Wilderness First Responder

I was nearing the end of my one-year grace period for getting my Wilderness First Responder (WFR) recertification. If I didn't recertify in time, I'd have to take the full 80-hour course all over again (for a third time) to get that WFR card, so I signed up for a two-day Wilderness First Aid (WFA) class, held this past weekend at the law enforcement complex here in Flagstaff. The WFA class can be used in place of the standard three-day WFR recert course, with a written test and practical exam tacked onto the normal WFA curriculum.

So, what is all this WFR and WFA stuff, you ask, and does a volunteer have to be certified in one or the other to participate with search and rescue?

As for the second question, no. At least not here in Coconino County. SAR volunteers are not required to have medical training—though many do, including some EMTs, paramedics, and nurses on the team—and we're limited to Basic Life Support (BLS) as far as the medical care we can give in the backcountry, along with some splinting. But I'm sure this varies among SAR teams.

In my case, I haven't had the opportunity to use much of what I've learned in WFR courses "for real" in the field. Yet. But I feel better having the training in case I ever do need to make use of it, either in SAR or as a recreational hiker if I come across someone who's injured or ill in the backcountry. And, by "backcountry" I mean more than one hour from definitive medical care. That's the line used to differentiate between wilderness and urban medicine. With the number of SAR missions I go on and the amount of hiking I do on my own, chances are that, sooner or later, I'll have to put that WFR training to use.

Even if you're already an EMT, paramedic, nurse, or doctor, if all of your training is in urban medical care, I think some wilderness medical training would be great to have if you ever work or travel in the backcountry. This is because the backcountry environment means extended contact with a patient, whose condition and needs may change over time. It also means less-than-ideal conditions, like heat and cold, rain and wind, altitude and darkness, all of which can lead to increased stress on you, the rescuer. Improvisation is another thing that also goes hand-in-hand with wilderness medicine, when we often have only the gear on our backs and maybe a patient's gear to use to treat and splint.

A great book that really drives home the conditions faced by wilderness medical providers is Mountain Rescue Doctor: Wilderness Medicine in the Extremes of Nature by Christopher Van Tilberg, a member of Oregon's Crag Rats SAR team. You can read my review of the book in Wilderness Survival and Rescue Reading.

As far as wilderness medicine classes, here are general course descriptions:

Wilderness First Aid is a fast-paced, 16- to 24-hour class given over two or three days, covering a wide range of wilderness medicine topics for people who travel and work in the outdoors. Half the class time is spent completing practical skills, case studies, and scenarios, so students aren't just sitting and listening to an instructor the whole time but are instead putting their new skills to use constantly.

The next step up from WFA is the 40-hour Wilderness Advanced First Aid, a five-day class focusing on stabilization, treatment, and evacuation guidelines of patients in backcountry environments. There's more emphasis on long-term patient care and specific injury evaluation than in the WFA class.

The Wilderness First Responder course is an 80-hour curriculum designed to provide students with "the tools to make critical medical and evacuation decisions in remote locations"(NOLS). Like WFA, WFR students are constantly practicing their skills by participating in scenarios and case studies. Adult & Child CPR is also included in this course.

And then there's Wilderness EMT certification (W-EMT), the highest level of wilderness medicine training available. This is a 180-hour, month-long class that combines wilderness medicine with urban medical care practices, including time at a hospital and in an ambulance.

I took my first WFR class in 1996 with SOLO and my second 80-hour course as well as recert through the Wilderness Medicine Institute, a branch of the National Outdoor Leadership School.

SAR City

I'm back. And, hopefully, I'm now a better tracker after an another 16 hours of instruction, this time at the SAR City conference in Barstow, California, where there were more than 50 classes offered on a wide range of topics and skills. This annual conference is organized and hosted by the all-volunteer Barstow Desert Rescue Squad in San Bernadino County.

I thought the three-day event was well worth the trip, and as always, I really enjoyed meeting people from other teams, especially the folks from Dolores, Colorado, K9 Search & Rescue, who came over to introduce themselves soon after I arrived as I sat alone by my tent. So, thank you Shawn, Chuck, Randy, Vicki #1, Vicki #2, and Kimberly (and Jack!) for hanging out with me over the weekend. It was great to meet you and learn about your team. And it was nice meeting you too, Orange County guys. That's a spiffy Hummer you've got there.

As for that tracking class—which was excellent in many ways, and the lead instructor, retired sergeant and SAR coordinator Darryl Heller was top-notch—it's always interesting to learn the same skills from different people. I pick up new techniques and "tricks" and get at least a somewhat different perspective, which I think is really valuable. 

That said, it's a challenge not to say "yes, but.." when an instructor tells you that what you learned from someone else is wrong ("No, you never do that" was the reply to a question I asked about a method of measuring stride that I'd been taught at the Heber, Arizona conference), or if that instructor has a very different way of doing something than you're used to.

Not that I'm the greatest tracker after just two years in SAR and five tracking classes, but it can also be difficult to swallow your pride when someone talks to you like you have no experience at all. In my case, during one of the field sessions, I was used as an example of what NOT to do, even though it's something my own team does when tracking, and I've learned it from others as well. I must admit, that really bugged me... even after the field instructor came up to me after class to say it had been he who'd encouraged the other students in my group to do something that obliterated part of the track and that I hadn't actually done anything wrong. Well, phooey, I wish the other students knew that.

Other than that, though... I thought the class was great and would highly recommend it to anyone in SAR. And while that class took up the entire conference, I heard lots of good things about many of the other classes, too, some of which lasted an hour or two or four and others that spanned the whole weekend.

If you'd like to read more about the conference and see my photos—I wish I'd taken more, but I was usually too busy with the class or yacking to remember to take pictures—I did a write-up about it here: SAR City: A Search and Rescue Conference in Barstow, California.

A Search and Rescue Weekend

When I walked in the door early Sunday morning, my husband told me I smelled like smoke, but my nose didn't agree. Maybe I just got used to it overnight, as I sat at the road block for about 12 hours, the wind gusting, rocking the vehicle and several times toppling the barricades.

Search and rescue had been called upon on Saturday to staff the road blocks in Williams, Arizona, to keep folks out of an area of town that SAR had helped evacuate the night before when a prescribed burn got out of hand and became a wildfire. As of today (Monday), that fire still threatens homes.

See: Williams Still in Danger from the Arizona Daily Sun.

In the photo above, taken late afternoon on Saturday, you can see the smoke ahead-left, as my teammates and I approach Williams, where we relieved the crew that had been there overnight.

On Sunday morning, after our group returned from Williams, I had just enough time to grab a shower, change clothes, and go to the tracking class for the Basic SAR Academy. I probably could have skipped the morning classroom session and just gone to the field exercise later, when I was scheduled as an assistant instructor, but I wasn't all that tired (yet) so I decided to sit in on the classroom part, too.

Here, the whole group is briefed before the field session....

Then I took my group of three new trackers to their first print. They documented it as they'd been taught and then got started following the track.

It rained off and on, and the wind continued to gust, making the tracking extra challenging. Despite losing the track now and then, however, the group managed to pick it up again and follow it to the end.

Nice job, guys!

So, Saturday was the GPS class beginning at 8 a.m. in the classroom, and then we went out to practice in the forest in the afternoon. Below, academy members and my co-instructor (front) were entering the next waypoint into their GPSes, which they then had to convert from latitude-longitude to UTM, and plot the coordinate on their maps before navigating to that point...

It was at that time, around 3 p.m. Saturday, when there was a call-out for a lost 15-year-old, so I left my group with the other instructor and quickly hiked back to the road, where another teammate scooped me up and we headed to the SAR building.

That mission was quickly concluded when some tracks were discovered and then the DPS helicopter spotted the girl, and we returned to the SAR building just before 5:00. Ten minutes later, I was off to Williams. So it had been all day Saturday in GPS class, then to the mission for the lost girl, then to Williams for the overnight road block, then to the tracking class on Sunday. And today, Monday, is a continuing evidence search. Whew! But I did get a good night's sleep last night, so I'm ready to search.

Oh, and I practiced rappelling last week, too, with a couple of my tech rescue teammates. As usual, I was nervous going over the edge the first time through, but when I hiked back up and went for a second and third descent, my nerves calmed (also as usual). We were using a conditional self-belay on a second line, which meant I didn't have a free hand to brace myself against the rock, like I usually had before. So, that was a little different for me.

Here, you can see the brake rack in my right hand, while I tend the Prusik with my left. It was about a 30-foot cliff. Maybe not a lot... but enough.

 

Random Stuff: Some SAR, Some Sorta

So, we haven't had what I'd consider a major SAR mission in a little while (though we've had some calls that were canceled before we got to the scene), but the team has been busy, especially with the annual Basic SAR Academy going on. It's a pretty large class—around 30 students this year—so quite a few of us existing members have been helping to teach.

Today was compass day, with the morning in the classroom and the afternoon in the field, where students plotted coordinates, obtained bearings and distances, and then navigated to a number of points using their compasses and by pacing and comparing the terrain to their topo maps.

I think most of the class is getting the hang of these navigation skills. They've already been through the personal safety and map classes. Next up is basic GPS and then tracking, followed by ATV training and, finally, a day-long field exercise: a mock search and rescue mission. Once all of that is complete, the new recruits will be added to the call-out list and able to respond to the real thing.

And what else can I share?

Well, this past Wednesday morning, a friend of mine on the team called around 11:00 and asked, "Are you on your way?"

"Huh?" I said. "On my way to what?"

"The call-out," she replied. "For the lost hiker off 180."

I didn't get any call. No phone call, no email. Strange.

So I hung up, dialed the SAR line and said, "This is Deb. I did not get a call, and I did not get an email, but I happened to get a call from Liz about the mission, and I am responding." Then I quickly changed from my PJs (it had been a lazy morning) into my SAR stuff and was out the door and at the building in about 15 minutes. I pulled up at the same moment as Liz. Strange, I thought, no one else was there yet, and it had taken her at least half an hour to drive across town.

That's when Liz double-checked the text message and realized the date of the call had been September 19th. But her phone had just rung. Odd. So we were four days too late. (That mission, by the way, happened while we were at the SAR conference in Heber. Apparently, it wasn't a big deal. I heard the subject was lost along a Forest Service road but easily found by my teammates who responded.) So I called the SAR line back and said something like, "Uh... this is Deb again. Cancel that last message. There was a little goof with the text."

Well, at least it had gotten me out of my pajamas.

Oh—and I have no idea why I'm sharing this, but—about that Grand Canyon search earlier this month, I think I mentioned that I was a wee bit nervous along parts of the Tonto Trail where there was significant exposure to a very long way down. Well, to be honest, instead of "wee bit nervous," make that (insert expletive) scared! I mean, the trail was about a foot wide for long stretches with no way to put any distance between myself and the sheer drop. No vegetation or rocks as visual barriers, either. And the trail was that hard-pack stuff with loose gravel on top—you know, the kind of surface where you'll be walking along and suddenly, without warning, your foot will slip out from under you, and the other foot and then the rest of you will immediately follow? Yeah, that kind of stuff.

So, I have to admit that I rather feebly called out to my search-mate who was ahead of me. He kindly retraced his steps to where I was frozen and let me walk right behind him with one hand on his pack as I stared at his feet. We took not much more than baby steps for what seemed like a really long way. Meanwhile, he played memory games with me to try to take my mind off of... well, death. My wonderful partner promised he wouldn't tell anyone and even said, "Hey, I'll tell you something embarrassing about me so you'll know I won't tell anybody about this." Ah well, I still won't tell his story... partly because I can't remember it!

The funny thing is, I was concentrating so hard on the memory game in order to keep going and get past that scary stuff that I remember it weeks later. It was the "I'm going camping" game. See, the first person says, "I'm going camping, and I'm going to take a..." then names something beginning with the letter A. Then the next person says, "I'm going camping, and I'm going to take..." and then repeats the A thing and adds a B thing. Then the first person says the "I'm going camping" part, repeats the A thing and B thing and adds a C thing. And so on and so forth. Got that?

Well, I was so focused on that game, I still remember, "I'm going camping, and I'm going to take an alligator, a beach ball, a cat, a dog, an emu, a feather, Goofy, a helicopter, an igloo, a jelly bean, a kaleidoscope, a lounge chair, and a mudslide." That particular (expletive) scary section ended before we got to the N thing. But I'll probably remember that A-M list a year from now, too.

About a half-hour later at the start of the next scary stretch, we played a different game. But I'll spare you all of that information.

So why am I bothering to tell you this? Well, for one, I also wanted to share what a nice thing my search-mate said to me later that day—one of the nicest things anyone other than my husband has said to me in a long time. It went something like this: "I'm really impressed with you, Deb. You're terrified about something, and yet you do it anyway. That takes real guts."

I mean, how cool is that? Here I was, a new tech team member, an experienced long-distance backpacker, and active SAR volunteer with lots of mission hours under my belt now, and I was scared out of my noggin on parts of that trail. I felt ridiculous. And yet, my teammate (also a Grand Canyon ranger) turned it into a compliment. So, T.B., if you're reading this... THANK YOU! I'll never forget that, either.

I Passed! And Other News of the SAR and Backpacking Kind

Yyyaaayyy! I'm a very happy—and very relieved—SAR girl. I had test anxiety all last night and this morning before I began demonstrating my new technical rescue skills, as my experienced teammates watched at each test station. I had no idea how it all would go, but I'm happy to report that... well, I didn't suck. 💪 😃

I started off at the patient packaging and litter rigging station, moved on to ascending and rappelling with a hot changeover on the rope, and then went to the pick-off station. (A pick-off is what you do when someone is stranded over the edge, either on a rope or unsupported, perhaps clinging to a rock face.) Next, I set up belay systems, anchors, and mechanical advantage systems and then tied a bunch of different knots and a load-releasing hitch. I had to explain a pretensioned back-tie, make improvised chest and seat harnesses, and be checked for having the required personal tech gear.

When I had gone through all of the testing stations, the instructors had marked off and signed my entire checklist. Phew! Then I got my naew rock rescue patch for my SAR shirt. (Yay! again.)

I'd been a little worried that I hadn't practiced quite enough right before the test, since earlier this week I'd opted instead to go backpacking in Grand Canyon for four days with one of my friends from the team. She's a volunteer for the Park Service and had an opportunity to hike the South Bass Trail to check some archaeological and historical sites for the park. And she invited me to come along. Neither of us had ever hiked this amazing and rather remote trail so I could hardly pass up the chance, though I'd miss two final pre-test tech practice sessions.

But I'm really glad I decided on the hike. Here are some photos:

This is one of the archaeological sites we looked at: granaries used by the Anasazi.

We also saw the remains of the (William Wallace) Bass Camp, the Ross Wheeler Boat on the rocks above Bass Rapids (abandoned in 1915 by Charles Russell and August Tadje after an unsuccessful attempt at running the river), some agave roasting pit,s and other evidence of past human residents of the Canyon.

This is a view from the Esplanade, 1300 vertical feet and a 1.3-mile hike below the South Rim. The Esplanade in this area is covered with vegetation, whereas in other parts of the Canyon it's nothing but rock. Here, we cached a couple of gallons of water where we'd camp on our return trip to the rim...

After leaving the Esplanade, we descended another 3,000 vertical feet over 6.5 miles to the Colorado River, passing through this narrow side canyon in the Red Wall formation along the way. We were glad for the shade on that part of the trail as the temperature soared midday...

By the time we got to the Tonto platform and below, we were starting to roast, but we knew the river was getting closer.

This was our first view of the Colorado River below, which we couldn't see or hear until we were less than a quarter mile from the point where we scrambled a couple hundred feet down to the beach over some very hot rocks...

We were relieved to get to the water, soak our feet, and rest in the little bit of shade provided by some willows. We spent the afternoon and evening on the beach, watching river runners float by, listening to Bass Rapids, and watching butterflies, birds, lizards, and later that night, the stars as we slept on the sand.

And this is the old and somewhat battered Ross Wheeler boat on the rocks above Bass Rapids...

 

For a trip report and more photos, see: Hiking Grand Canyon's South Bass Trail.

I could yack on and on about the hike—now one of my all-time favorite Grand Canyon trips—but to get back to SAR stuff...

I wanted to mention a nine-hour mission that took place last Sunday, the day before I left for the canyon. Make that nine hours of driving, with me bouncing around in the backseat most of the time. These were some of the worst dirt roads I've ever been on. I think my head hit the roof of the vehicle a few times, even though I was wearing my seat belt. Needless to say, I was very relieved—and my neck, back, and backside were very sore—when we finally returned to pavement after finding the overdue West Clear Creek (canyon) hikers at the trailhead and transporting them to their friend's vehicle. They were tired but in good condition, which is always what we hope for, so my sore self was happy about that.

Um... so, I guess that brings my blog up to date for now. And now I'm off to find a needle and thread to attempt to sew my Rock Rescue Tech patch onto my uniform shirt. (Yay! just one more time.)

Our New SAR Building

We've finally moved. And that's a good thing.

For me, personally, I now have no more than a 10-minute drive (less if it's in the middle of the night and there's no traffic) from home to the building compared to The 105 across down. That's not the case for some team members who live on the far east side of Flagstaff, but I think the new location is better for more of us than not.

Also, we now have a lot more space, which will make moving things around and getting ready to head out for a mission much easier. And I'll be interested to see if our response time gets better, too.

For one thing, the new building is right behind the Sheriff's office and the rest of the law enforcement complex, so we'll no longer have the equipment and SAR vehicles at one end of town and our coordinators at the other. There's also much more room for training and practicing, like we did a few nights ago for the Rock Rescue Academy.

There's still much needed for the new building, not to mention the funds to pay for it, like a bay door (or is it two?), some interior block walls, plumbing and a bathroom, the completion of the offices and meeting room, etc. But at least we're now able to occupy the facility.

And here are a few photos:





If you look at the photos in my last entry, taken in our old SAR building (aka The 105 or SAR garage) while my teammates and I were practicing ascending, you can get a sense of the difference.

A Tribute To My SAR Spouse

In this case, SAR stands for "supportive and reassuring," referring to my husband of almost 11 years. Steve has always been supportive of my endeavors and adventures, not the least of which was my six-month Appalachian Trail thru-hike.

During that time nine years ago, he took care of the farm—the critters and the property—that we were employed to live on and tend to for the absentee owners. Over the course of the 185 days I was away, I saw Steve only once. That five-hour visit took place in a dump of a trail town (which shall remain unnamed) before my husband had to drive back, to make it home in time to do the evening chores. And he never once complained during any of our phone calls or when I returned home after I'd completed my hike, about all of the extra work he'd had to shoulder in my absence.

And Steve has held true to form when it's come to me being part of search and rescue. As anyone involved with SAR knows, our pagers (or phones) can and do go off at all times of the day and night. Our gadgets have no consideration for mealtimes, holidays, great movies or dates, or a good night's sleep during a snowstorm. People sometimes—often—need help when it's not very convenient for SAR personnel or volunteers. Not to mention for their families. So I wanted to publicly thank Steve for being such a great sport, not to mention bolstering my confidence when it wavers.

I recently read a book called Mountain High, Mountain Rescue by SAR volunteer Peggy Parr, in which she writes, "The patience of a husband or wife at home is often forgotten, yet this is a vital ingredient to the team's accomplishments in the field."

She goes on to say, "Sleeping spouses, unmoved by adrenaline, are awakened in the depth of night by a pager's piercing tone giving an emergency message ... and subjected to the noise of frantic dressing and departure. If the spouse wants the car, chauffeuring is necessary. During the day the tone shatters silence at the sermon, the movie and the restaurant. Dinners turn cold, picnics are cancelled, guests are left waiting. Bachelors should contemplate this neglect a spouse suffers.

"After a mission, the spouse is forced to listen to endless phone calls from other members, where details are dissected like a frog. Gear is spread across the floor as in a garage sale. Two-hundred-foot nylon ropes are cleaned in the washing machine, and hang for days drying in spaghetti coils from the basement ceiling.

"The spouse tolerates these annoyances with a patience worthy of sainthood. Members are aware of these qualities, for we take their spirit with us always."

How true. And Steve even gets up when those middle-of-the-night call-outs happen, to make sure I don't leave anything behind as I stumble about for my clothing and gear on the way to the door.

Just today, as Steve and I were in the middle of stuffing our faces with raw fish by candlelight at our favorite sushi restaurant, my pager went off. Immediately, I said, "Oh, it's okay, I'll skip it this time," but my husband knows me all too well. "No, no," he said, "It's totally okay. Go help."

As we've done in the past, we'd have had the rest of our dinner doggie-bagged and then driven home, where I'd drop Steve off, quickly change clothes, and head to the SAR building. But, as it turned out, that wasn't necessary this time, and we finished our dinner date. Our coordinator's message, which I listened to with a face full of maki roll, said this was a call for the technical team. If, in the spring, I qualify for that subset of our general SAR team, those kinds of calls will then include me, and more doggie-bags may be necessary.