This is an archived article that was published on sltrib.com in 2010, and information in the article may be outdated. It is provided only for personal research purposes and may not be reprinted.
Aron Ralston has watched his arm cut off dozens, probably hundreds of times.
It's the most controversial scene of the new film "127 Hours," a fictional account based on Ralston's 2003 solo canyoneering trip gone wrong in southern Utah's narrow Bluejohn Canyon.
What had been the most intimate of experiences, which Ralston recounted in his 2004 memoir, Between a Rock and a Hard Place, will now be seen, and judged, by millions of filmgoers.
"The initial intensity comes back in so many vivid ways every time I go back [to the canyon] or see the film," said Ralston, who lives in Colorado and has returned 10 times to the Utah slot canyon where he left his right arm, half of those trips while helping with the film.
At early screenings, some filmgoers reported feeling a little light-headed while others have left the theater during the scene when actor James Franco, who plays Ralston, saws off his wedged appendage with a dull multitool. The film by Academy Award-winning Danny Boyle ("Slumdog Millionaire") opens locally on Friday, Nov. 19.
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The hike of a lifetime • Most Westerners will remember Ralston's story: What began as a casual solo adventure on April 26, 2003, turned into an inconceivable event that left the then-27-year-old man stuck in the slot canyon just outside Canyonlands National Park. After an 800-pound boulder pinned his arm against a sandstone wall, Ralston was trapped for what stretched to 5 ½ days.
"The entrapment created such an appreciation for the frolicking I had been doing until it happened," he says now, "and there was the euphoric feeling of being free and getting my life back again. Because of what happened, I understand what life is."
That desire to live is what Ralston believes makes the story of his experience — recounted in his book, and now the movie — so appealing. What's compelling, he believes, isn't the actual self-amputation, but the motivation to do so.
"I'm hopeful that people will see something inside of themselves, as well," said Ralston, who doesn't believe words such as "courageous" or "heroic" should apply to him. "I was in an extraordinary circumstance and it fundamentally came down to wanting to live and get back to my family. It is about survival, love and freedom — and those things are common in all of us."
Of course, most of the drama of Ralston's experience could have been avoided. A simple note to one person about where he was headed on that spring day might have sufficed. Traveling with at least one other person may not have saved his arm, but it could have prevented 5 ½ days of waiting to die.
But Ralston, search-and-rescue workers and other experienced outdoor adventurers say sometimes humans just need to be alone.
"There are a whole variety of reasons to go solo," Ralston said. "You find a greater connection with the wilderness, as opposed to connecting with a companion in the wilderness. I am grateful for companionship in the wild, especially now, but I also still feel a need to prove to myself that I am capable and self-reliant. There is a feeling of freedom."
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Engineering his own freedom • While the movie is powerful and fittingly dramatic, thanks, in part, to Ralston's involvement, his book provides a deeper look into the outdoorsman's thinking that led to his self-rescue. That he survived the amputation of his right arm is even more amazing considering the mental trickery involved, and considering he was suffering dehydration and delirium from a lack of food and sleep.
Perhaps it was Ralston's other life as a mechanical engineer that helped him with the intricate process of deciding on the most efficient way to cut off his own arm. How many people, in a similarly desperate state, would realize they had to break both bones in their lower arm before starting the procedure?
Ralston paused to take a picture of the rock walls where he had inscribed what he thought would be his death date, then escaped Bluejohn Canyon by leaving his arm behind. The tight walls of the remaining 200 yards of the slot canyon helped him escape.
His next challenge, as a rookie amputee, was surviving a 150-foot rappel. That tricky maneuver completed, Ralston embarked on the eight-mile journey into Canyonlands National Park where his truck was parked.
Two miles into the hike, shortly after passing the massive Great Galley pictograph panel, Ralston ran into a tourist family from Holland. They offered him water and two Oreo cookies — apologizing for having eaten most of their stash of cookies. Ralston was relieved for the nourishment and company, but feared he was too weak to survive the rest of the hike.
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After help arrives • The climb ended up being one he didn't have to make.
Shortly after 3 p.m. on May 1, a Utah Department of Public Safety helicopter landed in the canyon and lifted Ralston to Allen Memorial Hospital in Moab.
Waiting for him at the helipad was Canyonlands National Park Ranger Steve Swanke, who had contacted Ralston's mother, Donna, earlier that day to let her know they had found his truck at the Horseshoe Canyon Trailhead.
Just that morning, Swanke had been appointed the incident commander for the Aron Ralston missing-persons case. He recalls a calm, thoughtful and coherent "victim" emerging from the helicopter.
"I ended up telling him we just interfered with his self-rescue," said Swanke, now retired from the National Park Service.
Swanke's job was made easier, despite Ralston's weakened condition, by the hiker's outdoor experience. "I didn't have to ask him any questions," Swanke said. "He provided a self-assessment, giving me all the key points of his ordeal and information I needed without being prompted."
When Ralston finally dropped into a drug-induced sleep, Swanke stepped into a private room and made another call — his favorite kind during search-and-rescue assignments — to Donna Ralston. "I have good news and bad news," Swanke told Ralston's mother. "He is alive, but he's missing an arm."
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The self-amputation story told 'round the world • Swanke then prepared for what he figured would be an onslaught of local media attention. He guessed wrong: The response was immediate and international.
"We had three people answering the phone constantly for a week and fielded all kinds of crazy requests. I had to have somebody schedule interviews for me because I was so busy doing them I couldn't keep up," Swanke said.
News of the story spread across the planet. People talked about whether they could do the same thing. The Internet buzzed with postings from people who considered heading to Bluejohn, retrieving Ralston's right arm, and then putting it up for auction on eBay.
Such discussions prompted National Park Service officials to recover the appendage.
Canyonlands Ranger Steve Young led a 14-person team to the site one week after Ralston fled Bluejohn Canyon. Rangers headed into the canyon, equipped with a grip hoist to lift the rock from above, and a ram jack to push it from below or sideways. If those methods didn't work, they packed rock drills and small charges of shotgun primer.
"There was nothing in the spot but his hand, some footprints, blood and some inscriptions on the rock," Young said.
The rock had to be lifted and turned in the narrow canyon so the arm could be retrieved. "It was stuck to the rock. I had to pull it off," Young said.
The ranger paused long enough to try to remove the blood on the rock with sand, before double-bagging the lost appendage, placing it in his backpack and hauling it out.
Ralston's arm was delivered to a mortuary in Moab, where it was cremated and the remains sent to their owner. Six months later, "Dateline NBC" sent Ralston back to the canyon to report a news story. When the filming was complete, Ralston spent some time alone, spreading the ashes of his arm in Bluejohn Canyon.
After scattering the ashes, Ralston set about removing the inscription he had carved earlier when he was near death: "RIP OCT 75 ARON APR 03."
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A new life • Ralston, who now largely makes a living presenting motivational talks, holds no grudges against his beloved wilderness. In fact, he has a greater desire to protect wildlands, particularly those in southern Utah he considers threatened.
Recently, while working with "127 Hours" producers, he took the opportunity to retrace his steps in the canyon. Transformed, even haunted by his ordeal there, he took his camera. Surrounded by redrocks, he greeted the canyon walls, his old and uninterested acquaintance, like a distant cousin or high-school chum.
Instead, of taking another picture, he opened a photograph that represented his born-again life: a picture of Leo, his 9-month-old son. " I showed it to the rock," Ralston said. "I said, 'Look who is here now.' "
It was a moment of triumph, the kind Ralston had learned to appreciate at a deeper level during his wilderness ordeal.
The personal growth and heightened emotion he learned to exhibit more openly during his time in Bluejohn aren't something he would trade back for his right arm.
The lure of Bluejohn Canyon
Since 2003, when Aron Ralston performed his "coyote-caught-in-a-trap" procedure, canyoneers have been interested in visiting Bluejohn Canyon.
Canyonlands National Park Ranger Steve Young remembers a case of an 80-year-old man trying to retrace Ralston's steps in August 2003 and ending up in the hospital for three weeks.
Devan Gregory, a Lehi canyoneer, has led three Boy Scout trips through Bluejohn Canyon. "I guess that location did kind of appeal to me because of what happened there," Gregory said. "The entire canyoneering community kind of focused on that place for a while."
Gregory experiences an eerie feeling each time he visits the area.
"We use Ralston as a good example of what can happen," he said. "Bluejohn is fairly simple and Ralston is an experienced outdoorsman. I tell them never to take anything for granted and to be prepared no matter how many times you have been down a canyon."
In his book, Ralston writes that he violated a basic rule of wilderness survival: He didn't tell anyone where he was headed when he left his Aspen, Colo., home. Family and friends realized he was missing several days before he escaped, but had no idea where to look.
Ralston uses his extreme ordeal to teach that lesson in "127 Hours." A film note states that he continues his solo adventures, but now never leaves without letting people know where he is going.
Brett Prettyman —
Coining a term
Aron Ralson is slightly amused, and a little disappointed, to hear that Devan Gregory and other canyoneers have a term for dangerous rocks. "We call them Ralstons," Gregory said. Like this: 'Watch out, there is a Ralston over here.' "
"I thought some of my friends and I invented that," Ralston said with a laugh. "I had a friend cut his leg when a boulder rolled on him in Colorado. We call those kind of rocks Fletchers. One that might fall and cause you to cut your arm off is a Ralston."