Aron Ralston

Song video about Aron Ralston, who was trapped by a boulder in a slot canyon in Utah in 2003. He had to amputate his right arm to escape. Song (c) 2021 Words & Music by Stan Keach; video by Stan Keach. LYRICS ARON RALSTON (Stan Keach) My name is Aron Ralston. I come from Colorado I gallivant these craggy lands, like a reckless desperado I’d given up the normal things — security, career — To be a desert wanderer, and a solo mountaineer. I’ve purposefully courted death. It was part of my plan. The goal is not the mountain peak, but to improve the man. Pursuing thrills and challenges, after many a brush with death, Yes there’ve been times I thought I might be taking my last breath. I’ve lived through storms and avalanches, often times alone. I’d enjoyed the luck of an Irishman — no major broken bones, And when the crises passed away, I went back to what I do. I’ve learned many and many lessons. But perhaps I’ve missed a few. In April of 2003, I was canyoning alone In Blue John Canyon, Utah — a slot canyon of sandstone. Nobody else knew where I was - just somewhere in Utah. My self-reliant arrogance — almost a fatal flaw. I was descending casually — then to my shock and alarm I knocked a giant chockstone loose, and it pinned my right arm. The rock, it weighed 800 pounds. It was wedged against the wall, My right hand smashed between the two. My chances, they looked small. I had but a pint of water left, and very little food — A couple of burritos — and my own fortitude. The boulder wouldn’t budge an inch, though I tried, & tried, & tried. If only I’d been Sisyphus . . . and could roll it up the side I knew I had but days to live, if I could not get free. Hypothermia was possible, but my chief enemies Were thirst and dehydration — they would probably do me in. I’d fight my fate up to my death. But where could I begin? I tried to chip the rock away, with my cheap multitool. It only made the knife blade dull, which later would prove cruel. I finally realized my last chance was to amputate my arm But my knife could never cut the bone, I realized with alarm. On the fifth day, I had no food; likewise, my water gone. I knew that I would perish soon, but my will to live was strong. Desperate, I decided to — drink my own liquid waste. I did manage to gag it down, and it was a bitter taste. I knew I must cut off my arm — no other choice was left. Desperation has a cruel logic, when you’re faced with death. I knew that I might bleed to death. In fact the odds were high. I carved my own epitaph — on the rock wall standing nigh. I fashioned a rough tourniquet — webbing and carabiners — Conditions were quite primitive in my surgical arena. I cut away the flesh and tendons. It was painful work. I snapped my radius and ulna . . . just using strength and torque. I was borderline delirious, but there arose in me A violent exaltation, for I was finally free! I crawled out of the canyon — Goodbye, my would-be tomb. Rappelling down a long sheer cliff, I began my long trek home.