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40 BACKPACKER 03.2014 xxxxx xxxxxx Basecamp / March 2014 Survival Panic kills Learn how fight-or-flight works and how to buffer against it at backpacker.com/panic. I L L U S T R A T I O N B Y A N D R E W W R I G H T David Cicotello, 60, was st uck in Utah’s No Mans Canyon in March, 2011, after his brother Louis, 70, fell to his death. The Victims Out Alive: Six Days on a Ledge Alone and distraught, a canyoneer fights to sur- vive until help arrives. As told to Joshua Prestin Never Forget Double-Check Your Gear David and Louis taped the center of their rope, but the marker had moved after repeatedly sliding through equip- ment while they descended the canyon—giving them a faulty distance reading for the last rappel. Check your equip- ment religiously.  I watched my big brother, Louis, smear out of sight and over the edge of a 100-foot exit rappel from No Mans Canyon and listened for his confirmation of a safe landing. Instead, I heard, “Oops. The rope is too short.” Then he said, “No biggie.” He’s my older brother, I thought. He always has things under control. Just then the rope whizzed through the sling that was securing it and was gone. I screamed Louis’s name into the afternoon calm. I held my breath, hoping for something, anything to let me know he was OK. Silence. My voice grew hoarse and thin in that canyon as I paced a ledge in the snak- ing, trough-like exit slot looking for a way down. But there was no escape: Louis was dead or dying and I could not get to him. Breathe. I ran my fingers along the sandstone, looking for handholds leading back the way we’d come. All of them crumbled or ran out. For two hours I tried to get flesh to stick to rock. On my final try, I fell. It wasn’t far, but it was a wake-up call. I could die trying to get out of here. I regrouped. I knew I had to survive at least five days—until Friday, when our families back in Tennessee would miss our check-in call and send help. I inventoried my daypack (we were basecamping): turkey sandwich, energy bar, orange, and a bag of cashews; a liter of tea with half a lemon, 15 ounces of water; a knife, some matches, climbing webbing, 25 feet of static rope, a harness, several carabiners, and a rudimentary med kit. As sun washed the canyon’s bulbous walls in muted pinks and warm reds, I found a small, flat perch where I could sleep. It was 4 feet above the slot canyon’s true floor and set back from the course of potential floods.