Misery at the Creek
“I had just wrapped up one of the most memorable summers of my life, meeting people who would leave a lifelong impact.”
Jake Barrows
This didn’t happen today, last week, or even last month. It was the fall of 2023, specifically October 17th, when I embarked on a long drive to Indian Creek, Utah. Known as “The Creek” to climbers, this remote area in the southern canyonlands of Utah offers no cell coverage, no city lights—just pure climbing. That was exactly why I was headed there.
I had just wrapped up one of the most memorable summers of my life, meeting people who would leave a lifelong impact. During this time, I learned how to trad climb, a significant milestone in my climbing journey, especially since I had only bouldered in San Diego. That summer, I met Andy and Kate, who quickly became two of my closest friends. Andy, a seasoned climber, became my mentor—a guy I trust with my life. Kate, with her infectious enthusiasm and adventurous spirit, convinced me to quit my job and head to The Creek to climb splitter cracks and explore the red sandstone mesas of Utah. By September, as summer drew to a close, Andy, Kate, a few other friends, and I headed to the high country with a simple plan: spend two weeks climbing with no other obligations, away from my job in Yosemite Valley.
Before setting out for Utah, I returned to San Diego to prepare for a season of dirtbagging in the desert. I did a cheap but effective insulation job on my windows, made a cozy bed from a sleeping pad, and used Home Depot totes to store my belongings. Once I felt ready, I said my goodbyes and hit the road, my excitement at an all-time high.
The drive was grueling, but my girlfriend Soleil kept me company through phone calls. We had been together for almost a year, which felt surreal. She was the last person I spoke to before entering the no-cell-signal area of the canyons leading into The Creek. My excitement was nearly impossible to contain. Here I was, nineteen, traveling across the states, and climbing with friends. Life couldn’t get better. Goosebumps ran down my spine as anticipation grew; I knew I was about to reunite with Kate and spend the next few months climbing in this sandstone paradise. he road into The Creek felt eerie. Darkness surrounded me, and sharp turns made the drive even more challenging. As I switched on my high beams, I spotted cows grazing along the roadside, a stark reminder of how quickly things could go wrong in these conditions. A moment’s lapse in attention could spell disaster. Reaching the top of a hill, I saw a sharp left turn ahead. The dirt and loose gravel gripped my right wheels, pulling me off the road. I gripped the steering wheel, hoping to recover, but I quickly realized I had no control. I closed my eyes and braced for the inevitable. It was a supernatural feeling. Not for a second did I believe I was in fatal danger, but I knew this wasn’t good. The car flipped, and when I thought it was over, it flipped again until it finally stopped. The silence was loud. The only sound was the dust settling around me. I opened my eyes and saw that I was unharmed, with barely a scratch on me, but the car lay in ruins. It was pitch dark outside, so I quickly started searching for a headlamp among the wreckage. Once I made my way out, I shined the light on my car, and panic washed over me.
It felt surreal. I never believed I was in fatal danger, but I knew things weren’t good. The car flipped, and just when I thought it was over, it flipped again before finally coming to a stop. The silence that followed was deafening. The only sound was the dust settling around me. I opened my eyes and saw that I was unharmed, with barely a scratch on me, but the car lay in ruins.
The darkness outside was overwhelming, so I quickly searched for a headlamp among the wreckage. Once I found it and made my way out, I shined the light on my car. Panic washed over me as I realized what this accident would mean for my immediate future.
Luckily, a car behind me had witnessed my lights vanish from the road into the canyon.
Alex, the man in the car behind me, later told me he thought he had witnessed someone die. He stayed with me, offering the support I needed in that moment. He suggested I gather whatever essentials I could for the night—clothes, blankets, food, and, of course, my climbing gear. While we were collecting my belongings, two other climbers heading into The Creek stopped when they saw Alex’s car with its hazard lights flashing. Fortunately, they were trained EMTs, which turned out to be a blessing. One of them performed a spinal and concussion exam to be sure I was okay, and miraculously, I was in great condition.
They offered to drive me to the ER in Monticello. Before leaving, I quickly explained to Alex that Kate was waiting for my arrival and told him where to find her. Since there was no cell service, they wrote a note explaining what had happened and where I would be, and promised to deliver it to the campground where she was staying.
At the hospital, the staff didn’t need to perform a head exam, but a police officer insisted on a DUI test, which I found odd. The nurses soaked my feet in soapy water to remove any loose glass from walking barefoot around the wreckage. After leaving the ER, I made my way to a Rodeway Inn in Monticello. As I walked to my room, the reality of how quickly and dramatically the night had turned hit me.
Despite everything, I was still cited for a misdemeanor because I had a small amount of marijuana in my vehicle. I also received a ticket for failure to operate within a single lane. It all felt excessive and lacked empathy for my situation. I had no car, barely any savings, and my climbing season was over.
On top of that, the $930 ticket from the San Juan Police Department turned into an arrest warrant when I couldn’t show up for my court date weeks later. It’s keeping me from returning to Utah anytime soon.
Andy and I plan to go back this fall once everything gets cleared up. I’m eager to return to Utah—this time stronger, smarter, and ready to jam.