I SURVIVED QUICKSAND
RYAN OSMUN, 34, A PHOTOGRAPHER
The Subway is a trail in Zion National Park, in the US state of Utah, that’s named for its tunnel-shaped canyon. On February 16, 2019, Ryan Osmun and his girlfriend, Jessika McNeill, both from Mesa, Arizona, had the trail to themselves. The National Park Service describes the hike as “very strenuous,” requiring “route finding, creek crossing, and scrambling over boulders.” Nowhere does it mention quicksand.
It was sunny when we set out from the trailhead at 8am. Halfway through our ten-mile hike, after we’d climbed boulders and forded streams, a light snow began to fall. Soon after, we entered the Subway and its swirling, rust-coloured walls. Standing in our way was a small pond. The trail
continued on the other side, and, because it looked shallow, we began to wade through, with Jessika leading the way.
About 1.5 metres from the edge, her front foot sank into the sandy bottom. Then Jessika fell forward, and both legs started to sink. I lunged, grabbed her under the shoulders and pulled her out of the muck. She then scrambled back to shore. But now I was sinking. The muck came all the way up to my right thigh and my left calf. I freed my left leg but I couldn’t move my right leg at all. Jess handed me a long stick we’d picked up earlier in the hike and I jammed it down the side of my leg and tried to wiggle and pull my leg out. Nothing.
Jessika started scooping sand with both hands, but it was refilling faster than she could pull it out. I told her to stop; she was wasting her energy. I was not getting out of the quicksand.
The only phone reception was back at the trailhead, five hours away over rough terrain.
I told Jessika she had to hike back and call for help. She was scared— she’d only ever hiked with me and was wary of being alone on such a difficult trail. But we were out of options.
Thirty minutes after she left, it started to snow heavily. I zipped up my jacket and pulled my head inside. At some point I nodded off to sleep. I don’t know how long I was out, but I woke up as I was falling backward into the pond and the quicksand. I urgently planted my stick into the dry ground and pulled myself upright. I was exhausted. If I fell backward again, I’d never be able to get out. It had been about five hours since Jess left, and it was getting dark.
A few hours later, I saw a light through my jacket. I prayed it was a helicopter, but it was just the moonlight shining over the canyon
walls. At that point, I was soaking wet and knew I wasn’t going to survive. I started to think about what I could do to die faster. But I didn’t want to drown if I fell again. That would be the worst way to go.
An hour later, another light shone across my eyes. A torch! I yelled for help. A man shouted back as he ran to me. His name was Tim, and he said that Jessika had got through to rescuers. He had hiked up, and the rest of his crew was an hour behind.
When the three others arrived, they set up a pulley system to yank me out. Two of the rescuers held me under each shoulder as Tim wrapped a strap around my kneecap. An anchor strap was tied around a boulder. A fourth rescuer worked the pulley. With each ratchet, it felt like my leg was being ripped off. Tim dug into the sand and got a hand around my ankle and started pulling up. It was agonising, but I could feel my leg moving. “Keep going!” I screamed.
Three more ratchets and my leg was freed. My rescuers dragged me to the side of the canyon because I couldn’t walk. I couldn’t feel my leg at all. It was too dark and snowy for a helicopter, so they got me into a sleeping bag, gave me pain medication, and we settled in for the night. When I woke up at 6am the next day, snow covered the top of my sleeping bag, and it was still coming down. Around noon, the weather lifted, and the rescue team called in a helicopter.
My entire leg had swollen to the size of my thigh, but when I got to the hospital in the nearby city of St George, X-rays revealed no fractures or breaks. I had sat in the quicksand for 12 hours and believed I would die. But I didn’t.
I COULDN’T WALK OR FEEL MY LEG AT ALL. WE’D HAVE TO STAY OUT OVERNIGHT