Lynn Blamires, Special to the Standard-Examiner

There were eight of us riding ATVs. We had maps, multiple GPS units, flashlights, warm clothing, water and unhealthy snacks. But when it got dark, we had no choice but to circle the ATVs and build a fire. We were in a maze of arroyos and sand washes filled with promises leading nowhere. In the dark, we could not see well enough to navigate the gulches. Everyone was looking at me like it was my fault.

We planned to meet members of the NUATV club at Justinson Flats in the afternoon for a ride to the Globe Copper Mine. I talked seven other riders into going down the night before and starting the morning with an adventure before the afternoon meeting. No one knew just how much adventure lay ahead.

We staged at North Coal Wash about 13 miles southeast of Ferron. We rode through North Coal Wash, over the Devil’s Race Track, past the Head of Sinbad, down into Eagle’s Canyon and up to Justinson Flats in time for the rendezvous.

After an enjoyable ride with the club, we stopped to look at the map. I noticed a trail that took a different route back and suggested we take it. Crossing Interstate 70, this trail passes through a quarry and skirts the west side of the Swell.

It was a pleasant trail. From the top, I looked down on a maze of ravines. We stopped at the edge of this labyrinth and watched the colors of the lowering sun play across the ridges. I remember thinking that was the last place I would want to be in the dark.

Photo supplied

We were enjoying the ride when the trail started to drop down a steep bank into a wash. We stopped at an overlook to survey the situation. We could see where the track crossed the canyon below and climbed the other side. It was a wash that empties the west end of Eagle Canyon into the valley.

Confident in our plan, we plunged into the wash and stopped. Looking back to the top, we realized we were committed — no one liked the thought of climbing back up that trail.

Conditions grew worse. We were losing daylight and we were not finding the track that would take us up the other side. We also realized that this was not a sandy wash. It was filled with large rocks and boulders difficult to negotiate.

We decided to bounce down this trail west, thinking it would lead us out and connect with the trail we wanted. Instead, it took us into the network of gulleys we had ominously observed earlier. Each track we took was a dead end.

We finally came out into a dry river bottom. It was dark and our headlights, even on high beams, could not reach far enough to adequately show the trail. Coming to a drop-off, we couldn’t tell if it fell 12 inches or 20 feet.

We circled the ATVs, cleared an area and built a fire with tumbleweeds and dry brush in the bottoms. We removed our ATV seats and sat around the inside of the circle facing each other.

With good cell service, we called our families and then members of our club. They could see our fire but they could not see how to reach us. The GPS told us exactly where we were, but not how to get out.

It was a long night and one not soon forgotten. I told every joke I could think of. Not everyone laughed, and no one was happy that we didn’t cancel our motel reservations in time to avoid payment. We asked someone to preach a sermon thinking it might put us to sleep. It didn’t.

When the morning broke, we could see a track leading out. While eight men bonded through this experience, we were lucky. We could have been caught in a storm or extreme temperatures. Each of us came out of the Swell with a list of items we wished we had. Gummy bears were not the best treat shared.

After this adventure, I thought of these men as the “Great Eight.” Their backcountry skills gave me confidence in our survival.

That was 14 years ago. I am surprised at the number of people I have met who expressed a desire to have been with us on that adventure. When you go, take plenty of water, good snacks and keep the rubber side down. I would still like to be able to follow that track.

Contact Lynn R. Blamires at quadmanone@gmail.com.

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