Geologist Vanished in 2012 — 12 Years Later Hikers Found This in Sealed Cave…

 

The days after the search ended were the hardest for Lisa Chen. She refused to believe her brother—her brilliant, methodical, careful brother—had simply vanished into thin air. The desert, she kept saying, doesn’t swallow people whole. But as the months turned to years, that’s exactly what it seemed to have done.

James Chen’s disappearance became one of those quiet mysteries that locals occasionally mentioned to newcomers—an odd story from years back that still had no answer. The official reports listed him as missing, presumed dead. No foul play suspected. The university held a small memorial the following spring, mostly faculty and students who had known him. They shared stories of his field trips, his easy humor, the way he’d crouch down in the dirt, eyes squinting behind his glasses as he ran his fingers across a rock face like a blind man reading Braille. Afterward, Lisa stood by herself near the coffee table, staring at the framed photograph they’d chosen for the service. It showed James standing in front of a canyon wall, red stone glowing behind him, one hand resting on his field pack. He looked alive—sunburned, content, completely in his element. That was the last photo anyone ever took of him.

Back in Salt Lake City, his office remained untouched for nearly a year. The department chair couldn’t bring himself to reassign it. The books stayed on the shelves, the field maps remained pinned to the walls, the smell of desert dust still faintly clinging to the rolled charts and samples. Eventually, his things were boxed up and sent to Lisa. She kept them in a storage unit for years, unable to decide what to do with them. Among the papers was his last field notebook, filled with neat handwriting and small sketches of rock layers, water tables, fault lines. The last entry was dated October 15th, 2012—the day before he disappeared. It ended mid-sentence: “Noticed unusual striation patterns along…” Then nothing.

Twelve years passed. The world moved on. Students graduated, professors retired, storms came and went across the Utah desert. But the San Rafael Swell, timeless and indifferent, remained. It was a landscape older than history—miles of stone shaped by wind and rain, canyons that twisted like scars, formations that looked like frozen waves. To the untrained eye, it was empty. To a geologist like James Chen, it was alive with stories. Every layer, every color change told of oceans that had risen and vanished millions of years before.

By 2024, the area had become popular among adventurers. Hikers, climbers, and canyoners loved the remoteness. It was the kind of place where you could walk an entire day without hearing anything but your own footsteps and the wind whispering through the stone. That’s what drew Ryan Chavez, Melissa Tran, and Derek Foster there that August afternoon. They weren’t amateurs. The trio had been exploring the deserts of Utah for nearly a decade, documenting routes, photographing formations, and occasionally assisting in search and rescue efforts when volunteers were needed.

The day they found the cave had started like any other. The heat was brutal but dry, the kind that pressed against your skin without sweat. The sky was an impossible shade of blue, cloudless and endless. They’d been moving for several hours, following a narrow canyon that cut deep into the earth like a wound. Around midafternoon, Melissa slowed, something catching her eye. A section of the canyon wall ahead looked… off. The color didn’t match, the angle of the stone seemed unnatural.

“There’s something weird about that rock face,” she said, stopping in the shade. Ryan and Derek joined her, squinting against the glare. From a distance, it just looked like a jumble of fallen sandstone, the kind you saw everywhere in the Swell. But up close, it was different. The rock was smoother, cleaner, like it hadn’t been exposed to the elements as long as the rest. Some of the edges looked freshly broken.

They started inspecting it. The pile was about ten feet high, wedged against the canyon wall where a small alcove seemed to disappear behind it. Derek crouched near the base, brushing away loose sand. That’s when he noticed the gap—a dark slit between two slabs, barely wide enough for a hand. “There’s a space back here,” he said.

Ryan knelt beside him, pulling out his phone and switching on the flashlight. He aimed the beam into the opening. For a moment, it lit nothing but dust and shadows. Then shapes emerged—a flat surface, the edge of a backpack, a dull glint of metal. “There’s stuff in there,” he said slowly. “Looks like… gear. Maybe someone’s cache?” He shifted slightly, angling the light deeper. That’s when the beam hit something pale. It looked like fabric at first, then skin.

“Wait,” Melissa said, voice tightening. “Ryan, what is that?”

He didn’t answer right away. He just kept staring. When he finally spoke, his voice was low. “There’s a body in there.”

They backed away fast, the three of them suddenly aware of the silence pressing down on them. The canyon, moments ago alive with the sound of their movement, now seemed to hold its breath. Melissa pulled out the satellite communicator from her pack and sent out a distress ping with their coordinates. It took almost an hour for the response to come through: a rescue team was on its way.

By early evening, the sun was dipping low, painting the rocks in red and gold as the first responders arrived. Deputies from the Emery County Sheriff’s Office set up a perimeter. Search and rescue specialists from Utah’s technical team assessed the rockfall. The debris looked stable, but one wrong move could bring the entire pile down. Slowly, carefully, they began removing stones, one at a time, until the opening was large enough for a single rescuer to crawl through.

Inside, the air was cool and dry, untouched for more than a decade. The cave was small—about fifteen feet deep and eight feet wide, just as Ryan had estimated. The walls were smooth sandstone, the floor covered with fine dust. In the center lay a human body, curled slightly on its side, the clothes faded but mostly intact. A backpack sat nearby, coated in dust but still recognizable. The team marked each item before removal: two empty water bottles, a headlamp with corroded batteries, a GPS unit that no longer powered on, and a rock hammer.

The hammer caught their attention immediately. It was an Estwing—standard tool for geologists—its leather-wrapped handle cracked but still sturdy. Etched into the handle, faint but legible, were the words Dr. James Chen.

By the next morning, the story was on every local news channel. Remains found in sealed cave identified as missing geologist James Chen. The confirmation came from dental records, matched against the university files that had been archived years before.

For the investigators, the discovery was both a resolution and a mystery. How had a seasoned geologist, an expert in desert terrain, ended up sealed in a cave just a few miles from his camp? Why had search teams in 2012 missed it? The cave itself offered some clues. The entrance showed clear signs of a rockfall, likely caused by heavy rain weakening the sandstone. Geologists estimated the collapse occurred sometime in late October 2012—days after the last rainfall recorded during the search. The falling debris had completely blocked the narrow opening, turning the cave into a sealed tomb.

For Lisa Chen, the call came early on a Sunday morning. She didn’t answer the first time. The number had a Utah area code, and for a moment, she assumed it was another scam. When she finally listened to the voicemail and heard the words “Emery County Sheriff’s Office,” she froze. The officer’s tone was careful, deliberate—the kind used by people who’ve made this kind of call before. They had found her brother.

That night, she sat in her apartment surrounded by boxes she hadn’t opened in years—the ones filled with James’s books and field notes. She ran her fingers across the worn cover of his last journal, tracing the indentation where the pen had stopped mid-sentence. Somewhere, beneath hundreds of feet of sandstone, he had been writing, exploring, studying, exactly as he always had. And then, silence.

The following week, the search and rescue team returned to the site to document it more thoroughly. The cave was now officially designated “Chen’s Chamber,” though the name wasn’t on any maps yet. Investigators photographed the scene, mapped the location, and collected samples from the surrounding rock layers. Everything suggested that James had entered the cave voluntarily—likely to examine a particular formation—and had been trapped when the rain loosened the upper layers.

It was tragic, but fitting, in a way that made everyone uncomfortable to say out loud. A geologist who had spent his life reading the language of stone had been claimed by it.

When the team sealed the site again that afternoon, the desert was utterly still. The sandstone cliffs glowed under the sun, their shadows long and deep. To anyone passing by, it looked like any other canyon—a place of silence and wind. But beneath that quiet surface, behind layers of rock and time, lay the final trace of a man who had vanished twelve years before, and whose story, after all that time, was only beginning to be told.

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Three canyoners found it. August 14th, 2024. Middle of the afternoon in the San Raphael Swell, which is this massive area of eroded sandstone formations in southeastern Utah.

 The kind of place where you can hike for hours without seeing another person. The group was exploring a section of canyon they’d never been in before. Ryan Chavez, Melissa Tran, and Derek Foster, all in their 30s, all experienced climbers who’d been canyonering together for years. They were about 6 milesi from the nearest trail head when Melissa noticed something odd.

There was this rock face, she told investigators later, and it just looked wrong. The color was slightly different, newer, like the rocks that were out of place compared to the rest of the formation. They got closer. What they were seeing was a rockfall that had partially sealed off what looked like it might be a small cave entrance.

 Not uncommon in the swell. Sandstone erodess, pieces fall, caves collapse. Happens all the time. But Derek noticed something else. Behind one of the larger rocks near the base, there was a gap, a space just big enough to shine a flashlight through. Ryan pulled out his phone, turned on the light, and aimed it through the gap.

 I could see there was a chamber back there, he said, maybe 15 ft deep, 8 ft wide, and there was stuff, equipment. I saw what looked like a backpack, and then I saw the body. They backed away, called 911 on their satellite communicator, gave their GPS coordinates, waited. The Emery County Sheriff’s Office responded first, then brought in technical rescue specialists from Utah Search and Rescue.

 It took them until early evening to safely remove enough rocks to access the cave without risking another collapse. What they found inside? Human remains significantly decomposed but partially mummified by the dry cave environment. A blue Osprey hiking backpack still in decent condition. Two empty water bottles. A headlamp with dead batteries.

A GPS unit that wouldn’t turn on and a rock hammer. An Estwing geological hammer with a leatherwrapped handle and Deaker James Chin engraved into the leather. The medical examiner was able to confirm identity through dental records within 48 hours. Dr. James Chen, age 45, geology professor at the University of Utah, had been missing since October 17th, 2012.

 The last time anyone saw him alive was October 15th when he’d left Salt Lake City for a solo research trip to the San Raphael Swell. He’d been dead for nearly 12 years, sealed in a cave that searchers in 2012 had walked past multiple times without realizing anyone was inside. James Chen grew up in Sacramento, California, second generation Chinese American.

 His parents ran a small restaurant, the kind of place where his mom did the cooking and his dad handled the front. James and his sister Lisa worked there through high school, weekends, summers, whenever they weren’t in school. Lisa tells a story about when James was maybe 11 or 12, their dad wanted him to take over the restaurant someday.

 Kept talking about expanding, opening a second location. And James, who was quiet most of the time, finally said, “Dad, I don’t want to run a restaurant. I want to study rocks.” Their father thought he was joking. He wasn’t. James got interested in geology after a sixth grade field trip to the Sierra Nevada.

 His class spent three days camping and they had this ranger who pointed out all these rock formations explained how glaciers had carved the valleys, how you could read the history of the planet in layers of stone. James came home with a bag full of rocks and a determination to be a geologist. He went to UC Davis for undergrad, got his PhD from Stanford in 1997.

did his dissertation on sedimentary processes in the Colorado Plateau and in 1999 at age 32 he got hired as an assistant professor at the University of Utah in Salt Lake City. His colleagues say he was a good teacher, patient, enthusiastic, the kind of professor who actually answered emails and made time for students.

 But what he really loved was field work. getting out into the desert, mapping formations, collecting samples, piecing together the geological story of how these landscapes formed. By 2012, he was 45 years old, associate professor with tenure, published author, dozens of papers in geological journals, respected in his field, but not famous.

He’d never married, didn’t have kids. His life was his work and his students and the desert. October 2012, he took a week off for a solo research trip. He’d done dozens of these over the years. Drive out to some remote area of Utah or Arizona or Colorado, set up camp, spend a few days hiking, and documenting geological features.

 Sometimes he was following up on something he’d noticed on satellite imagery. Sometimes he was just exploring. The San Raphael Swell was one of his favorite areas. He’d been there probably 20 times over the years. He knew the terrain. He was careful. He always filed his plans with the department secretary, general location, expected return date.

 He carried a PLB, personal locator beacon, a GPS, plenty of water, first aid supplies. He wasn’t reckless. He left Salt Lake City on October 14th, 2012. drove his pickup truck about 200 m south to the swell, parked at a trail head off a dirt road, hiked about four miles to a flat spot he’d used as a base camp before. He emailed his sister Lisa on October 15th.

Brief message. Made it to camp. Weather’s perfect. Cell signal is terrible out here, but I’ll check in when I get back. Love you. That was the last anyone heard from him. When he didn’t return to campus on October 22nd as scheduled, the department secretary tried calling him. No answer. She waited until October 24th.

 Sometimes professors run a day or two late from field trips, then contacted the university police, who contacted the Emery County Sheriff’s Office. Search and rescue teams went out on October 25th. They found his camp easily enough. The tent was still standing. His sleeping bag was laid out inside. His camping stove had a pot with rehydrated pasta, uneaten, now spoiled.

 His truck was still at the trail head where he’d parked it. Keys inside the tent. What was missing? His rockhammer, his current field notebook, his daypack, his GPS unit, his water bottles. Basically everything he’d take on a day hike to examine rock formations. The search lasted 3 weeks. They had dogs. They had helicopters.

 They had experienced SAR volunteers who knew the swell. They searched a 10-mi radius from his camp. They found nothing. The searchers did notice something. There were several small rock slides in the area during mid-occtober 2012. Utah had gotten unusual rain that fall, and the swell sandstone can become unstable when it gets wet.

 A few trails and climbing routes had been blocked by fresh rockfalls, but searchers didn’t connect rock slides to Chen’s disappearance. They were looking for a body or clothing or equipment dropped along a trail. They weren’t looking for a cave that had been sealed shut. By November 2012, the official search was called off.

 The theory was that Chen had fallen while climbing, possibly into a creasse or down a cliff face, and the body was somewhere inaccessible. The case stayed open as a missing person, but everyone assumed he was dead. His sister, Lisa, came out from San Francisco to help with the search. She met with searchers, learned the area, hiked some of the roots herself.

She talked to his colleagues at the university, went through his office, tried to piece together where he might have gone. He was careful, she told me. That’s what made it so hard to accept. James didn’t take stupid risks. He’d been doing field work for 15 years. He knew how to stay safe in the desert. The university held a memorial service in January 2013.

 They set up a small scholarship fund in his name for geology students. His office was eventually reassigned to a new faculty member. His personal effects, books, rock samples, photos were boxed up and given to Lisa. And that was it. Dr. Dr. James Chen, geology professor, age 45, was declared deceased after 7 years. His death certificate listed the date as October 17th, 2012.

 Cause of death as presumed accident remains not recovered. Until August 2024, when three canyoners found a sealed cave with his equipment inside, the notebook is in custody of the Utah Medical Examiner’s Office as part of the death investigation. But Lisa Chen was shown copies of the relevant pages, and she authorized the university to release excerpts to explain what happened to her brother.

Here’s what Dr. Chen wrote in his own words during his final hours. October 17th, 2012, approximately 11:30 a.m. Found interesting formation about 6 mi ne cave entrance in sandstone cliff face. maybe 4 feet high. Entrance shows evidence of recent water, erosion, probably from the rain two days ago. Inside the cave, there’s exposed cross bedding and what looks like Navajo sandstone. Really clear stratification.

Taking photos and samples. The entrance is partially blocked by loose rocks, but stable enough to enter safely. October 17th, 2012, approximately 12.15 p.m. I’m in trouble. About 10 minutes ago, while I was examining the back wall of the cave, I heard a sound like grinding rock.

 Turned around and the entrance had collapsed. Complete rockfall sealed it off. I can’t see daylight anymore. Using a headlamp, the entrance is completely blocked. Probably 2 or 3 ft of rocks between me and open air. Cave is maybe 15 ins 8 ft. Air seems okay for now. Not panicking, I have my rockhammer. I can dig my way out. October the 17th, 2012.

 Approximately two myopim. Working on clearing rocks from inside. It’s slow. The rocks are wedged together and I have to be careful not to cause another collapse. I’ve moved about 30 lb of smaller rocks away from the pile. But there’s a lot more. The big problem is I can’t tell how deep the blockage is. Could be 1 ft. Could be 5 ft.

 Water supply. Two bottles. Both about half full. Maybe 1.5 L total. Food. One energy bar. Some trail mix. Enough for a day if I’m careful. GPS is showing my location, but no signal to send a message. My PLB is back at camp. Stupid mistake. October 17th, 2012. Approximately 5:30 p.m. Made progress.

 I’ve cleared maybe a foot into the rock pile. Still can’t see light from outside. My hands are pretty torn up from moving rocks. The hammer helps, but a lot of the work is just pulling stones loose with my hands. The cave is cooling down now that the sun’s off this side of the canyon. Temperature is comfortable, but I’m sweating from the work.

 Drank about half a bottle of water. Need to ration the rest. October 17th, 2012. Approximately 10p. It’s full dark outside. I can tell because the air coming through the rocks got colder. I’ve been working for 10 hours with a few breaks. I’m maybe 2 ft into the pile now. That’s good progress, but I still can’t see or feel open air on the other side.

 My headlamp battery is at about 30%. It’s an LED, so it should last another day, at least if I’m conservative with it. Ate the energy bar, drank the rest of one water bottle, one bottle left. October 18th, 2012, approximately 7 a.m., slept a few hours. Difficult to sleep sitting up against the rock wall, but I managed.

 Cold overnight, but not dangerous. I can tell it’s morning because the air coming through the rock pile got warmer. Back to work. My hands are in bad shape. Cuts, bruises, some bleeding. Wrapped them with strips from my shirt. The work is harder today because I’m tired and thirsty. Half the remaining water bottle left. October 18th, 2012.

 Approximately bon something happened about an hour ago. I was hammering at a large rock when I dislodged it, and suddenly there was this flow of smaller rocks from above. Minor collapse. It filled in some of the progress I’d made. I’m going to have to be more careful. If I cause a major collapse, I could get hurt or make things worse.

 But I also need to keep working because nobody knows I’m here. The search teams will eventually come, but they’re looking for me outside, not sealed in a cave. I need to get myself out. October 18th, 2012, approximately 5:00 p.m. Progress, but it’s getting harder. I think I’m about 3 ft into the pile now. Still no daylight.

 Finished the last of my water an hour ago. That’s a problem. I can survive without food for a while, but water is critical. I’m already dehydrated from the work and from breathing this dry air. My mouth is so dry I can barely swallow. If I can’t get out tomorrow, this becomes a serious survival situation. October 18th, 2012, approximately 9bon.

I think I’m close. When I reach into the deepest part of the gap I’ve dug, I can feel air movement. Not much, just a slight current. That means there’s a way through up ahead. Maybe a foot, maybe less. Problem is the big rocks. I’ve been working around them, but eventually I’m going to have to move one of the large ones to get through.

 And I don’t know if I have the strength. I’m exhausted. I haven’t eaten anything except that one energy bar yesterday. No water. My hands won’t stop shaking. October 18th, 2012, approximately 11:30 p.m. I have to write this down in case I don’t make it. Lisa, if you’re reading this, I love you. I’m sorry I never came home. I want you to know I tried.

 Tell mom and dad I loved them. Tell my students I was proud of them. I don’t regret doing this work. I don’t regret coming out here. This is just bad luck. Being a geologist was the best decision I ever made. and I got to spend my life studying beautiful places and teaching people about the history of this planet.

That’s more than most people get. I’m grateful for it, but I’m also scared. I don’t want to die here. The notebook goes on for a few more pages, but the handwriting becomes less legible. The final entry is dated October 19th, 2012 around 6 a.m. Just a few words. Still trying. can’t. And then it trails off.

 The medical examiner’s report concluded that Dr. Chen likely died sometime on October 19th or early October 20th, 2012 from a combination of dehydration, exhaustion, and exposure. The recovery team found him slumped against the rock pile he’d been working on. The rockhammer was still in his hand.

 The hammer showed fresh scratches and chips on the steel head from striking stone. When the recovery team examined the sealed entrance from outside, they found marks where Chen had been hitting the rocks from inside. He’d been maybe 3 ft from Freedom. 3 ft of unstable sandstone that he couldn’t safely move. The thing that gets to people who knew him, he did everything right.

 He told his department where he’d be generally. He had safety equipment. He checked in regularly. He was experienced. He just had terrible luck. found a cave entrance that looked stable, went inside to look at something interesting, and the entrance collapsed behind him while he was in there.

 Could happen to anyone working alone in remote canyons. The investigation into Dr. Chen’s death was straightforward. The Emery County Sheriff’s Office, the medical examiner, and the University of Utah all concluded the same thing. Accidental death, no suspicious circumstances, just bad luck and bad timing. But there were questions, lots of them.

Why didn’t the 2012 search teams find the cave? Detective Mark Sullivan worked the original missing person case in 2012. When we reached him by phone, he’s retired now, living in Price, Utah. He was frustrated, but also matterof fact about it. We searched that area, he said multiple times with dogs, with air support, with experienced climbers, but we were looking for a body or signs of a fall.

 We weren’t looking for sealed caves. From the outside, that rock face looked solid. And honestly, even if we’d noticed the fresh rockfall, we would have thought, “Okay, there was a slide here. Let’s check below it for a body.” We wouldn’t have thought. Let’s dig into this to see if there’s a cave behind it. That’s just not how you search.

 He paused. If Chen had been able to make noise, maybe someone would have heard him. But by the time we got searchers out there 3 days after he stopped checking in, he probably didn’t have the strength to yell loud enough. And that cave is 6 milesi from his base camp. We focused our search on the area between his camp and the formations he’d logged in his GPS.

 The cave was outside that perimeter. Could the search have been done differently? Dr. Patricia Reeves, who was Chen’s department chair in 2012 and is now retired, doesn’t think so. James was exploring, she told us. That’s what geologists do. We don’t just stick to trails and marked sites. We wander. We investigate interesting formations.

We go where the rocks take us. James could have been anywhere within a 20-mi radius of his camp. The search teams did everything they could with the resources they had. It’s just sometimes people are in places you don’t expect. Sometimes accidents happen in ways you can’t predict. The university held a second memorial service in September 2024.

This time they had closure. They had a body to bury. Lisa Chen was able to say goodbye to her brother properly. I’m grateful we found him, she said at the service. For 12 years, we didn’t know. We couldn’t grieve properly because there was always that tiny threat of hope. Now we know. He didn’t suffer for long. He tried to save himself.

 He was brave. That’s how I want to remember him. The university’s geology department created a new safety protocol after Chen’s death was confirmed. Now all faculty and students doing solo fieldwork are required to carry satellite communicators with them at all times, not leave them at camp. They’re required to check in twice daily, not just at the start and end of a trip.

 And they’re required to file detailed itineraries with specific GPS coordinates, not just general locations. It won’t prevent every accident, Dr. Reeves said, but it might prevent this specific kind of accident. If James had been able to send an SOS immediately when the cave entrance collapsed, search and rescue could have reached him in time.

 That’s what we’re trying to ensure going forward. The three canyoners who found Chen, Ryan, Melissa, and Derek, were shaken by the experience, but also felt like they’d done something meaningful. I keep thinking about his family. Melissa said, 12 years of not knowing. That’s torture. At least now they have answers. At least now he can have a proper burial.

 We just happen to be in the right place at the right time. Or maybe the wrong place at the wrong time, depending on how you look at it. The cave has been marked on USGS maps. Now, there’s a small memorial plaque nearby placed by the geology department. Dr. James Chen, 1967 2012, geologist, teacher, explorer. He loved these rocks.

 His sister, Lisa Chen, lives in San Francisco. She’s 52 now. When we spoke to her by phone, her voice was steady but tired. “We always knew he was gone,” she said. “But knowing is different from proof. For 12 years, there was this tiny possibility that maybe he’d had a breakdown, walked away from his life, was living somewhere under a different name.

You tell yourself that’s ridiculous, but your brain holds on to it anyway. Now we know he didn’t abandon us. He died doing what he loved and he tried to get out. That’s what the notebook shows. He tried. She paused. I’ve been thinking a lot about that last entry in his notebook, the one where he says he’s grateful he got to be a geologist, that this was the life he wanted. And I believe him.

 James was never the type to second guessess his choices. He knew what he wanted when he was 12 years old, and he pursued it his whole life. Not many people can say that. Lisa visited the cave site in September 2024 after the memorial plaque was installed. She hiked the six miles from the trail head with a guide.

 She’s not an experienced canyoner and didn’t want to go alone. It’s beautiful out there, she said. I can see why James loved it. These incredible rock formations, layers of red and orange and white. So much history in those rocks, millions of years. And my brother spent his life trying to understand that history, trying to read the story the Rocks were telling. That’s a good life.

 That’s a meaningful life. She brought his Rockhammer home with her. The Emery County Sheriff’s Office released it after the investigation was closed. She keeps it on a shelf in her living room now next to a photo of James from grad school. Sometimes I look at it and I think about him using it, she said, trying to dig himself out, striking those rocks hour after hour.

 And I think he didn’t give up. Even when he must have known it was hopeless, he kept trying. That was James. He was stubborn and he was brave and he didn’t quit. I’m proud of him for that. The scholarship fund in James Chen’s name has grown significantly since his body was found. The university received donations from former students, colleagues, and people who heard about the story and wanted to contribute.

 As of fall 2024, the fund provides two full scholarships annually to geology students with a focus on fieldwork and research. Dr. Reeves, who administered the scholarship program before she retired, said the recipients are exactly the kind of students Chen would have wanted to support. They’re passionate, she said.

They love being out in the field. They want to understand how the earth works. They remind me of James, and I think he’d be happy knowing that his legacy is helping students pursue the same kind of work he loved. The San Rafael Swell hasn’t changed. It’s still remote, still beautiful, still dangerous if you’re not careful.

 Geologists still go there to study the rocks. Canyoneers still explore its formations. People still get lost occasionally, though most are found quickly. But now there’s a story attached to one particular canyon. A story about a professor who loved rocks, who died trying to understand them, and who was found 12 years later by three hikers who happened to notice something odd about a rock face.

 Ryan Chavez, one of the three who found the cave, still thinks about it. I go canyoneering a lot, he said. I’ve been doing it for 15 years and now every time I see a rockfall or a sealed cave or anything that looks like it might have been different before, I wonder, is there someone in there? Is there evidence of something that happened years ago? It’s changed how I look at the landscape.

There are so many hidden stories out there. Most of them we’ll never find. But sometimes, by luck or chance or whatever you want to call it, we stumble across one and then we have to decide what to do with it. In this case, we told the story. We made sure James Chen’s family got closure. That feels important.

Dr. James Chen’s office at the University of Utah has a new occupant now, but there’s still a photo of him in the hallway of the geology building next to photos of other notable faculty, past and present. In the photo, he’s standing in front of a rock formation somewhere in Utah, holding his rockhammer, smiling. He looks happy.

 He looks like someone doing exactly what he wanted to be doing. And maybe that’s the legacy. Not just the scholarship, not just the safety protocols, not just the memorial plaque. Maybe the legacy is simply this. James Chen lived the life he chose. He died doing work he loved in a place he found beautiful.

 Pursuing knowledge he thought was important. Most people don’t get that. Most people spend their lives doing things they have to do rather than things they want to do. James Chen was one of the lucky ones. He found his calling early, pursued it completely and never looked back. That he died young. That he died alone in a cave. That his family suffered 12 years of uncertainty.

All of that is tragic, but the life he lived before that final day, that was exactly what he wanted. And that, Lisa Chen says, is something worth remembering. James would tell you himself, she said if he could come back for 5 minutes and talk to us, he’d say, “I regret how I died, but I don’t regret how I lived.

” And that’s the best any of us can hope for, isn’t it? to live a life we’re proud of. To do work that matters, to pursue something we’re passionate about. My brother did all of that. So, yes, this story is sad, but it’s also a story about someone who lived well, and that’s how I choose to remember him. The San Raphael Swell is open year round. You can hike there if you want.

You can see the formations James Chen studied. You can even find the cave where he died if you know where to look. But be careful. Bring water. Bring a satellite communicator. Tell someone where you’re going. Check in regularly because the desert doesn’t care how experienced you are. It doesn’t care how careful you are.

 Sometimes bad luck happens to good people. Sometimes cave entrances collapse. Sometimes you find yourself in a situation where everything you did right still wasn’t enough. James Chen knew that. He accepted that risk as part of the work he loved. And when the worst happened, he faced it with courage and determination. He fought to survive.

He documented what happened so that someday someone might find his story. And 12 years later, someone did.