Rock Rescue Practice

Well, our last mission on Friday night through Saturday morning took precedence over Saturday's Rock Rescue Academy field session, but a few of my teammates and I have been practicing. A time or two each week, some of us have been getting together at the SAR garage to rig up anchors and practice ascending. Here are a few photos from our last get-together:

Robert gets ready to go up the rope, while Bob performs a safety check.



Up goes Robert. Ascending is hard work, and each person has to figure out the technique that works best for them.



Bob goes next.



What? Who, me? Oh, sorry, I have no pictures of myself.😉 (Yes, Robert, I know you do... but I'm sure no one wants to see 'em!)
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In the news: Body, Thought To Be Missing Hiker, Found In Grand Canyon

Looking For The Boy Who Wasn't Lost

My keester is sore. (I know: thanks for sharing, Deb.) I just spent about eight hours on a quad, which felt like riding a bucking bronco. The Cinder Lakes OTV area is covered with big wave-like bumpety-bumps. Yeee-haaa! Ouch.

So, have I mentioned that I don't like riding quads? They're great tools for SAR, but I'd never ride one for... fun? No offense 'r' nothin' to those who do enjoy them, but it's just not my thing.

Anyhow, we were looking for a 10-year-old boy who'd disappeared from his family's campsite. At least, his mom didn't know where he was. Neither did the other relatives, friends, or caring strangers, both SAR and other campers, who were helping with the search throughout the night and early morning hours. The child had last been seen at about 7 p.m. Friday, running after two vehicles driven by extended family.

So, okay, does this sound odd to you? Part of a family group decides to go camp somewhere else. They leave for who-knows-where. A child from the group trails their vehicles as they drive off. Mom sees her son doing this but apparently turns and walks away. Next thing she knows, both the vehicles and her boy are gone. But did the boy get in one of the vehicles, or did he disappear on foot? And where did those vehicles go?

The answers to those questions weren't known for more than 12 hours, during which time numerous ground units and a DPS helicopter searched the area extensively. Finally, a few hours after sunrise, the helicopter spots two SUVs matching the description of those driven by the aunt and a cousin, a short way off one of a crazy network of cinder-covered roads. They land and confirm, thankfully, that the boy is with them.

But did those he was with ever turn on their cell phones and let anyone know they had the boy?

No, although there was coverage in the area.

Did they think to turn around and let Mom know her son was with them?

No.

Did they tell anyone where they were going? No, and they probably didn't even know, either.

Does any of this make sense?

Not to me.

I'm just glad the boy was with them. It would have been a whole different story had those vehicles been located but the child wasn't there.

Here's the brief newspaper story: Flagstaff Boy Found After 13 Hours Missing
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In other news:
Search For Missing Grand Canyon Hiker Scaled Back

Supai Reopens Monday (Things have changed since the August 2008 floods.)

A Short Walk Turns Into A Long Night

Incident Commander (IC): So, when you parked the ATV and got off, what were you planning to do?

Subject: I was just going to check out a couple of tanks (man-made watering holes) in the area, for elk sign. I figured that one tank was only, like, 1000 yards away or something, so I just walked that direction. But I never saw it.

IC: And what did you do then?

Subject: I kept going, but I guess I got turned around. I thought I was walking back to the power line where I'd left my ATV, but I never found it again. I walked for hours. Then it got dark and cold, so I laid down and covered myself with pine needles.

IC: Did you ever see the helicopter?

Subject: Yeah, they flew right over, but I had no way to signal them.

IC: And what about the searchers on the ground? Did you hear them calling or any whistles during the night?

Subject: No, not till right before they found me. Then I started yelling back. I did hear a siren once, earlier, but it was a long way off.

IC: So, what would you tell someone else who was in this sort of situation?

Subject: [emphatically] I'd tell 'em never, ever walk away without your pack. Take a light, food, and water, a map and compass, and all that. Even if you're just going for a short walk, be prepared! I've been doin' this outdoor stuff and hunting for a long time, so this can happen to anybody.

I leaned over the seat, watching through the open rear hatch of the incident commander's vehicle as this conversation was going on. I'd been waiting back at IC for teammates to return with the subject, who'd been located about an hour earlier around 2:30 a.m. The commander asked those of us in the vehicle, "You guys have anything to add?"

I looked at the subject, illuminated by the interior lights of the cab, as he stood out back with our commander. The man had been driven to base by one of our teammates in a SAR vehicle, while the others hiked back to retrieve their ATVs and the subject's quad. "No," I answered. "We're just really glad you're okay."

With his arms wrapped around himself, the man nodded and, in a shaky voice, said, "Thank you all. Thank you very much."

Poor guy. It'd been a long, uncomfortable, and probably scary night for him. He'd heard about rabid animals in the area, he'd said, and he worried about the coyotes. Just because you've been camping, hiking, and hunting for a long time doesn't mean you're immune to mistakes or being afraid. I could tell he was embarrassed.

It had been a long night for us searchers, too. We'd been called out shortly before sundown and, after loading trailers and equipment, we responded to the staging area near Kinnikinick Lake. While we were en route and as the light was fading, the man's ATV was spotted along a power line by air rescue.

When a deputy on the ground reached the quad, he found that it was dry beneath the vehicle and wet all around. That means it had rained since the ATV was parked, and he was unable to find any foot tracks near the quad to determine the subject's direction of travel from that point. Trackers from our team tried cutting for sign in the immediate area but didn't find any prints.

By then dark, we continued to search in pairs for six, seven hours before some foot tracks were finally picked up along a forest service road. Twenty minutes later, I heard a teammate report through the static that he thought they "had our subject." Radio communications and cell phone contact were sketchy at best, so the rest of us had to wait for several long minutes to find out that they meant a living subject. Due to some medical history, we'd been worried that a health issue may have been the reason the man hadn't returned to his ATV or to the camp he was sharing with his brother, the reporting party, since 10 a.m. the previous day.

At 7:30 the following morning—yesterday, Tuesday, May 1—I got home just after my husband had gone to work. After two nights of SAR in a row, I was rather wiped out, but I'd have to wait till that evening to get some sleep. I had things to do for my mom and some practice back at the SAR building already arranged for yesterday afternoon with two other teammates for a little Rock Rescue Academy homework.

Needless to say, when I did finally commune with my pillow at 9:30 last night, I slept really well until the sun through the window woke me up this morning.

Such Are SAR Calls Sometimes

On Sunday evening, my pager went off at about 6:15. I signed in at the SAR building at 6:45. At maybe 7:30, four of us were on the road. At, oh, 10 p.m.-ish, we pulled over en route to the far reaches of our county near the Arizona/Utah border. The overdue hikers had been located.

Standing around at the side of the road, we listened to radio traffic, and our coordinator made some calls. At 10:30 give or take, after star-gazing for a bit and checking out the night vision goggles, we headed back to Flagstaff. The subjects had been spotted by the helicopter crew and scooped up, dehydrated but otherwise okay.

At 1:00 a.m. Monday morning, we were back at the SAR building. After refueling the vehicles and unloading the ATVs, UTV, and all the rest of the equipment, we headed home.

Tah-dah! Maybe my shortest blog post yet!

Yes, but wait till later, after I've gotten a little sleep. We were out all night again last night.

Rock Rescue Academy Continues

I think I've aged about 50 years overnight. Let's just say, I'm getting well-acquainted with muscles I must have been ignoring for far too long as I shuffle around the house this morning, oo-ing and mpf-ing.

For a while yesterday, as I was dangling from a tree limb, spinning and bumping into the trunk, struggling to do what I thought looked pretty straightforward, I was about ready to give up. Matter of fact, when I took a break to rest my quivering muscles and give someone else a chance to practice ascending before moving to actual rock walls, I had to bite my lip hard to keep from crying. I was pissed (at myself.). I really want to be able to do this. I really want to pass that proficiency test in June.

Here's a picture of a teammate going right up the rope. The one manning the belay kept letting out the line so we had more to climb than the actual distance from the ground to the branch:


After time spent collecting my thoughts and some personal attention from a teammate who graciously tried to help me get the hang of the movements, I was back to the tree. Again, what seemed to come easily to others—and what I thought should come easily to me too, because I'm not uncoordinated (you should see me Jazzercise!)—I was again at a loss.

UNTIL one of the guys said, "Hey, why don't you try it one-legged." He explained what to do. I took my right foot out of the right "step" (steps in this case are loops made of webbing), followed my teammate's instructions on how to alter the movement, and right up I went! I was so thrilled. In fact, I heard someone on the ground say, "She's going up faster than anybody." I wanted to cry again but this time because I was elated.

And then I went to the bottom of the cliff. I thought, hey, no problem now; I can do this! But the fatigue from the stress and overexertion on the tree had worn me down. My legs were shaking and every arm and back muscle was tight. As soon as I started up, I knew I was in for a long, slow grunt to the top.

On both ascents, I had trouble getting started, which fatigued me even more. When I finally did get moving upward, I used some quiet swearing to help me along, particularly over the difficult sections where there was overhanging or "bulging" rock.

Matter of fact, just below the top edge on my first ascent, I thought I might have to go all the way back to the bottom. I just couldn't seem to make the moves to get past the overhang, and I was having the hardest time getting a foot or leg up to where I could heave myself away from the rock. I needed to get the rope off the rock so I could "throw" the ascender past that bulge in the cliff. The teammate manning the edge was leaning over, trying to talk me through it, saying, "Now, there are a couple of things we can do here. You can put your foot here on this ledge and push yourself up..." Uh-huh. My foot would have been right about the level of my ear. Nothing I tried seemed like it was going to work.

But, finally... somehow... and I couldn't tell you how... I was on top. I'm amazed I didn't fall right over in one big exhausted lump of limbs and gear. My legs and the rest of me was Jell-o.

By the end of the second ascent, though, I was actually starting to find my rhythm and figure out the technique that worked best for me. I managed to get past bulges (I don't know what else to call them) with much less struggle. But I didn't have the energy left for a third go-round to see if I could do it even better. It would have completely done me in, and we still had hours of training ahead of us.

So after a break...


...we moved on to anchor-building...



We covered a lot yesterday, and today I wonder how much I've retained, both mentally and physically. I'm definitely going to take my experienced teammates up on their offers to meet us newbies at the SAR building for some extra practice between trainings. I'll have to if I'm ever going to pass the proficiency test at the end of the five-week acadeby. If I do, it'll be a big accomplishment for me. But if I don't, I'm going to keep trying and working at it until I do!

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I found this YouTube video, which shows the technique I was using, with one foot in the step, the other loose. Now, why does this look so easy here? One thing, though ... this guy, for the most part, is ascending away from the rock face, with no overhangs:

Searching x 2, Rappeling x 6

So, the last time we met here, I was returning from one search and heading right out for another. Basically, I got back from the search for the missing elderly woman with the chihuahua, grabbed a Gatorade and the keys to the Expedition from my teammate who'd just driven the last leg, and off we went again.

This was a search for a woman who'd apparently been... um... dropped off on a backwoods road. Somewhere. She'd called for help on her cell, but before deputies could locate her, the cell phone had (apparently, again) died, and the cell tower ping was inconclusive as to the bearing and distance of the caller's location. (Apparently once more...) The woman had no idea where she was but said she'd stay put in the middle of the road. Before her cellphone had died, she'd reported hearing a deputy's siren in the distance, so some general idea of her whereabouts was known.

Okay, so enter SAR. We split up in twos, six in vehicles and a pair on the Polaris UTV, and we began driving roads, entering the general area from various locations. And we drove and we drove, clearing road after road.

Fast forward: Two-thirty a.m. and no lost lady, and those of us who'd been searching since 1:00 the day before were sent home. By 1:00 on Friday afternoon, still no lost lady. At approximately 3:30 that same day, however, not-lost lady and her "friend" drove by SAR and a deputy on a dirt road we'd already checked and re-checked.

Conclusion: Maybe-never-really-lost lady had spent the night, warm in a sleeping bag and tent, not on said road. And I suppose 'nuff said, too.

I had just enough time after returning to the SAR building, filling up the vehicle, and putting equipment away to stop for dinner before heading to meeting #1 for the Rock Rescue Academy, this year's training series for technical rescue team wanna-be new recruits. Needless to say, I was yawning and not performing well as we learned knots. My brain had come to a complete halt by 9 p.m.

The next morning, when we reconvened for Day #1 of the rock rescue field course, I somehow tied a darn near perfect fisherman's knot while listening to one of our instructors go over the plan for the day. Maybe there was hope for me yet!

An hour later, I was standing on a cliff, hooked up to a safety line, sloooowly tying a figure 8 with a follow-through, rigging the belay line to my harness, then rigging the Rescue 8 descender under the watchful eye of an experienced teammate. Next came the safety check (good thing because I hadn't locked the carabiner), and then I walked backward off the cliff.

The adrenaline was pumping, but alas, I walked myself down the rock wall and stepped down onto solid ground still in one piece. I untied and unhooked myself, said a happy, "belay off!" and then "rappel off!" and tried to hide my giddy excitement. I did it! Then I did it again. And again. And again.

Okay, so I ended up with a few scratches from the bush I lowered my butt into on one rappel. And then there was the wee slip and clunk I did when first going over a tricky edge. Each time I got one thing right, I screwed up or blanked on something else. But I did have one clean rappel at the end, where I hooked myself up, passed the safety check, and went from top to bottom nice and smooth with a good tie-off in the middle.

Now, if I can just do that next weekend on top of whatever else we'll learn. I definitely have to practice knots. The Animated Knots by Grog website will come in handy as I sit here, making faces at my piece of rope.

next weekend, I'll try to take some nifty pics with my brand-new replacement camera. Remember, I lost my first brand-new camera during the search on Thursday. On Sunday, Steve and I went back to that area with the map with the GPS track on it provided by my teammate, the K-9 handler I'd searched with, and retraced my steps. But, woe is me, we didn't find the camera. I'm thinking I may have dropped it around the staging area, which is also a camping and fishing spot. So, my original brand new Kodak may very well be in someone's tackle box. Oh well.

Lost And Found

My cell phone rang at 1 p.m. on Thursday, just as I was finishing lunch. "You available?" Al asked.

My adrenaline kicked in immediately. "You bet!" I told him and began gathering my gear while still on the phone. I admit, it feels good to be called before the pager has even gone off. Al said he needed someone to do nav/comm (to navigate and work the radio) while he would work with Cassie, his and the team's tracking dog.

This would be a search for an elderly woman (details omitted), who'd left the family's campsite that morning with her two dogs, but one dog had returned alone. Al needed to get to the staging area, where a scent article would be available, with Cassie as soon as possible and begin the hasty search. I quickly changed into field clothes and was out the door in five minutes.

After rendezvousing at the SAR building, then a stop at the Sheriff's office for a briefing, we were off toward Ashfork, down old (decaying) Route 66 and onto a rough dirt road to Stone Dam. A short while later, Cassie was in her harness and on her lead, and after a good sniff of the scent article, she and Al began working while I followed a short distance behind. I didn't want to distract Cassie or get in her way.

It was a good bit hotter at that lower elevation in the pinion-juniper than in Flagstaff. My mouth was dry within minutes, and my Gatorade was hot in no time, but I was in the zone, focused on our task, and didn't really notice the heat or the cactus barbs sticking through my trail runners.

While Al and I followed Cassie, weaving through thick brush along the south side of the lake, other field teams were heading out from base, some on foot and others on ATVs, calling the woman's name and searching for clues or prints, either those that might belong to the subject or the tiny dog she was with. We had no idea, of course, if the two were still together.

Cassie, a three year-old German shepherd, appeared very intent on her work, trying to find the scent, but she displayed "no positive alerts" during the hours that passed. At one point, we searched a narrow drainage, until a dropoff and thick brush prevented us from going further.

Al explained that it's easier for Cassie to follow scent in cooler temperatures—that it degrades faster in the heat. He was also unsure of the integrity, so to speak, of the scent article, which had been gathered by someone else before our arrival and mixed with a pair of boots.

After several hours of searching, we returned to base. Our intention was to leave Cassie there to rest after all that time in the heat and continue searching without her. But not long after we'd set down our packs for a short break ourselves, we heard over the radio that the subject had been found. What a relief! At her age and given the time since she'd last been seen, the heat, and lack of water, I was very concerned about the outcome. She was okay, though, and so was her dog. (I was worried about the chihuahua too!)

From what I understand, some of those programmable signs along the highway—you know, the kind that display road construction information or Amber alerts—had displayed a message about the missing woman, during which time a motorist saw that message, then spotted an elderly woman with a tiny dog along the road and reported it, and that led to our subject's rescue. Nice!

As the woman was reunited with family and our team reconvened and waited to debrief, I realized this had been one of the more costly missions I'd been on, personally speaking. You know that brand new camera I was so excited about? Gone. Yep, it's out there somewhere amongst the pinion-juniper. So if you happen to be out that way, doing some bushwhacking, and find a camera with some cool helicopter shots on it, let me know. If you wanna keep it, though, that's okay; my understanding and generous husband went out and bought me a new one with his own art supply fund after I'd called him, pouting, from the field. But no photos this time, I'm afraid.

At about 8 p.m., we arrived back at the SAR building and proceeded to unload all the unit gear and ATVs... JUST in time to head out for another mission.