To make a long story short, when the sheriffs department pulled up I was the only one who was sober enough to run, so I did. And when they hauled everyone down the canyon to jail I was the only one left. No food, no fire, no matches, nothing was left and it was getting dark. The temperature was also dropping and it would get into the lower forties before the night was over.

All I had to wear was a sleeveless down jacket as the Sheriffs had taken everything else. So in the best interest of myself I decided to walk. There was no moon that night and under the cover of the pines it was quite dark as I made my way down the campsite road. The smell of the pines filled the air in the dead silence of the cold night air. I always loved the pine trees. But tonight they did not feel right. Something was off.

Suddenly, off in the distance I could hear the sound of footsteps in the pine needles as they crushed under the feet of whoever was following me. Hearing them first on one side of the road as they seemed to pursue me as I walked, then eventually on the other side of the road. As a fourteen-year-old boy alone by himself in the mountains of central Utah at night I panicked. Images of coyotes or wolves traveled through my head as I broke into a run down the road, the footsteps gradually fading off into the distance before I slowed down and stopped.

Realizing I had no place to go and whatever was following me would eventually catch me before I could reach the mouth of the canyon and arrive at the safety of the park superintendents house, I contemplated my situation. The only option was the outhouse just down the road from where I was standing. At this point I had also come to the conclusion I was being chased by a herd of skunks and had visions of them confronting me down the road. (Alien screen memories) so I hid in the outhouse and was taken by a UFO that night. When we had first arrived at the trailer that afternoon I had casually made the comment that if anyone were in trouble don't hide in the outhouse! Little did I realize the significance that statement would have.

The next day was magical as we cruised the sacred spots surrounding the area. Spots the ancient Indians would give sanctuary to whoever had happened to be traveling in the area; areas where sacred Indian ceremony had been performed for generations of time. And as the day wound down we found ourselves a mile down the road from our trailer at the house of an individual who called himself a master. Some would call him a shaman. But he preferred the term master. He had also been our guide for the day, so when we ended up at his place at the end of the day it was no surprise.

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