I would like to say that every photography trip I make works out, and I return with the most amazing photographs. I always research and plan. Occasionally, I research extensively, especially when preparing for a location like Coal Mine Canyon. But even at that, not everything is in my control. A weather forecast, in particular, is a forecast, not a certainty.
And occasionally, it’s that weather forecast that causes no end of trouble, even if I had a hand in causing the outcome.
Coal Mine Canyon in Arizona is one of those times. It is at the top of my most scary adventures, and given that the monsoon season is about to begin, a topical reminder.
I’d wanted to photograph this canyon for a long while. It is, in and of itself, stunningly beautiful. It has everything I look for in a desert photograph. Wide, soaring views. An extraordinary landscape. Strong points of interest. Somewhat off the beaten path and not often photographed. Perfect!
I also knew that I needed more than the canyon to create the image I saw in my mind. A clear, sunny day would take this fantastic location and turn it into the boring zone. Instead, I required dramatic weather to pull it off.
The day finally came. The weather forecast was fabulous, and off I went to Coal Mine Canyon! It was summer monsoon season, and the forecast said I would have dramatic clouds with no real chance of rain. Perfect!
Coal Mine Canyon is an interesting location. There are no paved roads into it, which is par for the course for me. But also, once wet, the desert dirt roads become immediately impassable. Once solid ground turns into goo. You can’t walk on it, let alone drive in it. I knew this. But that knowledge didn’t help.
As I reached the turnoff from pavement into Coal Mine Canyon, I stopped and took stock of where I was and what was going on around me. There were passing summer storms—perfect. Unfortunately, a storm cell had just passed by, and the dirt road leading into the canyon was damp. Extreme caution was required. Yet, I needed the clouds for the photograph. I weighed my options.
I walked down the first part of the road a short distance, and it looked OK. This part of the trail into the canyon was flat and level and only a few hundred yards down. Although damp, it presented no problem, and I thought, incorrectly, that I could pull this off.
My plan was simple: get into the canyon, pull off the photograph with the big, heavy, dramatic clouds, and get out before the rains closed in. The timing was tight because I could see the storm cells in the distance, and it was only a matter of time before one of them came over the canyon.
As expected, the first few hundred yards were easy. My 4Runner had zero issues, and the surface was hard. This lulled me into a false sense of security, and I was now planning ahead and not paying attention to the here and now.
I quickly came to the beginning of the canyon. Here, the road tipped down and into the canyon. The next mile or so was all at a downhill slope. Nothing overly difficult, but it was downhill. Easy when it was dry. The road still felt solid to me.
Everything went off the rails right at this moment.
I should have gotten out and walked the downhill part. Instead, I assumed it was the same surface as the beginning. By now, you’ve figured out it wasn’t. I didn’t figure it out until it was too late.
I gently nudged the 4Runner onto the downhill part, going slow, just in case. Furthermore, I was in four-wheel drive, so there wouldn’t be any problem. That didn’t matter. The front tires were fine, and the back tires followed.
The slide
I felt a little slide. No big deal. I tapped the brakes. No effect.
None.
Uh-oh.
I now put my foot on the brakes, hard. There was absolutely no effect, and I continued to move forward. Huh. Look at that. I was now sliding down the road into the canyon, and stopping was instantly out of the question.
The first few yards were not that big of a deal, really. I would be stuck, at worst, and nothing more. I continued to slide.
Zero control.
None.
And then the right side quickly fell away into the canyon, now several hundred feet down. Almost straight down.
No pavement. There was no solid surface. No guardrails or barriers. Just an out-of-control sliding SUV with no way to stop and a drop-off to my right. If the 4Runner went over the edge, as was likely, there was nothing I could do about it at all. I would go over the edge with it. It was a guarantee the SUV would roll, and I wondered, not idly, how badly I would be injured.
Or worse. The “worse” option was not theoretical. It was likely.
No response.
None.
I continued to slide down the hill toward my fate.
There’s a lot that goes through your mind in times like these. It isn’t instant, so you have the space of a few moments to ponder what brought you on this path. There’s nothing you can do about it save review your choices, which, as is now apparent, were poor.
My slide increased. I tried to steer and brake, but both of those actions were now vague hopes and suggestions. The suggestions were ignored.
Time stretched into an infinity. It was a slow-motion struggle for survival, and being OK was not ensured. I was as much a passenger to the inevitable as anything else. Talk about an uncomfortable feeling!
Against all odds, I mostly stayed on the road, despite the constant threat of simply going over the edge. Even more incredibly, I gently came to a slippery, sliding stop. I have no idea how, really. It wasn’t the brakes, but I suppose the dirt firmed up just enough in this spot to bring me to a stop. Whatever it was, it was a blessing.
I just sat there, pondering. I was surprised I didn’t go over the edge. So, that was good. But I was also well and truly stuck and in an extremely precarious situation. Just ahead of me, the road leveled out. This wasn’t much of a spot, just a couple of car lengths long, but it would have to do.
Coal Mine Canyon is remote, and no one would find me today. Especially not today.
I did the unthinkable. I took my foot off the brakes. The SUV continued inexorably downward. But this time, I felt I had a wee bit of control. I was gambling that I would not slide over the edge and the almost-level ground would let me stop. I was correct on both counts.
Now I was in a much better position. I was no longer sliding, and I was stopped. So I did the next unthinkable thing: I tried to turn around.
Normally, one would make a three-point turn here. Instead, I made something like a hundred-point turn, gently rocking the 4Runner to free myself from the mud. It took forever. I had all the time in the world.
In the end, I managed, somehow, to turn myself around. I guess my four hundred thousand-plus miles in this vehicle meant something after all, and the SUV and I became one as I made the torturous maneuver. Now, at least, I was pointed uphill.
I sat there, trembling, and had a long think about my situation. It wasn’t great. I was still in a great deal of danger. The survival of the SUV, and even myself, was not guaranteed. I was absolutely and completely terrified.
And then I noticed the storm cell closing in. As bad as things were, they were about to get a lot worse. I sighed and put the SUV in gear. I concentrated with all my might. The car and I once again melded. I began to inch forward. Tires spun and mud flew everywhere. Yet, despite that, I moved in the direction I intended.
I was headed uphill, so being slow and careful wouldn’t work. And I couldn’t really floor it, either. Instead, I needed a middle ground, which I managed to strike. I began the impossible journey. The 4Runner spun and slewed. It threatened to go over the edge. I didn’t let it by the sheer force of my will. It wanted to spin and head back down. I denied it the opportunity. Again, after countless hours in the driver’s seat, I knew this vehicle, and it knew me.
Together we conquered the fifty-foot incline. Trivial when dry. Mt. Everest in the current conditions.
We were victorious just as the heavens opened up and unleashed. I made a mad, muddy dash across the formerly solid level surface toward pavement. A few moments ago this was as stable as could be. Now, the 4Runner slewed from side to side, barely making forward progress. Mud spewed everywhere, the road now liquid. But also, momentum was now on my side.
I made it to the pavement. I just stopped. Safe.
I shook. I could not believe my luck. Furthermore, I could not believe I made it out of the canyon safely, without injury, or worse, to myself or the 4Runner. Luck and fortune were on my side. After spending more than a few minutes gathering myself, I headed off.
The summer monsoon, which was most certainly not supposed to be here, unleashed a truly epic thunderstorm. The desert liquefied all around me, and I was now caught in a flash-flood, another especially scary situation. Luckily, I was now completely numb to the terror, so I wasn’t fazed. Plus, I was on pavement.
There were some places where the water was flowing over the pavement, but I made it through those areas readily enough. Make no mistake: water flowing over the pavement is exceptionally dangerous, and in normal circumstances, must be avoided. I knew in a few more minutes the road, pavement or not, would be impassable, but I was OK. The 4Runner was OK. I was safe.
So, what went wrong?
I didn’t realize the surface of the dirt changed when I went from level ground into the canyon proper. Even though I knew, conceptually, it would, I didn’t check it. It was far too late when I realized it. There was nothing I could do.
It’s not a mistake I’ll make again, that’s for sure. I was fortunate to recover from this experience before anything life-changing happened to me. And it was my mistake. No sugarcoating it. I failed to think through my action of leaving one dirt surface for another one and thinking it wouldn’t make a difference.
Water transforms a desert into something else entirely, and the forces of nature are extraordinarily powerful.
But all is not lost
A year later, I went back to Coal Mine Canyon. This time I checked and double-checked the forecast, and it was clean and dry. I decided to trade less-threatening clouds for a safer experience. After all, the desert during a rainstorm is not to be trifled with. Dirt roads turn into quagmires, which, no matter your vehicle, tires, or equipment, will trap you.
The forecast called for no chance of rain, and there had been no rain in the last week or so. My previous dilemma would not be an issue.
I breezed down the section that previously terrified me. I stopped there and relived those moments, thankful that everything turned out OK. The canyon was still Coal Mine Canyon, and it certainly hadn’t changed. Its beauty was still there, calling to me. But I knew, too, that I had no reason for fear today, and the experience was relaxing.
Furthermore, I explored the canyon, and it was indeed everything I hoped it to be.
Finally, I’ll leave you with this photograph. I was hoping for a more dramatic sunset, but after the adrenaline and the trembling of my first visit, this stillness is precisely what I needed. The canyon is just as powerful as during a storm, but today, it gave me the tranquility I was looking for. I’ll be back, of course, for the canyon still calls to my soul.
