Death Canyon: "Don't tell mum but..."

Death Canyon. Aptly named.

These events occur between mile 1950 and 2086. We are currently at mile 2386.

We were two days walk beyond the elusive Forrester's Pass. It was only going to get easier from here. Then Death Canyon happened. We had done a big day, about 30 miles and it was about 9.30pm - well beyond our bedtime and concentration capacity. As we dropped into the canyon we both looked at each other. The temperature, which we though couldn't get any colder, dropped. Noticeably. Earlier that day, despite the beaming sunlight, rivers and streams had slowly began their journey towards hibernation and stillness. They were freezing over in direct sunlight.

We pull up camp in Death Canyon. There is no water - our maps emphatically indicated otherwise; however, we had a hunch this may be the case so we carried water from 12 miles back. I got the water boiling for hot chocolates and Neil rolled his constitutional. His hands were so cold he could hardly roll his cigarette and is getting a little irrational. Like, hypothermic irrational, and upset at his lack of dexterity. I told him to calm down. That went well. In his rolling determination he sat in the sub zero night for about 30 minutes with the kilt and no warm pants. I had every article of clothing on except for a spare pair of socks and my emergency secret pair of undies. I was shaking and my teeth chattered.

We got into bed, we had the fly on for extra warmth. We felt cold and in desperate need of a good night sleep. It did not come. We moved in frigid denial the whole night. It was a cold that doesn't make your flesh cold but makes your bones cold and makes them ache. There was not a sound in Death Canyon. No insects, no birds, no water. No nothing. To be fair this was not unique - American wilderness appears to be ubiquitously silent. But that silence was very much noticed on this night. We 'woke' at the usual 5.45am and couldn't get up for another 1.5 hours. It was too damn cold. The drink bottle in the tent had frozen solid. My phone refused to charge, showing a thermometer and snowflakes. I had not seen that one before. It was minus 8 at 8am and I suspect it was colder than minus 11 through the night. We had enough equipment to be comfortable at minus 7, or, put another way, we had enough equipment to die at minus 11 and not be comfortable. Neil said his body ached and wasn't sure how far we would get today. I said it will be fine. Pull your socks up and get on with it. That went well.

By 7 miles we had stopped 3 times for NvB to take 30 minute naps on the trail. The third nap turned into an hour and me, what would turn out to be regretfully, eating a family size bag of chips. I read him the final chapter of The Magician. So that's how it ended, us both lying in the trail dirt. It was a bit of a binary starwars ending but I look forward to Silverthorne (I just finished Daughter of the Empire). I really just Anita and Arutha to get it on.

So NvB feels like death with nausea but we soldier on. We then walk into a valley - the windiest valley I've been in. Ever. A fire had clearly been through in years passed. Two trees fell over in front of us. I was not laughing. NvB laughed. I said it wasn't funny and raved that I didn't want to die. That went well. I had now become irrational. We had been in negative temperatures for about 2 or 3 weeks and my face had wind and freezer burn. We then rocked into Kennedy Meadows South, NvB still not doing super well. He proceeds to spend more time in the toilet than eating burgers. This is a sure sign things aren't going well. We go through our resupply box, pack our bags, and wait for all the life blood to come back into our electronic gadgets. It's 11am, then noon, then 2...then 4pm. All electronic gadgets charged but NvB still hidden in the loo. I lure him out with a creamy icecream. Probably not the best idea.

We set out from Kennedy Meadows South, reluctantly. We get about 5 miles out. 3 toilet stops. I tell Neil to drink water, take electrolytes and take antibiotics - we don't know what the antibiotics are for but beggars can't be choosers. That goes well.

NvB wakes up. Blood red pee. Rust pee. Pee the coloured of "freshly squeezed guava juice". We are a little concerned. Do we go back 5 miles for help or push on and hope it goes away. We decide to walk. If it gets worse we are only 70 miles hike from a hospital. We don't want to go to hospital and most of all we don't want to mum! I draft a text to my sister that starts "Don't tell mum but.." I delete it and decide to contact my good doctor friend in Oz for advice. I just want to hear it's all okay and nothing to worry about. We rule out kidney stones. And so I take that to mean "she'll be sweet mate". I think I would have interpreted anything to conclude that. We stopped the random antibiotics immediately. Despite having travel insurance we just didn't want to have to deal with navigating the medical an insurance systems. Not a great place to be - peeing blood was better than dealing with the system. Each time NvB peed we both watched with ceremony. After 3 days, and gladly the day of getting to town, pee ran clear. Ceremony commences. Relief sets in. We don't need to tell mum.

I tell NvB to drink more water. That goes well.