![]() The sky darkened and snow began to dump harder. I was overcome with guilt-she was alone and in danger trying to rescue me. Water on top of the quicksand came up to my waist, and I shivered in my jacket and beanie. Thirty minutes later, snow began to fall. She wasn’t sure she could make it by herself. We’d seen no one else on the way in, and the only cell reception was back by the car, five hours away over boulder-strewn terrain. I watched the dread cross her face-she’d only ever hiked with me. It didn’t seem possible, but after 15 minutes struggling and soaking our clothes, we had to confront reality: We couldn’t get my leg free. We wedged a large stick next to my leg, but it wasn’t strong enough to release the cement-like mud. When that didn’t work, I dug frantically with my bare hands, but it was useless-the water filled in instantly, preventing any progress and freezing my fingers. I tugged with all my strength, trying to brace with my free left leg. Jessika was safe-the nearby mud was solid-but now I was stuck. I lunged forward and pulled her out by her torso, but in doing so, my own right leg sank to the knee. She had sunk to her knees and couldn’t get free. There was no way around the pool, but it looked shallow so, testing the footing with the walking stick, we began to make our way across. I helped Jessika over large rocks and found a sturdy walking stick for balance.įour miles in, a pond-size puddle blocked the trail. Snow dusted the ground when we set out at 8 a.m. Our route would take us 10 miles round-trip to the Subway, a tunnel-like canyon accessed via boulder scrambles and creek crossings. Six hours prior, I’d embarked on a dayhike in Zion with my girlfriend, Jessika. I listened for footsteps or voices, but heard nothing except the gusts rippling the water around me. Only a chilly wind broke the silence of the ravine. The contrast of white atop the rust sandstone and pines looked lovely-I tried to focus on that instead of the numbness in my trapped leg. "Because we can get resources moving, and we would rather turn around and go home than it be a disaster.Heading out the door? Read this article on the new Outside+ app available now on iOS devices for members!Ī fresh layer of snow settled on my shoulders and hat. "If you think that there's an issue, if you think that there even might be an issue, call," she said. Peterson urged people to call 911 as soon as possible. Another department - about an hour's drive away - also responded. Peterson said they got the rescue call after Porter was in serious trouble, and it takes time to mobilize. Joseph Eros died while trying to cross from Fire Island back to Anchorage.Įarlier this month, a man was rescued from the mud flats after one leg became stuck, and he sank to his waist while fishing in Turnagain Arm. His body was never found, the Anchorage newspaper reported. In 1978, an unnamed Air Force sergeant attempting to cross Turnagain Arm was swept away with the leading edge of the tide. She then became stuck when trying to push it out and drowned with the incoming tide. In 1988, newlyweds Adeana and Jay Dickison were gold dredging on the eastern end of the arm when her ATV got stuck in the mud, the Anchorage Daily News reported. There have been other deaths on the mud flats. ![]() Some people attempt to walk across Turnagain Arm or walk the 9 miles from Anchorage to Fire Island during low tide, sometimes prompting rescue efforts. ![]() "It's dangerous." A group of surfers ride the Bore Tide at Turnagain Arm on July 15, 2014, in Anchorage, Alaska. "I've really got to warn people against playing the mud," Peterson said. Signs are posted warning people of hazardous waters and mud flats. When the tide comes back in, the silt gets wet from the bottom, loosens up and can create a vacuum if a person walks on it. "It looks like it's solid, but it's not." The estuary travels southeast from the Anchorage area and parallels the Seward Highway, the only highway that goes south and delivers tourists from Anchorage to the sportsman's paradise of the Kenai Peninsula.Īt low tide, Turnagain Arm is known for its mud flats that "can suck you down," Peterson said. It lies across Turnagain Arm just 22 miles - but a 90-minute drive - from Anchorage. The accident occurred near Hope, a quaint community of about 80 people. "I have been in contact with all my members, and they're all heartbroken," Peterson said.
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