A Busy Memorial Day Weekend for Search and Rescue

The San Francisco Peaks / Wikipedia -- CC

It was a bright, sunny day in Flagstaff, but I was nervous about going up that mountain I've hiked so many times before. My nerves were because that clear spring day was unseasonably cold and extremely windy in town, more than 5,000 feet lower than up on the exposed ridge. I have what I think is a healthy respect for those conditions, which made me pause to reconsider them when our coordinator walked over to those of us who'd congregated at the base of the trail and said no one was obligated to go up if they didn't feel comfortable or prepared.

I quickly looked through the extra clothing in my SAR pack, now adjusted for warmer weather, and decided I had just enough (thermals, fleece, and Gore-tex) for the freezing temps we'd face up there. But I was still on edge about the wind, which would be much stronger on the ridge. Ultimately, I decided to go up with my teammates.

This was to be a body recovery. Our team knew that before we'd left the SAR building, where a group of us had been in the midst of a Saturday technical rescue training. Others were doing P-SAR (preventative search and rescue) in a popular ATV area, which always sees a lot of activity and often a number of accidents over the Memorial Day weekend. A couple of those SAR volunteers also responded to this mission on the mountain.

We'd been informed that a couple of hikers had come upon an unresponsive man a short distance from the 12,633-foot summit of Mt. Humphreys and immediately began CPR. One of the hikers continued to work on the victim while another called 911 (there's cellphone coverage high on the mountain). Sadly, after about half an hour of effort, CPR was unsuccessful. No one knew at that point how long the then-unidentified man had been down when the hikers found him.

What was obvious, however, when our team, including our coordinator who hiked up with us, arrived at the victim's location was that he was a runner. And that's what he'd obviously been doing—an early trail run to the summit—when he'd died among the rocks and rime ice. None of us recognized this man, who we eventually found out was from Goodyear, AZ. He was 53 years old and appeared to be exceptionally fit.

In fact, he'd recently run a marathon and was, according to his family, doing high-altitude training here in Flagstaff for an upcoming event. So said the news article I read a few days later. I'd been scanning the paper each day for any information.

At the time of the mission, though, I looked at this man for long moments every now and then, thinking, who are you? And who might be waiting for you at home?

When this man, lying among the rocks, had woken up that morning, it had probably been a day like most any other day. Or so he'd thought. I'll bet he'd been feeling fine. Probably better than fine. I didn't know a thing about him at the time, but I was sad for him and for his family and friends, whoever they might be.

But back to work...

As our team braced against the uncomfortable conditions on the ridge, discussing options for bringing the man's body down the mountain, we all noticed a rather sudden drop in the wind. So, in an attempt to take advantage of the improved conditions, however long they might last, our coordinator made a call to DPS and, within a short time, we heard the helicopter approaching. One of the best pilots there is anywhere hovered, the helicopter visibly shifting and swaying, buffeted by the gusts that were still plenty strong, as he and his medic assessed the situation, and those of us on the ridge hoped aloud that this alternative would work.

It could, the pilot said over the radio. The winds were too strong for a short-haul, but he would go land down at Snowbowl, remove a door, prepare the cargo net, and burn off some fuel, then return to hover over our location.

Still, nothing was certain until that actually happened. We took shelter on the lee side of some boulders as we waited for the helicopter to return. If the cargo net maneuver didn't work, then it was back to plan A or B or... well, something much more difficult for us mere mortals on the ridge.

In less than an hour, the man who'd died on Humphreys earlier that day was air-lifted from the mountain as those of us who'd gone up to help began descending the long way.

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That wasn't the only time this recent Memorial Day weekend that our SAR team was called to Mt. Humphreys. The night before the body recovery, on Friday, May 25, several of our members rescued hikers from the saddle who were unprepared for the cold.  

Another group was rescued from the nearby Kachina Trail.

*********

Our K9 team was also busy over the weekend, after hikers found a human skull at a small campsite in Forest Lakes. K-9 handlers Cindy and Dianne and their dogs were called to search the area and eventually located 26 more bones and other evidence, but there was no vehicle around and no ID found.

Sheriff's Office investigators are asking for the public's help to identify the man based on items located. Investigators believe the man had a 44-inch waist and wore size double-extra-large shirts. A Bass Pro Shop hat and a tan hat with a red diver's symbol on it were also found, as well as a Harley Davidson bandana, red Peterbilt suspenders, fishing waders, and a green five-gallon water jug. The man was possibly last wearing a tan T-shirt and blue jeans.

See: Weekend No Holiday for County Sheriff's Office

Just Your Average Christmas Eve (in SAR)

At least telling people I went out to help look for an arm makes for a good ice-breaker at social gatherings. Don't you think?

I really shouldn't give the details about this particular arm—whose it was, why it was out there—but, basically, this was the result of a homicide earlier this year. And by the time authorities knew where exactly to look for the body, it had been scattered by coyotes. So that's why the arm was still missing.

And that's why I got a call from our K-9 team leader, asking if I'd come along as a backer for one of the handlers. Each dog/handler/backer team would have an 11-acre segment to search, making tight grids back and forth since the dogs would be looking for something potentially as small as a finger bone.

When the three handlers, three backers, and six dogs rendezvoused at the SAR building on the morning of Christmas Eve, I just had to ask. "So, if they (law enforcement) got the rest of the body, then... well... why do they need the arm?"

They didn't, really, I was told. This was more of a training for the dogs, handlers, and backers. Of course, if we found what we were searching for—the arm or some bones thereof—we'd mark it, call it in to the detective, and he'd come collect the remains. But as far as the case against the person who (I guess I'm supposed to insert the word "allegedly") committed the crime, these bones would not be necessary evidence. I'd think a find would, however, mean something to family of the deceased.

So, we did our best, making our grids as tight as possible given the obstacles—the pinion–juniper, rocks, cactus, and the mud. And, wow, was it muddy. I felt (and looked) like I had 10 pounds of clay mud caked on the bottom of my boots. I had mud up the front and back of my pants. I was slipping and stumbling like I was drunk, which was really draining. I think it even wore on the dogs after a while. But they and we kept working through all that mud and other obstacles until we'd completed our search areas.

Unfortunately, we didn't have a find, but the dogs alerted on the spot where the body had previously been found, even though it had been quite some time since it had been removed. So, we knew they were working and doing what they'd been trained to do.

The Stinkiest SAR Mission I've Been On

All the recorded call-out message said was "evidence search" with no further details. Our team was being requested by local law enforcement for Monday morning. So, I checked my calendar and, being free that day, called in and left my usual "This is Deb, unit number 6-2-0, I'll be responding" message. I got a phone call from the lieutenant later that evening.

Oh. The evidence search would be at the dump, he said. Hm. Okay, well... why not? Might as well go and see what such a search is like. And it was for a good cause, so...

So, on Monday morning, I showed up at the SAR building with plenty of motivation. Yep, I was gonna find some evidence at the landfill! Let's go, team!

We met up with some volunteers from C.E.R.T. (Community Emergency Response Team) who'd be accompanying us in this glamorous task and headed to the site, where we were were briefed on dump search safety by the landfill manager and then introduced to the friendly and very appreciative law enforcement contingent. As we sat around in the break room at the main office, I was thinking, hey, this wouldn't be bad at all. Nice people to search with, and I didn't smell a thing!

We all drove to the top of the hill where we'd be searching. With the help of the landfill folks, detectives had determined where exactly the bag of trash that held the coveted item had been deposited a week earlier. That is, where in a 100x50-foot and 12-foot deep area.  Folks, that's over 60,000 cubic feet of trash. And it had been covered with dirt and heavily rained on since then. And what we were looking for was quite small. (Sorry, can't tell ya anything about the item or the case because it's ongoing.)

With the windows of the truck rolled up and the air conditioning on, everything seemed fine. And we'd be wearing Tyvek suits and booties, gloves, and face masks. So, how bad could it be?

And then I opened the door.

Beverly models the fashion of the day.

Ugh!! I frantically located a face mask, which cut the "ugh!!" factor down by no more than about 5%.

Al gets all suited up.

But, okay, I was there to do a job, and, by George, I was gonna do the best I could! So, I took my mini-garden rake, the kind that's about 10 inches long, and started in on the big batch of trash the backhoe had scooped up and spread out—the first of many, many, many scoops.

The backhoe scoops and the bucket loader pushes what we'd searched out of the way.

Meanwhile, I tried not to pay attention to the stakes that marked the entire area to be searched. Oh... my... god, that was a lot of garbage. But I raked and raked, my tool hardly making a dent in the woven mass of trash. So, I used my gloved hands too as I breathed through my mouth inside my face mask and sweated profusely in my stylish Tyvek suit. That stuff does not breathe.

These booties didn't hold up for long.

As we searched, we kept altering our methods, trying to be as efficient as possible. It was a little like a stinky logic problem. One of the officers was sent out to buy different tools—longer rakes and shovels—so we didn't have to bend over so much. Eventually, a larger piece of equipment showed up, rented from someplace in Phoenix, so the scoops got much bigger, too. And faster. We raked and raked our butts off, I tell you.

But after hours of raking, shoveling, picking, and being on the verge of puking, we'd had no luck and had searched just a small portion of the designated area. We peeled off our Tyvek and headed out. Despite the protective suits, the stink had seeped through and permeated our clothing, our hair, our boots, and our vehicles, so much so that we could hardly stand ourselves (or each other) on the ride back.

When I got in my own car at the SAR building, I rolled down all the windows and made sure my seat was well covered. When I got home, everything I was wearing came off in the garage. The boots... well, those are still airing out outside almost a week later. The clothes were immediately washed (twice), and I took one of the longest showers of my life.

Needless to say, I declined a second day of evidence searching at the dump. I'm happy to report, however, that the next day's search was successful. Coveted item found!

The Mystery Of The Man With The Van

I wish I could share anything and everything about our SAR missions, but legally and ethically I shouldn't. So I always re-read what I write here and reluctantly delete some details. Suffice it to say, this one was (or, rather, is) another puzzler.

A van sat abandoned along the freeway near a scenic overlook. Items found in the unlocked vehicle prompted many questions, and those of us searching on the first day of the mission contemplated possible scenarios. Why did the subject park here? What was going on with him at the time? Where the heck did he go? We came up with quite a few answers, some rather creative.

Meanwhile, my three teammates and I spread out for a grid search, keeping each other in sight through the pinion-juniper and thick underbrush as we stumbled over loose rocks and squished through the mud. We searched along the nearby cliff band too, carefully peering over the edge. We thought we were going to find the man from the van not all that far from the road.

But we didn't find a thing, so our coordinator did a call-out for the next day. I wasn't able to go back out to search—Mom's needs took precedence—but a teammate told me nothing turned up on Tuesday, either. My friend said she'd walked about five miles, zigzagging across her team's assigned segment. She said she was exhausted.

At least I know it wasn't just me. I mean, it wasn't mountaineering, but somehow I was more spent after that search than I usually am when we're on the peaks. Something about that rocky and muddy ground and climbing over barbed wire fence all afternoon really ate through my energy reserves. Not to mention that I hadn't eaten much before, and nothing during, the search. Silly me.

So, we'll see what happens with this mystery. Today, though, we're heading out for an evidence search connected with a bank robbery. Apparently, the suspects were caught along with the cash, but there's still something out there that law enforcement would like to have. So, if you happen to see a bunch of people in yellow shirts walking in a grid down the middle of a highway, that may just be us.

Update: Cinder Hill Cindy Has a Real Name

Her name was Julie Renee Windhorn. She was 33 years young when she died on a nondescript cinder hill on the Navajo Army Depot grounds west of Flagstaff. The cause of death has been listed as "undetermined," but nothing is being ruled out.

Read the Arizona Daily Sun story and see a photo of Julie here: Human remains found near Bellemont identified

They Call Her Cinder Hill Cindy

Pushing through the brush, thorns tear at my clothing and skin, leaving snags, nicks, and blood streaks behind. Young locust trees, from knee to chest high, are everywhere. I'm down on hands and knees from time to time to peer under what I can't get through, then carefully pick my way around the worst of it, trying to stay at least somewhat even with the searchers to my right and left. It's difficult to maintain our line in this thick underbrush.

Our assignment today is to look for more pieces of "Cinder Hill Cindy," the name given to skeletal remains found a few days ago by some men working near this cinder hill, here on army depot grounds. As they were driving by, the men spotted what they thought was an elk antler, shining white in the sun halfway up the steep slope. Upon closer inspection, they realized that what they'd found were human ribs. Then a skull, mandible, and other bones were located nearby. Authorities were contacted, more searching and forensic tests were conducted, and it was determined that the bones, including a pelvis, belonged to a female between the ages of 25 and 35, with a mean age of 30.7 years. The pelvic bone also provided the approximate height of the young lady. We're told they found some teeth and hair, also, which are currently being analyzed.

Nine SAR volunteers are searching today, along with two detectives, a forensic anthropologist, and a medical examiner. We've ascended the cinder hill, spread out at roughly five-foot intervals, and are making our way across the top, which is covered with thick, thorny vegetation.

The idea is to space ourselves just close enough that we can spot something the size of a six-inch bone midway between one another. We're also on the lookout for anything else that "doesn't belong" here. Whatever we happen to see, we're not to touch. Instead, we call for the line to stop, mark the GPS location of the object, flag it with yellow tape, and wait for one of the detectives to come over and take a look. They'll decide if the object—be it bone, fabric, jewelry, or whatnot—has any merit in this case. Once we get to the end of our search zone, we'll pivot around and head back the other way, so as not to overlook anything between the out and the back. We're still missing significant pieces of Cinder Hill Cindy.

It's hot and buggy here, which adds to the discomfort. I've got prickly little bebbles stuck all over my socks, and I've given up some hair to the locust thorns. But I'm determined to check as many nooks and crannies as possible and try not to miss anything that may be on either side of me. There are some really overgrown areas, though, that are just impossible to check so thoroughly, and my imagination tells me those impenetrable areas must be where the bones and other clues are hidden, probably dragged under there by animals.

After an hour or more, finding only what turned out to be deer bones and one small piece of purple latex of some sort (part of a balloon? or could it be from a glove?), we arrive at the end of our search area and take a break before pivoting around to head in the opposite direction. We're not discouraged per se, but I don't think any of us are all that optimistic about finding anything significant. More experienced SAR members tell me they've been on lots of these evidence searches and often found nothing at all. One of the detectives had joked, just before we started out today, that we should locate the young lady's wallet, please. Yeah, wouldn't that be helpful.

Well, guess what.

Liz makes the find of the day, and what a find it is. Clothing. A full set, laid out just so. Jacket, pants, trail runner type of shoes, underwear. And a credit card and drivers license in plain view! The detectives are astonished. They set down numbered markers and dial their cell phones at the same time.

Now Cinder Hill Cindy has a real name, and this find has solved a missing person case. Two years ago, this young lady, aged 32, was reported missing from back east. A year and a half ago, during the winter, a backpack belonging to this same person was found on I-17, which is between 15 to 20 miles from this location. And now, we've discovered her fate.

But now that one big question has been answered, many more have been created. How did she get here? This is a secure area, which we had to have an escort to enter. Could she have climbed a fence along a more remote section? Did someone bring her here, or did she get in on her own? What happened to her? How did she die?

We're told the skull and other bones found thus far show no signs of trauma. Neither did the clothing, laid out so neatly and still that way after two years. And the credit card and ID right there, face-up on the ground? I'm told that not only do hypothermic people often end up disrobing but place their clothing neatly as well. Could that explain this situation?

We discuss the possibilities for the next couple of hours, until we finally sign out and part ways back at the SAR building. And I'm sure we'll be talking about this one for a long time to come. I hope, as we were promised, detectives will let us know when... that is, if any conclusion is ever made.