Those Wonderful Search & Rescue Dogs

This past weekend, I was fortunate to meet some members of the Maricopa County K-9 posse, also known as MarK9, and their wonderful dogs.

We do have a couple of search dogs on our own team—Cassie, our ground-tracking German shepherd, and Scout, an air-scenting brown Lab—but it's always a treat to meet others and see how they work.

Since Cassie joined our team about a year and a half ago, I've read some about SAR dogs, and I'm really interested in what they can do and how they're trained, though I doubt if I'd ever make that big commitment to become a handler. For one, I currently have a much-loved pup of 11 years, who'd not take kindly to sharing my attention. And once Sassy is no longer with us, I think it'll be a while before my husband and I own another dog (update: that turned out not to be true). Not with my plans for future multi-month thru-hikes and our intention to travel as extensively as possible. Someday, I'm sure we'll have another dog, but whether I'd want or be able to put in the time necessary to properly train a search and rescue canine would remain to be seen.

Anyhow, during our fieldwork this weekend, I enjoyed watching how each dog alerted differently during exercises. Some would bark, one would do circles (wing-dings, I call them), and another, a Weimaraner, basically body-checked her handler. They'd get so excited when it was time to work, which was usually communicated by their handlers putting certain collars, often with bells, or working-dog vests on them.

Also fascinating to me are the various commands and signals that pass between handlers and their dogs. For instance, one handler, Terry, explained to me that there's a difference between the command they give for a live person search and a search for a cadaver, and the dogs actually understand that difference. She explained that the dogs are "proofed" for certain animal bones so they ignore those of deer, elk, and other animals that aren't human. Terry and the others were gracious in answering the many questions my teammates and I pestered them with throughout the day.

Besides the treat of watching the dogs, it was also great to meet members of another SAR team as we sometimes do during big, multi-agency missions and at conferences. I enjoy learning about how they do things—sometimes quite differently than our own team—and what kinds of searches and rescues they've been on lately. I never get tired of the stories.

That's one reason I've put together the Search & Rescue Stories website, where I collect firsthand accounts by rescuers and the rescued and keep directories of websites for SAR teams around the world. I also participate on the SAR-L Discussion List, with topics ranging from techniques, training, and management to SAR tips, gear, news stories, and more. You can find a list of additional search and rescue online forums on my website in the "Articles & More" section.

Anyhow, other than some trainings lately, a litter-carry call that I hear was mostly handled by emergency medical personnel who were notified and quickly responded to the scene, and one 10-22'd call-out for a lost hiker who showed up just as we were loading gear at the SAR building, it's been relatively quiet for the past few weeks. Next weekend is the POD (probability of detection) and line search training, and then the three-day navigation "boot camp" begins on May 1st. The warming weather makes these activities much more enjoyable.

Rock Rescue Academy

That time of year is drawing near: Rock Rescue Academy will begin in one month, and this time around, I'm going to jump in. I'm a little jittery about it, though. Will I be able to learn the skills well enough? Will I be able to keep up? There are some very experienced, fast, and strong men in the group and one other woman who certainly fits that description. Many of the skills are new to me, and I've never been particularly quick at picking up such hands-on things like knot-tying, for one. I'll need to practice—often.

So, what is the Rock Rescue Academy? Well, it's the basic training course—a series of classroom and field sessions over about a month's time—that anyone who wants to become a member of the technical rescue team (TRT) must successfully complete.

The TRT is a subset of our general SAR team, and those particular members are expected to respond as often as possible to call-outs for technical missions. The TRT responds to incidents generally beyond the capabilities of the rest of the membership, such as high angle and high alpine rescue and missions that take place in difficult terrain, which means these volunteers are sometimes exposed to additional risk. This is why the TRT meets and trains on a monthly basis, and each person on that team must prove their competence with the skills annually to maintain membership.

Last year, I don't believe there were any new recruits to the TRT. Although I'd considered it, I ultimately felt I wasn't ready—that I needed more time to practice and get comfortable with the basics of SAR before taking on more technical skills. This year, I know I'm more capable and ready to give it a try, and I hear that several other general members, also known as ground-pounders, will be joining me in the tech academy for the first time.

Those of us interested in being tech team members have already received a list of special gear we'll need. That list includes:

• Commercially sewn seat harness
  
• Commercially sewn chest harness or webbing for a chest harness
  
• 6-inch locking carabiners
  
• Climbing helmet
  
• Descender
  
• 8mm Tandem Prusik set
  
• Various lengths of Prusiks with a diameter no less than 6mm
  
• Two 1" multi-loop straps (or daisy chains) approximately 5" long
  
• Sturdy footwear (boots, not trail runners)
  
• Leather gloves
  
• Headlamp
  
• Trauma sheers or knife

Given that I own only two of those items and don't even know yet what some of the others are, I'd better get on the stick and start doing my homework... and spending money. I also need to step up my fitness training in preparation for the "3 miles in 45 minutes with a 45-pound pack" test (just in case).

Well, I'm out the door in a few minutes to meet a teammate. He and I are setting up a GPS field course for the upcoming three-day "navigation boot camp" our team is running for other agencies at the beginning of May. Perhaps this is also the time I should upgrade from my beloved 10-year-old GPS to a fancy-dancy new model. Oy, more money heading out the door, too.

The Pack Test

 Well, it's been a month since our last call-out. That feels like a very long time compared to what I've experienced since I first joined the team a year and a half ago. It has been nice, though, to sleep through the night for so many nights in a row.

But during this quiet time, I haven't just been sitting on my butt. The opposite, in fact, in part because a not-so-little bird told me (and the rest of our general membership) that there's going to be a fitness test for those wanting to be on the technical team. That fitness test is the same as the official Wildland Fire Test: three miles in 45 minutes with a 45-pound pack. If we don't pass the first time, we'll be able to take it again (and again?) until we do.

It's not the weight that intimidates me—been there, done that, plenty of times on the Appalachian Trail and elsewhere. And it's not the time limit. I can walk pretty fast if I want to. (Apparently, we won't be allowed to jog.) But the weight and the time limit combined... that's the kicker.

While doing a little hunting around online, I came across this: Work Capacity Testing for Wildland Firefighters: Ensuring Wildland Fire Safety by the U.S. Forest Service. In the document, it states that there are three test levels:

• Walk Test: a 1-mile hike in 16 minutes
• Field Test: 2-mile hike with 25-pound pack in 30 min.
• Pack Test: 3-mile hike with 45-pound pack in 45 min.

As you can see, our test is going to be the "arduous" one, so says the document. And now that I've done a time trial at the local university track, I'm sure of that description. I did complete the 12 laps in 43 minutes, 40 seconds... but that was carrying just 11 lbs. And, boy, were my hips sore when I finished, from all that silly race-walking.

So, I certainly have my work cut out for me. I plan to keep up the training, once a week with increasingly heavier packs, until test time on May 9. Between those workouts, regular hiking, Jazzercise three to five times per week, and an occasional snowshoe or hike at altitude on the peaks, I'll hopefully pass the test on the first try.

And even though a slightly smaller bird told me we won't be using the arduous test, I figure this training can't hurt. There are some mighty fast folks on that tech team, who I'll be wanting to keep up with... or at least keep in sight up ahead.

Winter Training for Winter Searching and Rescuing

I have band-aids on six toes. I didn't realize the tops were rubbed raw until I stepped into the shower and yowee! I looked down at my feet and realized I'd left some skin somewhere.

It was snowshoeing down the mountain that did it. Today, a teammate and I enjoyed some fitness training on Mt. Agassiz at the Arizona Snowbowl for the second time this week. It's not uncommon for missions to take place on the peaks, and some extra time and effort at altitude can definitely pay off when the pager goes off. So I'm glad my teammate invited me to drag myself out of bed before dawn to huff and puff up a couple thousand feet on the hard-packed snow and ice, only to go right back down that steeply angled snow and ice. We've had two great days on the mountain in perfect weather, and I feel better prepared as a result.

Before these two climbs, I'd never really tested my MSR snowshoes on ice or very steep slopes. And now I have a better idea of what they can do. There were times today on the ascent when the angle was so steep, I had to dig in with the spikes on the toes of my snowshoes and keep my momentum going as my calves screamed, so I wouldn't end up careening down the mountain on my back.

On the descents, I followed my teammate's instructions and took small, slow steps, and, to my relief, the snowshoes did the job. I had Jell-o legs by the time we reached the lodge, but at least I stayed upright.

Also on the training front, our team had that snowmobile class I'd been waiting for. I'm still uncomfortable with loading the machines onto the trailers, afraid I'll shoot right off the back, but, otherwise, I'm now team certified to drive. (At least, I think I am.) So I bought a collapsible backcountry shovel for digging myself out whenever I get the thing stuck, which I now know firsthand isn't hard to do, even in ideal conditions.

Oh, I almost forgot...

We did have another call-out recently. It was a pretty straightforward mission involving an out-of-town family who'd gotten their vehicle stuck on a snow-covered Forest Service road and weren't quite sure of their location. Luckily, the DPS helicopter was available to do a fly-over, and they spotted the vehicle and, therefore, expedited the mission. The vacationing family was retrieved and taken to a motel for the night, to deal with their stranded vehicle the next day.

Recent SAR Happenings

No call-outs since the Sedona plane crash, but some other news and events to share...

We had an Alternative Navigation class on Saturday, November 15. By "alternative navigation," I'm referring to navigation without the use of gadgets such as a compass, GPS, or altimeter. Skills we learned and practiced in the field included navigating by the sun, celestial navigation, and using terrain to our advantage with techniques like aiming off, safety baselines, funneling, catch features, pacing, and more. Let me just say, this stuff takes practice!

I took this course, taught by one of our team's navigation experts, last year and intend to take it every time it's offered. These are skills that definitely require time and repetition to master and continued use to keep sharp. I find celestial navigation fascinating, and I was so impressed by our instructor's knowledge. And a little jealous, too.

Anyhow, I wrote an article about Alternative Navigation on my SARstories blog. Click here if you're interested in taking a look.

A writer from the Arizona Daily Sun took the classroom portion of the Alt. Nav. training and, that afternoon, a photographer accompanied us for a short time in the field, so a newspaper article is in the works. I'll let you know when it appears.

In other news, several specially selected team members went out to the Little Colorado River in the area of Hopi Salt Canyon to collect some evidence located by the U.S. Fish & Wildlife Service. The evidence was potentially connected to the case of Reinhard Kirchner, a German national who went missing in early spring 2007. In April of last year, after 61 year-old Kirchner failed to meet his fiancee in Las Vegas as planned, his abandoned vehicle was found near the north rim of the Little Colorado River gorge. A large ground and air search involving multiple agencies and counties followed, but after six days of searching about 56 square miles of rugged terrain, the SAR mission was called off.

At our general meeting last night, Sergeant D said the items Fish & Game found could just be a river runner's stash. Still, investigation continues, including the potential for DNA testing on the items.

Also at last night's meeting, we were told that the pilot from the downed Piper near Sedona, 51-year-old Rockney Mark Herring, is still alive and has been stabilized. Apparently, he's also been awake. Boy, is that great news!

And with that, I'm off to the uniform shop to pick up my new, very yellow winter coat (it's one of our team colors, you see) that now has search and rescue patches on it. That way, people will know why I'm wearing a bright yellow winter coat and won't just assume I'm either color blind or unfashionable.

PLBs and Plenty of Zs

I'm still here! Didn't want you to think I'd gotten tired of SAR blogging. No, there just hasn't been a lot of action lately. At least, nothing that's panned out.

We did have a call last Monday morning, I think it was, around 9 a.m. I was in Walmart at the time (yippee!), looking for stuff for our new house, when my back pocket started beeping a tune. A 200 (search) page for a couple of overdue woodcutters on or near the Hualapai Reservation, which is about a three-hour drive from Flagstaff.

It turned out to be a good drill, basically. Several of us proceeded to load tech gear, ATVs, the Ranger UTV, cubes of water, MREs and snacks, and full gas cans, then drove for about 15 minutes before the mission was 10-22'd. The woodcutters had been located near Peach Springs. So we did an about-face, returned to the SAR building, and unloaded and put away all the gear. And that's been about it over the past couple of weeks. I've had way too many full nights of sleep. I'm thinkin' something will happen soon.

Oh, and we did have another cancelled call-out on the afternoon of Saturday, October 25, just as we were finishing up a rather frustrating personal locator beacon, or PLB, training. (I'll get back to that in a sec.) It sounded like a pretty dire call at that. A girl—not sure if it was an adult or child—had been attacked by bees about four miles up the West Fork of Oak Creek, and she was having an anaphylactic reaction. It was going to be a tough litter-carry, possibly involving some wading in places where the creek fills the canyon. And word through the grapevine was that first responders (not sure if that meant medics, deputies, or civilians) were already "working a code." So we were thinking this might end up being one very rugged body recovery by the sound of things.

On my way across town to the SAR building, though, the mission was cancelled. At the time, I thought perhaps the girl had been short-hauled since her condition was apparently very serious. But I later found out she'd been given epinephrine and walked out on her own. Glad to hear that.

So, back to the PLB training. To read specifics about this and other types of devices used to transmit distress signals, you can visit the Search and Rescue Satellite-Aided Tracking, or SARSAT, website. As for me, I refer to the thing that emits the distress signal as a "gadget," and the device responders use to track down the gadget (and hopefully the person/s needing help) as a "gizmo." Gadget and gizmo... got it?

So, first we had a classroom session. We learned about the different types of beacons—PLBs used for land-based applications, ELTs for aviation use, and EPIRBS for maritime use—and the basics of how they work. Seemed pretty straightforward at that point.

Then, we went out behind the Sheriff's office, where Sergeant D turned on the training PLB gadget, and we walked a couple hundred yards across the parking lot where we used the gizmo to locate the gadget. Of course, we could see the gadget from where we were standing with the gizmo. Straight line, no obstacles, flat terrain. I understood how it worked and figured, hey, this is easy!

And then it was time to take the gadget and gizmo into the field. We relocated to Fort Tuthill, where the plan was to take turns going off into the woods with the gadget with about a 10-minute head start, and then the rest of the group would use the gizmo to locate the source of the distress signal.

Well, the first time out, things went fine. Trees, yeah, but pretty flat. Now, the gizmo, by the way, makes a continuous, rather annoying sound—a constant, high-pitched, whiny beep—which the responders have to listen to the whole time they're searching. This first trial didn't take us that long so none of us mentioned anything about stomping on the whiny thing. Second time around, though: different story.

We were all over the place, with me using the gizmo for the first hour. At least, it seemed that long. But the thing couldn't seem to make up its gizmo mind. I was getting conflicting signals, first this way and now that. We were now in hilly terrain with lots of rocks and other obstacles, and I guess the signal was bouncing all over the place.

Eventually, I held the gizmo out to Sergeant D and asked (trying not to sound desperate), "Do you wanna try?" thinking at that point, I must be doing something wrong. I'm not sure what our leader was thinking, but he wasn't saying much as the rest of us followed him follow the gizmo.

A few members of our team, who'd been using the low-tech method of detecting a PLB signal with a radio set to a certain frequency and a body shield (if you really want an explanation, feel free to let me know in the blog comments, and I'll give it my best try), had disappeared. I hadn't noticed they'd walked off, leaving just me and another lady following Sergeant D. I looked around and didn't see them anywhere.

Eventually, Sergeant D radioed the others, and we learned they'd found the guy with the gadget a long time ago. What? The gizmo had failed us while the low-tech method had worked? When I saw where the guy with the gadget had been the whole time, I realized we'd passed pretty close to his location early on in the search. Ugh.

So, then Sergeant D took the low-tech method out of the equation, grabbed the gadget, wished the rest of us luck, and took off to hide. Basically, the gizmo took us in a huge circle, leading us to think Sergeant D was on the move with the thing the whole time. So, a moving distress signal, right? We even thought, based on the signals we were getting, that he'd gone back to the vehicles. But, when we got there, not only was there no sign of Sergeant D, but the gizmo was registering no signal at all. Nada. Dead.

Frustrated, we called Sergeant D on the radio, and he gave us coordinates. We used our GPSes to go to those coordinates, thinking we were looking for him and/or the gadget, but we soon realized he'd gotten us fairly close but not right to the spot. He continued to give us hints; we continued to try to follow the directions the gizmo seemed to be leading us in, but we wandered all over the place with no luck. Finally, thankfully, Sergeant D called the whole thing off. We'd apparently walked right by him more than once.

Was it the hills and obstacles interfering, making the signal bounce all over the place? Or was it us, the searchers using the gizmo, who were the problem? What I do know is that I was hearing that whiny beep in my dreams for several nights thereafter.

A Mock Search

Today, ten SAR volunteers—four ground-pounders and six from the mounted unit—are participating in a mock search in the Gray Mountain area north of Flagstaff. The scenario: three hikers who'd been returning to their vehicles each evening after hunting for petrified dinosaur dung all day (a little humor there because, you see, SAR folks do have funny bones) have been missing for two days now. They're experienced hikers but aren't carrying provisions for staying in the field overnight.

At the start of the mission, the deputy acting as incident commander divides us into teams of two and gives us our assignments. We're also provided maps with search sectors drawn in and briefings about the three subjects we're looking for, including their shoe sizes to aid in tracking.

Despite the fact that this is a mock search, I'm just as eager to find the three missing hikers, who happen to be two SAR volunteers and the wife of a deputy, as much as I would be if this were real. At the same time, I'm feeling more bold in testing my skills—navigation, radio communication, tracking, and so forth—than I might if this were an actual mission. In a real situation, I'm still tentative, not wanting to make a mistake, to say something awkward on the radio, or to have to ask more experienced team members too many questions. So I'm just as motivated today but not as inhibited.

During this mock search, I'm leader of Ground Team 2 since I do seem have more search and rescue skills than my partner. I drive while also handling most of the radio communication and navigation. I have a chance to make certain decisions that I'd otherwise defer to a more experienced companion. We have a lot of area to cover for a relatively small number of people, and I do my best to scan the open countryside, sometimes using my binoculars, and look for clues in my immediate surroundings. There's a lot of desert grassland, valleys, and mesas to search, but that wide open area is deceiving; there are innumerable nooks and crannies that can hide a person from view.

Several hours go by. One subject is found, sitting behind a rock on an open ridge, where you'd think a person would be in plain view. Dennis responded to a searcher calling out, reminding us how important it is to make some noise—to call the subjects' names, blow our whistles, and run the sirens. According to Dennis, the first subject was going to be a "gimme;" as long we were making noise, he or she would definitely respond. Now there are two left, and we don't know if they also will respond to calls, so we have to keep trying.

And we try and try and search and search, sometimes on foot, sometimes driving oh-so-slowly along dirt roads, two-tracks, and power lines. After ten hours, we still haven't found the other two subjects, and the exercise is called off.

When Ken and Dianne, our subjects, arrive back at incident command, they tell us that two riders from the mounted unit passed right by them on the ridge just above where they were sitting amongst the rocks on the edge of one of our sectors. Since the riders didn't call out, neither of the subjects revealed their location. Had they been found, one of the two would have been a medevac.

Turns out, I did look in their direction while walking along a road on the far end of that same sector, but even with my binoculars, they were too far away for me to have seen, especially being somewhat hidden by the rocks. I'd actually wanted to search over on that side, with my partner and I walking just below the ridge where we would have found them, but our assignment was changed by incident command before we'd had a chance. Had there been more people participating in the search, we likely would have been able to cover that area.

All in all, it was a beneficial exercise, giving me some added confidence in my abilities, not to mention showing me where I can use more practice. This mock search also gave other SAR members experience with planning a search.

Training

Practice, practice, practice. I hear it all the time from SAR instructors, and it's so true. We learn skills in training, and they often seem clear at the time, but it's like most things: You don't use it, you lose it. Sometimes there's a stretch between missions, and not all missions require all skills, so you can get rusty. As for me, if I don't start practicing right after learning a skill in class, I don't really get it down to begin with.

Over the past few weeks, I've taken part in the following trainings:

• Truck and trailer training (10 hours)
• Navigation Refresher Field Day (8 hours)
• GPS (8 hours: four in the classroom, four in the field)
• UTV (utility terrain vehicle) training
• Venomous Insects and Animals of Arizona
• Tracking (4 hours)
• Patient Packaging (3 hours)

Some of these skills I'd learned before, like GPS, map and compass, and tracking, but others were completely new to me. Before the trailer training on April 5th, I'd never maneuvered a trailer backwards in my life (and I'd towed one forwards only once). Honestly, it was intimidating trying to maneuver through the cones in reverse with a dozen guys watching, most of whom had plenty of experience at this. In fact, almost all them went through those obstacle courses with huge horse trailers without knocking over a single cone, while I used the smaller ATV trailer that we take on many of our missions. I definitely bruised a few cones in the process and would have killed some had the instructor not stopped me in the nick of time.

Although the instructor told me it can actually be easier to maneuver the larger trailer on a goose-neck hitch than the smaller trailer hitched to the back of the vehicle, which is more sensitive to every little move of the steering wheel, I figured I would rarely, if ever, have occasion to tow a horse trailer. The ATV trailers, however, are called for frequently, so I might as well learn the harder way. All I can say is, that skill is going to take me a LOT of practice to master.

At the end of the day, the instructor said he'd recommend that I be allowed to drive with the trailer as long as someone with experience is riding with me. Sounds good to me; I'll never have a chance to practice if I don't actually take the wheel on missions. They say to go slow. Ha! They'll be telling ME to hurry up!

When it comes to GPS, many people are what are called "out-of-the-box users." They buy the gadget, take it out of the box, and go on an outing without first learning how to use the thing. Also, many people rely on a GPS but have no map or compass with them—or map and compass skills, for that matter. But a GPS is an electronic device, right? Si it can fail. It can drop and break. It can run out of batteries when you have no replacements. Sometimes, it doesn't work at all in certain areas because it's can't access enough satellites. So it's really important to have map and compass skills too, not to mention alternative navigation in case your GPS decides to give up the ghost.

Many GPS owners know how to mark the location of their vehicle and then, later, use that recorded landmark as a "go to" to return to where they started. That's all well and good, but it's only one of many functions of a GPS and certainly not enough for SAR missions.

For example, a GPS can be used to mark coordinates of footprints and other clues, determine areas that have already been searched, convert from one coordinate system and map datum to another (i.e., when communicating with the DPS helicopter using lat/long and WGS84 map datum versus the UTM coordinate system and NAD27 Conus datum we often use on the ground in SAR), give Incident Command the location of the subject when that person is found, and so on. We use our GPSs on just about every mission, though we always have our maps and compasses, as well.

Some of the training sessions I attended over the past couple of weeks were held at the annual three-day Search & Rescue Conference in Heber, AZ. In attendance were SAR volunteers and coordinators from teams all over the state, as well as a few from other states. Classes were given for ground-pounders like me and for mounted and K-9 units, with multiple concurrent classes to choose from.

In addition to those I attended, classes included Lost Person Behavior, Basic and Advanced ATV, Alzheimer's and Dementia Subject Behavior, Personal Locator Beacons, Map and Compass, Wilderness First Aid, Introduction to Technical Ground Support, and so forth. It was a fantastic, albeit tiring, weekend, packed with learning.

And I'm now really noticing the improvement in my abilities and confidence, especially with the skills I've learned and had occasion to put to use multiple times now. It feels great feeling.

Search and Rescue News

I wish I had a SAR story to tell you from the past few weeks, but no recent call-outs have led to actual missions. But that's not to say nothing's been going on.

On the afternoon of Sunday, March 16, during a brief snow storm that created whiteout conditions on I-40 west of Flagstaff, we got a stand-by (888) page about a huge vehicle pileup, which we later learned involved 139 cars and trucks! When I called in and heard Sergeant D's message, my husband and I were driving through town and soon came to an I-40 underpass. Looking up, we saw semi after semi parked along the highway. Traffic was backed up for at least 20 miles. Our coordinator said search and rescue volunteers might be needed to help with evacuations, so Steve and I headed home, and I got my gear together for a winter mission.

A few hours later, another stand-by page came through, and this time the message stated that four SAR personnel were on scene and may need to be relieved if the situation continued past 2200 hours. There had never been an actual call-out so, at the time, I didn't know who those four SAR personnel were. I hesitate to admit it, but I felt a little jealous; I wanted to be out there helping, too. But I assumed Sergeant D had directly contacted the most experienced members of the team. That turned out to be the case, as I learned at the next team meeting.

Our SAR meetings are held the third Thursday of each month, and one of the usual items on the agenda is to review the past month's missions, both those involving volunteers and any that involved just sheriff's deputies. This month, we learned that Sergeant D had been out of town when the pile-up occurred, so he contacted our SAR captain (also a volunteer) and three others to respond in his absence while he was en route. Those four men helped evacuate uninjured motorists stranded on the interstate. City busses were also taken out of service here in Flagstaff and sent to transport people stuck in the backup and bring them to a local shelter at a school, opened by two Red Cross members who also happen to be SAR volunteers.

We learned that two people had died in the accident, while numerous others were injured, some critically. Helicopters were unable to land close to the injured, many of whom had to be carried by EMS personnel quite a distance on stretchers. The photos and video on the Arizona Daily Sun website the next day revealed just how massive this pile-up was. By 2200 hours, however, SAR services were no longer needed, so Sergeant D didn't make any additional call-outs.

Mini training sessions are also held at those monthly general meetings. This time, it was patient packaging: how to place an injured or ill victim in a litter, strap them in, and transport them out of the backcountry. The type of litter used in this training was a "break-apart" litter, which, as the name implies, separates into two pieces for ease of carrying to the patient's location. Available in both stainless steel (34 pounds) and titanium (20 pounds), this litter's light weight also makes it easier to transport than other one-piece, heavier devices. There's a wheel attachment as well, so the litter can be rolled along the ground where possible rather than carried.

With our largest member as the guinea pig, we put the rig to the test. Wheel or no wheel, it's not an easy feat, even on a level, carpeted floor, let alone in the great outdoors with all of the rocks, roots, slopes, and other obstacles that come with it. After transporting the first "patient" around the room, we released him and nominated Val, my companion from the sheep herder search, to be the next volunteer and proceeded to learn how to strap someone in to ensure they don't slide up or down and out if, for example, they're being hoisted into a hovering helicopter or up or down a cliff.

Having been a volunteer victim myself for Wilderness First Responder classes, I know that being strapped into a litter and carried and jostled and jolted and tilted can make a person nauseous, so I piped up for the first time during a SAR meeting to make that point. (Losing last meal while in a prone position on one's back is not a good thing, after all.) That comment prompted a short discussion about keeping the patient in mind during an evac and appointing one rescuer to keep talking to and monitoring the subject. So I was glad I mustered the guts to open my mouth.

Besides the break-apart, our unit has other types of patient transport devices, including plastic litters that can slide along snow and ice, as well as a new piece of equipment that, by using a pump, has the air sucked out of it so it conforms to the patient's body. I don't recall the name of that device, and Sergeant D is still waiting to receive the pump, so we couldn't try it out at the meeting.

In the weeks following the huge traffic pile-up and most recent team meeting, there have been a couple more page-outs. One came in just as Steve and I were returning from the long Easter weekend we spent at Zion National Park. Really tired and dirty, I opted not to respond. Sergeant D's message said the call-out was primarily for the technical team, but any available general members were encouraged to respond, to assist with a possible litter-carry. How appropriate, considering our recent mini-training.

Sergeant D's message also said that a pilot actually saw a climber fall off Steamboat Rock in Sedona. Wow, I thought, that sounds really bad. It wasn't easy to NOT respond, but I found out later that it didn't matter: No climber was ever found, and no one had  been able to contact the reporting party. Could it have been a hoax? Or did a pilot (in a small plane, I assume) think he saw something he didn't?

Another call-out came last night, just as I was getting ready for bed. I had to be at the office at eight this morning (I work two days a week as a leasing agent at an apartment complex), but I decided to respond. Who needs sleep anyway? The message stated that two kids had wandered off from a broken-down school bus in the very rural Mormon Lake area about 45 minutes from Flagstaff. But not long after five of us got to The 105 building and had begun getting our equipment and ATVs ready, the kids were located. In fact, they were home already. All that was needed then were a couple of volunteers to go out to Mormon Lake and get the deputy's vehicle unstuck. So I went home and to bed instead.

And that's about it for now. I've read several missing person stories in the local paper recently, including one about a 29-year-old guy who walked away from Grand Canyon Village, where he lives and works for a concessionaire in the National Park, and hasn't been seen for at least a week. He was apparently upset at the time of his disappearance. But no clues to his whereabouts or destination have been found, and it's not even known if he's in the area. I keep thinking one of these articles will turn into a Coconino County Sheriff's Search and Rescue mission , but, so far nothin'.

Search and Rescue K-9: Our New Team Member, Cassie

A few months ago, just after our search and rescue team acquired a special member with an extra-special skill, I became part of our newly-formed K-9 committee. On January 17th, an article in the Arizona Daily Sun stated, "Like all volunteers with the Coconino County Sheriff's Office's Search and Rescue unit, Cassie wears a snappy vest with a departmental patch on it and a badge bearing her name and a photo. She's a dedicated professional, working daily to keep sharp her mind and body--especially her nose."

Though most trained working dogs usually cost thousands of dollars—I've heard figures up to $20,000—Cassie was donated to our unit by a Tuscon breeder who has also provided dogs to the Border Patrol Search, Trauma & Rescue Team.

Cassie now lives with Al and Joan, husband and wife members of our team, whom I first met during SAR Academy. Al is very agile and quick, and, being Cassie's primary handler, that athleticism certainly comes in handy. I recently had an opportunity to go out in the field with Al, another member of our committee, and Cassie, who works on a 30-foot lead, and that four-legged girl is fast, especially when she's sure she's on a scent. The three of us took her out for a training session, not only for Cassie but also for those of us who'll be working with her. And I was impressed.

During the training, we took turns getting lost. Then, whoever was handling Cassie would give her a sample of the scent, and off she'd go with handler in tow.

When it was my turn to lay the track, I tried to trip her up. I zigzagged along the route, circled a tree, jumped across some areas still covered with snow and, just before selecting a hiding place, went around a large water tank the more difficult way—clockwise—where the tank is up against a rock-covered slope. I went three-quarters of the way around the tank and then hid behind a tree.

Sure enough, Cassie found me. I was later told she did double-back at one point when she lost my trail, but she figured out where she'd gone wrong and picked it  again. When she got to the water tank, Cassie followed my scent the way I'd walked instead of taking the easier and shorter route—counterclockwise—to where I was hiding, proving what I'd been told: that Cassie is a ground-scent tracker rather than a dog who follows an air scent. If she'd been following my air scent, she likely would have gone counterclockwise around the tank.

I'd assumed Cassie would be excited when she found the person she was tracking, but that wasn't the case. When she found me, she just kept sniffing around my feet, almost as if I weren't there. What she does get excited about is her toy. As the Daily Sun article pointed out, "Cassie doesn't work for treats, but she does earn plenty of praise and a fun tug-of-war session with a chunk of rubber hose attached to a long piece of rope." After Cassie completed each task, Al would pull out the toy as her reward, and she would go berzerk.

Another statement from that article definitely holds true, as I've found each time I've been around Cassie: "Not a hyperactive dog, but not one to sit still, Cassie smells chairs, asphalt, garbage bins, the floor, pant legs—her snout is in perpetual motion, twitching while it turns this way and that. This dog was born to sniff."

But the reporter did leave something off her list of where Cassie sticks her nose; when I first met her, it was like, "Wooh! Watch that big shnoz!" I've never met a dog who views and catalogs the world quite so much through its snout.

My primary role regarding Cassie will be as the "nav/comm" person, meaning the one who takes charge of the maps, GPS and compass, and radio while following—perhaps at times running—behind the handler, who will be too busy working with the search dog to navigate and communicate with incident command or other field teams at the same time. I'll also assist the other members of the committee with K-9 fundraising and community events to introduce Cassie to the public.

I've yet to work with Cassie on an actual mission, but I'm looking forward to being part of it when it happens. It's up to our coordinator, Sergeant D, to decide if a mission calls for Cassie's expertise, and I'm hoping we'll soon have an opportunity to show the public what she can do.

Becoming a Search and Rescue Volunteer

Ever get caught up in one of those news stories about an unfolding Search & Rescue operation, obsessively tuning in, day after day or every hour, to see if the person has been found? 

Like that autistic boy who went missing in West Virginia's Dolly Sods Wilderness. Or the climbers stranded on Oregon's Mount Hood. Sometimes the ending is a happy one—like the California father and his three teenage kids who were found, safe and generally sound (albeit cold), days after getting lost in an unexpected snow storm while they were looking for a Christmas tree.

Other times, the endings are tragic, like the case of the hiker in Georgia who set out with her dog near the Appalachian Trail and was later found murdered.

Sometimes there is no ending—the subject is never located. In other cases, the whereabouts of the victim is known, but bringing him or her out of the backcountry to safety and, perhaps, to medical care, or the care to them, is the challenge.

There are those who head into the wilderness unprepared and get into trouble. There are people who are as prepared as can be, but still accidents happen. There are those who fall and those who jump. Lost children. Alzheimer's patients who wander off. Avalanches and floods that carry away more than just trees and rocks.

What is it about a particular Search & Rescue mission that makes the national news take notice, while others warrant just a paragraph, tucked away in the local paper?

Sometimes, there is no story. At least, nothing printed in a public forum. But those stories are happening all the time, lives are being saved in the backcountry, all over the country on a daily basis, and those stories are a big deal to the people involved—on both ends of the rescue. I've never been searched for (that I know of) or rescued, but in October, 2007, after 53 hours of mandatory, basic training, I became a Search & Rescue (SAR) volunteer with the Coconino County, Arizona Sheriff's Search & Rescue Team.

At 38, I'm an experienced hiker, with a resume including a six-month, 2200-mile Appalachian Trail thru-hike, many shorter backpacking trips and countless day-hikes, but that was all about taking care of me, watching my own steps, handling my own gear.

Search & Rescue, on the other hand, means acquiring a whole new skill set. It means learning to look for and take care of others while, at the same time, watching out for my own well-being and, as a member of a team, that of other SAR volunteers. It means becoming proficient at map and compass—something I should have known as a backpacker. It means learning to use a GPS and how to communicate on a radio. I have to learn how to track and spot clues, and what to do with those tracks and clues once I find them. I'll need to learn how to use ropes and straps, and ride ATVs and snowmobiles. Low-angle rescue, high-angle rescue, snow and ice skills. And the list goes on.

So, why do I want to be a SAR volunteer? I suppose that "to help others" would be the politically correct answer. And, once I'm out there on a mission, I sure do want to find who we're looking for, and to find them alive and well and bring them home to hike--or climb, or ski, or camp, etc.--another day.

To be honest, though, I've always wanted to be "in on it." I've wanted to be part of what was going on out there on those missions I'd hear about on TV or read about in the paper. And I love the adventure of it all. Being in the woods or up on a mountain in the middle of the night, my headlamp lighting the ground in front of me and gear and gadgets on my back, dangling from my pack and stuffed in my pockets, with the DPS helicopter flying overhead while most of the world is asleep and someone is somewhere "out there," waiting to be found, is such a thrill. I love the confidence that comes with learning new skills, even if it's just figuring out how to hook the trailer to the SAR truck all by myself. Basically, I like to be useful.

So this is my journal as a member of SAR. I'm starting out pretty green, somewhat afraid to jump in and make a mistake. I hesitate to press the button on that radio I'm carrying and actually speak, for fear of not saying something "just right."

I watch other volunteers secure the ATVs to the trailer, but when I put my own hands on those uncooperative straps, I can't seem to figure out what to do with them. And I'm really afraid of those big, bad, four-wheeled machines that can do such bodily harm. I don't know how to maneuver a trailer without backing it into something. Or someone.

I've never done any bonafide rock climbing and have no clue what to do with a rope. I've passed the Wilderness First Responder medical course twice but have never used it for real; the blood and broken bones have always been fake. 

And I'm sure not the bravest person, to say the least, when it comes to the great outdoors. (Falling, bears, rattlesnakes, lightning ... yikes!) But I hope Search & Rescue will change all that—will help me improve me—and, in turn, I'll be able to help others. So I guess maybe my heart is, at least in part, in the right place.