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"We'll never make it back up that canyon," he told them. At first, he and the
Mexican made good progress, then the canyon narrowed to a slick-rock slot, and
the little stream disappeared over the top of a ledge-a waterfall impossible to
descend. By using the rope it appeared possible to climb 200 feet up, the canyon wall and detour the waterfall. Then followed hours of treacherous rock work, ascending with only finger-tip holds, and rappelling down vertical pitches that could not be scaled otherwise. Marcario had never been on a climbing rope, but spurred by his companion's instruction and encouragement he faced it like a veteran. Finally they arrived in a granite crevasse 700 feet below the top of the waterfall. The canyon ahead looked good. "We'll be out in two hours," Bernhard assured his companion. "Better keep yelling." Their shouts bounced back off the granite walls, but a faint cry reached their ears. Marcario shouted again, and cupped his ear. Again the faint cry. It seemed to come from down canyon. As they hurried ahead they continued to shout. Again they were certain they heard a reply. They continued down the gorge scanning the canyon walls on both sides. Finally Bernhard shouted, "Where are you? Make a |
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hardware. But downstream there was a break where it seemed feasible to climb
out. Filling the two canteens Bernhard instructed Marcario to wait for him until the next morning; then if they had not been able to communicate with each other, to continue out of the canyon and get help. They had become aware of planes and a helicopter flying overhead. Four hours later, after considerable 4th class climbing (which the book said should not be done without a belay) he found 16-year-old Stephen Courtney lying prone on a ledge that could be reached only from above. An empty canteen and a knife were beside him. His lips were swollen, his eyes sunken and his fatigue suit with the insignia of his school in rags. At first he seemed apathetic when Bernhard raised his head and held the canteen to his lips. But soon he revived, and had to be restrained from gulping too much water. After he had eaten the can of soup he brightened and began to talk. ". . . no food since Sunday. . . McBean and I split a can of chili. . . what day is it? . . . I heard you a long way up the canyon. . . afraid you wouldn't hear me . . . sometimes I blacked out . . .we went wrong didn't we. . . leaving the stream.. . did the mule get back? I wanted to follow it, but had never been camping before and was over-ruled." "What did they do, leave you here to die?" asked Bernhard. "Oh, no! I couldn't keep up, and then I got sick . . . you mustn't say that . . . Mr. Downs is experienced. How are you going to get me out?" It was 5:00 p.m.-and there was nowhere to go but up. Bernhard tied the rope around the boy's waist, and then climbed ahead and then pulled the weakened youngster after him. Foot by foot they made their way up 400 feet. Then it became dark and they hovered around a small campfire to keep warm through the night. When daylight came they worked down the steep walls to the creek and found Marcario roasting the four potatoes. The remaining two miles to the mouth of the canyon were easy. A helicopter was waiting for them there. After they had separated, McBean had found his way out of the canyon and was the first to be rescued by the helicopter. Downs, who had left the boys Sunday to go for help had gotten out of the canyon and turned north across the desert. Andy Meling and his Mexicans followed his tracks and caught up with him the next day at the mouth of a canyon three miles away. He had survived by eating cactus. DESERT MAGAZINE |
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