On August 26, when a tidal wave estimated to be 30 meters high rushed through two narrow, steep valleys in the Himalayas at 150 kilometers per hour after a glacier burst, it killed at least 1,200 people. More than 4,200 people are still missing, including hundreds of tourists. Asked why there was no warning, Nepalese Prime Minister Balendra Shah said the disaster simply could not have been predicted - although critics noted that there had been signs of increasing instability on the glacier.
Just three days later, the images of the disaster seemed to have an echo when, on the other side of the world, another flash flood occurred in the Grand Canyon. Within minutes, torrential thunderstorms had caused the stream in Bright Angel Canyon, a popular hiking route, to swell into a raging torrent; six bridges crossing the small river on the route were destroyed. Two hikers could only be rescued dead, a third remains missing so far. The tragedy severely shocked the communities surrounding the park.
Around 80 people narrowly escaped the mud and water with the help of rescue workers from all over Arizona. The culprits are now being sought here too. Many people ask why there is no warning system to warn of impending disaster. But anyone who knows the canyon may find the question paradoxical. On the one hand, you are traveling in remote wilderness, beyond any communication infrastructure. On the other hand, the appeal of a canyon hike also lies in the retreat from civilization, in being on your own in nature and foregoing the comforts and security of urban life for a few days. But in a world in which nature is increasingly becoming a click-inducing backdrop, a cool signal of a “lust for adventure,” respect for the forces of nature is taking up less and less space. Since 2024, the park has been offering an emergency SMS service via satellite, which you can subscribe to with an appropriate device. Water level indicators that are supposed to trigger the warning system were apparently destroyed by the flood. And only those who have satellite contact can receive a warning - which is only sporadically the case in the narrow, winding gorges that can become a trap in a rapidly escalating flash flood. It is therefore important to recognize signs of danger in the landscape: muddy streams, rain, thunder.
The quiet humility before the enormous size and sublime beauty of this area, in which hikers once reveled in order to possibly re-locate themselves in their own existence and in the universe as a whole, now plays only a subordinate role. The wilderness becomes a natural place to stay in a world where you think you have everything under control. Looking at videos that show hikers on one of the bridges that were later washed away, filming in amazement the rising tide, can make you feel sick.
“Whoever puts himself in danger will perish in it,” it says in the Bible, which can be read as an invitation not to leave safe areas. Or as a reminder to face potential danger with awareness and preparation.
Hiking in the Grand Canyon is not a walk in the park, even for very fit people. From the edge to the river and back again, the body is faced with a height difference of more than 3,000 meters, as well as a landscape that is almost devoid of any shade and is plagued by the burning sun. There are also seasonal weather phenomena: snowstorms, cold and ice in winter, deadly heat and monsoon thunderstorms with extreme winds and flash floods in summer. “The canyon makes its own weather,” those who have measured the vastness of this gorge know.
The most dramatic scenes in the Phantom Ranch flash flood apparently occurred in a notoriously narrow section of the canyon called the Box, a three-mile-long gorge north of Phantom Ranch. It is feared, especially in summer, because of its extreme heat, and was probably fatal for the victims of the rapidly rising flood.
Three surviving women, who were rescued from this narrow area at the last minute by rescue workers in a helicopter, failed to understand the stream, which was turning reddish, as a warning not to hike into the gorge in view of the onset of rain, but rather to seek out wide terrain and gain altitude.
There are no warning signs suggesting such a thing, and even park officials familiar with the canyon's vagaries described the storms and flash flooding as "fucking scary" (according to a Phantom Ranch engineer who was the last to evacuate).
But anyone traveling in the hinterland is not only required to be physically fit, but also to have an understanding of the landscape and its dangers. Perhaps the park staff can be blamed for not warning hikers strongly enough about weather phenomena like this.
Perhaps the effects of climate change, which may have been indirectly involved in the Grand Canyon flood, will lead to a rethinking of hazard warnings. But US national parks in the American West explicitly serve to preserve wild, remote nature, far from the amenities and supposed security guarantees of civilization. Demanding more security there contradicts the principles according to which they were once declared national parks.
