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The last time that I can remember being hopelessly lost was absconding from the scene of a police-crashed bush party. That's another story from my youth though, this one takes place while hiking through the Valley of Fire in the Nevada desert.

This misbegotten adventure began when I met Lothar, a German photographer. He was raving about a relatively unknown arch, the Ephemeral Arch, found quite far off the beaten path. Intrigued I asked how to find it, naively assuming that he could point it out on the complementary park map that had the resolution of brown crayon and napkin. His instructions detailed every stop, direction, pass, path and landmark on the route in what I can only assume is perfectly understandable and grammatically correct German, enhanced brilliantly by grainy, greyscale photos of red rocks (highly distinguishable in a valley full of red rocks) . Looking at the encrypted treasure map, the pictures and my perfect-for-hiking-slip-on office shoes, I probably should have bailed.

Armed with a vague description of the location, a set of German instructions, a watch and the knowledge that this valley is impervious to cellular signals of all sorts I set out. In the beginning there was only one set of footprints on the path I was following, assuming they were Lothar's I tracked them. Everything seemed to match his description of the route; rainbows sang, angels danced and the world rejoiced... until I got to the wash, the foot prints were no longer distinguishable in the sand and there were many sets of tracks. Innie, meenie, mynnie.... north, yes north it is. I trekked on.

Eventually my allotted time of 30 minutes elapsed and it was time for me to turn back. It must be close and I hate admitting defeat... 10 more minutes shouldn't hurt too much. Just beyond the next bend in the wash, there is stood. It really was magnificent. A large arch about 6' span that is entirely supported on one end by about 2-3 square inches of rock.

The sun was setting, I was still kilometers off the main road and an hour's drive back to Vegas, so I enjoyed the view for a few minutes and began to backtrack. Then I stumbled across the most magnificent vista that I have ever seen. It was a small ridge of red rock with the sunset hitting it perfectly, it looked like the ridge was on fire. The clear blue sky, the desert. It was awe inspiring. So I did what any photographer would do and I stopped to take pictures. Even once I continued I could peel me eyes off it and walked blindly down the wash staring.

In that sense it was a siren, not the buxum seductress that the term normally calls to mind, but a siren none the less. I completely missed the path off the wash. Oblivious until a strange turn in the wash called me to full alert, this was new.

Wondering where the hell I was with that sinking feeling of being lost setting in, no less anxious because of the setting sun. I took the turn to see if I recognized the trail beyond, but nothing. I knew I had gone to far south and I should be heading west though. I climbed the nearest ridge to get a higher vantage point to see if I could find my way back. I thought I could see the road to the cabins so I headed further west. Over the next ridge I could see the cabins and my car. Super excited and begrudging the horrible non-path I was currently on, I hurriedly hiked back to the car. All is well, I made my way out of the Valley of Fire, then I rode off into the setting sun.