First, there was the suspicious rental car and empty baby carriage left at the Midgley Bridge parking lot. At 3 a.m. on Sunday, Sergeant D sent out a page, and seven of us shook off sleep and responded. We drove down the switchbacks into Oak Creek Canyon to the bridge, where our coordinator updated us on what little additional information he'd gotten so far.
There was a campground ticket on the dash. The campsite, deserted since Saturday, had been checked. Another camper said they'd seen two women but no baby at that site. In the tent was a suitcase with a sleeping bag and a few other items inside, and that suitcase had an airline tag on it. The baby carriage at the bridge also had an airline tag on it. Also at the campsite, a book was found: "The Last Lecture" by Randy Pausch, a professor who lost his battle with cancer earlier this year. A family photo was tucked into the book. The rental car company's computers were currently down, so we didn't yet have information from them, but a locksmith was on the way to open the vehicle, inside of which Sergeant D could see a cellphone.
The seven of us SAR volunteers and Sergeant D huddled over the Sedona trails map, laid out on the hood of his truck and illuminated by our eight headlamps. We had no idea what to expect from this search, but we had tech gear with us just in case.
It was decided that two team members would hike to the bottom of the canyon and make their way under the bridge. Midgely Bridge had been used as a jumping-off point, so to speak, a number of times before, so we needed to rule that out. We hoped.
Meanwhile, two other teams of two would hike two of the three trails that depart from the area. The third trail, which climbs Wilson Mountain, would be covered next. Our seventh team member, a man in his mid-seventies, would drive around to other trailheads to check for vehicles and people and to pick us ground-pounders up when we got to the other ends of our assigned trails.
My companion and I covered the three-mile Huckaby Trail, calling, "hello!" and "anybody out here?" I blew my loud whistle periodically, making my ears ring.
Eventually, we learned a name via radio transmissions between Sergeant D, dispatch, and another deputy, and then we called, "Laura!" as we went along. Apparently Laura had rented the car, and Sergeant D had been in contact with her friends and family by dialing numbers programmed in her cellphone, which he'd retrieved from the car. Laura was from Canada.
After a careful creek crossing on some narrow logs, Scott and I continued along the trail as the sun came up, but we soon stopped when we thought we heard a distant whistle. We called and listened again, straining our ears against the sound of the wind in the trees. When we were sure we were hearing a whistle, we announced it over the radio, only to learn we were hearing one of our other teams above us on another trail.
Our radios were pretty quiet as we hiked, but just before Scott and I reached the end of our trail, we heard Sergeant D's voice. "The two subjects just arrived at the bridge, Code 4."
They had been a short distance up the Wilson Mountain Trail — the one we hadn't yet checked. They'd been on their way down yesterday evening when darkness overtook them and, with no light, had decided to stay put until the morning. Apparently, they weren't particularly shaken up about their unplanned, bare-bones campout, but, boy, were they freaked out when they got back to their car and found a bunch of Coconino County Sheriff's Search & Rescue vehicles all around it. I expect some rapid follow-up calls to worried family and friends took place.
Oh, and the mysterious baby carriage had no connection to the two women. Tucked into a carriage pocket was a Phoenix hotel map. It's my guess that a couple with a baby got back to their hotel and, when they unloaded the car, they said to one another, "I thought you put the carriage in the trunk."
So, after breakfast with my teammates and the drive back to Flagstaff, I returned from that little adventure soon after my husband had rolled out of bed. We spent a relaxing Sunday together, much of that time sitting at an outdoor cafe where I think I actually fell asleep for a few minutes while I had my head tilted back with my face to the sun. But after a long early-evening walk with our dog, my pager went off again.
This call was for a carry-out on Kendrick Peak. It was a girl with a knee injury, Sergeant D said, and would probably be at least a six-hour deal. Without enough people to take shifts, we'd only be able to switch sides of the litter, to give one arm a break for a while, rather than switch out people.
But, as has been the case lately, things didn't turn out quite like we expected. After the long drive to the trailhead, one SAR member who lives nearby and responded directly to the scene had already reached the victim and victim's friend, along with a deputy who'd headed up the trail on his own. They were apparently a good hour's hike up there, but they were going to try an assisted walk-out.
Sergeant D decided to send four of us who had Wilderness First Responder (WFR or "woofer") training up the trail with medical gear, so we could make a brace for the girl's knee and help with the walk-out. The others would remain behind in case we ended up needing the litter after all. Since the victim had already refused ambulance transport, there were no Guardian medical personnel on the scene, just search and rescue.
We set off at a good clip, not rushing but not wanting to waste time getting up there to help. Thinking we had the better part of an hour's climb, we were surprised to see lights heading toward us well before then. I stepped aside as a rather beefy and very sweaty deputy whooshed by with a girl on his back. Wow! Can he come with us all the time?
Our group did have to pause briefly while the deputy removed his gun belt. The weapon and other equipment around his waist was jammed into the injured hiker's backside and inner thighs. I'd imagine that was probably painful enough to distract her from her injured knee. Seeing how she limped and wobbled when the deputy momentarily set her down, I can see why the attempted assisted walk-out hadn't worked.
A short time later, the grateful victim, her friend, and their two growling dogs were returned to their vehicle, and we headed back to the SAR building to fill up the trucks so they'll be ready to go for the next call-out, put away the tech gear, and then drive our sleepy selves back home.
Just before midnight, my head hit the pillow, and I didn't budge till 9 a.m.
These are my stories as a volunteer member of the Sheriff's Search and Rescue team in Coconino County, Arizona. I'll share what it's like to go from a beginner with a lot to learn to an experienced and, hopefully, valuable member of the team, as well as the missions, training, and other activities along the way.
One Day, Two Missions
Okay, now I don't feel quite so bad about missing Wednesday's and Thursday's evidence search.
On Friday morning, just as my mom and I get to the hair salon for her 9:00 appointment (and my trim while her dye is doing its thing), my pager goes off. Shoot! I was going to miss another mission, I thought.
I called in and Sergeant D's message said it was a search for a missing hunter (kind of a recurring theme at this time of year) in the Marshall Lake area. Hmm, I contemplated, that's not far from where I live. So I left a message, saying I'd be tied up for a while but that I'd like to join in if the search was still ongoing after I dropped my mom off back at her house. Then I hung up and called Al, who I knew would be going on the mission. Al said he'd grab an extra radio for me.
I fidgeted while the hairdresser got my mom started, then fidgeted some more while she was combing away at my matted, curly mass. Twice I fished my ringing cellphone out of my pocket as she was trimming, trying not to move too much lest she snip off part of an earlobe. It was Al, calling to tell me he was going directly to Marshall Lake with Cassie, his and the team's tracking dog, to begin a hasty search. So, he'd relayed my request for a radio to another team member at the SAR building. Then it was Al calling again from his truck, asking if I knew a quicker way to get to Marshall Lake.
With my earlobes still intact after those two calls, I called my husband, a Flagstaff native, and asked if he knew of any alternate routes to the lake, on some unofficial dirt roads maybe. Nope. So I slipped my phone back into my pocket and behaved myself for the rest of my agonizingly long haircut, then changed into SAR clothes in the salon bathroom while the hairdresser continued on my mom's head. Tap, tap, tap went my foot as I tried to distract myself with tabloid magazines. (Did you know that Brittany Spears... uh, never mind.)
Okay, so fast forward to about 11 a.m. I got to Marshall Lake just as our team was preparing to depart the staging area and head into the field. Al was already out with Cassie along with the subject's brother and a scent article, a shirt the missing man had worn on a couple of days ago. The hunter, Robert, had been gone since 5 p.m. on Thursday, when he vanished while he and his brother and friend were out looking for elk. One minute he was there, the next he was gone, the friend told me.
The point last seen (PLS) was marked on the maps Sergeant D handed out to each searcher along with the briefing sheet. Robert, who was in his early fifties, was about 6-foot-2, 280 pounds, and had no known medical conditions. He was wearing leaf-patterned camo pants and jacket and a black shirt.
We were also told that Robert had been wearing sneakers, though his friend was unsure of the brand. Sergeant D and other SAR members had looked for prints around their campsite, but there were many different treads in the area.
The DPS helicopter was in the air as our team set off in pairs, some on ATVs, some in vehicles, and Scott and I on the Ranger UTV, which can be used to transport a patient. Scott and I followed a trio of hunters to some sneaker tracks they'd located. We spoke to a young couple camped nearby, then parked the Ranger and set off on foot.
Scott and I yelled and I blew my whistle as we climbed to the top of the mesa near the PLS. We saw quite a few tracks, but they were all boot prints. Meanwhile, another pair of SAR volunteers were following some sneaker prints along a dirt road, with the helicopter leap-frogging them and flying above some of the spur roads ahead. At one point, Scott and I, standing on an outcropping above Cherry Canyon, thought we heard a reply to our calls, but it turned out to be ATV Team 1 down below. Darn.
From there, we started downhill, following a wash. I believe Sergeant D had said that something like 40% of the time, lost hunters are found in washes. Hmm, interesting.
As was the next bit of info to come over the radio. Robert's sneakers were just found in the back of his truck. He was wearing boots when he disappeared. Boots with Vibram soles. Oh.
I don't know about Scott, but by then I was starting to get that sinking feeling. Were we going to find poor Robert, unresponsive or worse, somewhat hidden in the grass in his camo garb? I'd seen a vulture circling not long before. Maybe we should have checked over there. Maybe a stray bullet had missed an elk and... well, you get the idea.
Usually when I start to get "that feeling," the person turns up. Which held true this time, too. At about 2:30 p.m., we heard a deputy call Sergeant D on the radio. He said, "We just got word the subject may be at the Circle K on Lake Mary Rd." The Circle K? Wow, that's a long walk.
Scott and I turned around and slowly made our way back to the Ranger (which luckily I'd remembered to mark on my GPS), while a deputy went to the convenience store and confirmed that, yes indeed, it was Robert. He'd been there since 10:00 that morning. I could have picked him up when I drove by on my way to Marshall Lake. Ah well, all's well that ends well once again. That's much better than the scenario my imagination had been cooking up.
So then, at about 4 p.m., I got home coated with dust-covered sweat and waited for Steve to get home from work. I put off showering, and we walked our dog, made some dinner, ate, chatted, watched the presidential debate, and... you guessed it: My pager went off again. Good thing I hadn't showered yet. Would have been a waste of water, right?
And since I've already been long-winded enough, I'll just summarize:
Man goes for a hike with just a water bottle in his pocket. Man gets a bit misplaced. It gets dark, but hiker-man has no flashlight. He does have a cellphone, though, so he calls for help. Deputy responds and drives around, running his siren and talking to the lost man by phone while SAR team is on the way.
SAR arrives. Doo doo-doo! (That was a trumpet.) By now, deputy has some idea of the man's location based on when lost man said the siren was the loudest. So, SAR divides into two teams and heads out from different trailheads. We call, we blow whistles.
We make voice contact. We find man, escort man back to trailhead, then to Sergeant D, then to man's vehicle a few miles away. Happy, tired man goes home. SAR goes home. I go to bed without a shower. Poor husband, Steve.
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A few days later...
Just a little added information on the missing elk hunter who turned up at Circle K. He, uh, got a ride there. Yes, he did get lost and did spend the night in the great outdoors, but then, in the morning, he apparently found his way to one of the many forest roads in the Marshall Lake area and caught himself a ride.
Thing is—so we're told—that ride took him right past the campsite he'd been sharing with his brother and friend. So why didn't he stop there? I don't get it. Even if he didn't go right past the site, it was on THE main forest service road out there, just north of the lake, so it wasn't like it would have been hard to find. Why didn't he ask the driver to take him there?
Ah well, no sense in asking logical questions.
A Life Saved After All
I don't think any of us knew just how serious his condition really was. I'm referring to the man we recently evacuated from the Humphreys Trail after he'd experienced shortness of breath and chest tightness during his descent. While members of our SAR team along with Guardian crew were bringing him down in the litter, medics monitored the patient's condition. It seemed the longer he was on oxygen and the lower we went, the more his condition improved. He was talkative and not in any further distress, he said.
According to Sergeant D, though, who updated us at our general SAR meeting this past Thursday, the patient had a blood clot in his stint. Had he attempted to walk, he may have had a serious, potentially fatal heart attack.
When our coordinator gave us this news, Liz and I looked at each other with wide eyes. Sometimes you don't know what a difference a rescue is making in someone's life during the mission. Boy, I'm glad the Good Samaritan called for help when he came across Andrew sitting by the side of the trail.
On another note, we were paged at 1:15 Friday morning for a missing hunter with a history of diabetic coma. The man's companion had last seen him at 4:00 p.m. on Thursday, before he'd left in his truck from their camp in a remote area near the South Rim of Grand Canyon. The man had mentioned that if he did leave, he'd be going to a particular tank (a watering hole for livestock). But his friend had checked that tank and then drove around for another five hours without any luck. Then he called for SAR.
Coconino County is so big that it can take us a long time to get to an area before we can even begin to search. In this case, the point last seen was 30-some-odd miles down a dirt road and a nearly three-hour drive from Flagstaff. Two deputies were already in the area while we were on our way, gathering additional information and driving the network of dirt roads and two-tracks. At first light, we'd have the assistance of the DPS helicopter, too.
But as we were nearing the hunters' camp, we heard one of the deputies on scene call Sergeant D. "I hate to do this to you," he said. Al turned up the radio, and we leaned in to listen. Sure enough, they'd just made cellphone contact with the subject, who was about a mile and a half from camp, Code 4. He was fine, he said. No diabetic issues.
Al and I couldn't help but laugh—this kind of timing has happened a number of times before. But good, that's the end result we always hope for. After a little shut-eye for an hour, we turned around and drove back to Flagstaff.
According to Sergeant D, though, who updated us at our general SAR meeting this past Thursday, the patient had a blood clot in his stint. Had he attempted to walk, he may have had a serious, potentially fatal heart attack.
When our coordinator gave us this news, Liz and I looked at each other with wide eyes. Sometimes you don't know what a difference a rescue is making in someone's life during the mission. Boy, I'm glad the Good Samaritan called for help when he came across Andrew sitting by the side of the trail.
On another note, we were paged at 1:15 Friday morning for a missing hunter with a history of diabetic coma. The man's companion had last seen him at 4:00 p.m. on Thursday, before he'd left in his truck from their camp in a remote area near the South Rim of Grand Canyon. The man had mentioned that if he did leave, he'd be going to a particular tank (a watering hole for livestock). But his friend had checked that tank and then drove around for another five hours without any luck. Then he called for SAR.
Coconino County is so big that it can take us a long time to get to an area before we can even begin to search. In this case, the point last seen was 30-some-odd miles down a dirt road and a nearly three-hour drive from Flagstaff. Two deputies were already in the area while we were on our way, gathering additional information and driving the network of dirt roads and two-tracks. At first light, we'd have the assistance of the DPS helicopter, too.
But as we were nearing the hunters' camp, we heard one of the deputies on scene call Sergeant D. "I hate to do this to you," he said. Al turned up the radio, and we leaned in to listen. Sure enough, they'd just made cellphone contact with the subject, who was about a mile and a half from camp, Code 4. He was fine, he said. No diabetic issues.
Al and I couldn't help but laugh—this kind of timing has happened a number of times before. But good, that's the end result we always hope for. After a little shut-eye for an hour, we turned around and drove back to Flagstaff.
Some PSAR: The Highpointers Are in Town
Mission-wise, things have been quiet for the last couple of weeks, since Labor Day weekend. But our SAR team has had some PSAR to do in the meantime. PSAR stands for preventative search and rescue, which basically involves walking heavily used trails and stationing ourselves in high-visibility areas to answer questions, make sure folks are prepared for what they're doing or setting out to do, and sometimes disseminating informational brochures or just saying a friendly hello to passers by.
This week, the Highpointers are in town for their "konvention" on Humphrey's Peak. Until one of our SAR general meetings a couple of months ago, I hadn't heard of this club with a membership that has an age range of something like five years to 90. The club's purpose, as quoted from their website, is to "promote climbing to the highest point in each of the fifty (50) states; provide a forum for education about the highpoints; aid in the preservation and conservation of the highpoints and their environs; provide a vehicle through which persons with this common goal can meet and correspond with one another; maintain positive relationships with owners of highpoints on private property; assist in the care and maintenance of highpoints; and support public and private efforts to maintain the integrity of and access to state highpoints." Got all that? I've even heard that some club members try to hit high points in all counties as well.
Anyhow, with something like 350 more people than usual hiking Humphreys and other popular Flagstaff trails this week, our SAR team did some planning, parked a command trailer up at the Snowbowl ski area at the Humphreys trailhead, and made ourselves noticeable and available on the mountain, hiking (and riding horses) around with our SAR shirts and radios on. Our goal was not only to do some PSAR but to have team members in the area in case an incident were to occur. It's now Friday morning, the final full day of the Highpointers event and, so far, all is well.
I think the Highpointers Club is pretty cool. And being a list-maker and a goal-oriented girl myself, this makes me go, "Hmm..."
And thank you, Renee from Tidewater Search & Rescue for telling me about a book written by a Highpointer. She tells me it's a fun and easy read, by two men who completed the 50-state quest. It's called, To The Top: Reaching for America's 50 State Summits.
This week, the Highpointers are in town for their "konvention" on Humphrey's Peak. Until one of our SAR general meetings a couple of months ago, I hadn't heard of this club with a membership that has an age range of something like five years to 90. The club's purpose, as quoted from their website, is to "promote climbing to the highest point in each of the fifty (50) states; provide a forum for education about the highpoints; aid in the preservation and conservation of the highpoints and their environs; provide a vehicle through which persons with this common goal can meet and correspond with one another; maintain positive relationships with owners of highpoints on private property; assist in the care and maintenance of highpoints; and support public and private efforts to maintain the integrity of and access to state highpoints." Got all that? I've even heard that some club members try to hit high points in all counties as well.
Anyhow, with something like 350 more people than usual hiking Humphreys and other popular Flagstaff trails this week, our SAR team did some planning, parked a command trailer up at the Snowbowl ski area at the Humphreys trailhead, and made ourselves noticeable and available on the mountain, hiking (and riding horses) around with our SAR shirts and radios on. Our goal was not only to do some PSAR but to have team members in the area in case an incident were to occur. It's now Friday morning, the final full day of the Highpointers event and, so far, all is well.
I think the Highpointers Club is pretty cool. And being a list-maker and a goal-oriented girl myself, this makes me go, "Hmm..."
And thank you, Renee from Tidewater Search & Rescue for telling me about a book written by a Highpointer. She tells me it's a fun and easy read, by two men who completed the 50-state quest. It's called, To The Top: Reaching for America's 50 State Summits.
Carrying a Man off Mt. Humphreys
Two days later, my arms are still sore — but in a good way. I feel like I did something and actually helped, compared to the rescue on Mt. Humphreys a couple of months ago (about which I now realize I didn't write a blog entry). During that earlier rescue involving a man from Mississippi who'd broken his ankle when he stepped over a log and landed wrong, I was tentative and only put my hands on the litter a few times. Granted, it was a more difficult evacuation along a somewhat treacherous and snowy route, but I felt more like a bystander than a useful part of the team.
This time around, we were called to evacuate a hiker in his early 50s who'd experienced shortness of breath and chest tightness while descending from the 12,633-foot summit. We were told that the man, named Andrew, has a stint in his heart but is accustomed to climbing Camelback Mountain in Phoenix quite often and has also climbed Mt. Humphreys since the stint was put in. So, this wasn't anything new for him.
When I arrived at the trailhead, having responded directly to the mountain rather than the SAR building, a small team including at least one of our volunteers and a medic was already on the trail. Their goal was to locate Andrew and determine his condition. Meanwhile, another team, including two more SAR members and additional medical personnel, was loading gear into a vehicle, preparing to drive up a ski area service road and then switchbacks on one of the runs to try to get the equipment closer to the subject.
By having access to that locked service road, search and rescue is able to bypass part of the Humphreys Trail and, therefore, save crucial time and human energy. It also allows us to evacuate a subject more quickly. When I got to the staging area, however, Andrew's exact location on the trail was still unknown.
As I waited with our coordinator, team captain, and Guardian Medical battalion chief in the parking lot at the lodge, another contingent of our SAR team arrived. They brought with them our new Polaris Ranger UTV, which I learned to drive at the SAR conference in Heber, Arizona, earlier this year.
Sergeant D pointed at me and said, "Deb is the certified driver." Yay, I was gonna get to drive the "little car" on it's maiden mission!
Okay, I thought to myself, the gas is on the right, brake on the left. I can do this.
So, up the service road I went with my cohort, Liz, squished in the middle next to me and Scott, a very experienced member of our team, next to her. Behind us was the rest of our crew in a SAR vehicle. I was directed to stop on the service road rather than continue up the switchbacks on the ski run, so the UTV drive was easy and without any of the steep side-tilt that makes me a wee bit nervous. Phew.
From where we parked, our group continued on foot, straight up the mountain with a break-apart titanium litter with the wheel attached, to intersect the trail. As we huffed and puffed and sweat, the initial team found Andrew, and the second team, who had driven up the ski slope, also made their way to that location. Our group arrived at the trail several hundred feet below the subject, so we continued huffing and puffing, taking turns pushing and pulling the litter. If it was this tough without a patient in it, I couldn't wait to see how difficult this was going to get. At least we'd be going down, I thought.
But I soon found that going down didn't seem to make much difference. If anything, it was more difficult. But at least we had a lot of people to help, so we all were able to switch out and change sides (and, therefore, arms) as often as needed.
I was happy to find that our subject was alert and generally in good spirits, though he'd needed significant assistance standing up and getting over to the litter. During the carry-out, the medics continuously monitored his blood pressure and pulse, and a portable machine printed out what looked like an EKG. Apparently, the oxygen the medics were giving Andrew was helping. The only things that seemed to be bothering him during the evacuation were a sore back due to insufficient padding on the litter and concern about how much the helicopter ride to the hospital was going to cost. (No one seemed sure about the answer, given that it was a Guardian, not a DPS, helicopter that was en route to the mountain. Someone replied, "I think it's the same cost as an ambulance ride.")
I do want to mention how great it was to see that another hiker, who'd happened along when Andrew was in distress, had stopped and stayed with him. I don't know the young man's name, but he not only assisted with the carry-out and carried Andrew's backpack, but he told Andrew he'd drive his vehicle to the hospital and meet him there. Andrew had come to Mt. Humphreys alone, but he left with a friend. What a great guy.
Anyhow, to our relief, we finished the evacuation before dark. When we emerged from the trees onto the service road where I'd parked the UTV, our patient, still on the litter, was loaded onto the back of the vehicle. Next to him was a rear-facing seat for a medic. And I was again the driver.
Though my companion in the front asked me if the UTV could go any faster, I drove fairly slow, easing over the biggest bumps. Granted, Andrew had been rolled over lots of bumps during the carry-out, but I figured there was no need to jostle him any more than necessary. Besides, I knew from the traffic coming over the radio in my chest harness that the Guardian helicopter had not yet arrived at the landing zone (LZ). So there was no need to rush.
As we got closer to the LZ on the lower part of the Hart Prairie ski run—just a grassy field covered with prairie dog holes until the first winter snow—I heard that the helicopter was a minute out. What good timing. I could hear it approaching as I came to a stop in the parking lot at the edge of the field. I wanted to let them land, then wait for instruction before driving any closer. But then I heard the pilot say she was going to circle for a while to burn off fuel. I don't know much about helicopters, but I do know they're sensitive to weight, air temperature, and altitude, so I guess the pilot felt it was best to reduce the weight given the conditions.
As it turns out, Andrew probably could have gotten to the hospital faster in the ambulance that was parked right next to us than he eventually did in the helicopter. But the medics felt he was stable, and Andrew himself seemed rather content. In fact, he was chatting with people coming off the trail, who walked over to see what was going on.
So, there was Andrew, flat on his back, strapped to the litter, which was strapped to the UTV, with several people standing around talking. Sergeant D even got his interview with Andrew done while we watched the helicopter make huge circles in the air.
About 20y minutes after we arrived near the LZ, the helicopter landed, and we carried Andrew over to it. The aircraft has a litter platform that angles out for loading. When you put the patient on there and then push the platform back into the helicopter, Andrew's feet are right next to the pilot.
Moments later, Guardian lifted off as I returned to the UTV. I managed to drive it onto the trailer—another first for me, and phew again—and then search and rescue and Guardian personnel had a debriefing before both teams went their separate ways.
All in all, the evacuation went very well. Good communication, good team work. And, this time, I definitely felt like part of it.
This time around, we were called to evacuate a hiker in his early 50s who'd experienced shortness of breath and chest tightness while descending from the 12,633-foot summit. We were told that the man, named Andrew, has a stint in his heart but is accustomed to climbing Camelback Mountain in Phoenix quite often and has also climbed Mt. Humphreys since the stint was put in. So, this wasn't anything new for him.
When I arrived at the trailhead, having responded directly to the mountain rather than the SAR building, a small team including at least one of our volunteers and a medic was already on the trail. Their goal was to locate Andrew and determine his condition. Meanwhile, another team, including two more SAR members and additional medical personnel, was loading gear into a vehicle, preparing to drive up a ski area service road and then switchbacks on one of the runs to try to get the equipment closer to the subject.
By having access to that locked service road, search and rescue is able to bypass part of the Humphreys Trail and, therefore, save crucial time and human energy. It also allows us to evacuate a subject more quickly. When I got to the staging area, however, Andrew's exact location on the trail was still unknown.
As I waited with our coordinator, team captain, and Guardian Medical battalion chief in the parking lot at the lodge, another contingent of our SAR team arrived. They brought with them our new Polaris Ranger UTV, which I learned to drive at the SAR conference in Heber, Arizona, earlier this year.
Sergeant D pointed at me and said, "Deb is the certified driver." Yay, I was gonna get to drive the "little car" on it's maiden mission!
Okay, I thought to myself, the gas is on the right, brake on the left. I can do this.
So, up the service road I went with my cohort, Liz, squished in the middle next to me and Scott, a very experienced member of our team, next to her. Behind us was the rest of our crew in a SAR vehicle. I was directed to stop on the service road rather than continue up the switchbacks on the ski run, so the UTV drive was easy and without any of the steep side-tilt that makes me a wee bit nervous. Phew.
From where we parked, our group continued on foot, straight up the mountain with a break-apart titanium litter with the wheel attached, to intersect the trail. As we huffed and puffed and sweat, the initial team found Andrew, and the second team, who had driven up the ski slope, also made their way to that location. Our group arrived at the trail several hundred feet below the subject, so we continued huffing and puffing, taking turns pushing and pulling the litter. If it was this tough without a patient in it, I couldn't wait to see how difficult this was going to get. At least we'd be going down, I thought.
But I soon found that going down didn't seem to make much difference. If anything, it was more difficult. But at least we had a lot of people to help, so we all were able to switch out and change sides (and, therefore, arms) as often as needed.
I was happy to find that our subject was alert and generally in good spirits, though he'd needed significant assistance standing up and getting over to the litter. During the carry-out, the medics continuously monitored his blood pressure and pulse, and a portable machine printed out what looked like an EKG. Apparently, the oxygen the medics were giving Andrew was helping. The only things that seemed to be bothering him during the evacuation were a sore back due to insufficient padding on the litter and concern about how much the helicopter ride to the hospital was going to cost. (No one seemed sure about the answer, given that it was a Guardian, not a DPS, helicopter that was en route to the mountain. Someone replied, "I think it's the same cost as an ambulance ride.")
I do want to mention how great it was to see that another hiker, who'd happened along when Andrew was in distress, had stopped and stayed with him. I don't know the young man's name, but he not only assisted with the carry-out and carried Andrew's backpack, but he told Andrew he'd drive his vehicle to the hospital and meet him there. Andrew had come to Mt. Humphreys alone, but he left with a friend. What a great guy.
Anyhow, to our relief, we finished the evacuation before dark. When we emerged from the trees onto the service road where I'd parked the UTV, our patient, still on the litter, was loaded onto the back of the vehicle. Next to him was a rear-facing seat for a medic. And I was again the driver.
Though my companion in the front asked me if the UTV could go any faster, I drove fairly slow, easing over the biggest bumps. Granted, Andrew had been rolled over lots of bumps during the carry-out, but I figured there was no need to jostle him any more than necessary. Besides, I knew from the traffic coming over the radio in my chest harness that the Guardian helicopter had not yet arrived at the landing zone (LZ). So there was no need to rush.
As we got closer to the LZ on the lower part of the Hart Prairie ski run—just a grassy field covered with prairie dog holes until the first winter snow—I heard that the helicopter was a minute out. What good timing. I could hear it approaching as I came to a stop in the parking lot at the edge of the field. I wanted to let them land, then wait for instruction before driving any closer. But then I heard the pilot say she was going to circle for a while to burn off fuel. I don't know much about helicopters, but I do know they're sensitive to weight, air temperature, and altitude, so I guess the pilot felt it was best to reduce the weight given the conditions.
As it turns out, Andrew probably could have gotten to the hospital faster in the ambulance that was parked right next to us than he eventually did in the helicopter. But the medics felt he was stable, and Andrew himself seemed rather content. In fact, he was chatting with people coming off the trail, who walked over to see what was going on.
So, there was Andrew, flat on his back, strapped to the litter, which was strapped to the UTV, with several people standing around talking. Sergeant D even got his interview with Andrew done while we watched the helicopter make huge circles in the air.
About 20y minutes after we arrived near the LZ, the helicopter landed, and we carried Andrew over to it. The aircraft has a litter platform that angles out for loading. When you put the patient on there and then push the platform back into the helicopter, Andrew's feet are right next to the pilot.
Moments later, Guardian lifted off as I returned to the UTV. I managed to drive it onto the trailer—another first for me, and phew again—and then search and rescue and Guardian personnel had a debriefing before both teams went their separate ways.
All in all, the evacuation went very well. Good communication, good team work. And, this time, I definitely felt like part of it.
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