Don't Take A Snake On A Road-trip

Picture this: The fall of 2008, you are 6, your parents take you on a week-long road trip through the plains of Wyoming. That would have been me, 6 years old in the fall of 2008, living in a cabin with my parents. My family and I travelled a lot throughout my youth, especially when we lived in Utah. Therefore, I have been many, many places across America. As a kid, the world seemed huge, like nothing could hurt me. However, my carefree, run-amok nature got me into several questionable situations as a young child, the story I am going to tell, being one of them.

(Me at Flaming Gorge, a different, safer part!)

My parents had packed me and my then 2 year old, sister up in our old Audi wagon, and set off on a trek across the desert. We did this often, my parents being avid campers and adventure enthusiasts. Obviously, because we were young my sister and I got dragged along; we enjoyed it, the trips made us feel grown up. This time, our destination was Flaming Gorge, Wyoming.

We stayed in a cabin, outside of Flaming Gorge. I had never stayed in a cabin before, so this was an exciting experience. Point being: waking up in a cabin felt magical to me. The world seemed so simple, as if nothing bad could happen as long as we stayed right in the cabin. Unfortunately, we did not stay right in the cabin.

The next morning, we loaded into the car one by one, excited to see Flaming Gorge, as our cabin wasn’t quite there. Wren, my little sister, and I had found rubber snakes in the gift shop before leaving. We named them Pip and Squeak. They entertained us for the 25 minute drive to get to the actual Gorge. As any 6-year old with no common sense would, I ran past my parents’ arms up towards the precarious edge.

Anyone who has ever seen Flaming Gorge, would tell you the breathtaking enormity of such a thing. The gaping maw of earth, wrenched apart red-rock and sandstone for thousands of feet, until eventually, a beautiful blue expanse of glassy water lays at the base. So, my mother’s alarm as her 6-year old daughter bolted towards the broken chain-link fence at the gorge’s edge, was understandable. Flaming Gorge, at the time at least, did not have a barrier except the run-down little fence, barely blocking a spectator from toppling off the edge. The poor fence had seen the worst of weather and time, eroding the links and falling lifeless at the edge of the gorge. I stopped paying attention to where I was going, and tripped over my rubber snake that had been trailing along.

I remember the feeling of my chin hitting the rocks, and my hands reaching out to catch my fall. Almost in slow motion, I turn to see my parents’ running full tilt at me, baby sister in tow. Not until this moment did I look in front of me to realize where I had fallen. My fingertips hung over the edge of the gorge, gripping the dirt and rock. The chain link fence had been broken, where I fell. My mother’s eyes in sheer panic, my father running holding my sister, who was calmly chewing the tail of her rubber snake. The gorge had a certain mystery to itself, as if something was watching you from the other side. I might have just been high on adrenaline, I was 6, after all.

The point of this story is to share my near-death experience at one of the most breathtaking places in America, at the ripe old age of 6. Although the story has become rather humorous now, I learned a lot from it then. Never run to the edge of Flaming Gorge with a giant rubber snake, trip, and nearly catapult yourself off the edge to certain death. However, if you do find yourself in the predicament of being at a giant gorge with your favorite snake, I leave you with this advice only: Leave the snake in the car.

Me and the rubber snake that almost killed me! I don't know why a weed is in my mouth, don't ask.