Two days earlier, Rich had quietly taken out his DeLorme and sent a satellite text to a group of friends in Flagstaff alerting them that Pete and I would probably have to be extracted from South Canyon, a tributary drainage that offered an access route to the rim. Then the previous afternoon, he’d confirmed that a rescue would be necessary. By sunset, a truck had left Flagstaff, driven by a cheerful young river guide named Jean-Philippe Clark, who had already arrived at the rim last night, via a series of remote dirt roads, and was already working his way down to the Redwall with a heavy pack
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Finally Rich does something intelligent.
