Aron Ralston - Between a Rock and a Hard Place

“We thought we were going to hear from him before the party Saturday, but he didn’t call, and then we didn’t really make it to the party, either.”

“OK. Do you remember what he had in his truck?”

“He had his mountain bike and his skis on his roof rack, and he had his climbing stuff with him and his skiing stuff and camping gear.”

“Was he going out for more skiing?”

“No, I’m pretty sure he was going to do some canyoneering.”

“Oh, OK. The police want to know what his stuff looks like. Like his backpack and jacket.”

“I don’t remember, exactly, but hey, Elliott, I’m on the plane, and I have to go. I’ll think about it and call you when I get to Charlotte.”

On the plane, Brad got out his digital camera and reviewed the pictures from Mount Sopris, double-checking which backpack I’d had with me that day and which jacket I had been wearing, making some mental notes to share with Elliott when he landed in North Carolina.

Just before talking with my sister, at 11:43 A.M., my mom sent a message to the Denali team members from her account. Using the addresses from an e-mail she and Michelle had found in my in box, she requested any info they had, as Brion had already done. Jason Halladay called her from the Los Alamos National Lab, where he had returned to his job as a computer technician, to give her the same information he had sent to Brion. My mom went down to the basement and retrieved a road atlas, marking down the locations of Zion National Park and the San Rafael Swell on the map. Jason tried to help her as best he could, but he didn’t know the exact locations of a few of the canyons. He needed his canyoneering guidebook, but that was back at home.

Elliott relayed my last known point and subsequent direction to Adam at the APD, who asked if there was a more specific location other than simply the Utah desert. Elliott pulled out the list of possible Utah destinations provided by Jason and read that to Adam. Crider recognized Zion National Park from the list and located the San Rafael Swell on a map of Utah. Although the lead was from an uncorroborated three-month-old e-mail, it was the only specific information collected up to that point in the investigation, and Adam followed through as best he could. Just before one P.M., he issued a teletype message to the Washington, Grand, and Emery county sheriffs’ offices and followed up with phone calls to Grand County and Zion, to ensure that the national parks received the information.

Grand County is home to Canyonlands and Arches, two of the most popular national parks in the western United States. Because of the concentration of agencies managing public lands in Grand County, it’s possible to cross three, four, or even a half-dozen boundaries on a single bike ride, four-wheel-drive outing, or day hike. To better coordinate incident response and provide a greater quality of service to the public, the Park Service, Forest Service, Utah State Parks, and Bureau of Land Management share a unified command and visitor information center in Moab. With Adam’s action, nearly every public resource agency in the southeastern quadrant of Utah had my vehicle information. While none of them was actively searching yet-it would be too costly to track down every vehicle that might or might not be in the state-they were on the lookout and would call the Aspen police if they happened upon my truck.

Elliott began an intense process of notifying my friends across the U.S. that I was missing. From Brion’s desk, Elliott monitored my Hotmail account, Brion’s Ute account, Brion’s EarthLink account, and his own Yahoo! account, scrolling through message after message from my disconcerted friends. By trading e-mails through the afternoon, Elliott collected a few leads but mostly just waded through replies that said, “I have no idea where Aron is, but I’m worried for him.” Standing out from the other e-mails was one from my friend Dan Hadlich, which pointed Elliott to Mount Sopris and Mount of the Holy Cross in Colorado, but not to Utah.

From: Daniel Hadlich

Sent: Wednesday, April 30, 2003 12:27 P.M.

To: Brion After, Jason Halladay

Subject: RE: Looking for Aron Ralston

Brion and Jason,

I do not believe Aron was heading to Utah this past weekend. I’ve enclosed the following information I received from Aron on April 20th via e-mail:

›I’m headed out to skin up to Conundrum Hot Springs and climb

›Castleabra tomorrow. Maybe soak in the pools a little too! Then

›climbing the Cristo Couloir on Friday with Janet, skiing Sunday to close

›down Ajax for the season, and starting all over next Wednesday with a

›trip to ski Mt. Sopris, climb the Holy Cross Couloir on Friday/Saturday,

›and who knows what else from there! Spring may be here, but I’m a

›long way from hiking anywhere when I can ski or climb snow!

›

›Cheers,

›Aron

That would mean that Aron would have been on Mt. Sopris on Wed-Thurs (4/23-4/24) and the Holy Cross Couloir on Fri-Sat (4/25-4/26). Has anyone searched those areas for his vehicle? Please contact me ASAP if you hear from him. Also, let Julia and I know if additional folks are needed to drive around and look for him or his truck this weekend.

– Dan.

Although it counterindicated what I’d said to Brad, Dan had provided the only itinerary I’d left in writing, and Elliott knew he needed to follow through on the Holy Cross lead with the Aspen police. When they talked just after one P.M., Adam said he would call the police department in Minturn, the town nearest the access for Mount of the Holy Cross, to have them check the Tigiwon Road for my vehicle.

“However,” Adam informed Elliott, “the license information you gave me is invalid. We searched the computer records, and that New Mexico plate number 888-MMY doesn’t exist. I put Eagle County on the lookout for a maroon 1998 Toyota Tacoma, but we need to get the correct plate.”

Elliott said he’d call my mom and double-check the number.

Unable to eat lunch, my mom returned to her upstairs office, where she sat at her desk, organizing some papers while terrifying thoughts of my undoubtedly dire situation maddened her to the edge of a break-down. Then she fought back. Nipping off another upwelling of helplessness, my mom threw down her papers and said aloud, “I have to do something to help Aron.” For my mom, it was as though my life now depended on her actions. She was not going to sit tight and wait to hear back about how things were progressing. That just wasn’t her style.

My mom twice tried calling my dad in New York to let him know what was happening and ask for his ideas on what to do, but he didn’t have his cell phone turned on, and he was out of his hotel room, so my mom left messages for him to call her as soon as he got back that evening. On her own, with the info she’d received from Jason, my mom brainstormed a short list of groups to contact: the Aspen police, Brad Yule, the Utah Highway Patrol, and Zion National Park.

Before my mom could contact the first name on her list, her cell phone rang. It was Elliott, calling to notify her that my license information was incorrect. She pulled out the note she’d referenced previously and read the number to Elliott one digit at a time.

After the third digit, he interrupted her. “Wait, eight-eight- six, you said? OK, Brion had written down eight-eight-eight. The rest is ‘M-M-Y’? I’ll get this to the police.”

Just over a half hour later, Elliott called my mom back. The Aspen police had told him that wasn’t my license number, either-it belonged to a Chevy Blazer registered to an Albuquerque woman. Taking the initiative, Elliott had called the New Mexico Department of Motor Vehicles and tried to get them to search for my proper license number using the truck description and my name, but they weren’t able to help him. Unfortunately, my mom didn’t have any better information, so they hung up without any further plans for how to get my correct license information.