The Last Trip

The last of the three summer trips that Becky and I participated in was probably the most eventful. During at least one of the summers there were two trips but Becky and I only went on one each summer for three year. Participants paid to go along. I don’t remember how much but I would guess it was three or four hundred dollars. Many earned their own money to go. They also needed spending money and were responsible for their own gear. The latter was a new challenge for some but they learned quickly that they suffered if they lost or misplaced something important.

For the last trip we traveled across Nebraska and stopped at a park and campground called Mormon Island just outside of Grand Island. It was a beautiful setting in the middle of wide-open Nebraska. Late that night some young Japanese travelers came into the campground in their VW and set up a tent not far from us. It wasn’t long before a park officer and a deputy sheriff roared up, light flashing, the officers jumped out of their vehicles and started shouting and ordering the Japanese to leave the campground. There was a lot of pushing and shoving by the officers. John Becker and I felt like we should intervene but knew if we did we would be gone, too. I was never so embarrassed to be an American! One of the officers shouted as they shoved them and their gear back into the VW, “We had enough or your kind in World War II!”

We traveled into Wyoming the next day and stayed near Sheraton. From there it was on to Jackson Hole for the night. We had a beautiful campsite and met a bunch of Jewish kids traveling. We had a great time that evening around the campfire as we all sang and they taught us to do the hora. We fell asleep that night listening to a large group of Mormons singing hymns. It was the Mormon Tabernacle Choir on a retreat. We heard them a second time in rehearsal a few days later in Salt Lake City.

We stayed in Bountiful, Utah. The campground was in a huge grove of Bing cherry trees and we got there just in time. We gorged on the delicious fruit. While we were there we visited Mormon Square and toured the visitor center there. We weren’t allowed to go in the temple but still had a very interesting time.

The kids were on their own when we visited places like that. We always gave them a schedule of when to meet and strange as it may sound we never lost a kid. At the end of that day in Salt Lake City we did find out that one of our group members did spend his entire day going up and down on an elevator in one of the cities tall buildings. Obviously, it was very easy to entertain some of us.

While we were in that area we also went for a swim in the Salt Lake. I don’t recommend it. Oh, it fun to be so buoyant but you are miserable when you get out and the salty water begins to dry on you. We also visited the huge Kennecott Copper Mine.

The last day in the area Becky became very ill with what we now think was toxic shock. We were forced to take her to the emergency room. They really weren’t much help and said she would just have to wait for the diarrhea and vomiting to pass. Becky and I ended up staying in a motel room that night just so she could get some rest. The other adults were very jealous but didn’t really want to trade places with Becky.

We traveled from Salt Lake to western Colorado. We had a very interesting time at Dinosaur National Monument and then after a very long day, camped along the river in Glenwood Springs.

They next day we drove to Granby, then over Trailridge Road, and then on to Estes Park where we stayed at the Red Arrow Campground. We liked that spot and had stayed there on a pervious trip. We had originally planned to stay in a campground down in Big Thompson Canyon but had changed our mind because of the proximity of the Red Arrow Campground to the activities in the area.

Rain set in and curtailed our activities. Typically, it rains briefly everyday, passes and the sun comes out. That was not the case this time. The second day, a large group of us climbed Longs Peak. It rained on us almost continuously the last five hours of the trip back. That evening in the activity center at the campground they told us it had rained two and a half inches. That was almost unheard of there. Soggy gear and bad tempers seemed to take over.

The next day, a Saturday, was worse. It rained ten and a half inches that day. It was July 31, 1976. One hundred and forty-four people were killed that day as a fifty-foot wall of water raced through the canyon devastating everything in its path.

I remember taking some of our kids to Our Lady of the Mountain Catholic church for the eight o’clock service because we planned to leave for home early next morning. I waited for them in the van. I watched the pouring rain and waves of water two or three inches deep sweep across the parking lot. I saw a highway patrol car and a county maintainer truck race down into the canyon with lights flashing. Neither survived.

We spend that night sleeping on the floor with a lot of other campers in the activity center because our gear was soaked. In the morning they informed us we couldn’t leave if we were going east or south because all of the roads were closed. We did get to leave about 10:30 but had no idea what we had just survived.

As we went south through Boulder and then east toward Iowa the story unfolded on the radio. First, it was just one life was lost and then more. It gradually occurred to us that we had by chance just sidestepped a tragic event. We stopped in western Nebraska to let our kids call home and spread the word that all were safe and well. The whole incident traumatized us and the group never had another trip.