0.cached.png

0.cached.png

Newsweek Editors

By Newsweek Editors

0

Share

Newsweek is a Trust Project member

See more of our trusted coverage when you search.Prefer Newsweek on Googleto see more of our trusted coverage when you search.


IT IS A STORY OF PARADOX. IN THE northern reaches of Arizona, the endless vistas draw a procession of adventurers. But on this day, a dozen hikers headed to a place where they were cut off from the wide expanse of desert sky above them. Their destination: the lower Antelope Canyon, a bizarre and beautiful maze of sandstone walls that, at points, is some 100 feet deep and so narrow that hikers can touch both of its walls. It is a slit through time and nature, a crack in the earth. And for 11 adventurers, it was also a crypt. In the ultimate contradiction, these desert hikers, with their sunscreen and water bottles, drowned--swamped by a tsunami that moved through the bone-dry canyon.

Here is what happened: 11 hikers entered the canyon; six of them were part of a guided tour led by an outfit called TrekAmerica. Unbeknown to the hikers, a thunderstorm 15 miles away was filling the canyon with hail and rain. In the late afternoon last Tuesday, the floodwaters swelled. The canyon became a gully. When the deluge came within sight, the TrekAmerica guide, Poncho Quintana, told his entourage to huddle together. But before they knew it, the hikers were faced with a torrent of mud, rocks and water. Quintana knew what to do: cover your head, flow with the rapids feet first. What happened next is unclear, but the results are certain. At the weekend, 11 hikers were gone. Eight bodies had been found along with clothing and gear. Among those who died: a French couple who'd left their little girls at their hotel. Quintana was the lone survivor.

Read More on News

Inevitably, such a disaster raises questions of culpability. And there seemed to be plenty here. Members of the Navajo nation said they had warned the hikers not to venture into the canyon. And, indeed, there had been ominous weather forecasts. Yet there are no signs posted at the Navajo-controlled entrance to the canyon warning of flash floods. The finger-pointing will continue--and so, too, will the reminder that, for all the modern amenities afforded today's outdoor adventurers, from space-age clothing to fiberglass walking sticks, nature remains not only untamed but, in her own way, unrelentingly savage.

They came from around the world to catch a glimpse of the winding pathways of Antelope Canyon. They had not gottenb far along when a sudden, massive wall of water swept them away. A look at what happened:

MAPS: 1. Despite weather advisories, 12 hikers enter Lower Antelope Canyon for a sightseeing tour sometime around 2:30. 2. Around 3 p.m. a severe thuunderstorm breaks out 15 miles southeast of Page, an area 2,000 feet higher than the canyon. 3. At about 3:30 p.m. witnesses report seeing the flash flood, an 11-foot wall of water, racing through the lower canyon. 4. All but one of the hikers are killed. Most are washed theough the canyon to a football-field-size pile of muddy debris.

View 0 Comments

Request Reprint & Licensing

Submit Correction

View Editorial & AI Guidelines