“CRACK!!”
The sound stunned me as the left side of my body slammed into the boulder. I knew immediately that something had broken. I screamed. Our guide, Alex, tried to help me stand, but sharp pain shot through my leg. “I can’t walk!” I cried. He gently lowered me to the ground. “I’m going for help,” he said in a soothing voice, trying to calm me. Then he turned and disappeared down the gravelly path around a bend in the trail.
Alone, my mind careened from one fear to the next. How would I get down? The slope was steep, the gravel loose, and the sun already dropping. What if I were stranded here all night? Fear gripped me.
I could see people walking on rock formations in the distance, specks of hikers stepping along the ridges. As I stared into the vast open space, time seemed to slow. An odd clarity settled over me.Two couples rounded the bend below me and climbed toward me. They stopped, alarmed, and asked if they could help. “My guide has gone for help,” I said, my voice trembling. As they continued their ascent, panic choked me.
Back on the canyon floor, Rick was studying colorful rock formations, pitted and channeled by millions of years of erosion. A scream broke his concentration. A long minute passed before Alex rounded an outcropping, trotting and sliding down the gravelly trail. His hurried report stunned Rick. Alex then rushed to the park entrance to seek help, leaving Rick worried and helpless.
Fifteen minutes passed. Or was it two hours?! I tried to slide down on my right side and rump, managing about ten feet before the trail became too steep to continue. Then I heard voices approaching. Was it my rescue party? Rick and I were nearing the end of a nineteen-day adventure exploring the glorious vestiges of the ancient Silk Road that once ran from China to Rome. It was Day Sixteen, and we were hiking in remote Fairy Tale Canyon on the south shore of Lake Issyk-Kul in Kyrgyzstan, a stunningly beautiful and rugged country in eastern Central Asia. The day before, we had traveled five hours from Bishkek, the capital, to visit nomadic eagle hunters whose golden eagles still hunt live prey. We spent the first of two nights in a yurt camp along the lake’s shore just outside the small ecotourism town of Bökönbaev.
Earlier that day, our Russian guide Alex first took us to Barskoon Gorge, where we climbed a mountainside to the “Beard of the Wisemen” waterfall. After lunch, we entered Fairy Tale Canyon, a rare geological wonder shaped by earthquakes millions of years ago. Layers of
sandstone created a dramatic landscape of orange, yellow, and purple rock rising in jagged outcroppings. Visitors climb these hills, following gravelly trails through the scrub.
Once in the park, I immediately wanted to climb a hill. Rick declined. “Go ahead. I’m staying right here.” Alex and I took off up a nearby path. After climbing for fifteen minutes, we reached the flat summit. The view opened onto a panoramic moonscape, its bands of color glowing in the late light. I spotted other hikers on distant formations. After snapping several photos, we began the descent. The path seemed much steeper going down, and Alex advised me to turn sideways and crab-walk across the crumbly trail. I took one step, and my foot landed on a patch of loose pebbles. That’s when it happened.
Heroes Arrive to Rescue Me
Alex appeared, blanket in hand, with our van driver and two other men. They lifted me onto the blanket. Excruciating pain shot through my leg, but it was not the moment to complain. Each man grabbed a corner, and they began the careful descent along the narrow path, trying not to stumble or drop me. At one point, the man near my head slipped on the gravel and slid underneath me. We stopped until he recovered, then continued downward, my body occasionally scraping the ground and rocks.
We reached the canyon floor. I will never forget the look of horror on Rick’s face when he saw me crumpled inside a blanket and writhing in pain. I felt terrible for putting him through that anguish, especially knowing, in hindsight, that I had taken a real risk. The rescue party then carried me another quarter mile, still in the blanket, to the park entrance where our driver had left the van.
There was no cell service in this remote area. After settling me on a platform with Rick, Alex and the driver headed back to the restaurant where we had eaten lunch, which had a signal, to call Bökönbaev for an ambulance. I took four ibuprofen from my daypack, and the next hour crawled by as Rick tried to calm me down. When the ambulance arrived, the emergency medical team pulled out a stretcher and carried it to me. One EMT approached with a hypodermic needle, plunged it into my arm, and emptied its contents.
Almost immediately, my body relaxed and the tension eased. Strapped into the litter and loaded into the ambulance, I headed for the town clinic. As the only person fluent in both English and Kyrgyz, Alex rode with me and facilitated everything over the next several hours. Rick returned to the yurt camp with our driver to retrieve and repack our four large suitcases and check us out.
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Blaine Bonham is a seasoned 30+-year travel photographer with worldwide experience from Cuba to Myanmar to Morocco to Romania, with a particular focus on India and Southeast Asia. His work features fascinating, culturally atypical points of view and photos. Earlier in life, Blaine enjoyed national standing as a non-profit leader and environmental activist with the Pennsylvania Horticultural Society. His approach and character allow him to see countries and people with special empathy and a critical architectural eye. Archives of travel and street photography with stories of journeys and blog posts are available to view on his easy-to-navigate website: https://blainebonham.com. You can also access his occasional newsletter at culturaleyewitness@blainebonham.com.