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The realisation hit me as sweat dripped down my face in the 45-degree heat. I don’t often get scared or think I can’t get out of a predicament, but the reality of the situation hit hard. This was going to be a nightmare start to the day.

We’d woken early in Jackson, Wyoming, and I felt a pang of sadness as I packed our gear into the back of the truck while the sun came up. The air was crisp that morning and smelled fresh like an autumn morning back home. The last few days had been so full and so giving. Bison roaming the plains of Yellowstone, bears grazing the hills around Grand Teton, wildflower meadows in bloom, and elk running alongside the roads as we explored the parks. It had been magical. But it was time to move on and head south toward Moab, Utah.

The night before, we decided on a detour, Moab and Canyonlands National Park, instead of a night in Grand Junction. It seemed crazy not to go. I’d wanted to visit for years, and even though we only had one night, we figured we’d make the most of it.

The drive was long, over eight hours, with a stop at Dinosaur National Monument (which was very cool). If you ever want to see hundreds of dinosaur bones fossilised within a wall, this is the place. There are approximately 1,500 dinosaur fossils preserved in the sandstone cliff face from the Morrison Formation which is part of the Late Jurassic (around 150 million years old) It’s in the middle of nowhere, but if you’re like me and obsessed with these giant beasts as a kid, it’s a must-see. 

I found the visit sad, in truth. As you study all the bones in the wall, you take in the reality of the last moments these amazing creatures endured. The speculation is that the dinosaurs who lived along the river would starve and die during the recurring droughts that hit the region. Later, when the rains returned, floods washed their bones downstream, leaving behind this stunning but sombre graveyard for us to look at millions of years later.

After the visit, we hit the road again and listened to The Rise and Fall of the Dinosaurs by Steve Brusatte — a fascinating dive into the history of all things Jurassic. I highly recommend it. You’re transported back in time to what feels like another planet, but it's really just a very early Earth. And the more you listen, the more you realise how different our world could have been if the dinosaurs had never gone extinct. 

We quietly listened to the book as the road took us through small towns, past abandoned homes and derelict gas stations. It began to feel like we were leaving the tourist path at last.

We finally rolled into Moab around sunset and checked into the Field Station Moab, a fun, climbing-themed hotel that I highly recommend. Road-weary, we took a short walk through town, grabbed some food, and called it an early night so we could squeeze in both Arches and Canyonlands the next day. We knew we were only going to scratch the surface of these parks, but it was better than nothing, and I wasn’t sure we’d ever get back this way again.

Arches came first, a relaxed drive-through, stopping at the main viewpoints for photos. Even at 7 a.m., the sun was brutal, but the views were stunning. The arches stand like giants across the burnt orange landscape. This place makes you feel insignificant. Nature always has a way of putting you in your place. Knowing how much we wanted to see and the miles ahead, we skipped the hikes and moved on.

On the way to Canyonlands, we decided to check out some nearby petroglyphs. A guy at reception the night before had given us a few tips, so we figured, why not?

We turned off the main highway onto a dirt track and soon spotted a sign pointing to the petroglyphs. Perfect, we thought. The drive grew dustier and the sun harsher. Then another sign appeared: “Loose Sand. 4x4 Recommended.”

I’m generally considered the “risk taker” in the relationship, and yes, I don’t deny this. Nevertheless, my gut said no on this day. I was shaking my head at myself inside.

“This truck isn’t four-wheel drive… I don’t feel good about this,” I said to my partner.

We debated it for a moment but, always up for adventure, we pushed on.

Eventually, we reached a small, nondescript parking area and set off on a short, faintly marked trail. I don’t remember it being a long walk, but I do remember the heat – relentless and suffocating after just ten minutes. We had the place to ourselves, quietly admiring the ancient petroglyphs and dinosaur bones while lizards darted across the rocks. Sadly, some of the bones had clearly been taken – apparently people do steal them. Already having enough of the heat, we headed back.

Back at the truck, we started driving out through the sand dunes when two gazelles appeared on a ridge above us. I slowed, rolled down the window, and reached for my phone to grab a photo. That’s when it happened.

The truck stopped moving.

Even with my foot on the gas, nothing.

Shit. The loose sand. We were stuck.

We had stopped in the worst place on the whole track, just feet of loose sand beneath us.

Our survival instincts kicked in. First thought: traction. We grabbed rocks, dug around the tyres, and shoved the rocks underneath – nothing. I’d seen this done before on TV; it had to work. We tried again. Still nothing. After twenty minutes, sweat pouring, we were no better off.

The heat was getting worse with every effort. Panic was setting in.

I looked over at my partner and said again, “We’re fucked. We are not getting out of this one.”

No phone signal. No shade. No one around. Just a long, scorching walk back to the highway, and it was already 45 degrees.

My partner replied, “We are. This isn’t happening.”

I imagined having to call the park rangers, the lecture we’d get, and the inevitable bill. Deserved, sure, but not something I wanted.

As I sat in the driver’s seat, fearing the worst, my partner discovered that if you dug deep enough, the sand underneath was wet and compact. That was our shot. We dug like our lives depended on it, dramatic, maybe, but neither of us wanted to make that desperate hike.

We unloaded our bags to lighten the truck, reset the rocks, and gave it one last go.

I hit the gas, my partner pushing at the back. The truck wobbled, then lurched forward, slowly at first, then faster. Yes! It was working. I kept my foot down hard until we reached firmer ground, then stopped and let out the biggest sigh of relief.

We did it. Holy crap, we actually did it.

We looked at each other down the dusty road with this perfect mix of relief and disbelief.

I ran back down the track, hauled our luggage to the truck, and covered up the deep grooves we’d carved in the sand. We carefully placed the rocks back so the habitat wasn’t too disturbed, then jumped into the truck. Hot, sweaty, and exhausted but buzzing with adrenaline, we carried on.

It had been both a low and a high point of the day and a lesson I’ll never forget (or repeat!).

So, if you ever see a sign that says “Loose Sand” and you’re not in a proper 4x4, trust me, don’t risk it.

I’m sure those gazelles had a good laugh watching us. Looking back, I wonder if they were thinking, “Here we go again,” or “Let’s watch the tourists get stuck,” as they munched on brush like popcorn, waiting for the show. I will never forget them looking down at us in that moment.

Funnily enough, just around the next corner we ran into a park ranger checking the area. We looked at each other. Wow, that was close. In hindsight, we might’ve been rescued eventually, but at the time, it didn’t feel that way. It could’ve been a costly nightmare or worse, a slap on the wrist from the ranger.

Lesson learnt.

Onwards to Canyonlands and those fantastically sculpted gorges and deep reds.