacked.”

  “Another 9-11?” the young man questioned.

  “I wish that it was just another 9-11, but it’s much worse. No vehicles are running anywhere.” I said.

  “But our boats are running,” the girl replied.

  “I think it is because you are in this deep canyon. You’ve been sheltered from the effects of the nuclear strike.”

  “Nuclear strike? No way!” This time the girl’s “No way!” was much more intense.

  “I believe so and there will be no one to pick you up when you get to the end of your river trip. Right now I could use your help.”

  I had judged the couple right. Darkness had come and under that cover, I brought my family to their cabin.

  It now had been 39 hours without sleep for me and close to the same for Jill. We were beyond exhaustion. The young man had suggested going to the park ranger for help but, after explaining how that would not be the best thing for me and my family, he agreed to go get the head boatman.

  Not being fully trusting, I kept the Kimber under my coat and within easy grasp of my hand. The cabin was cozy. It had one bed and a propane heater that was taking the chill off our bones. I was having a hard time keeping my eyes open while he was gone. In 15 minutes the door reopened and in walked a tall, lanky boatman. He had a short beard and a stocking cap over long brown hair. I rehearsed to him all that I had just previously told the young couple. To my relief, he believed me without question.

  “Man!” he said. “We’re all in a deep pile of dog crap. My relatives live clear back in Virginia. I’ll never make it back there, so I don’t know how I can help you. I don’t know how we are going to help ourselves.”

  I looked at him earnestly, “If you make room on one of your boats for my family and bikes and then drop me off at the Thunder River trail, I will be in you debt. My father’s ranch is north of Kanab and that is where I am headed. I can’t go up the North Kaibab Trail. The North Rim will have six to eight feet of snow by now. The roads are all closed down. But, if I go out at Thunder River I will be at a lower elevation. There will be some snow but it won’t be too deep. The trouble being, as you well know, getting to Thunder River without a boat is a very long and difficult thing to do from here.” I paused and then started again. “If you do that, I promise you there will be a place for you at my father’s ranch.”

  The boatman stood there a moment, looking down at the floor in thought. Unconsciously, he was nodding his head up and down in approval at the suggestion. Then he started slowly shaking his head sideways as other thoughts came to him.

  “It’s a long way fr
om where we end at Lake Mead to Kanab with a whole lot of desert in between. Doing that on foot is a tall order even for a desert rat like me.” He said. “And I have to keep my commitment to get these boats safely through the canyon. If it wasn’t for that I’d climb out with you at Thunder River.”

  I liked the man. Commitment. Honoring one’s agreement. What a refreshing thing to see in action.

  “I’m glad to meet a man with integrity.” I said. “I think I can help a little.”

  With that I took the jewelry from both coat pockets and the remaining $10,000 cash from inside my shirt. I laid them on one of the beds. It was easy to see that the jewelry was high end and there was a lot of it.

  I continued, “The cash really is of little value but you can get somewhere with the jewelry. This is for the three of you. There should be more than enough for you to get three bikes and some extra supplies. The ranch sits outside of the little town of Orderville. That’s just above Kanab.”

  There was a handshake and the boatman gathered the stuff up off the bed. “If you are at the boats by the time we launch I’ll put you aboard.” With that he walked out the door.

  I was spent, but my family was warm and safe for now. Sleep was demanding her due and the couple offered us the bed. I put Jill and little Will in the bed and took the floor. The young lady kindly took the baby that was in and out of a fitful sleep, and tended her. Too tired to take my boots off, I was asleep as soon as I stretched out.

  _____________________

  1. Phantom Ranch, along with many other places noted in this book, actually exists as described.

  Chapter 8

  CAT

  January 27th

  I do not know how long I had slept on that brushy ridge. The ominous clouds were still spitting little flakes of snow, making it impossible to tell the location of the sun. My watch wasn’t working. I guessed that I had slept from four to six hours and it was sometime in the afternoon. After re-rolling my sleeping bag I again started walking west. The trip ahead was daunting but doable. I wished I were not alone and tried not to think of Mom.