A Lesson From A Fun Lover

The home of Aron's parents was a long but still a doable drive away from Canyonlands National Park in Utah. Cut by the Colorado River, which will pass through Horseshoe Canyon in Arizona before entering the Grand Canyon National Park at Lee's Ferry, all this region was well known by this young man. 

He knew the area as well as I know the Jurassic Coast Path, especially around the Swanage-Weymouth region, with its striking Lulworth Cove and Durdle Door natural formations along the tough, hilly trail. Like Aron, who had to spend several hours driving a car followed by a bicycle ride, for me having access only by public transport, to get to the coast path from my home town of Bracknell involves two trains to Bournemouth Station, followed by a bus ride to Swanage, or if lucky, as we were in 2013, a ferry sailing from Bournemouth Pier to Swanage Pier.

That is, of course, if I didn't cycle directly all the way from my home in Bracknell to Lulworth Cove, further away than Swanage, a total distance of just over a hundred miles 162 km, as was the case in 1991. Starting at 6.00 am, the road was free of traffic, the Summer early morning coolness was refreshing to the soul as I glided smoothly towards Basingstoke on my "racing" bicycle that featured dropped handlebars. Ah! I finally arrived at Lulworth Cove at 3.00 pm, an hour before the backpacker's hostel was due to open for the coming evening's arrivals.

Lulworth Cove, Dorset, UK.

Lulworth Cove was the start of a coastal ride to Dover, a ferry port some 225 miles along the southern coastline. The 6-day holiday also included an extra night spent at the Swanage YHA after competing in the 1991 Swanage Triathlon. Hence the Swim-Bike-Run race could be looked upon as an "event within an event." From the day after the Triathlon, I carried on with the coastal ride. The other three hostels I stopped overnight were Arundel, Hastings, and Dover.

After arriving at Dover and spending a night there, I managed to board a cross-Channel ferry to Calais, taking the bike with me. From Calais, I rode inland on a circuit, taking in a couple of French villages before sailing back to Kent to take the train home from Dover.

Aron also cycled a few miles to his final destination after leaving his vehicle at a car park. But his riding was quite different to mine. As I rode with stone-cold soberness, a trait very much ingrained in my character, Aron rode off-road in very high spirits over rough terrain across the desert, whooping with joy. But as he went too far in his flamboyance, his front wheel hit a rock, and he was sent flying off his bicycle. Fortunately, he wasn't hurt too badly. Rather, he laughed at the incident.

After locking up his bicycle to a tree, he started his weekend hike. Presently, he came across two young women who had missed the trailhead and admitted that they were lost. Aron, who knew the area well, not only redirected them but offered to be their guide. He took them off-trail to a very narrow crevice, or slot canyon, between two sandstone cliffs, where they navigated by inching their way sideward, with a long drop beneath them. Suddenly, Aron released his hold and plunged down into the narrow crevice, and splashed into a deep, turquoise pool or river below, where the crevice widened into a cave. He called out for the two girls to do the same. They, at first, hesitated, then after much persuasion from Aron from below, they let themselves go and dropped quite a distance into the refreshing water which only Aron knew about.

With a lot of whooping between them and shouts of joy as they repeated their jumps, I could help but to contrast this joviality to the "crushingly dull" hike along the Bright Angel Trail, further downstream at the Grand Canyon, in 1995. I say "crushingly dull" only to compare my natural temperament to the joviality of Aron, and the seriousness of the hike I was doing, knowing that like at Canyonlands, the Grand Canyon itself is also a desert, and it too demands reverential respect. I had that respect for the environment. Aron didn't. Maybe due to being so familiar with his location, he allowed his natural character to shine out, especially to impress the two young women.

And what a hefty price he had to pay.

Aron is considerably younger than I am, he was fitter than I ever was and far more agile. After the two females had departed on their way, Aron carried on hiking off-trail, something I would never do. He found himself inside another very narrow slot canyon, a gap between two vertical sandstone cliffs. The crevice was cut into a rocky plateau by previous flows of rainwater, carving out a crevice that could be classed as a canyon in its own right. Various boulders were jammed between the two cliffs, and as Aron used them as suspended stepping stones, whooping with delight as he strode along, one of the boulders gave way under his weight, and both tumbled towards the crevice floor.

But still some way above the floor, the boulder wedged tightly between the facing walls, pinning Aron's wrist in between. As his wrist was hard against the wall and the boulder, he was stuck fast, unable to free himself. All his strength of his free arm couldn't shift the stone. With much effort with the rope he brought with him, he made a pulley, and with it, he attempted to move the stone by pulling on the rope with his weight and strength combined. Totally useless. The rock refused to budge. He would be stuck there, immobilised, for the next 127 hours.

Normal times: a Hiker at a slot canyon.

And nobody knew where he was. None of his family members knew. His friends or work colleagues didn't know where he was, either. He was too proud to let his family know beforehand where he was going and how long he would be away. Yes, I can identify with him. I too was too proud to let my family know what I was up to. And that was when I had my own bachelor apartment, unlike Aron, who still lived at home.

He screamed for help. But being off-trail, there was nobody around to hear him. Nobody knew that he was there, immobilised with his arm pinned to the wall by a heavy boulder. As the hours passed, he began to hallucinate. He had flashbacks of his family members. And his good relationship with his piano-playing younger sister came into view. He also saw himself as a toddler, safe under his parent's care.

His water bottle ran dry, having drunk the last drop, and he began to hallucinate a violent thunderstorm with the rainwater flooding the crevice until the water level was above his head. And afterwards, he returns to the reality of his situation. Eventually, with much disgust, he began to drink his own urine. After every effort to free himself had failed, he began to carve his own epitaph on the sandstone wall. He didn't expect to live much longer.

Whether it was by sudden inspiration or otherwise, he deliberately snapped his radius and ulna bones of his pinned forearm. He then made a tourniquet from a length of rope he had, then with his penknife, he began to severe his forearm until he was suddenly freed, leaving his wrist and hand permanently pinned to the wall by the boulder. With his tourniquet in place, he made his way to the trail, and he calls out for help. Fortunately, a passing family called by mobile phone for a helicopter, which arrives to airlift him to the nearest hospital.

Three years later, he meets his sweetheart, marries her and has children of his own. But even with his right forearm ending as a stump, he continues his physical yet fun-loving activities of canyoneering, underwater swimming, and hiking.

Yes, we both watched it all on the iplayer. The programme was called 127 Hours, a docu-drama based on a true story. 

Aron cries for help (played by James Franco in 127 Hours.)

Throughout his distress, I also felt for him. I recall the cycling trip I completed in 1991. Back then, I too was too proud to let any member of my family know where I would be and what I was doing. Pride. By believing that I was acting as an adult, instead, I proved how immature I was. It had never crossed my mind that I could have been a victim of an impatient car or truck driver whose stupidity resulted in ending up being wheeled on a hospital gurney without my family knowing anything of it. And exactly the same applies to Aron. I guess there is something which some young men may feel - maybe most young men - if not all young men - is the image of being a Mummy's boy - the ultimate target, so I thought, for ferocious teasing by peers, especially at school or college.

Thus, the very thought of being ferried to school in Mummy's car still sends shivers down my spine, with dread on how my classmates would have responded had they ever found out. It was an environment that demanded each boy own a bicycle and ride independently to school each morning. And yet, this ferrying in a car driven by a parent happens now without any peer pressure. Therefore, despite our different temperaments, Aron and I do have one thing in common.

When Aron was crying out for help, he was calling out for any human to hear his cries and respond. If only he called out to God! Yet, God did hear, and maybe it was God who inspired him to sever his hand.

This reminds me of what Jesus himself once said:

If your right-hand causes you to sin, then cut it off and throw it away. It's better to enter life maimed than with your whole body be cast into hell. Matthew 5:30.

Since nobody would cut off his hand to enter heaven, Jesus had his nailed to a cross instead. Having paid the price for the sin of every human, there is no longer any need to sever his own body to avoid sinning. Rather, by faith in Him, His own righteousness is imputed to every believer, making salvation by works and all Old Testament rituals obsolete. Actually, faith in God had been the one and only instrument for salvation from Adam and Eve onwards. Working to gain eternal life is made impossible just by one small sin, according to James 2:10. Cutting off one's hand does not eternally save anyone.

But to save his own life physically, Aron had to sever his own hand, or else he would have died. No doubt, he had learned a very important lesson. That is, pride comes before a fall, and how severe his fall was! I'm hoping that Aron will see the eternal significance of this and cry out to God for salvation, having faith in the Death, Burial and Resurrection of Jesus Christ.