Back From Ropes That Rescue

 

And, boy, am I ready for a full day at home in my PJs. Seven 10- to 12-hour days of rigging, rappelling, raising, and a lot of learning has left me tired, bruised, sore (from packing in and out heavy loads of gear and tweaking muscles in ways they aren't used to), punctured (with cactus spines), exhilarated, and much more educated about tech rescue than I was a week ago. 

Being an instructor-level course, it was a real challenge for me, but I've brought back a significant number of new tricks and skills and a much greater awareness of what's possible in the world of rigging and rope rescue.

In addition to all of the hands-on work, the class went into the physics behind anchors and pulley systems. I may not remember all of the details, but that information definitely gives me a better idea of why things work they way they do, not to mention what doesn't work and why certain setups would be dangerous.

Needless to say, the class was amazing. And so were my fellow students and the assistant instructors, who were also there to learn. All were very supportive, patient, and helpful to me when I occasionally (okay, frequently) got frustrated. At the same time, they encouraged me to venture outside my comfort zone and push myself.

I didn't go over the edge nearly as much as other participants, though, since I wanted to concentrate on rigging and belaying, which are skills I'll use with my own team more often than not at this stage.

If you'd like to see more (and larger) photos from the past week, see Ropes That Rescue Rigging Class Photos: Sedona, Arizona.

Over The Edge: Technical Rescue Simulations

Most of us didn't know this would be a simulation instead of just a regular training session—not until we got to the site and were suddenly given a briefing and our initial assignments. But as flustered as I was at first, I'm glad we did this and hope we'll do more mock technical rescues in the near future. Putting skills together under pressure—and, simulated or not, I definitely felt the pressure—is a good way to test yourself and the team, to really see where improvement and more practice is needed.

So, there were two victims over the edge following a car crash (drunk driving, I heard). This was considered "steep-angle" terrain, not low-angle and not high-angle (a cliff) either. The footing was precarious, with loose rocks all over—a significant hazard for both rescuers and victims below—which is why one of the victims got up and moved when I started coming down with the first litter, dislodging rocks as I went. Definitely something I need to pay more attention to and not descend directly above anyone. BIG note made to self on that one!

Matter of fact, my notes to self during yesterday's exercise (well, exercises, because we did more than one) could have filled several notebook pages if I'd written them all down. They included things like, "Practice, practice, practice your knots, Deb," and "When on a steep-angle raise, attach a prusik from my harness to either the main line or belay line and another from my harness to the litter, then lean back. Let the haulers do the work and don't try to lift the litter." Boy, did I learn that second thing the hard way!

Here are some photos from the day's first exercise:

As part of the hasty team, Sueanne (in black) prepares to rappel down to one of the two patients to asses his condition. Meanwhile, another member of the hasty team (not in the picture) rappels to the second patient...

Robert sets up a wrap three/pull two anchor for a raising system...

Scott works the 540 belay....

                

And in other news...

It looks like I'll be attending a seven-day Ropes That Rescue Mountain Rescue Workshop in Sedona in February. I definitely need to have my knots down pat by then!

Trusting My Gear and My Teammates

Have I mentioned that I'm a bit afraid of heights? Well, make that afraid of "exposure" more like. Either way, being suspended 100 feet above the ground between two sides of a canyon isn't exactly within my comfort zone. 

But that's where I found myself on Saturday, with some of my technical rescue teammates on one side of the canyon at Paradise Forks, lowering me, and the others on the opposite side, raising. There was a main line and a belay line on either side, with me somewhere in the middle, hanging while attached to all four ropes.

I could have said no. More than one of my teammates said, "Deb, if you don't feel comfortable with this, no problem. You don't have to do it."  I may have hesitated at that suggestion for a split second, but I said, "No, I'm fine with it."

I tried my best to look and sound at ease. Besides, it's better I do it—go over the edge—as much as possible, to get more comfortable with the skills and with the feeling of trusting my life to gear and teammates.

And I couldn't be safer than with SAR. We do things carefully, with redundancy and with safety checks. As I was tying into the main and belay lines, a teammate was watching closely. Then I was checked over by three other experienced people—everything from my seat and chest harnesses to my caribiners and knots. The safety officer for the exercise also checked all anchors and main line and belay setups. Then, when all team members were ready, I walked off the edge. Wheeee!

Truth be told, it was actually quite fun. A teammate later told me I had a bit of a "newborn giraffe" look when I was temporarily set down on a pinnacle around mid-canyon, but I soon got my feet under me and stood up on my own. Then I was once again lifted and brought the rest of the way across the canyon. It turned out to be a very smooth ride.

One very useful, real-world example of how this maneuver would come in handy would be if, say, a victim were stranded on some sort of pinnacle like the one where I was briefly set down or on the top of a vehicle trapped in swiftwater. A rescuer could be lowered and suspended to a point somewhere between two stable sides, to where the victim is located, do a pick-off or package a patient in a litter, and then be raised along with that victim to either side.

This Saturday's tech team practice also included working with a guiding line, used to keep rescuer and rescue-ee away from rock walls and obstacles, making the lower and raise easier on both. I thought these setups were pretty fascinating, and I was excited to be part of them and to find that I could actually be useful. By George, I'm learnin' me stuff!

I've honestly been nervous that I wouldn't remember some of the basics when we'd move on to more advanced skills, even though I've been practicing those basics on the side. But I now realize that the basics come into play all the time. They're a foundation for the more advanced skills, so I get to use them even as we advance to more complex maneuvers. I find this all pretty exciting, though I still not have the nerves. And maybe that's a good thing. Getting too comfortable can lead to errors, so I've heard and read.

Other than training, we've also had a couple of call-outs. One ended quickly when a teammate who responded directly to the last known point (LKP) because he lives nearby, found the subject soon after he started searching. Not a happy ending, I'm afraid.

Then, last night, our team was called to assist Navajo PD in locating an overdue hunter on the reservation. The man was found... well, he found us... and was just fine. In fact, he was wondering who we were all looking for. Just a case of miscommunication with the reporting party, so it seems.

Oh, and finally (for now), on a recreational note: I recently went on a great hiking and car-camping trip to northern Arizona and southern Utah in the Paria-Vermillion Cliffs Wilderness Area, where I visited a place called White Pocket and the now internationally known Wave. Here's one of the many photos I took of the Wave before my camera went kaput (again):

If you want to see more of my pics and read an article I wrote about the hike, see Hiking The Wave In Coyote Buttes.

Now off to replenish the snack supply in my 24-hour pack before our next call-out.

My First SAR Mission as a Tech Team Member

"Did he just say my name?" I ask another new tech team graduate who's standing next to me in the dark street. Our coordinator has just announced the four members of tonight's hasty team.

"Yep, he sure did," my teammate confirms.

It's not like I've never done any scrambling, but climbing of any kind really isn't my forte. And all the training we did during the three and half months of Rock Rescue Academy was from the top down, rigging anchors and belays and going over the edge. Tonight, we'll be going up. Way up, it appears.

At our coordinator's request, the two stranded hikers he's in contact with by cellphone flick their Bic, and we see a small point of light appear against the dark backdrop of the huge rock formation, darker than the sky surrounding it.

I rush to get my seat and chest harnesses on and thankfully receive some help with the straps from a teammate. Adrenaline is interfering with my dexterity. And I don't want to keep the other three hasty team members waiting.

Once I have my gear on, with all my carabiners and other equipment weighing down my seat harness, I grab my pack and 200 feet of rope and follow my teammates up the trail. It's awkward hiking with all this gear hanging on me.

But I have plenty of time to get used to it.

Hours pass as we hike and scramble one way and then another, looking for a route to the two teenagers and their dog. We know they're uninjured and in a secure spot, which is a good thing; in the dark, we're having a heck of a time trying to get to them.

A second team is now trying other routes. We wonder if the route would be obvious in daylight. I mean, they got up there somehow, with a dog and without ropes. Surely there must be a much easier way. If only we could find it. The boys' description of the route they took isn't matching anything we've found so far.

As we use our hands to scramble and steady ourselves, we notice in the beam of our headlamps: scorpions. All over the rocks we're touching. I'm sweating profusely, but the sight of those creepy stinging things makes me shiver. A teammate also notes a "huge" spider. Another reminds us to watch for rattlesnakes. Oy! I'm having a hard enough time keeping myself out of the cactus.

"Go check it out," one teammate says to another, and I look up. I see an intimidating dark spire silhouetted against the night sky.

We're going to climb that?

"There's about a 10- or 12-foot, narrow chute we'd have to chimney up," our teammate calls down to the three of us waiting below. "It doesn't look good, but I think we could do it. I can't see what's beyond that, though."

I hate to say anything—I don't want the others to know I'm unsure of myself up here—but I admit aloud that I'm not an experienced climber. Just, you know, so they're aware of that.

In the end, they decide it's not the right way to go anyway, and I'm relieved. I wish I hadn't admitted my insecurity, but it's too late now. Besides, we have ropes and tech gear, and if my experienced teammates had deemed the route doable, I know we would have done it as safely as possible. And I would have sucked it up and followed.

But now we're heading back down. I have to use my hands and sometimes my butt along the way, and I make little zigzags as I descend to prevent myself from slipping... which I do anyway. I pull a few barbs out of my exposed fingers (my leather gloves are fingerless) as I go, but I manage to keep up. We reach the main trail again and head back to the staging area at the road as we listen to field Team 2 over the radio. It seems they're getting close to the stranded hikers.

Finally, one teammate manages to climb part of a vertical face and reaches the subjects. From there, he finds an easier way back down that face. Now the descent will be steep but manageable, especially if some of us back at the road bring up extra lights for the subjects.

I'm not tired at all and want to be useful, so I'm glad when our coordinator hands me an extra light to bring up. I also grab extra water for the hikers and their dog and stuff it in my pack. At least now I don't have to carry that 200-foot rope as I start back up the trail.

Before long and after a stretch of uncomfortable bushwhacking through vegetation intent on tearing off pieces of my skin, hair, and clothing, we rendezvous with the party coming down and hand over the lights. The hikers don't want anything to drink, but their dog sure does. I get a face-licking after their part pit, parts some other breeds of pup finishes off a large bottle of water as I pour it into my cupped hand.

After assuring and reassuring one of the boys that, no, they won't be fined or charged for search and rescue, they accompany us back to the trailhead, where their parents have been waiting all night.

All night? Wow, those nine hours between signing in and signing out back at the SAR building went by quickly, even with all the hiking and scrambling. I guess my excitement about my first mission as a member of the tech team carried me through the night and all the next day, until I finally fall asleep at my computer the following evening.

******

Here's the brief write-up in our local paper about this mission: Lost Hikers Found (Hey, they left out the part about the scorpions.)

Well, folks, I best be off to bed. I have to be at the SAR building by 4:30 a.m. to head to the Grand Canyon, to assist with a mission there.