
The Little Red
Writing Book
Adventure Planning Document
Volume 11: The Terrell-Gaye Traverse. Part 1. Death Valley.
Rationale
There are plenty of adventure challenges out there. The Seven Summits, Colorado’s 58 14ers, the Grand Canyon R2R2R, all of which are inspiring, but none of which are mine. I’ve set out to make my own challenge for myself, in hopes of completion, and to inspire future generations of adventurers.
I would like to be the first person in history to be able to say the sentence “There ain’t no mountain high enough, ain't no valley low enough, and ain't no river wide enough, to keep me from getting to you,” and truly mean it. This of course is in reference to the song “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough” by Tami Terrell and Marvin Gaye.
Therefore, I have named this challenge the Terrell-Gaye Traverse, implying Terrell traversing to Gaye or vice versa, over mountain, through valley, and across river.
This challenge is of course up to interpretation, as all are. However, here is what I propose. In order to complete the Terrell-Gaye Traverse, one must
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Highest Mountain: Summit Chomolungma (Everest) without the use of porters.
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Lowest Valley: Traverse from the Northern Terminus of Death Valley to the Southern Terminus. Use the route that goes through the general vicinity of Badwater Basin (-282 ft elevation). This must be done solo and unsupported (No use of trail or road. All food and water carried on back without resupply from anything other than nature itself. No outside assistance for navigation or anything).
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Widest River: Cross the widest section of the Amazon River, solo. Done either by swimming or kayaking.
Interestingly, the solo, unsupported North-South Crossing of Death Valley is only known to have been done by two people: Louis-Phillippe Loncke and Roland Banas.
It seems as though neither of these two explorers have summited Chomolungma. Therefore, it is still possible to be the first to complete the Terrell-Gaye Traverse.
I would be remiss if I didn’t mention Sarah Estrella, the first female to do a self-supported crossing of Death Valley, Ray Zahab and Will Laughlin who did a supported summer crossing together, and finally Helen Thayer, one of the most incredible people I have ever read about. Helen has done the crossing of Death Valley, and though she used roads while doing so, her other accomplishments in life make these goals look like childsplay. Though Helen didn’t attempt this specific challenge, it is very clear that there is no mountain, valley, or river that could stop her from getting to anyone.
Attempt #2 Trip Report
Before reading this trip report, I recommend you watch this four minute video I made about the trip, if you haven’t seen it already. It’ll help you better visualize the events you’re about to read.
12/17/21
I entered the last student’s final grade into the gradebook, closed my laptop, and locked my classroom. The Fall Semester had officially come to an end.
Before I knew it, I was behind the wheel of Ol’ Randy Newman (my car), driving up towards the Northern Terminus of Death Valley National Park. The plan: 1. Drive to the Northern Terminus and leave the car there. 2. Commence expedition at 5:00 AM on 12/18. 3. End expedition at Southern Terminus 4. Be picked up by my gracious cousin Kiran Chetan, and have him drive me back to the Northern Terminus, where Ol’ Rands would be patiently waiting, as he does so well. 5. Drive back to the City of Angels.
7 hours later, at about 10:15 PM I arrived at the entrance of Pigeon Springs Road, the off-road necessary to get to the Northern Terminus, 6 miles away. My eyes widened. Despite there being no snow on any of the roads along the way, as well as there being no snow during my scouting mission just a week earlier, Pigeon Springs Road was completely snow packed.
No matter. I’m stubborn, and Ol’ Rands is a badass. Plus, I’m not about to let a whole year’s worth of training and anticipation be thrown away by the scare of being stuck in the snow.
I notice that there are tracks in the snow. Brilliant. It seems that someone braver than I has already ventured into this abyss. I’ll follow the tracks. I hop on the road, and allow my car to be guided by the “car-steps” of the vehicle before me.
And within just 1000 feet, the clean set of tracks turns into a mess or scribbles, and doesn’t continue forward.
Fantastic. My unknown so-called hero chickened out, decided there was too much snow, and turned their car around.
No worries.
I’m still stubborn. And Randy is still a badass.
I hit the gas, and plunge into the un-driven foot-and-a-half of snow. And Randy is killing it. The snow is no matter, the car keeps fighting forward.
And then, the once flat road starts to slowly tilt upwards.
Randy’s still going. But every once in a while the snow becomes too much, and I have to reverse back through the tracks, hit the gas again, and push forth anew. We keep at it for another ten minutes. But soon, the car hits a more testy patch of snow, swerves, and is unable to move forward or backwards.
No worries.
I’m still stubborn.
From the trunk, I grab the traction mats and my hand shovel. I furiously begin shoveling away at the snow blocking Randy from moving forward. Just me, in the night, headlamp lighting the way. Not scared, just focused.
Hell, it wouldn’t be a Sammy adventure if something didn’t go terribly wrong.
I had a flashback to my time in Iceland just a month ago, over Thanksgiving break, where I was in the exact same situation. There I was, in the highlands of Iceland, in the middle of the night, without a soul in sight, freezing temperatures, wind a rocketin’, digging my stuck rental car out of the snow with my hands, as the Northern Lights twinkled in the sky behind me.
I made it out of that situation, I’ll make it out of this one, I thought.
Back to this story. I lay down the traction mats against my front wheels, and hop back into the front seat. I slam on the gas, and smell the rubber burning as my tires spun against the snow without any prosperous results. I had never used traction mats before. Am I using them wrong? Did I buy cheap ones? Will I make it?
And all of a sudden, Randy lurches forward. The front wheels grab a hold of the traction mats and fly into the new snow, and my back wheels do the same. And I’m moving again.
Until I’m not.
And so again, I get out, dig the surrounding snow away, lay down the traction mats and drive.
I repeat this process for an hour and a half. It’s now 12:00 AM, and I’ve barely made it one out of the six miles to the Northern Terminus. I know I can’t go on like this all night. I need sleep before I traverse the entire Valley of Death. I consider my options. Should I start the next day? But what about my arrangements for pickup? Should I abandon the mission? But what about everything I’ve ever wanted?
And then I had an idea.
Hey Sammy. Let’s reverse out of here, drive three hours to the Southern Terminus, and attempt the crossing from South to North.
Holy shit.
That’s not what I planned for. I planned to cross from North to South, not South to North. What if it doesn’t go well? I’m pretty sure the South to North crossing has never been done before…
Fuck it. Let’s do it. That’s all I can do. I’m never going to make it through all this snow. Fuck it. Fuck it!
I honestly smile. What a life. This is a goddamn vintage Sammy adventure.
I spent the next 30 minutes digging out the snow from behind my back tires, putting down the traction pads, and driving backwards through the snow. I try my best to align my car to the tracks I had made, but every once in a while, my car spins out and gets trapped off to the side. I persist, continuing to dig my way out. When I’m back on my previous tracks, I’m flying backwards, barely able to see the tracks behind me, gas pedal fully compressed, rocketing through the snow, until finally my car shoots out of Pigeon Springs Road onto the snow-free 266.
Holy fuck. I made it. Let’s go. Let’s fucking go.
_________
12/18/21
It’s 12:30 AM. The Southern Terminus is three hours away. There’s no way I can still start at 5:00 AM, right? I decided to start at around 8:00 AM. I text my cousin, informing him that the new pickup location will be at the Northern Terminus, and that I will need to be driven to the Southern Terminus. Additionally, I update everyone who will be following my tracks about the situation, such that they won’t be confused when they see my tracks starting at the Southern Terminus.
At 1:30 AM, I’m too tired to keep driving. I pull over to the side of the road and car-camp. I wake up at 6:00 AM, and continue forward. I arrive at the Southern Terminus at around 8:30 AM. I begin to finalize my pack, eat breakfast, drink as much water as I can, dig a hole, take a poop, etc.
I throw the 70 pound pack on my back, walk over to the exact Southern Terminus (the Henry Wade monument), and commence my expedition at 9:15 AM, 12/18/21.
I walk.
I walk.
I walk.
I walk.
I take a break.
I walk.
I walk.
I walk.
I walk.
The pack is heavy. But I trained for this, it’s ok. The terrain is manageable. I’m in high spirits. It’s not so bad.
I love this. I love walking. I love this. It’s just a few hours in.
This will be easy!
At one point, about a football field in front of me, I see two humans hiking through the brush in front of me, heading in a different direction. These two become the only humans I see hiking during the entire duration of my expedition.
I happen upon the dried up river bed of the Amargosa River, and follow it along. It’s nice and smooth.
“The south side isn’t so bad! I love this! Just walking, forever!”
I hadn’t experienced the south side yet, as my first failed attempt was from the Northern Terminus to Stovepipe wells, the “halfway point”.
The dried up river bed starts to become a little muddy. I’m shocked that water would even exist here, as during my first attempt, I didn’t even get a hint of water. Soon I see tiny puddles of water in the river bed. My mind is blown. I had decided not to bring a water filter, because I figured there would be no water, as per the observations of my first attempt. I’m annoyed with myself, but not too worried. The water is murky, and I’ve got plenty of water.
Though, drinking just 100 milliliters of water every break, no more, was becoming maddening when every part of me wanted to drink the entire bottle.
I made it 18.4 miles that night before I decided to set camp under the full moon. I laid down my sleeping pad, put my sleeping bag on top. No tent. Just me, and the wilderness. I end up sleeping in this manner every night of the journey.
_________
12/19/21
I dig a hole, poop, eat breakfast, and begin moving again at 5:45 AM.
I began moving through the open valley. I thought about how I’d be the easiest target in the world for a sniper right now. And then I found a bullet lodged in the ground.
Fantastic.
Though the mountains on each side look just about two football fields away, they’re actually two miles away. Look behind or in front of you, and you can see ten miles into the distance. You walk for hours without seeing any progress in your journey in the surrounding environment. You assure yourself that every step forward gets you closer. And like a loading bar with bad wifi, I watched my progress through the valley on my Garmin.
Now, here’s how I’ve been tracking my movement in the valley. I had been using my Garmin inReach mini in extended tracking mode, where it uploads my new location every twenty minutes, and then goes to “sleep” between each upload to conserve battery life. As I began to start moving that morning, I “woke-up” my Garmin to find a message along the lines of “Your device is at a critically low battery level, please charge before device shuts off.”
Ack! All my progress, about to be erased! I threw my pack down, scrambled for my portable charger, and plugged my Garmin in. I was relieved to see that the device stayed on and that my tracks hadn’t been erased. I kept moving.
At 8:33 AM, I notice that my device has been fully charged, so I unplug it. A warning message pops up on screen that says something like “External power has been removed. Device will now power off unless otherwise prompted.”
Fine by me. I assumed it would just go back to sleep and continue extended tracking.
It didn’t.
I don’t check my Garmin often during the journey. It’s demoralizing to move for an hour, check your device, and see that you’ve only progressed a mile or so. So, the next time I wake it up to see my progress is at 12:42 PM.
And all my progress is gone.
Turns out, the device had completely shut off when that message had popped up. By my calculations, 6.8 miles went unaccounted for.
I sat down. I knew I was likely going to be the third person to have ever completed this crossing solo and unsupported, but I also thought it would be nice to become the fastest person to have ever completed it. In order to prove this to the record keeping website, one of the requirements is that you submit your GPS tracks. But now, my tracks had a significant gap in them. How was I going to prove I didn’t cheat the system during that time by hopping in a helicopter and having a buddy take me those 6.8 miles?
Goddamn, it wouldn't be a Sammy adventure if something didn’t go terribly wrong.
Then, I remembered why I was doing all this in the first place.
I don’t give a shit about being the third human to do this.
I don’t give a shit about being the fastest human to do this.
I just want to do this.
For me.
So that I can say I have crossed the lowest valley in the world.
So that I can one day say that “There ain’t no mountain high enough, ain’t no valley low enough, and ain’t no river wide enough, to keep me from getting to you.”
Fuck a record. They can just choose to believe me or not, just like they choose to believe me when I say that I carried all my food and water on my back instead of stashing it in different locations.
And my progress isn’t erased. My real progress. I’m standing 31 miles away from where I was at 9:15 AM on 12/18/21.
I smile. I turn on extended tracking again, and keep moving until 9:00 PM.
Fuck a record.
I’m here for me.
_________
12/20/21
I begin moving again at 5:50 AM.
Walking, walking, walking.
One foot in front of the other.
My feet are on fire. No flat trail or road. Rocks, pebbles, and going in and out of washes are all my feet know. My feet are my wheels, and I am an all-terrain vehicle.
At one point, I find a bunch of bones that I believe belong to a vulture. I put them in my pack. It’s a great gift for my great friend Michelle, who also happens to be the Biology teacher at the school I work at. Whenever I find bones out in the wilderness, I bring them back so that she can display them in her classroom for the kiddos, the same kiddos I’ll end up teaching Algebra 2 to in the following year.
“Mr. Kottoor found these bones in the mountains!”
“The fuck?”
I keep walking until I come across Westside Road, and I find a U.S.G.S. benchmark about ten feet away. I decided to throw my pack down and take a break here.
I see a cloud of dust in the distance, and soon a Jeep is rumbling down the road. I saluted it as I do to all Jeeps, and as the driver came closer, I threw up a peace sign to acknowledge their presence. The car comes to a halt. And the window comes down.
“Hey there, you alright? Do you need a ride anywhere?”
“That’s so sweet of you for asking! But no, I’m perfectly ok! Thank you for the offer!”
Those would be the only words I would speak to another human during the duration of this journey.
As I continued forward, the washes began to get even more pronounced, a few feet deep. I found myself stepping in and out of washes every few minutes. The ground became more dense with rocks and pebbles. There was no hope for stepping on flat ground. My feet molded to each new surface, increasing the pain I was feeling.
My feet were on absolute fire. They’ve never burned like this before.
I look up to my left and notice that if I maybe angle myself up towards the mountains, the terrain might be flatter. There doesn’t seem to be any washes up there. It’s hard to tell, as this area is about a mile away, but I believe it’s worth a shot.
So, I begin rapidly gaining elevation as I move closer to the mountains. And as predicted, the terrain becomes much easier to walk on.
For a bit.
Soon it becomes one of the most frustrating terrains of the journeys. Washes begin to appear. And they are huge. Ten, twenty feet high. I’m finding myself sliding down steep walls into washes and grabbing at dirt as I climb back out of washes. Climbing with the pack is horrific, as it is physically difficult, but you are also terrified that you will topple over backwards and smash your head against the floor ten feet below.
When I take my breaks, I remove my shirt and use the sweat drenched back of it to cool my face.
I continue.
I try to angle myself back down towards the valley, as my prediction had been horribly wrong. At least the washes in the valley are no more than 5 foot tall.
I continue.
Feet on fire.
Then, I had an idea.
What if I simply just stopped caring about how my feet felt?
Seems simple.
And with that mindset, I began flying. Sprinting across the rocks. The pack was probably at 60 pounds now. Didn’t matter.
Feet on fire.
But, I don’t care. I don’t care. I don’t care. I don’t care.
Fuck my feet.
Fuck a record.
I’m here for me.
I finally set camp at 6:45 PM, too tired to continue.
_________
12/21/21
At 4:50 AM, I begin moving again. My goal for today: cross over 190, the road that basically divides Death Valley in half, the Northern end, and the Southern end. If I can cross over 190 today, I’ll allow myself to complete the hike. If I can’t, I will abandon the mission, and head to safety over at Stovepipe Wells.
No pressure.
Walking, walking, walking.
One foot in front of the other.
The ground starts becoming clumpy, little tiny dirt mounds speckled in white that my feet keep squishing. It’s slightly annoying as my momentum gets sucked away with each squish, but it’s far better than stepping on rocks. It’s like I’m stepping on Dippin’ Dots, I tell myself. I don’t know why that thought helped my lactose intolerant ass, but it did.
Walking, walking, walking.
One foot in front of the other.
Daydreaming, daydreaming, daydreaming.
I failed my first attempt for two big reasons.
The first reason: late March-early April is too hot to be hiking in Death Valley. Problem solved. Second attempt in December. Great. The second reason: During the first attempt, I only packed these protein dense cookies to save space. That was it. By the third cookie on the first day, the taste of those cookies was repulsive, and my body literally could not eat them without gagging. And just like that, I could not eat the only food that I had brought. Problem solved. Second attempt, I pack a high variety of foods, all of which that I like, as well as a few of those protein dense cookies from last time just to fuck with myself. They went down easier this time spaced out with the other foods. To emulate eating an actual meal in case my body would crave such a thing, I even packed four dehydrated meals. Of course, in Death Valley, water is more valuable than gold. I did not rehydrate these meals. Those were some crunchy meals, but the trick worked. It was as close as I could get to eating a meal in the Valley of Death.
I failed my first attempt for two big reasons.
Or so I told everyone.
There was a third big reason that I kept secret to myself until my successful second attempt.
During my first attempt, I decided that this adventure would be a good time for me to sort through all my problems in my life, to see if I could create a plan to combat my seriously decaying mental health. And so while I was attempting to do the most challenging physical task I would ever undertake, I also tried to do something harder: fix my fucked up head.
It was all too much. While my body was on fire, my mind was even more on fire than usual. All my energy was being depleted. In fact, it turns out that thinking actually burns calories, on average 320 calories a day. And I was thinking twice as much. And doing twice as much. And eating half as much. I was genuinely delirious during the last few days of my first attempt.
Second attempt? Problem solved. I decided that I would not think. I simply would not use my mind for anything other than thoughts of survival.
This was to be a test of my physical capacities, not my mental capacities.
I decided to let my mind do whatever it wanted, without judging it, stopping it, utilizing it, or even perceiving it.
And what did my mind want to do?
Daydream.
I spent a majority of that expedition daydreaming.
Daydreaming, daydreaming, daydreaming.
Daydreams of finding a hidden stash of money in the desert and what I would do with it.
Daydreams of having to hitch a ride out of the Northern Terminus if my cousin wasn’t able to pick me up.
Daydreams of writing this trip report and having the report be “discovered” and published by the New York Times, where I would get my own section to tell a new adventure story every week.
Daydreaming, daydreaming, daydreaming.
Walking, walking, walking.
I began to walk over these spiky spires of salt that would no longer clump. Each one stabbed against the soles of my boots. For miles.
Feet on fire.
I don’t care.
It felt like I was walking through a field of dinosaur bones.
Soon I made it out of that nightmare.
The terrain in Death Valley changes drastically every few miles. It’s a truly diverse place.
I began to walk over plates of salt.
This was the best terrain of the expedition. Just flat. And beautiful. I had never walked through a salt flat before.
I had never walked through a salt flat before.
Oh shit! It had never hit me how cool this was, I was too busy daydreaming to even realize it, but I had been walking on salt plates for miles now! I’ve never been on terrain like this in my life. I had to try some!
I threw my pack down, and with my fingers, ripped a piece of salt off of a plate, and tossed it in my mouth.
It was delicious.
I continued forward.
The salt plates started getting muddier and muddier. Soon, I was sloshing through water, each plate filled to the brim.
Water.
The reason why this expedition is so beyond fucked up is that there aren’t really any places to filter and restock on water during the hike. If there was, then 150 miles is honestly a pretty doable task for your general backpacker.
But this fucking place. You have to carry all your water for the whole trip on your back. And that’s heavy.
And at no point are you allowed to drink your water.
You have to sip. Cautiously.
All you want to do is just down the entire bottle. But instead, you drink just 100 millimeters at a time. And it’s maddening. Sometimes your mouth acts before you can think and greedily laps up another 25 milliliters. You quickly cap the water bottle and throw it to the side, before you ravenously drink any more. You’re disgusted at yourself.
Pull it the fuck together Sammy. 100 millileters at a time. You know the rules.
When I would measure how much I had drinken, after each sip, I would tilt the top of the water bottle slightly towards me such that the reading was a little higher than it actually was.
This is how it was for the first five days of the expedition, anytime I would drink water. It was the most self control I’ve ever had to exert over myself.
Here, nothing mattered more than water. Not love, success, gold, money. Water was king. Water was my god.
During the day, I would hike with only my windbreaker on top, purposely making myself cold, such that I would lose less water to sweat. It wasn’t an exact science, but it seemed to do something.
I was delirious. I wanted to drink more things. I considered drinking my own pee. I could fill up one of my ziploc bags with pee, and let it cool overnight, so that it was a nice cold drink in the morning.
I decided not to. But not because I was repulsed by the idea. I was just unsure if pee would dehydrate me or not, and I didn’t want to take that chance.
I thought back to all my times in the mountains, wondering why I wouldn’t just sit by each mountain lake lapping up water like a dog. Next time I’m in the mountains, I swear, I swear I’m going to drink so much of that good stuff.
And here I was, sloshing through water for miles. I couldn’t believe it. I had to have some.
I know what’s going to happen.
It’s going to be too salty.
Of course. It’s Death Valley. The only available water will only dehydrate you more. That makes sense.
But I have to drink it. I have to. I have to.
No. I have more self control than that.
And before I can stop myself, my cupped hands fly downwards, scoop up some water, and my mouth is pressed to my hands and before I know it, it’s down my throat.
Yup.
Too salty.
Fuck you Death Valley.
And so I sloshed on forward. For miles.
At one point, later on, I decided to try again, but this time I used my extra shirt as a filter, and hopefully it would filter out the salt.
I knew what would happen. I knew that though the shirt might filter out some bacteria, it wouldn’t filter out the salt.
But I had to try. I put my shirt over my empty water bottle, and began to scoop water over it, and watch as water filtered through and dripped to the bottom of the bottle. Once a few drops hit the bottom, I tossed my shirt aside, and had a taste of it.
Yup.
Too salty.
Fuck you Death Valley.
Soon, I made it to a spot just about 5 miles away from 190. I am thrilled with my progress, and can’t wait to cross over 190 before calling it a day.
At this very moment, I thought to myself, “I no longer feel intimidated by this thing I have asked of myself.”
I can do this.
Now, I wasn’t entirely sure how I should cross over 190. Analyzing the topography of the area on my map, I located a region that looked like a slot through the hills with relatively low elevation gain, as opposed to gaining a lot of elevation by going over the hills. I decided to aim for the slot.
This would end up being a very bad decision.
As I approached the slot, I realized that there was a slot here because it was where Salt Creek entered the southern half from the northern half. Should be fine, there shouldn’t be much water, it’s Death Valley. I’ll just walk along the sides.
I was wrong.
The entrance to the slot was about 4 miles from 190. As soon as I entered, I realized that the entire slot was basically a swampy region, with water knee high. The best part? There was an elevated wooden platform that went through the first half-mile or so. But, the “unsupported” nature of this adventure dictates that you stay off trail. And so, one foot after another, I plunged on in the darkness through this swamp, my boots filled with water, dirt, weird bugs and insects, odd swamp plants, and other generally gross things, all while a trail was just five feet away from me.
I didn’t mind. Trails are unnatural. I am one with nature. I belong in the swamp.
I just pray no one comes wandering down the trail and sees me. I must look insane.
I was reminded of my time in Ecuador. Our team was on break from our project, so we were able to go to one of Ecuador’s parks, Isla Santay. I was excited to do some hiking. When we got there, I was incredibly disappointed to find out that it was a swamp, and that the only “hiking” was walking around on wooden elevated platforms that circled the entire area.
That’s not nature, I told myself. I want nature. Platforms? Pshh. That’s not nature.
I drifted behind while the rest of the team wandered forward. I waited until there was no one around, and lowered myself off of the wooden platform into the swamp and quickly waded towards the middle until no one on any platform could see me. Then, I had myself a fun little photoshoot before I returned back to the group.
Back to this story.
I waded along this creek for an hour. Total darkness. Every once in a while, my legs would sink into the sand below the water, and I would grasp at anything sturdy around me to pull myself out. I couldn’t tell how much longer I would have to go on like this. I couldn’t handle much more. I was moving slow, and even I was starting to get grossed out by all the things that were filling up my boots.
I made my way to the outer banks of the creek. And I decide, I’m just going to go up. Up and out of the slot. And I’ll just climb up and down and up and down whatever hills I need to. So, I began gaining elevation towards 190.
The Death Valley gods rewarded me for my efforts that day. I thought I would have to go up and down and up and down all the way to 190. But it was just up. A straight shot. No loss of elevation gain. Within about two hours, I would reach 190. I crossed over onto the northern half of Death Valley, and let out a big sigh of relief.
I did it. I crossed 190. That was my goal for today. I did it. I’m on track. I’m going to make it. I’m not going to give up this time. This won’t be a failed attempt.
I did it.
I suppose I didn’t need to wade around in that swamp for two hours. I could’ve just gone up the hill. But you make mistakes when you cross entire national parks. That’s just part of it.
Whatever.
I was dumped out onto the Northern half onto some relatively delightful terrain, flat ground with dispersed rocks that were easy to avoid. I decided to take full advantage of this, and continue on into the night.
I finally set camp at 11:10 PM.
I think part of me kept going so late to procrastinate having to deal with the collection of unwanted collectables in my boot. I took my boots off and shook them real well. Then, I tactfully rolled my socks off of my foot inside out, capturing all the grossness within, and put the socks in a plastic bag and then into my pack. I put on a new pair of socks, got into the sleeping bag, and zipped it shut.
The smell was awful. I absolutely reeked of the swamp, and had now contained this stench within the confines of my sleeping bag. I shriveled around to find the air hole, and gasped for clean air.
I fell asleep as quickly as I could.
_________
12/22/21
I begin moving at 6 AM.
The pack is far lighter, the terrain is far flatter. I’m moving quickly through the valley.
Walking, walking, walking.
One foot in front of the other.
I see the head of a bird.
Hmm.
I see a cactus, and I remember on my first attempt when I deliriously tried to eat one and ended up with a mouth full of tiny needles.
I decided I must try again. It just looks…delicious. But this time, I’ll be careful, I swear.
I grab my knife, and press a rock against one side of the cactus, such that I don’t touch it. I begin to peel the other side away, such that just the green mushy inside is showing. The problem is that the green mushy inside is about as thick as two pennies. So, when I scoop out some with my knife, there’s still some bristles from the other side, as well as the bristles on my knife from the peeling. But, my cravings got the best of me, I put the knife slowly to my mouth, and licked the cactus off the knife.
I got a few needles stuck in my lips and tongue after that. Nothing like last time, but still annoying, and definitely not worth it.
I kept moving.
Walking, walking, walking.
Gaining elevation.
Ever so slightly, walking uphill. Walking ever so slightly uphill for miles.
Terrain gets more and more difficult. No longer fun and flat. Rocks. Rocks everywhere. Washes. In and out of washes.
Feet on fire. They’ve been on fire for days. Yet no amount of pain right now can compare to the immense joy I will feel when I am complete with this task.
That specific thought pushes me forwards.
I end up realizing something.
Every time I climb a mountain, as my legs are burning, or I’m super cold, or I’m absolutely exhausted, many a time, the thought will pop in my head, “Why am I doing this? What’s the point? Why am I putting myself through this much pain?”
And not just in the mountains. All the time. Like right now. Doing grad school while being a full time teacher. It’s been hell. You go to work, you come back home, you work more, you workout, then you go to bed. On repeat. For months on end. The thought does pop into my head often, “Why am I putting myself through this much pain? Is it even worth it?”
And here, in Death Valley, faced with the greatest physical challenge I’ve ever yet to face, I realize something.
Not once this trip have I questioned myself. Not once have I wondered why I am doing this. Not once have I wondered what the point was. Not once have I wondered if this pain was worth it.
I realized that I have literally never been this passionate about anything in my entire life as I am about crossing this goddamn valley.
Good. I grinned. Then let’s keep moving through this shit Sammy.
And again, the gods of the Valley bless my very soul. Out of absolutely nowhere, I happen upon the main wash of Death Valley. And according to the map, it’ll take me straight to the Northern Terminus.
I am thrilled. You see, all the washes from before were perpendicular to my path, so I had to keep dipping in and out of them.
But this was the main wash. It was going to take me home. I just knew it.
And the great thing about being inside the wash, is that it’s basically heaven for your feet. It’s flat, with dispersed pebbles that you can generally avoid.
Let’s go. Let’s fucking go.
No seriously. Let’s move. Come on.
And so I start zipping through the night.
Feet, still on fire. Forever on fire. But not being hurt furthermore.
It’s ok. No amount of pain right now can compare to how happy I’ll be when I’m done.
Soon, it’s night again, but it’s cloudy, and the path isn’t moonlit like it had been the last few nights. I continued through the darkness of the wash, as my headlamp hinted at the shadowy walls towering twenty feet above me on the sides.
I set camp at 10:51 PM.
_________
12/23/21
It’s an extra cold morning. Takes a lot of motivation to get out of my nice, warm, super stinky sleeping bag. I had a little knee pain this morning. I’m worried, but I know I just need to fight through it.
Begin moving at 5:35 AM.
Zipping through the wash. What a life.
Walking, walking, walking.
One foot in front of the other.
I cross over a road. Had to pee, so I peed on it.
Keep moving.
I had packed two of my 10 liter water bags for this trip. One I filled with 6 liters, the other with 7. I also had two one-liter water bottles with me. Anyways, I had gone through most of one bag, so I switched to the other. I had washed these bags before the trip with dish soap and water. Unfortunately, there were still some hints of dish soap in this new bag, I guess I hadn’t fully rinsed it out. Those bags are hard to clean.
For the remainder of the trip, the water I would drink would taste like dish soap.
I called it my dishsoapian reality.
I certainly had a mild stomach ache. I wasn’t sure if it was that, or the general lack of good food, or the physical task itself.
Or that I had been deliriously chewing on calcium pills that you are supposed to swallow, just to have the taste of literally anything in my mouth.
Hard to know exactly why your belly is aching in times like this.
Doesn’t matter, I keep moving.
Soon, it’s starts drizzling. I welcome it, the rain has a nice cooling effect on my body.
I’m getting so damn close to the Northern Terminus. I can feel it. I will be done with this hike tonight.
I satellite message my cousin Kiran Chetan and his friend Praveen that they can plan on picking me up from the Northern End at 10:30 PM.
Their original plan was to stay in a hotel in Bishop and then drive over and pick me up on the morning of the 24th, as they were driving all the way from San Francisco. But I feel confident that I will be done with this adventure tonight (23rd).
Soon, I am almost done with the valley portion of Death Valley, as I begin to close in on Last Chance Canyon. I’ll just have to climb this 1000 foot canyon, and then make my way to the Northern Terminus. Easy peasy. I finally enter into the slot that takes you to the foot of the canyon. The sun has fallen, and I continue in the dark. I’ve got about three miles to the foot of the canyon.
Walking, walking, walking.
Crunch, crunch, crunch.
Snow?
Snow.
Shit. Snow?
Yup, snow.
Perfect. There’s a little snow on the ground at first. As I keep heading north, and keep gaining elevation, the snow gets thicker and thicker.
Crunch, crunch, crunch.
My headlamp against the twinkling snow begins to hurt my eyes.
It’s fine, keep moving.
Snow gets thicker.
I finally make it to the foot of the canyon, but in the dark, with the snow everywhere, it’s a maze. I’m trying to find the exact place I had originally decided to descend/ascend the canyon at. It’s seemingly impossible. I decide to just pick a random slot, and follow it up.
Bad idea.
Soon, I’m moving up through this three foot wide slot in the canyon, post-holing in the snow, pushing myself upwards and onwards. I begin to climb over large rock obstacles. With the pack and the slippery ground, this proves to be difficult.
The slot gets steeper. My non-waterproof pants get more wet.
Shit, I didn’t think there would be this much snow.
The slot gets steeper, about 60 degrees. I’m no longer just on my feet, but on my hands and feet, climbing up. But it’s not rock that I’m grabbing onto. It’s some weird clay type material that falls out of the wall if you pull too hard. I find plants to grab onto when the clay begins to slide. The plants begin to come out of the walls too. I’m covered in wet clay. The slot is getting steeper. I’ve committed too hard.
I know that I’ll be safe once I make it to the top of this canyon. It’s dangerous right now, but if I just push a little further, I can make it to safety. I keep moving up. Clay keeps flying out of the wall. This wall can’t go up forever. Eventually, I will make it to the top.
Before I know it, I’m 30 feet high on an 70 degree slope, my pack trying to pull me backwards, and my hands dug into the slipping clay.
And in that moment, I have the thought.
“There’s a good chance I die here tonight. That’s ok. It’s ok.”
It’s not the first time in my life I’ve had the thought.
In fact, it’s the seventh time.
In these moments, I become incredibly calm. And I put all my trust into my natural instincts.
“Sammy. You’ve been hiking since before you were even thinking. Navigating the outdoors is a skill that has been woven into your DNA. Trust me. Trust my body. I’m going to get you out of this, safely.”
And so, I move forward, cool, calm, and collected. Focused. Upwards. Slowly. Breathe in. Breath out. Going up. It’s ok.
But sometimes, no matter how cool, calm, or collected you are, a huge chunk of clay can still rip out of the wall and crash into you, sending you downwards towards the abyss. The next thing you know, your face smashes into the slope as you tumble downwards, and you claw away at the wall to slow your descent. Wet clay coats your entire body. And you somehow miraculously come to a halt on a relatively flat surface. You look down at your hands, and notice blood, but you’re not sure where it came from. Then you realize that when your face smashed into the wall, one of the lenses in your glasses had shattered, and that your glasses frame had cut your face in the process. You don’t have terrible vision without glasses during the day time, but at night, it’s too difficult to see without your glasses.
Well, that’s what happened to me.
It wouldn’t be a Sammy adventure if something didn’t go terribly wrong.
I decide I have no other choice but to set camp for the night in that almost flat area of the three foot wide slot, halfway up the canyon. It’s not ideal, because something could easily tumble down the slot and crash into me in my sleep, but I can’t descend without my glasses. I decide to descend in the morning, and find a new route up when there is enough light to see.
I throw down my sleeping pad, and then my sleeping bag on top of it, and jump in. I’m shivering, my pants completely wet. I should’ve taken them off, but I didn’t have any energy left.
I feel terrible. I had told Kiran Chetan and Praveen to pick me up tonight. But, it was an emergency. They were going to have to understand. I reach for my SAT device to tell them to head back to their hotel in Bishop. It’s 10:45 PM.
And for some reason, even though there’s a clear view of the sky. My SAT device has basically no reception.
Oh no.
I type out a quick message to Kiran Chetan asking him to turn around back to Bishop, saying that I can’t make it tonight. My parents are also under the impression that I was going to finish tonight. I send a message to them as well that just says “I am ok. I need another night”.
Neither message has been sent. I hold my SAT device up towards the sky as I shiver in my sleeping bag.
And finally, the text to Kiran Chetan goes through. The message to my parents does not though.
I put the SAT device to the side, hoping for the message to my parents to send.
I try to sleep but instead I shiver away as thoughts flood my head.
I hope my parents don’t think I’m dead.
I did all I could.
I hope Kiran Chetan tells my parents I’m alive.
I hope he even got my text.
I hope they don’t call Search and Rescue.
I’m sorry.
Please let the messages send.
I hope they don’t think I’m dead.
I’m so sorry.
I hope my friends aren’t scared for me.
I’m so sorry.
I hope no one thinks I’m dead.
I’m not dead.
Please don’t let them think I’m dead.
I didn’t want to scare anyone.
Please let the messages send.
I’m so sorry.
I’m going to be ok.
I know I’m going to be ok. But what about everyone else? Do they know?
Why do I do these things?
I’m so sorry.
What the fuck is my life?
Why can’t I just be normal?
Please let the message send to my parents.
Please they can’t think I’m dead.
I’m so sorry.
I did everything I could.
Please let the messages send.
I’m so sorry.
Why do I do this?
Why is my head so beyond fucked up?
I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me.
That’s not true.
I’ve spent a million hours wandering the wilderness figuring out every single reason for why I am the way that I am.
I know exactly what the fuck is wrong with me.
I just don’t know how long it’s going to be until I’m ok.
Well, I know I’ll be ok one day.
One foot in front of the other.
_________
12/24/21
I don’t know if I slept that night.
If I did, then I think I woke up at 3 AM?
I was relieved to see that the text was finally sent to my parents, and that Kiran Chetan also received my text. Turns out, they were just ten minutes away from the pickup location when they received my text. They couldn’t head back to Bishop because there was too much snow on the road. So they had to drive another 100 miles to another hotel in Nevada where they would arrive very, very late into the night. It was a terrible night for them.
I explained what had happened the previous night in more detail. They were understanding.
I also filled my parents in on the situation. They were understanding as well.
I didn’t get up and out of the sleeping bag until approximately 6:30 AM. I didn't poop this morning. I just wanted to be done with this canyon.
I plan to meet Kiran Chetan and Praveen at the pickup point at 11:00 AM. The pickup point is about 6 miles away from the Northern Terminus, as their car would not be able to make it through the snowy off-road all the way to the terminus.
I safely descended the slot to the foot of the canyon, and began to look for a better way up. Unfortunately, the top of the canyon was shrouded by a haze of snow clouds, so I was still unable to make out the exact descent point I had chosen during my scouting mission.
I look at my map, and realize that my ascent location might require a little climbing to get to. It’s hard to tell with the haze.
I will only do what is safe, I swear to myself. If it gets too steep, I’ll descend and find another way up.
And so, instead of using a slot. I find a ridge, the wall of a slot. And I begin to climb up the ridge. It’s about a 30 degree angle, nothing crazy. I get higher and higher.
That ridge connects to another ridge. Which connects to another ridge. I’m quickly gaining elevation. On both sides of me are large 100 foot drop offs, but the ridge is a safe place to be, as long as I stick to it. I’m careful as I step in and out of snow.
I get onto another ridge, which leads to another ridge. Higher and higher I get, and soon I’m climbing into the haze. 300 foot drop offs on either side of me. I stay towards the right side, where the drop off is much less steep.
Wow this is actually an incredible view. Like, spectacular.
Should I get my camera out? This would be great footage.
No.
Fuck your camera.
Fuck your video.
Fuck a record.
Just get me out of this canyon alive.
Ridge connects to ridge connects to ridge connects to the top of the canyon.
Holy shit.
I made it out.
I’m safe.
I’m alive.
Holy shit.
Snow, everywhere.
I throw my pack down and immediately start eating so much food. I hadn’t eaten all day, as all I wanted was to put the canyon behind me. I plug my Garmin in to charge again. At one point, the cable detaches without me knowing, and again the Garmin shuts off, without me knowing. I figured this out seven minutes later. My progress is erased. I don’t care.
Fuck a record.
I’m here for me.
I turn on extended tracking again.
I keep moving.
Through a foot of snow. One foot into the snow. Pull the other foot out. Put that foot back into the snow. Pull the other foot out. Put that foot back into the snow. Pull the other foot out.
Trudging, trudging, trudging.
One foot in front of the other.
Toes getting cold. I’ve gotten superficial frostbite before in the mountains, and I’m nervous this time my toes won’t be spared.
Almost there.
I had just about a mile left to get to the Northern Terminus. That mile would end up taking me two hours.
And.
I finally make it.
Crossing complete at 10:35 on 12/24/21. Total time: 6 days, 1 hour and 20 minutes. 153 total miles.
I did it.
So why am I not jumping up and down with joy?
Why do I feel nothing?
Oh, that’s right.
I’ve got another 6 miles to go through a foot of snow to get to the pickup point. I have to get there in an hour. And this last mile took me 2 hours. And I’m exhausted. I was not expecting this much snow.
I SAT my parents, wondering if there is any way they can find someone who has a 4WD badass snow car that can come pick me up.
My parents say they found a guy.
Fantastic. I’ll just bundle up while I wait for the guy to arrive.
I throw my sleeping pad onto the snow, and then my sleeping bag, then I get inside.
I’m texting my parents still.
They tell me that I need to talk to the guy.
Ok that’s fine.
I get his number and message him my situation.
Turns out, my parents had found Search and Rescue’s number.
Great, I think to myself. Search and Rescue’s not going to help. They only help in medical emergencies. I thought I’d give it a shot anyway.
I tell them that though I’m not in any medical danger, I possibly could get frostbite, and I’d be really thankful if someone with a snow-capable car could come pick me up from the Northern Terminus and take me those 6 miles.
Search and rescue says they won’t help because it’s not a medical emergency, and that I should try to complete the hike. They said to reach back out when I’m safe.
Yup that makes sense.
Dang it. I shouldn’t have set this sleeping bag up.
I’m still searching for some sort of company or group that picks up and drops people off in places that most cars can’t access, like an adventure taxi. A company like this would really help me out in situations like this. If anyone knows about any services like this, please let me know!
I pack up my sleeping bag, and I begin trudging through the snow.
Trudging, trudging, trudging.
One foot in front of the other.
It’s 12 now. Kiran and Praveen Chetan are wondering where I am.
I tell them it’s going to be a few more hours. I beg them not to leave. Please don’t leave me here.
Trudging, trudging, trudging.
One foot in front of the other.
It’s 1 PM. I got another text on my SAT device from Praveen. They say they were able to make it halfway up Pigeon Springs Road before the snow got too bad, cutting the 6 miles I need to do into three. And I’ve already done half of that three.
They were able to send that text by driving ten minutes away from Pigeon Springs Road to a spot that has service. They asked for my ETA, and if they should come back to that halfway point.
Yes please don’t leave me here.
Please.
That halfway point is great. Please come back.
Please.
I’ll be there soon. Please just wait.
Trudging, trudgin, trudging.
One foot in front of the other.
It’s 2:00 PM.
I’m getting pretty nauseous. Maybe it’s the dish soap water. Or when I smashed my face last night. Or the calcium pills. Or the physical task I have just undertaken.
Oh wait. I haven’t pooped yet.
Yup that’s it.
I’m feeling pretty terrible, so after I poop, I don’t get out my toilet paper. I use snow to wipe.
Neat, I’ve never used snow to wipe.
I feel a little better.
I keep moving forward.
It’s 3:00 PM.
I’m so close to the new pick-up location.
I can do this.
3:15.
And soon, I can see the pickup location.
I’m moving. I’m thrilled. I’m almost there.
Please be there. Please don’t have left me. Please have waited for me.
I get closer and closer.
3:30
I’m there.
Where are they?
I get a text from Praveen.
They had again driven away to the spot with connection to ask for my ETA.
I’m here!!
I’m here come back!!
Please come back!!
They start heading back. I keep walking towards them. For whatever reason, all the snow has been cleared from this point forward, so it’s finally just back to walking for me. That’s why they were able to make it to this halfway point.
I feel safe.
Even if they can’t make it, I’ll make it out of Pigeon Springs Road onto 266 to safety, and will hitchhike my way out of here if need be.
I keep walking.
And soon I see their car slowly coming towards me.
My heart. My soul.
I made it.
I’m alive.
I’m smiling.
I get in the car.
I tell them how incredibly thankful I am for them.
I’m incredibly thankful for you two.
I eat the food they brought for me. It’s Mcdonalds, and right now, it’s the best food I’ve ever tasted.
They drive me to my car at the Southern Terminus.
Still feeling overall exhausted and nauseous, I poop, and I use a rock to wipe.
Not as neat. I’ve used a rock to wipe before.
I get in the car.
I drive back home to LA.
And that was Attempt #2.
_________
Recorded history?
Up until this time, only two people have been known to do the solo-unsupported North-South crossing of Death Valley National Park: Louis-Philippe Loncke and Roland Banas.
Here, the definition of unsupported is “the hiker must carry all their food and water supplies from the start and will leave "no trace" (carry out all the trash as well until the end). It is not allowed to receive support from anyone else (navigation, weather, carrying equipment, filming or photography, etc.). The hiker has to feel/act as he/she is the only one on the planet. No pre-placed food or water caches allowed. No trails, no roads. The use of a satellite phone, distress beacon or GPS does not constitute support.”
A few other notable people have completed the crossing in a supported manner. However, the solo, unsupported crossing, like I said, had previously only been done by Loncke and Banas, at least to public knowledge.
Additionally, Roland Banas currently holds the speed record of 6 days, 23 hours, and 55 minutes.
I completed the crossing in 6 days, 1 hour, and 20 minutes.
So, am I the fastest and third person to have ever done this?
I followed all the principles dictated by the definition of unsupported.
I adore nature. Of course, I also followed the principles of Leave No Trace.
To qualify to be recorded as having the Fastest Known Time here, one must also follow all the rules of Death Valley National Park.
I adore nature. Of course, I followed the rules of Death Valley.
Or so I thought.
Upon looking back at my tracks, on three of my six nights during the expedition, I was just barely inside an area that you are not supposed to camp. Not in the middle of this area, but towards the edges. Why?
I must’ve misread the map, out of pure exhaustion. I genuinely was trying to abide by the rules of the National Park, and planned my route so that I would camp on the outside of this area.
You’re basically not allowed to camp on the valley floor from Ashford Mill in the south to the north end of the shifting sand dunes of the Mesquite Sand Dunes. I agree with the logic, it’s a fragile ecosystem. I made sure my route allowed me to stay on the west edge of the valley floor so I wouldn’t camp on the valley floor, as opposed to using a route right through the middle of the valley, which would actually be a lot easier.
But, I didn’t go west enough on two of the nights.
The other night was when I just didn’t go far enough away from Scotty’s Castle Road to camp. You have to be a mile away from any paved road, I was just 1000 feet away. Again, I tried moving as far from that road as possible before setting up camp. But I think I was so exhausted, I didn’t check to see if I had moved far enough away.
I’ve drawn a diagram with my campsites labeled in chronological order. It is Figure 5 in the Maps and Diagrams document. The dots are my campsites. The green ones are the allowed ones, and the red ones are the campsites that are not allowed. The black dashes show my general tracks. Nights 2, 3 and 4 were the disqualifying ones.
So, despites my best intentions, I didn’t fully adhere to all of Death Valley’s rules.
So, what does this all mean?
The challenge on the Fastest Known Times (FKT) website, proposed by Louis Philippe Loncke, requires that the rules of Death Valley National Park must be followed. This is not my challenge. It is not up to my own interpretation. If I or anyone wants to compete in this challenge, they must follow FKT and Loncke’s rules. Anything else would be highly inappropriate.
I do live by a strict code for myself. No matter what, I think it is a MUST to do the right thing.
As soon as I realized that I had made these mistakes, I emailed FKT telling them that I am withdrawing my application from the challenge, for the previously stated reasons. FKT did not see my email and accidentally posted the record. It looked like this.
I frantically emailed FKT again telling them urgently to check my last email. Within exactly 21 minutes of the posting of the record, it was removed off of the page.
I was relieved. I didn’t care to see my name above Roland Banas’ if there was any ethical violation.
And how do I feel about all this?
Remember, I wasn’t competing in their challenge.
I was competing in my own challenge.
The reason I did all this.
The Terrell-Gaye Traverse. The challenge that I placed on myself.
I wanted to cross Death Valley.
So that I can say I have crossed the lowest valley in the world.
So that I can one day say that “There ain’t no mountain high enough, ain’t no valley low enough, and ain’t no river wide enough, to keep me from getting to you.”
This is my challenge. And in my challenge, if you break a few park rules it’s ok, as long as in your heart, you genuinely tried not to break them.
It really comes down to this: In your heart, were your intentions to act with a deep respect for nature, or were your intentions to further your own selfish goals no matter the cost to nature?
I know where my heart was.
And if you ever try my challenge, it’s up to you to determine for yourself what your truest intentions were in your heart. Only you can know that. I’ll take your word for it.
Let me be clear.
This is not a trip report of my attempt at the FKT for the Death Valley N-S Crossing (CA).
This is a trip report of my attempt at Part 1 of the Terrell-Gaye Traverse: the solo, unsupported crossing of Death Valley National Park.
And I damn well did a solo, unsupported crossing of Death Valley National Park by my standards.
And I only know of two other people that have done what I did.
So, am I the fastest and third person to have ever done a solo, unsupported crossing of Death Valley?
You can decide that for yourself.
But personally, I don’t care.
Because fuck a record.
I did this for me.
_________
Maps and Diagrams
Here are the relevant maps and diagrams that show the route that I took. Click on the link below to find these.
Maps and Diagrams (Attempt #2: Death Valley N-S Crossing Solo and Unsupported)
Attempt #1 Trip Report
The 12/18/21 crossing was my second attempt at the crossing, which proved successful. I can attribute a bulk of my success to learning from my mistakes during the first attempt, where I failed. If you are interested in reading about my first attempt, please click the link below.
Death Valley N-S Crossing Solo and Unsupported Attempt #1 Trip Report













