Claire Nelson - Things I Learned From Falling

To all those who are lost ,

and to the ones who go out searching .

And for Mum and Dad .

You were resilient first .

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I remember the sound my body made as it hit the ground.

A sharp crack. One that cut through the thump of my weight against the desert floor. Then the white heat of pain that stabbed through my body, escaping through my mouth in an almighty howl.

I tried to scramble to my feet the instinctive reaction to falling but I couldnt get up. Everything below the arms remained a dead weight.

Get up .

I heaved my head and shoulders forward, trying to prise myself off the ground, but each time I crumpled. Again. And again. And again. Something in my body was disconnected. Urgent messages were being fired from the brain but they werent getting through.

Only pain. Unbearable, indescribable pain, a scorching flame-gun that set me alight with each attempt to move.

Sprawled, flat on my back, my breathing was fast and loud. I craned my neck to get a look at my legs. I couldnt lift them either. Or bend my knees.

Oh god .

Oh god, please no

My feet were also immovable, weighted to the desert floor, but I found with intense concentration I could lean them slightly from side to side.

I gently wiggled my toes inside my boots.

OK. I wasnt paralysed. That was something. I felt a strange flicker of hope through the pain and panic, a sense of, Im going to be alright.

But my pelvis was broken. That much was clear. Shattered was actually the word that kept coming to my mind: more than a break, it felt like there were pieces . Every time I tried to sit up, it felt like someone had replaced my hip bones with a bag of broken dinner plates, shards jangling loosely, so my shoulders could do nothing but slump back to the ground.

As the realization of the extent of my injuries set in so did the cold tingle of shock, and my teeth began to chatter uncontrollably, like wind-up dentures, a violently loud clacking inside my head.

Help .

My daypack had dislodged from my shoulder when Id fallen but was thankfully within reach. I yanked it towards me, scrabbling in the front pocket for my iPhone, my hands shaking as I dialled 911. All the while my brain raced to scramble a request together.

An ambulance, right? I needed an ambulance. Of some sort. Some medical aid. Any medical aid. I just needed help .

Out of the corner of my eye, on the screen pressed to my ear, I saw words flash up: Call Failed.

No. No no no.

I dialled again: Call Failed.

I checked the phone and saw I had zero bars. A horrifying and crushing realization hit me with the full force of its weight:

I am out of phone range here .

My stomach lurched; of course I am out of range, I am in the middle of the California desert. Its why Id had my phone tucked away in the rucksack I wouldnt need it here. Except now I did need it, and I had no other means of communication.

You fucking idiot , roared the voice in my head, now dark and furious. How had I been so stupid? No, no, this had to work. This couldnt be happening. Clinging desperately to denial, I held the phone high up in every direction I could, whispering silent pleas for a miracle as my heart banged loudly in my chest, my eyes locked on the corner of the iPhone screen where the little bars would normally be.

I was miles from a signal. Miles from the road. Miles into the middle of nowhere.

I knew I was out of luck. I knew.

Yet I couldnt stop trying. And with each redial, each attempt to reach out to someone, anyone, any other human being on this planet, just to let someone know I was here and I was hurt, the absolute futility of it sunk in deeper. With each press of the button my hope melted into cold fear.

Call Failed.

Redial.

Call Failed.

Redial.

Call Failed.

Redial.

Call Failed.

I screamed into the sky as loudly as I could HELP ME! PLEASE! And I heard the echoes dissolve into the rocks around me, absorbed like rain drops, until all that was left was silence.

I was halfway across Joshua Tree National Park when I saw the coyote. A movement had caught my eye as the car idled on the side of the road, a glimpse of something large through the drivers window. I felt that gently prickling sensation you get when someones gaze is on you. Turning my head, there it was, standing some ten feet away among the scrub and cacti, watching me with eyes as grey as its scruffy, dusty coat. I stared back.

Hi .

The usual instinct took over, making me reach for my camera, my hand slowly moving to where Id nestled it in the well of the car door. Just then the coyote moved too trotting quickly away, shaggy tail hanging low, tongue lolling. It crossed in front of the car, paws dancing across the tar seal, and once on the sand of other side of the road it stopped again, turned its head and looked back at me.

What are you thinking, coyote?

If you could talk, what would you tell me?

I had just crossed the high desert portion of Joshua Tree National Park, following the turns of the road through the swathes of spiny Joshua trees that seemed to stretch for miles on either side, singing along to my favourite driving playlist. I sang loudly, liberated by the fact there was nobody even remotely nearby to hear me. I felt so utterly free out here. I had space to breathe; precisely the thing I had left my life in England to try to pin down. I thought of the stress Id felt in packing up my flat and leaving London. How overloaded I had felt, how burned out and broken. And I had done it Id left it all behind. Said farewell to London and all of the accoutrements of the life I had built there, on the road to find whatever it was I was missing. Heading for the great outdoors.

Sometime during my recent travels Id read an article about the experiences of astronauts who, after bearing witness to planet earth from space, described an overwhelming awareness and profound sense of universal connectedness; something that came to be known as the overview effect. An emotional response sparked by a greater perspective. And Id realized that within the course of my own life trajectory Id lost my overview. Maybe I was just too busy looking inward.

What I was missing was a sense of awe. What I needed was to feel not just inspired and connected but inspired by and connected to something that was real and solid and which asked nothing more of me than to be myself.

Perhaps this is what led me to seek solitude in the outdoors, in the great wide open. And now I was here. Revelling in it. It was hard not to feel very satisfied when I thought of all the decisions made to get me to this point driving through the desert, with no one around for miles.

Fleetwood Macs Rhiannon came up on the playlist. I was immediately taken back to the first time Id come here, to Joshua Tree. A side trip after a friends wedding. There had been five of us then, packed into a boxy rental, elbows slung out of windows, the hits of Fleetwood Mac playing on repeat one of the only albums anyone had available offline on their phone. I remember being so mesmerized by this place; the strangeness of the trees slipping past, the landscape as alien as anything Id ever seen. I remember the details of that day so vividly: watching the road ahead through the frame of the front seats. The slosh of the water keg in the back. My hand hanging out the rear passenger window, pressing against the hot metal of the car door until my fingertips felt the burn, then stretching out into nothing, my fingers pushing through the thick, warm desert air.