Brushes with Authority

February 2014, North Phoenix

Parking spots at my crowded high school were reserved for seniors, so driving juniors had to park on a nearby street and walk in, sometimes more than a half-mile. I never minded walking, but even this street was competitive and the latest arrivers would find no parking at all. So students often arrived early, some before sunrise. I enjoy waking up early and being outside for sunrise, so I came up with the unique idea to get there extra early, secure the best parking spot, and walk through the school campus to the desert hills behind it. There, I would cook breakfast on my backpacking stove and enjoy a peaceful morning sunrise before descending to class. I didn't do this all the time, but probably almost 10 times.

Usually, I was able to walk in the shadowy washes with the glow of the city illuminating my steps. But one night felt particularly dark, and I used my phone flashlight to help. As I walked, I looked over and noticed a custodian, standing outside an open door smoking a cigarette. He noticed me, too. But I carried on up to my usual perch, thinking nothing of the interaction. 

Hidden behind some rocks, I enjoyed my breakfast and watched the world wake up. But as students trickled in, I noticed a difference in the happenings below. Multiple golf carts filled with pairs of school staff seemed to be patrolling the perimeter. The drove back and forth along the bus loop, up to the tennis courts, stopping to stand up and look around. Behind my boulders I was invisible, but as it neared classtime I packed my things. I still had to allow some time to walk down the hill and wash my dishes in the bathroom.

At what seemed like an opportune time, I stood up. But immediately I was jarred by the commanding voice of a man who had hiked up to a slope near me. "ARE YOU A STUDENT?", was his first sentence, to which I meekly replies "yes". "WALK TOWARDS ME SOLWLY, THE POLICE ARE ON THEIR WAY".

Wow. That was a little bit more intensity than I was hoping for this on this fine winter morning. Of course I obliged, and soon we were down at the road where two officers and a vice-principal were standing outside their SUVs. I was still carrying my dirty cookset by hand. "What's that, a bomb?" were the cop's first words to me. Pretty wild how these people start their conversations. But I could sense the sarcasm in his voice, so I replied with "well, I suppose you could actually find a way to call it that". I opened it up to show him my stove, lighter, canister of fuel, and spork. The tone of the officers was more casual than I had expected, and after some more explanation they let me go to class, although I was told I would have to pick up my cookset in the office at the end of the day.

In between classes I told some of my friends the story, so it was no surprise to them when I got summoned to the principal's office partway through a class. The principal, whom I had never met, was very nice and surprisingly excited to hear about what he kept referring to as my "morning ritual". But, he said, it would be best if I find somewhere else to do have breakfast in the future. I told him I probably just wouldn't do it anymore, because part of the appeal was securing a good parking spot. He said he would get to work on the parking issue.

May 2015, North Phoenix

It was roughly 2 weeks before my high school graduation, and late at night. My friend group at the time had developed a habit of doing things outdoors after dark once summer started to kick in, to avoid the heat of daytime.

On one such evening, it was perhaps 11pm when 4 of us were driving aimlessly, searching for something entertaining. We had discussed previously the rumored existence of underground tunnels beneath our campus, and revived the idea of exploring them. Parking at a nearby grocery store, we walked a brief 5 minutes to where we found the entrance to what was really just a drainage tunnel, that usually serves to control flooding (not always successfully). After walking in a crouched position for an uncomfortably long time, the tunnel delivered us beyond the locked gates to the back of the campus. We exited the ditch into the natural desert terrain that our school was built against, and climbed a small hill to plan our next move.

Streaking was the obvious answer. What we failed to realize at the time that was that the thrill of streaking is usually associated with being seen. For us it was enough to simply do it. Thoughtfully aware of security cameras, we tied our shirts around our heads to keep from being identified, and ran. Our rendezvous destination would be the underside of the football bleachers, where we redressed. After a break, we ascended to the control room at the top of the bleachers. Locked. But we noticed the chainlink fence on the roof, and suspected roof access. Standing on the door handle, two of us were able to climb to the top, and found a trapdoor. Unlocked. We dropped in.

From here, we unlocked the door and began exploring our surroundings. We found that the chairs in these places are quite comfortable, and the mini-fridge was stocked with gatorade. We observed the towering stack of audio equipment, which all seemed to be powered on. But most exciting of all was a large drawer with only a single item inside, as if someone had left it as a gift to us; a 3.5mm auxiliary audio cord. This was the exact sort of cord that each of us kept in our vehicles to play the music of our choosing from our smartphones. When we found the correct port on the nearby amplifier, it wasn't long before the stadium speakers too were subject to our song choice, at full volume of course. Although it was my phone that was attached, I can somehow say with integrity that I don't remember which music I played. I like to leave that detail of the story subject to imagination. In reality, I think we probably changed each song after 30 seconds or so.

What I do remember is after only a few minutes, we saw a mini-van turn into the school. I paused the blaring noise only seconds before they opened their door to unlock the gate.  With the gate left open, the vehicle proceeded into the parking lot. We wasted no time pondering who this might be, our paniced brains instantly decided we must escape. Unplug the phone, get out the door, run down the bleachers, across the field, hop the fence (so much for the tunnel), through the bushes to our getaway car. Within 3 minutes of the mini-van's arrival, we started the car and headed across the street to a gas station. 

After a quick half-mile drive we pulled into a parking spot, safe. But immediately, we heard an unmistakable noise overhead. Rolling down the hand-crank window, my friend in the front seat stuck his head out to investigate. "Holy. Shit." While undescriptive, these words confirmed our newfound worst fear. The machine above not only bore flashing red and blue lights, but by the time we could all see it we watched it activate a spotlight as well. Never had we imagined that we would be pursued by an authority in this way, but now from a distance we were observing a police helicopter fervently searching the area through which we had run not 7 minutes prior.

Remaining in place did not feel like an option. Taking care to maintain the appearance of calm and normalcy, our driver reversed out of the spot, and headed to the exit of the gas station parking lot. Somehow, we turned right before we noticed the two speeding SUVs flashing read and blue, headed in our direction. Immediately they were behind us, getting larger and larger in the mirror. Our speed slowed and our driver began steering towards the edge of the road as we braced for contact. But to our surprise, before we had come to a complete stop the SUVs blew past us and we watched them turn left into our school just a quarter mile ahead.

Free now to increase our speed, we took an indirect route back to the driver's house. It was after 1am now, but it would be a sleepless night as we worked out our story and pondered what repercussions we might face should we be confronted.  But, we would come to find, not only had we successfully evaded capture with a heavy dose of luck, but our efforts to conceal our identity had been valid as well. We never heard anything about the incident again.

Helicopters

My first helicopter encounter was accidental, and the story is more comical than dire. It's borderline embarassing, but I can write that off on the naivety of youth. I've come to love helicopters. Not for aerial tourism, ski shuttles, transportation of the rich, or any other situation where they are wasteful and unnecessary. But I love them for their usefulness in the most extreme scenarios, where they are incredible tools for solving problems that are otherwise immense.  When you are in a remote place and really need something, being able to summon a sky machine is pretty damn cool. My best friend from college, Kevin, is an army blackhawk pilot and has given me some insight into what it takes to fly them in technical situations. The skill of helicopter pilots who fly rescues and other precision work is extraordinary, and I find it amazing the situations to which these tools can be applied without excessive risk.

 My own interactions with helicopters are rare, but more than a few. Whenever they happen, I feel like it makes for a pretty good story. May as well write some of those down before I forget.

November 2018, Eastern Grand Canyon

In fall of  my junior year of college, before I was much of a backcountry multisport person at all, my best friend Kevin and I began dreaming up what I call "super-weekends". These involved convincing as many people as we could to leave town early Friday morning (whether they had class or not) and seeing how much outdoor activity we could cram into two nights of camping before we returned late Sunday night. Usually. But a Monday holiday like Veteran's Day enable us to extend that glory one day further (a super-duper weekend?). 

In 2018, this was was the perfect opportunity to try out mixing our canyoneering experience with backpacking and the newfound tool of packrafting. The route that we planned was honestly pretty damn creative and cool. Looking at the guidebook, Natgeo map, and for the first time, Caltopo, we designed a trip that would have us rappelling through the technical Big Canyon, hiking down the Little Colorado Gorge and past the Confluence, paddling down the Colorado to Hance Rapid, and hiking up the New Hance Trail. Best of all, we arranged to have some friends join us for Big Canyon as a loop with the Salt Trail, and Daniel to hike down Tanner and boat with us, so didn't have to waste time shuttling. While genius, our trip had numerous flaws:

1. Getting permits for multimodal travel through different land ownerships seemed like a daunting task, so we decided to go entirely without.

2. We underestimated the driving and hiking time on Day 1, so we arrived at the first rappel at 4pm, an hour before dark. We had ambitiously planned to rappel the narrows on Day 1, so we were now behind schedule.

3. Due to college budgets and lack of experience, our packs were obscenely heavy, mine especially so because rather than buy a Klymit packraft like my friends I opted to borrow an 12lb Alpackalypse from an acquaintance.

4. We didn't check the gauge and found the LCR flowing high and brown, but were able to cross without issue. With our heavy loads, it would've been more fun to paddle this 7-mile section, but we worried about the durability of Klymit rafts. In our hurry, I only removed my wetsuit from my upper half. I found the extra padding of the neoprene to increase the comfort of my Osprey hipbelt for the loaded slog, but by the time we made it to camp it had horribly chaffed the back of my knees.

5. While November can be nice down here, it gave us cloudy and windy conditions on day 3, our boating day. This made Joelle and Riley unhappy and distraught, causing them to do some time-consuming portages.

6. I carried everyone's bulky gear because my borrowed raft had a TiZip. The longer setup time and my knee chaffing caused me to stupidly opt to paddle in clothes rather than my wetsuit. I flipped in Lava Canyon rapid and became somewhat hypothermic on the windy shore while we waited for the portagers.

For these reasons, by the time we arrived at Tanner Beach to meet Daniel on day 3, we were about 20 hours behind schedule and morale for continuing was low. But we easily pivoted our goal and planned to hike out Tanner the following day. We were happy to be reunited with Daniel, done suffering for the day, and enjoying good food. There was only one problem; earlier that day, a pair of river rangers had stopped by the beach and talked to Daniel about his situation. Daniel decided that the 4 of us were late enough to consider "missing" and, considering none of us had an inReach, decided to take advantage of this brush with authority to inform them of his (warranted) concern for our safety. The rangers told him that if we did not show up by the end of the day, he should hike out the Tanner trail and call search and rescue. They continued on their way, and 2 hours later we showed up. So all was well.

Until later that afternoon, when we heard the unmistakable noise of a helicopter flying low in the Canyon. "That can't be for us, right?", Joelle asked. Kevin's reply was classic "Oh, that's definitely for us." Immediately the noise solidified into a view of the sky machine itself, flying just above the river. It circled us twice, and then the noise faded as it disappeared from view. "Phew". But in a minute it was back, landing just above the dunes. We all walked up to greet the SAR agent, who had all of our profile pictures on his phone with our names. "Are you Landon, Kevin, Joelle, and Riley?" he asked. "Yes". "Are you all good now?" "Yes." He didn't stick around for any more conversation, got back in the heli, and left. We were worried we might be in trouble for our lack of permits, but that's not the responsibility of SAR.

The next day the 5 of us hiked out Tanner, which with the pack weight was definitely the hardest hike of my life at that point. Along the way, Joelle and I were hiking alone for a while. I had been hoping to propose to her on this trip and had brought the ring, but it was so stressful for her I had given up. Suddenly, while I was suffering most, she began a conversation about how grateful she was for the trip and how enriching experiences like these are. So at the base of the Redwall, I decided to go for it. We had a nice little break there, and then resumed our miserable grind up the hill.

Nearing the top, we correctly anticipated a ranger might be waiting for us at the trailhead to scold us for our behavior. We didn't want that sort of confrontation, so the 4 us hiked direct to some roadside parking while Daniel snuck into the trailhead and pulled his car out. We piled in, and drove towards Flagstaff. Not 30 minutes down the road, Kevin got a call from a the trailhead ranger, confused how we had slipped away and eager to interrogate us. He answered their questions in the most legal-sounding way possible, but we all ended up getting $80 tickets in the mail later.

September 2021, Horn Creek

Since Kevin moved away and my life is increasingly influenced by Joelle, the legality of my activities has increased. If I think about this too much it makes me sad, but I suppose it's probably worth the decrease in risk.  I'm better at planning and more professional. These days, I'm less often wanted by authorities and more often wanting something from them.

The first of these instances was in my first season of guiding backpacking trips. I had just returned to Grand Canyon from a summer away in Wyoming, and it was hot. So hot in fact, that for day 2 of my Hermit Loop I proposed that my group wake up at 4am to begin the long trek across the sunny Tonto with our limited water supply. But I awoke at 2am, to the commotion and light of a guest named Greg trying to locate the composting toilet, which is indeed very difficult to find in the dark. After 5 minutes or so, it became clear that help would be required and I got up to assist. Unfortunately it quickly became clear that Greg was experiencing significant abdominal pain, and the toilet did not help. 

Back at camp, I did an OPQRST pain assessment and used the wilderness medicine pocket guide to interpret the results. The book has a section for abdominal pain which is just a chart that interprets OPQRST results and gives 5 common diagnoses. The chart pointed towards kidney stones. This was interesting, but didn't matter too much for our situation. Greg's pain had worsened and he was now too uncomfortable to walk, which we would soon have to do for our safety. I communicated with my 24/7 support staff via inReach and requested an evacuation. I was put in touch with the NPS SAR coordinator who offered to fly Greg out once daylight hit. At some point during this process, Greg reported that the pain shifted from his lower back to front bladder area, and he felt like he had to pee but couldn't. This basically confirmed the kidney stone diagnosis.

Daylight began at 6:30, but the NPS helicopter didn't land until 9am. Greg was flown to the rim, ambulanced to Flagstaff Medical Center, and given muscle relaxers to help pass the kidney stone. By that afternoon he was at his home in Phoenix. I was saddened that a seemingly random occurance could remove an otherwise well-prepared client from a trip that he was otherwise well prepared for. Interestingly, Greg relayed to me that he had told the doctor he had been drinking electrolyte drink mix daily for weeks leading up to the trip to prepare. The doctor said that not only does this make physiological sense, but that hospitals see a correlation between this electrolyte practice and kidney stones.

As for the rest of me group, we ended up hiking across the Tonto from 9am to 4pm, basically the opposite of what I had hoped. Luckily the helicopter crew had been able to refill our limited water supply, but it was still hot and one other guest was experiencing some heat exhaustion and nausea around noon. An hour long lunch break in the shade helped enough.

That night as the sun set, my group was finishing dinner at a quiet Monument Creek campsite when we heard a voice call out for the help of a ranger. It took a while for me to unravel the story of this unprepared and distraught hiker, but the essence of it was that they had seperated from their group because they were moving dangerously slow and were unwell. So this hiker had gone ahead to get help. I relayed this information to the NPS SAR coordinator, and the distressed hiker camped with us. They had no food or water treatment, and a very small water capacity. As such, when their group didn't show up in the morning, they had no safe choice but to join my group for the remaining 3 days of the trip. Luckily for them, my group now had extra food since Greg was gone.

March 2023, Hermit Trail

I awoke at 5am on a Monday morning to a phone call. It was my manager, informing me that another guide was had gotten sick overnight and asking me if I was available to take over their 4-day trip which departed that morning. Miraculously, I was, and I was actually eager to work since this trip would be Monday-Thursday, the days when Joelle is almost entirely busy with work. This was a reverse Hermit Loop, where we descend the Hermit trail and ascent Bright Angel. Thanks to the last-minute coverage, I knew nothing about the guests and our start time was a 2 hours later than intended. But as I rode in the van to pickup the guests, I reviewed the guest info and food plan, and everything seemed simple.

So I was surprised when a 60-year old (the most common age of our participants) guest named Michelle was the slowest and most unstable hiker hiker I had ever seen. The Hermit Trail is rugged, and descending it is not preferred for guiding, but still, usually any hiker who considers themselves ready for Grand Canyon is comfortable enough on their feet to make decent time and stay upright. So our painfully slow pace and a couple of slips surprising and major red flags. Usually I'm equipped to disqualify a guest like this, but I felt unable to make that decision for a few reasons:

• I didn't predict Michelle being an issue and therefore didn't request my driver wait at the rim to be a support hiker

• My inReach was halfway down my pack, which was a barrier to getting it out discretely

• There was a very encouraging dynamic among the guests, who were all women. They (seemingly happily) offered to carry many items from the Michelle's pack after less than 2 miles. I was uncomfortable breaking up the dynamic by being the lone man who judged the slow hiker as unfit to continue

• Although slow, Michelle felt like she could make it to camp. I thought we might be slow enough to run out of daylight, but I couldn't entirely blame Michelle for this because our departure had been delayed 2 hours

Luckily the weather was perfect and we had adequate water to not need be in a hurry, so our hike continued. Nevertheless, I had constant anxiety about the precariousness of the situation. About one mile and one hour below Santa Maria Spring, things changed rapidly. I was walking in front with Michelle behind me so I could keep track of her, but still it was impossible for me to walk as slow as she was, so I would turn around every 20ft or so and wait. In this particular instance, there was a section of trail that had an inside and outside option, both easy footing for any normal hiker. But to my dismay, by the time I had turned around Michelle had already chosen the outside option and began failing stay upright. A small slip caused a series of quick, unstable steps, leading to a headfirst dive over the 10ft cliff at the trail's edge. I watched in horror as she did a full flip and landed on her feet, collapsed, and slid 10 more feet down the steep slope before coming to a stop, backpack in an agave.

Immediately, when I was able to communicate with her and she said she was alright, I felt a sense of relief. The other 3 guests had been around a corner taking their time and enjoying the scenery and had seen none of this. So they were quite shocked when they came around to find me digging my emergency kit out of my pack and explaining the situation, pointing down to where Michelle had gone. Luckily for me, another woman in the group informed me that she was literally an ER doctor. Pretty convenient! I urged them all to stay calm and carry their things around the next switchback to get below Michelle. She was now closer to the section of trail below us and downhill movement would be much easier than uphill. I easily but cautiously scrambled down and accessed Michelle. She had no visible injuries and was calm and talking well, but did have severe leg pain, and my brief assessment concluded that was the only issue of concern. I opted to release her from her pack and support her as she crab-walked down the slope to a safer and more comfortable position on the trail.

From there, things simplified further. The doctor in the group was very helpful and comforting, but a diagnosis was not possible. What was quite clear was that Michelle had an unusable leg injury and would need to be evacuated. We gave her a maximum dose of ibuprofen and acetaminophen, tried to keep morale high, and I got to work on the inReach coordinating the rescue. It was less than two hours before the helicopter landed maybe a hundred meters up the trail, and a small team of rescuers came down and installed a vacuum splint on her leg and gave her some fentanyl.

Michelle was flown to the rim, ambulanced to Flagstaff Medical Center, and an x-ray determined she had a rotational tib-fib fracture in addition to a tibial plateau fracture; about as severe of a lower leg injury as one can get. Our remaining group's pace increased dramatically and we made it to camp shortly after dark, enjoying the rest of our trip.

April 2023, East Clear Creek

With a big snowpack and big runoff, many boatable waterways were flowing and reservoirs were full, but snow still lingered at high elevations. One of these was East Clear Creek below Cragin Dam. This creek first caught my attention 2 years prior for it's mandatory hiking access and Coconino Sandstone gorges. I planned to do a 45 mile trip in 3 days with a group of friends, but only Joelle and Daniel were available on Day 1, the others would have to hike in via an easier access point the next morning. So our group of 3 setup a shuttle, got a flat tire, fixed it, and donned heavy packs for a simple 5 mile walk to the dam on a closed dirt road. Unfortunately, Joelle had forgotten her shoes and had only Teva sandles for the trip, but she made the walk without issue. We launched our packrafts below an impressive spillway waterfall and proceeded downstream. There was a frequently tight willows to navigate through which made for constant engagement, but the boating didn't feel overly strenuous or dangerous. At 5 miles, we passed under a bridge for the prominent but closed FR95, and about a half-mile later came to our first rapid.

I approached the rapid with caution and after some boat-scouting decided to run it. Daniel followed me through and we had a fun time, but Joelle understandably pulled over on river left. Daniel and I got out on river right and walked upstream with throwbags to encourage Joelle to run it, but she had already committed to portaging, not wanting to waste time. We watched as successfully carried her loaded boat across a precarious talus slope, and then Daniel started walking back as she neared an easy river access point. Unfortunately, while she was descending an embankment I watched in horror as she suddenly collapsed to the ground and screamed in pain. The ground had collapsed underneath her, but I was unable to see that and from my perspective the whole incident seemed totally freakish and unprovoked, to the point where I thought perhaps she had been impaled by a stick or something. Regardless, it seemed pretty urgent, so I ran back to my boat and Daniel and I ferried across.

Joelle had injured her ankle and/or foot very badly, and was in severe pain. She was pretty frantic and panicky, and really just needed to calm down. Eventually what was most helpful was eye contact and taking deep, slow breaths together.  This helped the situation significantly, as we got to a point where we could have logical conversation and she was able to take ibuprofen and acetaminophen. The next task was to figure out how to get out. We gave some thought to continuing down the creek, knowing that there would be at least one big rapid to portage but probably not many. It seemed pretty convenient to have boats as a means of moving an unwalkable person, but we decided this would be too dynamic, especially considering the 3 hours of remaining daylight. At the end of the segment the only access was a 1 mile undrivable dirt road, anyway. 

So our only option would be to retreat upstream to the FR95 bridge, and try to gain vehicle access from the highway. We splinted Joelle's ankle using an ace wrap and the removable foam pad from an SWD backpack, which worked so well it seemed designed for the task. I got to work on the inReach asking knowledgeable friends to put me in touch with someone who might grant access while Daniel and I began packing our boating gear back into backpacks. By this point, Joelle was able to cooperate as well, and began crab-crawling back across the talus slope that would be too technical to carry her over. This would be our exit strategy; Daniel and I would take turns shuttling our 3 heavy packs and carrying Joelle piggyback style up the half-mile of riverbank that was always narrow, rocky, woody, or choked with thorny brush, and usually all of those things. Downriver travel by boat was much easier.

With much effort, we were successfully able to exit the gorge. When the bridge came into sight, we opted instead to head directly up a nice rocky ponderosa slope to the roadcut above, shaving off another 1/4 mile that would probably take an hour. By the time we arrived at the road it was basically dark and the air was rapidly chilling. Luckily we were well equipped with full camping gear, and began to cover ourselves with adequate down insulation. We took some comfort here, knowing that the hardest work was done and we could relax. We had been advised a while ago to simply press the SOS button on the inReach to get in touch with a rescue coordinator directly, and they informed us that sheriff deputies were attempting to access us.  This was a key takeaway of the experience, actually: if you need any outside help, don't be afraid to press the SOS button, just make sure to reply to their texts to avoid drastic rescue efforts. When the deputies finally arrived 3 hours later, they reported that there was some snow and downed trees on the road, so that had to use a chainsaw to cut 5 of them. We piled ourselves and all of our gear into the caged backseat of the SUV, and they drove us back our car. Daniel's car was still at the more remote endpoint of the trip, so he opted to continue by meeting up with our friends the next morning. We dropped him off at the top of the undrivable access road where he spent the night, and by 11pm, Joelle and I were home.