The No No One Heard
- canyonwrencoaching
- 2 days ago
- 6 min read
Seven years after Dr. Christine Blasey Ford testified before the Senate Judiciary Committee, as the high-profile Epstein Files case is proving once again that our system is designed to protect perpetrators, I’m called to tell my story. Not because it’s unique, or because my perpetrator is well known, but because I hope that my words can find their way to a young guide, who feels unseen, ashamed and scared, and let them know that they are not alone.
This story involves descriptions of sexual assault. Please care for yourself as you read my story. If you, or someone you know needs support please reach out to www.RAINN.org. All names have been changed in this story for my, and others, safety.
In the spring of 2013 I made the trek from my home state of Utah to northern Idaho to follow my dream of becoming a river guide on some of the most well-known multi day river trips in the US. Despite my years of experience, as a rookie guide in the company I found myself as the lone female guide living in a field in Montana and running day trips on the Clark Fork and St. Joe Rivers.
The day Caleb arrived in the field is forever burned into my mind. There was an air of anticipation. Caleb was well known, and well liked, in the company, and had previously been the manager of the outpost where I was stationed. He drove in with an air of authority that was palpable and, despite his charisma, I immediately disliked his loud personality and ego, interacting with him only when necessary to do our job.
After a particularly lucrative day on the river, we all headed to the local bar to celebrate and blow off some steam. However, as the night progressed my friends drifted off and suddenly I found myself left alone with Caleb as the bar was shutting down.
We began the long walk back toward the field where we lived, but soon we were scooped up by an off-duty bus driver for the company, who Caleb knew well but I had only met a few times. During the short drive back, Caleb leaned into the back seat and kissed me. I didn’t want it, but in that moment of being drunk and outnumbered in the truck, my body froze.
When the driver left us in the field Caleb began following me to my tent. He tried to kiss me again, but this time I tried to stop him. Scared, drunk and alone, I leaned heavily into my new relationship with fellow guide, Seth, hoping that the threat of another man would persuade Caleb to leave. Caleb ignored my resistance, continuing to tell me how much better he was than Seth. The field was eerily quiet, every other guide asleep in their tents. I begged Caleb to leave me alone, repeating the word no over and over.
The next morning when I opened my eyes I was naked and Caleb was in my tent. Shame and fear filled my body. I had no memory of anything after saying no outside the tent and I blamed myself for what had happened and felt incredible guilt that I had cheated on Seth and put my beloved job in jeopardy.
As soon as I had the chance I drove south to the Lochsa outpost to find Seth and tell him what had happened. As guilty as I felt, Seth saw through my self blame. We had a good season and about halfway through the summer I got promoted to a multi- day guide, just as I had wanted. Seth and I parted ways amicably that fall and for many years he would be the only one who really knew what happened to me that night.
Just as had happened the summer before, the day of Caleb’s arrival in the field in 2014 was highly anticipated, and as a result I made the conscious choice not to drink, afraid of losing control. That night Caleb cornered me in the empty bus and tried to kiss me. When I pushed him away he became angry and followed me to my car, repeatedly yanking on the door handles, hitting the windows and yelling at me to come out. I laid in the dark, my body paralyzed in fear until he got bored and moved on.
That incident made me realize that Caleb was used to getting what he wanted and that our encounter the summer before had not happened because I had drank too much and made bad choices. It had happened because his yes held more weight than my no. I also knew that his status in the company meant that if I reported it I would never have been believed.
In the spring of 2017, a year and a half after I left the river and started midwifery school in Maine, I was offered a preceptorship in northern Idaho. The move felt less daunting because of my seasons working on the rivers in the area and the connections I already had. I left my life and my partner in Maine and once again moved to Idaho. I was hired on part time in the office for the company I had once guided for, to make a little money while finishing school.
As the summer passed the trauma of the manipulation from my preceptor layered onto the trauma of the assault and I turned to food restriction and long-distance running as a way to find some control in my life. During my rare moments of being off call, I discovered that alcohol was the most effective way to numb the pain and, while I never crossed the line of consuming alcohol while on-call or working, I would never have a normal relationship with it again.
It was during this summer in Idaho that I heard rumors about Caleb assaulting another woman and, no longer fearing a loss of a job or community, I finally felt like I had enough power to share my story with the head of HR. Six months later he was fired, yet, I felt minimal relief. My nervous system was too exhausted to care.
Over the next few years I would use alcohol to self medicate when I wasn’t on call and turned my attention to ultrarunning to escape when I couldn’t drink.
In the spring of 2023, after a second failed attempt at the Bear 100 and six months away from my third attempt, I realized that I needed to focus all my energy on training and I decided to stop drinking until the race. Little did I know that taking away that coping mechanism would catapult me into the depth of my pain and then allow me the space to move through it.
Race day came and ten years of buried trauma resurfaced. For 30 hours and over 80 miles of running I cried, and for the next six months I was in the deepest depression of my life. There were days I couldn’t get off the floor or out of bed. Times when the anxiety was so strong I couldn’t breathe. As dark as things got in those months, my partner stood by me, I stayed away from alcohol and by one year of sobriety my emotional resilience began to return.
In 2024 I attempted the race for a fourth time but this time felt different. This time I didn’t feel the deep, desperate drive to make myself suffer to forget. Again, I DNF’d, but this time walked away with the understanding that I didn’t need ultra running to escape anymore.
When I stopped hiding behind alcohol and ultra running the pain of the assault was allowed to surface, and only then could I begin to let it go. While I recognize this work will be lifelong, I’m proud of the work I have done to get to this point. This isn’t just the story of an assault, it's the story of a system that, by denying me, and countless others, the basic right of being seen, heard and believed, created a wound that has been a shadow to every moment of every day for nearly half my life.
I don’t expect that one story will change a system that has been failing survivors for centuries. I have hope that my story, when combined with the hundreds of others that exist, will continue to keep pressure on our systems until change does happen. And if my story makes it into the hands of one survivor, who suddenly feels a little less alone, it will have been worth sharing.
Since my assault a lot of change has happened. A series of articles in High Country News, Men’s Journal and Outside magazine in 2016-2018 lead to the abolishment of the river district in the Grand Canyon following years of sexual harassment, and broke open the taboo topic across the river guiding industry. New organizations have been formed in response including the A-DASH collaborative - an organization working to “eliminate discrimination and harassment through policy assessment, training and cultural change” in the river community and Respect Outside, which was formed to provide “sexual harassment prevention trainings to businesses
in the outdoor industry.”
While I am currently on hiatus from ultrarunning, I do believe that someday I will be back to challenge the Bear 100, and that without the weight of trauma holding me back, I will be able to see the finish line.
