We were taking a family trip to experience Goblin Valley, and decided to take a road less traveled to see something of the surrounding area.  To the left of the road I spotted a place that had some very (several inches) deep cracks in the ground.  It was compelling, so I stopped, approached carefully (so as to not leave footprints or break the natural formations), took a few shots, and then continued on our drive.  An hour later, upon coming back this way, the light looked different and I decided to stop again and take a few more shots.  My boys were curious (after all, if Dad stopped here twice, it must be interesting) and emerged from the car, cameras in-hand.  I warned them to not get too close for the same reasons I had before — not wanting to leave footprints or break the natural formations.  Little did I realize that these were not the best reasons for them to not approach too closely.  After my warning to the boys, I re-applied my attention to the photography.  A few minutes later, I heard my youngest call for help.  He had sunk down to his knees and was progressing.  I crawled out on all fours and reached him.  He couldn’t turn and couldn’t step out.  I told him to fall back towards me, which he did reluctantly, and I caught him.  I started pulling him out, and he yelled out that his shoe was coming off.  “Forget the shoe!” I yelled as I continued pulling him.  A couple of minutes later, I heard two “thwap” sounds as his legs emerged from the quagmire.  I carried him back to the car where Mom dealt with the muddy mess.  I decided to go back and retrieve the shoes — they were the only shoes he brought on this trip and there wasn’t a Payless anywhere close.  I found and extracted his shoes from a depth of about 15 inches; they were three times normal size with all the fine silt mud that was caked on them and in them.  Once we got to our motel, my wife and I spent an hour in the laundry room washing his and my shoes by hand.  They were mostly dry by the next morning.

 

The whole family gained a new respect for cracked mud from that experience, and my son and I bonded in an unexpected way — I had saved his life (and his shoes).