Nemo, 2009 Part 2

Nemo, 2009 Chapter 2

In a previous post, I published the first part to a story a wrote a while back.  Here is the next installment.

Chapter 2

Coyote Gulch is a widely visited canyon in the Escalante region.  Similar to Davis Gulch, Coyote Gulch has a constant stream running through it, though the stream in Coyote Gulch is substantially stronger.  The high flow rate of the Coyote Gulch stream creates numerous beautiful waterfalls set against an unusual red rock background.

On the same evening that Sarah Callahan and her group were hiking in Davis Gulch, Sven Faust, a man in his late fifties, was hiking up the river inside Coyote Gulch.  Sven had a thin beard that had a mix of white and gray hairs. He was slightly balding and his hair was cut short. A pair of thick glasses hid his brown eyes. He was physically strong and slender for his age.

Sven dropped his heavy backpack into the sand next to the river. He reached down to the pack and removed a small plastic test tube. He dipped the tube into the stream to retrieve a sample of the water.  He placed the tube back into his pack.

A small light on the inside of the pack turned on, barely visible through the fabric of the pack.

Sven looked worriedly at the light, then retrieved a radio from his backpack and turned it on.

“Anyone there?” Sven said with a strong, muddled, German accent. The radio hissed and garbled.

Sven turned and looked up the canyon at the fading light. He removed a compass from his pocket and quickly obtained his bearings.  He turned to his left, away from the stream. His eyes rested on an oddly-shaped tree at the top of a small sand dune.

Sven climbed the dune and knelt at the base of the tree. He checked his compass again, then poked his finger into the sand below the tree and drew an image.

Farther down the canyon from Sven, Jonathan Lynd stared strangely at Sven Faust as he hunched below the tree.  Lynd’s daughter, Carli, was by his side.  They both stood next to their tent.

Lynd was in his mid-forties and was in somewhat good shape. Carli was twelve years old.

“What’s he doing, Dad?” Carli asked as they watched Sven on the hill.

“I’m not sure,” Lynd said. “Maybe he’s a local ranger, taking samples of the nearby water and vegetation.”

Carli pointed across the canyon to a flattened section of ground.

“Why is that spot over there so flat?”

“This canyon was used anciently by Anasazi and Fremont Indians for growing crops,” Lynd said, turning away from Sven.  “That’s why we’ve seen all those old writings on the wall. Those petroglyphs were their way of marking important sites like farmland.”

————

Sarah and her group arrived at the end of the Davis Gulch hiking trail.  She walked around a surprisingly sharp bend in the canyon and entered a grotto. As she rounded the corner, the canyon became immersed in shade.

Sarah paused, stopped by the beauty of the sight.  The canyon had darkened significantly, the walls closing in above her.  Ahead, the trail ended at a smooth rock ledge. To Sarah’s right, the small trickle that composes the Davis Gulch stream slowly flowed over the ledge into a pool below.  Sarah stepped to the edge of the rock as the sand beneath her feet disappeared, replaced by slick-rock. The large pool of brown water was nearly twenty feet below her. The canyon took another sharp turn past the water, blocking Sarah’s view of the rest of the canyon below. A single strand of light broke through the walls, landing onto the pool to form a circular shape. The light reflected beautifully onto the canyon wall.

The canyon below the drop-off was submerged in the waters of the Lake Powell dam.

Trent and Monique rounded the corner to enter the grotto chamber with Sarah.

“Wow. That’s amazing,” Trent said.  He retrieved his camera and began taking pictures.

“So this is Lake Powell?” Monique asked.

“One of the branches of it, yes.,” Sarah replied.

“How could there be a lake this big in the middle of the desert?” Monique asked.

“It’s not a natural lake,” Sarah said.  “It’s dammed farther downstream.”

Trent and Monique sat down and pulled their water bottles and snacks out of their packs.

“What about that story you were going to tell us? The legend of Davis Gulch.” Monique said in a spooky, sarcastic tone.

Sarah smiled, then reached down to the ground and picked up a pointed rock about the size of her closed fist.

Sarah walked to the side of the canyon and began to scratch something on the canyon wall.  Trent and Monique looked up.

“What are you doing?” Trent asked.

Sarah continued to chip away at the wall.

“Somebody is bound to be mad about that,” Trent said.

Sarah's smile increased, showing a large, bright grin.

“Maybe,” Sarah said.

Trent stood up and walked closer to Sarah.  “What are you writing anyway?” he said.

————

Farther up canyon from Sarah and her group, Koch stood next to his tent and looked down the canyon with an expression of worry.  Koch’s wife stepped out of the tent.

“What’s wrong?” she said.

“That group from New York left over four hours ago,” Koch said. “And they still haven't returned.”

“Maybe they’re camping down there,” she said.

Koch shook his head. “They said they had to start heading back today to catch a flight. And the sun is already beginning to set.” Koch paused. “I better go check on them.”

Koch grabbed his daypack, threw a radio and flashlight into it, and began to hike down-canyon.

“I’ll be back soon,” Koch said.

————

At this same time in Coyote Gulch, Lynd and his daughter Carli were exploring the canyon around their campsite. They reached a gentle point in the Coyote Gulch creek just below a ten foot waterfall.  Lynd sat down in the sand, followed by Carli.

Lynd raised his hand and patted Carli’s matted hair.

“Gross!” she exclaimed. “You’re getting sand in my hair.”

Lynd laughed.

“Want to start heading back to camp?” he asked.

Carli nodded. Lynd stood and began to walk back down the canyon. He stopped as his eyes caught sight of something below the waterfall.

Lynd took a few steps closer to the waterfall and stared through the glistening light reflecting off the water’s surface.

As Lynd approached the waterfall, his staring eyes widened. In the water, Lynd saw a submerged hand beneath the surface of the river, a few feet downstream from the waterfall. The hand swayed with the ebb and flow of the river.

————

Koch arrived at the grotto where Davis Gulch meets Lake Powell just as the sun was disappearing behind the cliff walls. With his flashlight in hand, Koch stepped around the sharp bend in the canyon where the trail ends.

Koch stopped ten yards from the edge of Lake Powell.  He stared at the thinning sand at his feet. He paused, then turned back from where he had come. Koch traced the sand with his flashlight.

Koch could clearly see footprints in the sand leading towards Lake Powell, but none that led back up the canyon.

Koch slowly walked forward deeper into the cold, dark grotto. The sand trailed off. Koch walked to the rock edge and looked into the pool below.  In the dim light, the water was a dark grey.

Koch caught sight of something in the pool below. He pointed his flashlight down to illuminate a laminated piece of paper floating in the water.  The lamentation reflected off the light of the flashlight.

“Hello?” Koch called out loudly. “Is anyone there?”

When no one responded, Koch knew this was a search and rescue situation.  The group had not returned up-canyon, and the canyon walls were far too steep for escape.

Koch took a step backwards, stumbled, then began to run back up the canyon, but stopped.  His eyes catch sight of something on the canyon wall. Koch looked up and saw Sarah’s markings on the wall.

Directly to his left, at shoulder height, was Sarah’s inscription. It was apparent that the inscription had been etched recently.

Koch squinted in the darkness.  He raised his flashlight to the wall. The inscription was not difficult to make out.  Koch stared, puzzled. Despite the urgency of the situation, the enigmatic message caused him a moment of hesitation.

Deeply grooved into the canyon wall was the inscription:

N E M O ,   2 0 0 9

Koch removed his radio from his daypack and began walking up the canyon, where the walls were wide enough for the radio to work.

————

Near this same time, in Coyote Gulch, Lynd approached the submerged body at the base of the waterfall.  He turned to his daughter.

“Wait there, Carli.”

As Lynd got closer to the body, he could see more distinctly the sight of a submerged arm beneath the surface of the bubbly water.

There was a small pool beneath the waterfall. Rocks and pebbles surrounded the area. The surface of the pool was continually disrupted by the waterfall’s rushing.  Lynd entered the stream in order to approach the body closer.

As he neared, Lynd saw the body more clearly. The head was turned away, towards the waterfall. At this point, Lynd could only see the man’s ear and part of his cheekbone.

He protruded deeper into the stream until he could see the man’s face.

The fading sun dipped behind a cloud, darkening the surroundings.  Lynd refocused his eyes on the man.

It was Sven Faust. The man was definitely dead.  Beneath the water, Sven Faust was buried up to his chest in the sand of the river bottom.

“What is it, Dad?” Carl asked.

“Quicksand,” he replied slowly.  “The quicksand in this area is much more common in water, particularly underneath a desert river like this.”

Sven Faust’s mouth stood open.  A blank, lifeless, fish-like look remained frozen on his face.  His lips were blue from the cold water.

The left arm of Sven floated gently in the water, but the right arm laid heavily on the sandy river floor. Lynd looked closely at the arm. Sven was holding a rock in his right hand, causing his arm to sink.

The desert sun returned from behind the passing cloud. As the light returned, the riverbed lighted up. On the side of a large sandstone boulder, just to the right of the waterfall, a patch of moss was growing. The moss was within the reach of the dead man.

The sunlight struck the water's surface, creating a ripple of light that reflected on the boulder, causing the moss to glow.

Lynd stared blankly at the moss.

“Why would he,” Lynd whispered, then squinted in the decreasing sunlight.

Before the water had filled Sven’s lungs and suffocated him, he had written a final message. The easily-removable moss had been his canvas, the rock his pen.

The writing was crystal clear. Lit by the sunset, the symbols glowed red behind the green moss. Etched in the side of the sandstone boulder was a number followed by a simple word:

3   A N D E R E

Carli inched closer to her dad. “What is it, Dad?”

“This man used a rock to scrape off pieces of moss from the side of the wall,” Lynd explained.

“What did he write?” Carl asked.

Lynd turned back to his daughter. “Three andere,” he said. “It’s German for three others.”  Lend paused.  “We have to go back to camp for the satellite phone.”

Lynd exited the stream and took Carli’s hand as they walked back to their campsite.

 -----

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