Cecil Kuhne - Near Death in the Desert

Cecil Kuhne is the editor of five previous adventure anthologies, On the Edge, The Armchair Paddler, Near Death on the High Seas, Near Death in the Mountains, and Near Death in the Arctic. A former white-water rafting guide, he has also written nine books about rafting, kayaking, and canoeing. He lives in Dallas.

Near Death on the High Seas

Near Death in the Mountains

Near Death in the Arctic

On the Edge

The Armchair Paddler

A VINTAGE DEPARTURES ORIGINAL, JULY 2009

Copyright 2009 by Cecil Kuhne

All rights reserved. Published in the United States by
Vintage Books, a division of Random House, Inc., New York,
and in Canada by Random House of Canada Limited, Toronto.

Vintage is a registered trademark and Vintage Departures
and colophon are trademarks of Random House, Inc.

Permissions appear at the end of the book.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Kuhne, Cecil, 1952
Near death in the desert : true stories of disaster and survival /
by Cecil Kuhne.
p. cm.
eISBN: 978-0-307-79371-3
1. Desert survival. 2. Wilderness survival. I. Title.
GV200.5.H84 2009
613.69dc22 2009006592

www.vintagebooks.com

v3.1

Roaming the desert in a frantic search for water is a situation not to be taken lightly. You first feel the scratching thirst in the back of your throat, and then your mouth becomes so parched you have trouble swallowing. Before long, the craving for even a single drop of water becomes all-consuming, and eventually that desperate feeling drowns out all other thought.

The trouble here is a physiological one. The human body can last several weeks without foodit can last only a few days without water. When starved of moisture, the internal organs start to shut down, and the end cannot be far away.

The problem of course is weight: water weighs more than eight pounds a gallon, so taking enough for a journey of any length is difficult, especially if you are carrying it yourself. When water sources that were once reliable are no longer there, you are in a very precarious situation.

In spite of its dangers, the austere simplicity of the desert has a beauty all its own, and there can be startling moments of serendipity. The desert has the delightful effect of sharpening and intensifying the landscape, and its stark and rugged outlines are made more dramatic by the subtle hues of earth. Late afternoon sunsets, with their surreal pink and lilac tones, often end with a bright orange fireball on the horizon. Then a brief shower brings to life wildflowers that were formerly invisible, as well as refreshing smells of sage and soil found nowhere else. When the moon casts its lovely glow on the lunarlike landscape, there is cause for true joy.

But that joy is often short-lived. One dilemma facing those who venture into the desert is that in its midst everything can start to look the same. Reference points disappear, and you can easily become unsettled by the immense spaces around you. Getting lost is a real possibility, and the more you panic, the more water you consume, leading to a vicious cycle downward.

Many of the travelers in this volume went in search of the beauty and challenges offered in crossing these empty lands. Others found equally fascinating the native peoples who live in places that by logic are no more fit for human habitation than distant planets. How these locals adapt to such extreme circumstances astounds those of us used to the safeguards of modern society.

In 1898, John C. Van Dyke traveled to the Sonoran Desert and quickly became mesmerized by its subtle, but potentially deadly, charms. His words capture perfectly the spell that can overtake even the most jaded: Never again shall you see such light and air and color, never such opaline mirage, such rosy dawn, such fiery twilight. And wherever you go, by land or by sea, you shall not forget that which you saw not but rather feltthe desolation and the silence of the desert.

Cecil Kuhne
Dallas, Texas

It is difficult to describe Australian desert ranges, as their beauty is not just visual. They have an awesome grandeur that can fill you with exaltation or dread, and usually a combination of both.

I camped that first night in a washaway, near the ruin of a cottage. I awoke to the muttering of a single crow staring at me not ten feet away. The pre-dawn light, all pastel misty blue and translucent, filtered through the leaves and created a fairyland. The character of such country changes wonderfully throughout the day, and each change has its effect on ones mood.

I set off clutching map and compass. Every hour or so, my shoulders would tighten and my stomach knot as I searched for the right path. I got lost only once, ending up in a box canyon and having to backtrack to where the path had been obliterated by a series of cattle and donkey tracks. But the constant tension was sapping my energy and I sweated and strained. This went on for two days.

One afternoon, after our midday break, something dropped off Bubs back and he flew into a flat panic. I now had Zeleika in the lead, because of her sore nose, and Bub at the rear. He bucked and he bucked and the more he bucked, the more bits of pack went flying and the more frenzied he became. By the time he stopped, the saddle was dangling under his quivering belly and the goods were scattered everywhere. I switched into automatic. The other camels were ready to leap out of their skins and head for home. Goliath was galloping between them and generally causing havoc. There was not a tree in sight to tie them to. If I blew this, they might take off and I would never see them again. I couldnt get back to Bub so I whooshed the lead camel down and tied her nose-line to her foreleg, so that if she tried to get up, she would be pulled down. I did the same with Dook, clouted Goliath across the nose with a branch of mulga so that he took off in a cloud of dust, and then went back to Bub. His eyes had rolled with fear and I had to talk to him and pacify him until I knew he trusted me and wouldnt kick. Then I lifted the saddle with my knees and undid the girth on top of his back. Then I gently took it off and whooshed him down like the others. I found a tree a little farther on, and beat the living daylights out of him. The whole operation had been quick, sure, steady, and precise, like Austrian clockworkperfect. But now, whatever toxins had been stirred up by the flow of adrenalin hit my bloodstream like the Cuyahoga River. I lay by the tree, trembling as hard as Bub. I had been out of control when I beat him and began to recognize a certain Kurtishness in my behavior. This weakness, my inability to be terrified with any dignity, came to the forefront often during the trip, and my animals took the brunt of it. If, as Hemingway suggested, courage is grace under pressure, then the trip proved once and for all that I was sadly lacking in the stuff. I felt ashamed.