7 hikers died suddenly. I knew some of them. Did they die doing what they love? I don’t think so. I think they died sad and scared. They left families and loved ones who might define their lives by this before and after moment. The question of “should they have known” will never be known, but many people have very strong opinions on both sides. Estimating risk is the discussion of every adventurer. Every step up a mountain could be one’s last, and yet the thrill of the adventure propels people forward. Most people do not die on adventures, and most people do not know people who have died on adventures, and yet, the risk still looms. There is no good way to think about this, except to say, that thinking about these seven people is how we remind ourselves that we matter, and our friends and buddies who share our passion matter too. Tragedy has no words, only feelings of pain and confusion. Adventure tragedy is no different. Movies are made, stories are told, but the pain does not change. There is no lesson learned. Yes, slot canyons are very dangerous. Yes, flash floods means there is no way out. Skill and experience matter little. Warnings come and go, and getting information out is not always easy given the limitations of cell coverage. The search for someone to be mad at comes up empty. We cannot funnel our feelings into rage and that makes it even harder. The shock and sadness keeps coming, in waves, which feel like an emotional tsunami, similar to the water which killed these hikers. They were trapped, as we are now, trapped in the mourning and bewilderment of sudden loss. There is one thing to do. Hold hands with people you care about, because you just never know when that won’t be possible. Yes, I have lapsed into cliché. Mourning has emptied out my language, perhaps explaining why clichés come in handy.