Туристку из Нью-Йорка избили и ограбили ножом на тропе в Гранд-Каньоне

Alexis Rowan had hiked eight miles to Havasupai Village when she was attacked from behind (Photo: Photo courtesy of Alexis Rowan) Alexis Rowan, 27, a single mother from Queens, New York, booked a last-minute hiking trip to Havasu Falls in the Grand Canyon to celebrate her birthday. Shortly after arriving in the village, a man brandishing a knife attacked her, stabbed her, and stole her phone. Rowan survived the encounter. Outside Associate Editor Madison Dapcevich dug through the police filing and spoke with Rowan to learn what it’s like to survive a trail attack and how she’s coping weeks later. Trigger warning: This article contains graphic descriptions and photos. Just after 11:30 A.M. on the morning of August 12, my best friend and I made our way into Havasupai Village, a remote community deep in the Grand Canyon about 3,000 feet below the rim. We had just spent the last five hours hiking along the Havasupai Trail, descending from the rim at Hualapai Hilltop trailhead, clambering along red boulders and through dried-up flood washes. The sun was just beginning to crest in the sky, bathing us in desert heat. That’s when I felt the cool blade of a knife press against the right side of my throat, slicing its way through my flesh. The way you imagine a knife splitting your skin open is exactly how it feels. I’m not a hiker. I don’t do it. However, I am an adventurer. I’m a single mother from Queens, New York. I know the pulse of the city, its dangers thumping like a heartbeat, but I didn’t expect to face death so abruptly, deep in the canyon walls. I first learned of Havasu Falls in June. I’d come across a video of the turquoise waters and thought, Fuck it. I was turning 27 on August 13, and my best friend was turning 32 two days before my birthday. I scored permits, and we were off. As soon as we landed in Las Vegas, we hopped in a rental car and headed to the Hualapai Hilltop trailhead, about four hours away. We had no idea what to expect, but sometimes those vacations turn out to be the best ones. The out-and-back trail from the canyon rim to the Havasu campground is about ten miles with an elevation loss of around 2,000 feet in the first two miles. It’s a coveted hike to hidden limestone aquifers, majestic waterfalls like Havasu Falls, and an oasis in an otherwise harsh, desert environment. About eight miles in, hikers pass through Havasupai Village, a small community reachable only by foot, mule, or helicopter. Camping permits cost around $450 per person, and usually sell out quickly. With blistered feet and around 50 pounds on our backs, we reached the small village, which also had a couple of convenience stores and a gift shop for trinkets and souvenirs. My friend was ahead of me, maybe 100 yards or so, when I asked a man with long hair, wearing all black, to point out the gift shop. Right away, I had a bad feeling about the guy. My instincts told me to move away, so I continued walking. Then, I hesitated. What if I missed the gift shop? What if I took the wrong turn? I have two kids, a five-year-old and a seven-year-old at home who are relying on me. So, I turned around and asked the man again if I was going in the right direction. I was scared, but I didn’t want him to know it. I couldn’t shake this feeling that something bad was about to happen. Then I felt the knife slice my neck. I don’t recall much of the attack; it’s all a blur. But in that second, I told myself, It’s not my time. It’s not my time to go. I am OK, and I will be OK. A security camera on the gift shop porch was recording the attack. In the footage, you can hear me screaming, “No, no, no,” while a man pulled me to the ground. According to the police report, I screamed “No” at least seven more times and called for help. My backpack was on top of me, weighing me down. I just kept thinking, This can’t be it. This cannot be it. This can’t be the way that I’m about to end my life. It just can’t be it. Then, he ran away, taking my cell phone and leaving me bleeding on the ground. I was stabbed through my left hand and cut across the right side of my neck. A woman from the gift shop came out onto the porch and asked if I was OK. I ran to her, holding my neck. She helped me into her house, and from there, I just kept screaming for my best friend. I remember seeing my blood all over her house. It all happened within minutes. The police came and took me to a clinic, where I received ten stitches in my neck and another three in my hand. They helicoptered me out of the village to the trailhead, and then we drove. The drive from the trailhead is an adventure in itself; no cell reception, no services, just two bumpy lanes of high-desert road. On our way back to Las Vegas, I couldn’t help but laugh. Somehow, I had made it out alive. And I just wanted to get the fuck out of being in the middle of nowhere. I’m so grateful, and I know that things happen for a reason, but the experience still haunts me weeks later. Anytime someone stands behind me, it triggers negative thoughts. Walking through busy city streets, when people come near or walk behind me, I step to the side, let them pass, and then continue on. It’s a new normal that I’m adjusting to. Last night I had a nightmare that the man was coming after me, and I woke up, panicking. It took me three hours to fall back asleep. Aside from the mental impact, I also have a physical scar that I’ll have to live with for the rest of my life. I’m just glad it’s not on my face. Never in a million years did I think that, after growing up in New York, I would be assaulted on a hiking trail. We didn’t get to see the falls, make it to the campground, or visit the prettiest part of the canyon. I don’t know why he attacked me, but I’m so grateful to be alive. Although my kids are young, they understand what happened. My son is angry, my daughter is sad. They keep telling me they wish this hadn’t happened, but life somehow finds a way to move on. I’m back to work, helping my mom at the bar she owns in our hometown. This fall, I have plans to go back to school Would I go back to Havasu Falls? I sure hope so. What the future holds, I just don’t know. But I know the waterfalls are worth it. This report was edited for style and clarity.