Yesterday, I saw a man drown here.
A full-grown, fit adult, around 2 pm, on a day with perfect conditions, and hundreds of other people around.
This place is beautiful and can be enjoyed safely. But before you take just one step toward the River, I beg, BEG you to consider:
the young boy, a child, who found this man’s body
the father who had to dive to the very bottom of the pool to pull this man out of the water
the people scrambling to the top, their shrieks for help ricocheting through the canyon
the countless strangers who, without a second thought, rushed across a treacherous current, to take turns doing chest compressions for nearly 30 minutes and breath air into a man who, in all likelihood, had already passed
the teenagers, heads lowered, who prayed over him
his friend, who had to say goodbye in front of a silent audience of onlookers
the numbered emergency workers who were faced with no other choice but to drag his stretchered body up the cliffside by a rope.
The grief created by a tragedy like this extends far beyond that of the people who knew this man, who loved him. It ripples into the world in ways I am unable to quantify. I will live with this experience for the rest of my life.
The River does not have a moral compass. It does not think of you. It does not think. It just moves along efficiently, on a path it has claimed for thousands of years. Not a single one of us are invincible, and in the end, we become, we are, responsible for the people around us.
This is what is at stake during your visit.
——
To the man who pulled him from the water, I wrote you a letter. If you would like to have it I would be so grateful to...
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