Death in Zion National Park

by Randi Minetor

  With so many packs containing most of their food lost in the whirlpool, the boys and Brewer took inventory of their remaining supplies. The menu was meager: “. . . nine packages of pudding, twelve Kudo candy bars, a couple of fruit roll-ups and nine packages of instant oatmeal. The candy bars provided breakfast for two days; the pudding was supper as each survivor took one bite and passed it on to the next.” A box of raisins became a shared meal, with the boys passing the box around in a circle and taking one raisin each until they were gone. “That box lasted twenty minutes,” Brewer said.

  During the day Brewer came up with projects to keep the boys’ minds occupied. They built a rock ledge out of cobbles they found near the creek, making it about eighteen inches wide and six feet long, as a platform on the edge of the water. The boys spent time each day improving their surroundings to increase their sense of security. One day they tore an inner tube into strips that would fit into the top of a mess kit, in hopes of lighting it to make a signal fire for the rescue crews they hoped would arrive on Sunday. In between projects they sang hymns they all knew from church. They watched as the water levels dropped on Saturday, giving them a larger area in which they could dry out their clothing and belongings, and move around to keep warm.

  So they remained for four nights until Monday, when the first evidence of a search turned up: the sound of a helicopter overhead. The chopper left and returned twice, but despite their best attempts to attract its attention with leaps, waves, whistles, and calls, Brewer and the boys remained hidden in the darkness. Finally, at about 4:00 p.m., they thought they heard someone whistle back at them. At 4:45 the boys shrieked with relief when an orange rescue rope dropped directly in front of them. “I can’t describe the exhilaration and exuberance we felt at that point,” Brewer said.

  Soon climbers from the National Park Service and the Washington County Sheriff’s Office descended and helped the boys up the cliff face, using a winch to lift them to the surface. They camped on top of the mesa that night, well fed and ready to rest under the stars. Early Tuesday morning, a helicopter took them to park headquarters.

  Even with the devastating loss of two friends and leaders, Brewer noted days after the experience ended, some good came of the troubled excursion. “Five boys went in there and five men came out,” he said. “You could see the personal and spiritual development as time went on. They pulled together and rose to the occasion.”

  Once the boys were safe, workers went about retrieving the bodies from the canyon. The remains of Kim Ellis came out first on the same day, but the cold water, the high water levels, and the narrow terrain delayed the discovery and removal of Fleischer’s body until eleven days later. According to the morning report generated by Zion National Park in July 1994, the effort by searchers working their way up the bottom of Kolob Canyon was “one of the most technically demanding and hazardous retrievals undertaken by the combined county/park SAR team,” completed under the direction of district ranger Dave Buccello.

  The boys were home again, but their families were left with a single persistent question: Why did the water levels rise so suddenly on July 15, 1993? Weather forecasters had not predicted thunderstorms or heavy rains on that date, so the expedition leaders had not encountered any weather warnings that would deter their trip.

  The answer came from the Washington County Water Conservancy District (WCD). A dam at Kolob Reservoir, northeast of the canyon, maintains a constant flow of shallow water through the canyon at any time of the year, so canyoneering visitors find a manageable creek and cooling pools as they move along the bottom. During the growing season, however, the dam serves as part of a sophisticated irrigation system, releasing much heavier flows to the waiting farmlands to the south. The hiking party from Riviera Ward found themselves in the canyon just as the dam released a scheduled irrigation stream.

  Outside magazine carried a quote from Ron Thompson, district manager of the Washington County WCD, that said his June records “show that a ranger had been told weeks earlier that the reservoir would be releasing large amounts of runoff into the creek through the spring and summer. ‘Anyone familiar with the area should have known that water would be up,’ said Thompson.”

  Who was to blame for this confluence of events became a matter for the courts. In January 1994 the survivors and the families of Ellis and Fleischer filed thirteen claims under the Federal Tort Claims Act, which allows plaintiffs to hold the federal government responsible for specific kinds of wrongdoing. The suit sought a total of $24,556,813 in damages, injuries, and wrongful death. “The claimants say Zion National Park officials failed to warn expedition leaders of unusually large flows of water being released into the canyon from Kolob Reservoir,” the High Country News reported. “The claims accuse park employees of negligence for issuing a backcountry hiking permit despite the doubly dangerous conditions, and say the agency ‘indeed, supported and encouraged the group’s expedition into the canyon.’”

  The dollar amount represented the total of the lawsuits filed by four of the five boys, Brewer, and Ellis’s and Fleischer’s families. “The survivors say they suffer flashbacks, reduced ability to concentrate, post-traumatic stress syndrome, and physical discomfort from their prolonged exposure to cold temperatures and water,” the High Country News reported. “The survivors each want $495,000 for such personal injuries . . . as well as compensation for lost camping equipment and climbing gear—from a $5 water bottle to a $600 sleeping bag.”

  The surviving spouses each wanted $7.8 million in wrongful death suits, and each of the children sought $925,000.

  Not everyone believed the families should bring such suits. “In Utah, where an estimated 70 percent of the population is Mormon, there has been discussion among church members about whether the lawsuit adheres to the teachings of the church,” the High Country News noted. Outdoor enthusiasts also worried that if public land managers turned out to be culpable for the results of this expedition, wide areas of land could be closed to recreational use in fear that any accident could result in big payouts for the survivors.

  After six months of investigation and examination of the case, US Interior Department solicitor Lynn Collins determined that the federal government could not be held liable for the injuries and deaths. “We regret that this unfortunate incident took place and that two members of the hiking party lost their lives,” she wrote in a letter to the families’ law firm. “However, our review of the information in this matter indicates no evidence of negligence by any employee of the United States.”

  The survivors and families, continuing to seek restitution, filed another lawsuit against the National Park Service and the water district on August 9, 1994. The suit indicated that they intended to seek a jury trial in the US district court in Salt Lake City. The charge: The ranger who issued the permit did not adequately inform the hikers of the dangerously high water levels, even though the park service and the water district knew the water would be high. This would be a difficult case, however, because the hikers’ trip actually began in a part of Kolob Canyon that was outside of the park—and the permit issued to them was for the Narrows, a section of the hike several miles south. “Fleischer’s permit, say Park Service officials, was marked with a ‘high’ danger rating,” the High Country News reported. “When the danger is measured as ‘extreme,’ park officials refuse to issue permits. During periods of ‘high’ danger, rangers can only recommend against expeditions; legally they cannot refuse a permit if other general requirements are met—hikers must have proper equipment and maps and agree not to build fires . . . The Park Service does not assess danger conditions in Kolob Canyon, since it is remote, difficult to access and outside the park.”

  While Hollywood producers made inquiries about the potential for movie rights to the hikers’ stories, a miasma of controversy continued to swirl around this hiking party and the families of the deceased. The Utah canyoneering community squared off in the media, scrutin
izing the Explorer Scouts’ actions, their equipment, and whether they should have known about the danger before they began the expedition. Reports noted that group members had canceled their hike twice before because of high-water conditions, so they may have felt more determined to make the trip this time despite the warning signs. When they discovered the creek was too high to proceed, some experts suggest that they could have hoisted one leader out of the canyon so he could work from the surface to bring the others out. Some suggest that even if the water was ankle deep to start, the leaders should have known that the flow and level would increase as the canyon narrowed.

  Soon the debate about this case became a pitched battle between those who believed the park should take more responsibility for warning people of the dangers of particularly risky activities, and those who called on all risk-takers in parks to accept personal culpability for their own actions. They cited cases throughout the national park system that had led the park service to consider a “no rescue” zone in Denali National Park, and the efficacy of charging climbers fees to offset the $10,000-per-person cost of each rescue from the park’s Mt. McKinley, the highest mountain in North America. In Yosemite National Park a man had sued to have a sign placed at the summit of Half Dome, making the obvious point to climbers that they should not stand there during a lightning storm. Outdoor enthusiasts feared that expert climbers and novice hikers alike could be barred from the physical challenges and extraordinary sights that make the parks such popular destinations.

  “Most of these tragedies are avoidable,” said Charles Cook, then director of the National Center for Wilderness Activities, in the High Country News story. “What’s upsetting to me is to discover that I can no longer enter a particular area because it has been closed off after a fatality. My freedoms on public lands are infringed by people who were not aware of the risks involved.”

  In the short term, the most significant change came from Zion management. They asked the Washington County Water Conservancy District to “inform rangers by fax as well as telephone when water is released from the reservoir,” according to an Outside magazine story. Beyond that the park made no other immediate policy shifts.

  Finally, in August 1996, the survivors, the National Park Service, and the Washington County Water Conservancy came to an out-of-court settlement of $2.24 million: $1.49 million from the park service, and $750,000 from the Water Conservancy. The officials involved in the settlement made it clear to media that this “was not an admission of liability,” but it did bring the matter to a close.

  Tragedy in Keyhole Canyon

  “We are not a beginning hiking group,” Don Teichner, one of the founders of the Valencia Hiking Crew, told potential members on Meetup.com. “A small amount of danger or risk, while still being safe, can also add to a hike’s enjoyment.”

  Teichner and six California-based friends found themselves facing more than a small amount of danger on September 14, 2015, when they descended into Keyhole Canyon in the heart of Zion National Park. The inconspicuous slot canyon, sculpted by eons of flash floods snaking their way between sandstone walls, attracts hundreds of explorers each summer because it’s considered a beginner-level canyoneering experience. Five minutes from the Zion–Mt. Carmel Highway and just 1,200 feet long, the canyon requires three short rappels of about thirty feet each to reach the bottom, followed by wading and occasionally swimming through pools created by the Clear Creek tributary that hollowed out this crevice through the sandstone. In some places the canyon becomes so tight that hikers can reach left and right and touch both walls at the same time.

  Six of the seven hikers—Gary Favela, fifty-one, of Rancho Cucamonga; Teichner, fifty-five, of Mesquite, Nevada; Muku Reynolds, fifty-nine, of Chino; Steve Arthur, fifty-eight, and Linda Arthur, fifty-seven, both of Camarillo; and Robin Brum, fifty-three, of Camarillo—began their day at an introductory training session led by instructors Laura Dahl and B. J. Cassell of Zion Adventure Company in Springdale. The five-hour class covered canyoneering skills for both Keyhole Canyon and the Subway, a much larger and more challenging slot canyon off of the Narrows. Of the seven in the group, six had never gone canyoneering before (the seventh member, Mark MacKenzie, fifty-six, of Valencia, was the exception)—although they were no strangers to adventure. Six of the members had traveled all over the world to take on challenging hikes together, like Mt. Kilimanjaro in Tanzania and Machu Picchu in Peru. Brum was on her first trip with the group.

  “This quick progression from ground school to self-guided canyoneering has played out thousands of times here with relatively few incidents,” noted Outside writer Grayson Schaffer in a special report for the magazine in May 2016. Commercial guides are not permitted inside the park, so the sixty-thousand-plus people who obtain backcountry permits every year face each canyon’s walls on their own. Canyoneers follow an ethic known as ghosting, Schaffer explained, in which they make every effort to leave nothing behind—no ropes, anchors, or other equipment—so each party experiences the canyon in its purest form, “as a mystery to be solved.”

  MacKenzie went into the park to the visitor center at 7:40 a.m. and bought a permit for the planned Keyhole trip. When he received the permit, the ranger told him that the National Weather Service predicted a 40 percent chance of precipitation, with a possibility of a heavy thunderstorm in the afternoon. The flash flooding risk for the day stood at “moderate,” with floods in slot canyons the most likely. “The ranger who handed that permit to that man said, ‘I would not go today,’” Zion chief ranger Cindy Purcell told the London Daily Mail. “However, the people who go make the choice, they sign the paper that says that it is their safety and their responsibility.”

  “Less than an hour after the California group received a permit to Keyhole, the weather service raised the chance of rain to 50%,” the Los Angeles Times reported the following Sunday. “At the Zion visitor center, a ranger wrote on a cardboard sign near the wilderness desk that flash flooding that day was ‘probable.’ Rangers also informed people verbally when they sought permits.”

  After the training class, members of the group made contact with family members at home in California. Teichner called his wife, Karen Adams, from the Watchman campground to check on the weather, while MacKenzie texted his son a photo of his surroundings with a bright blue sky in the background. “Maybe Keyhole this afternoon,” he said in the text. Later, his phone was found in his truck with a page from the NOAA national weather service still open, listing the Zion forecast for the day as “dry.”

  At that point there was still only a chance of rain. When the group drove nine miles farther into the park around 2:00 p.m., they lost their cellular phone and data connections, leaving them with no way to see the warning the National Weather Service generated twenty-two minutes later: MOVE TO HIGHER GROUND NOW. ACT QUICKLY TO PROTECT YOUR LIFE. “The warning was publicized through several media sources and posted in all of the park’s contact stations,” a Zion National Park news release noted. “Canyons were closed to canyoneering.”

  None of this information reached the seven soon-to-be canyoneers.

  The first storm arrived north of the park at about 2:30 p.m. Chances are the Valencia hikers did not see the clouds off to the southwest as they walked in from the parking area to the canyon; perhaps the dark mass was hidden from view by the high sandstone walls of the surrounding landscape. They paused to take a group photo before they entered the slot canyon, a picture of seven relaxed, happy people clad in wet suits and outfitted with climbing and rappelling gear. As they began to move into the slot canyon, a smaller party of three canyoneers arrived at about 4:15, moving at a faster pace than the group of seven. The trio exchanged greetings with the California group and asked to “play through,” as the new canyoneers descended the first rappel slowly and with care, cheering one another and “having a great time,” according to Jim Clery, who led the smaller group. The three more experienced men slid down the first rappel wit
h ease and moved on. They did not see the seven again.

  When the storm arrived at Zion a few minutes later, “It came down hard—rain, hail,” Clery told Outside. “That’s as fast as I’ve ever seen it change, with as little warning as I’ve ever seen.”

  No one can say exactly what happened next to the Valencia group when the storm hit, but weather records show that 0.63 inches of rain fell in the southern part of Zion in less than an hour, beginning at 4:46 p.m. “Rain streaked sideways,” the Los Angeles Times reported. “Drivers on highways to the north saw dark gray looming over the southern part of Zion.”

  Clery and his two companions raced through the slot canyon to the culvert under the road, emerging in Clear Creek and running to their truck. They knew that the party of seven was still in the canyon, and that their chances of survival were slim at best as the rushing current rose above head height. They drove to the nearest ranger kiosk, but rangers already had their hands full with mud-clogged roads, landslides, fallen trees and boulders, and park buses filled with tourists trying to leave the park.

  “Rangers noted Keyhole Canyons and several other canyons began to flash flood,” the timeline in the park’s news release said. “The flow of the North Fork of the Virgin River rose abruptly from 55 cubic feet per second (CFS) to 2,630 CFS in 15 minutes. River levels this high occur approximately once every three years.”

  Clery’s group finally reached the entrance station, where a ranger took down all the information they could provide about the seven hikers trapped in Keyhole.

  Once the rain let up, rangers acted quickly to determine whether the party could have somehow survived the flash flood. They found the group’s vehicles but saw no evidence that the hikers had emerged from the canyon. “Keyhole Canyon was already flash flooding,” the news release continued. “Due to weather at the time and through the evening, it was determined that rescue operations could not be safely initiated.” The rangers left a note on the windshield of one of the party’s trucks, asking them to check in at a ranger station as soon as they returned.