Surviving in the wild gives one a new appreciation for nature
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Since leaving camp this morning, the sun had traveled about three hand spans (about three hours) above the east cliff wall. Its light moved slowly down the west cliff wall like a bronze guillotine.
We were in a slot canyon about 400 feet deep and as wide as a two-lane byway. The canyon had no path, so we slowly pushed and meandered our way through river birch, white oak, willow, ferns, sagebrush and July dandelions whose yellow flowers have turned to gray afros.
I was one of eight students and three instructors on our third day at Boulder Outdoor Survival School (BOSS), a primitive survival school held in the deserts and mountains outside of Boulder, Utah and inside the beautiful boundaries of the Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument. During our two weeks at BOSS, we learned overland navigation, how to build a fire using a bow and drill, how to build a proper shelter and several other useful outdoor skills. The Boulder Outdoor Survival School, though a school, does not take place in a classroom but outside with lots of hiking to find water, food and other raw materials with which we made our survival supplies.
We slowly percolated our way through the dense trees and bushes, ducking, weaving and in some places crawling through the vegetation. In some places, the sagebrush stood as tall as the juniper trees, and the ferns were even taller than the sagebrush. I’d never seen anything like it. Shorter stalks of sagebrush continuously caught and tugged at my shorts like kids with urgent questions. It was impossible to walk through the thick sagebrush in a straight line. We had to walk around every sagebrush and then change our course to get around the next one. It was like doing the dosido and every sagebrush for the next mile was my partner. The silhouettes of the fern leaves against the sky looked like fingerprints.
The sun poured through the willows, ferns and cottonwoods in dowels and shims, but a half hour later it came through in planks and beams as the vegetation began to thin. And then the narrow canyon we’d been walking through merged with a larger canyon, this one had a sandstone floor, as wide as the space between Jeep tracks and was devoid of vegetation. For the first time in two hours, we were able to stand up straight.
We followed one our instructor Mike Ryan as he led us down the new canyon. We didn’t follow the sandstone boulevard far before it ended at a 20-foot pour over. We all walked to its edge and looked off. We peered over and watched the water splash on the sandstone floor below us.
“Anyone want to take a shower,” Mike asked.
After two and a half days of trekking through the desert, we all looked a little beat up. Our shins and arms were covered in scratches from battling through numerous thickets. Our dirty legs, arms and faces were streaked with sweat. Our necks were sunburned, our faces covered with mosquito bites. And we were all pretty stinky. Yes, we all wanted to take a shower.
A trail ran from the top of the pour over to the canyon below via a trail on the left side of the canyon and we made our way down to the base of the waterfall. The men stripped down to their cargo shorts and the women stripped down to cargo shorts and sports bras. The water fell in a long, bead curtain. It was wide enough to accommodate three people at a time. The water, I was surprised to learn when it was my turn, was actually warm. Under the most direct flow, the water leaned into you heavily giving you a massage on shoulders and back. I left the waterfall and lied down on some flats rocks while the others took their turn in the waterfall.
Our instructor Mike was one of the last ones in the waterfall and as soon as he had showered himself clean he walked over to a clay mud bank and covered himself head to toe in the warm mud.