That was nice! A teammate called to check up on me because I've not been able to respond to the last two missions. You could say that's a bit unusual for me—missing two SAR missions in a row—and not something I prefer. But how cool it is to be missed.
Following the recent search for a 12-year-old girl, which thankfully ended well, my pager was silent until 7:15 on Friday morning, January 23. I knew I couldn't respond, but by habit, I had to call in anyway to hear what the call-out was for. The short message simply stated there was a possible downed aircraft.
Oh man, I thought, and I'm gonna be stuck in a hair salon? I take care of my mom, you see, and she doesn't drive. And she had scheduled her monthly hair appointment, which I had to take her to, as always. Needless to say, I fidgeted and paced for two hours, waiting for her dye-and-set to be finished, reluctantly listening to salon-style chatter, all the while knowing my teammates were "out there" somewhere. Every time the hairdresser would stop working in order to make hand gestures to help prove the point she was making, my knee would start bouncing and my foot tapping, and I could feel my blood pressure rise.
When I finally got home after dropping my mom off back at her own house, I thought about calling our SAR captain to tell him I'd be available to join the team in the field if need be, but first I went online and found two breaking news updates. When I refreshed the webpage, a third appeared. And before long, as I continued reading, my phone rang and I heard from a teammate who'd talked to another teammate who'd been on scene, and I knew I need not call.
Read all four breaking news updates from that day (in descending order) here. Two Flagstaff men died in the crash.
Only minutes after concluding the call with my teammate, I turned on the television and immediately saw news of the crash, including an interview with the deputy who was dealing with a traffic stop at the very moment the small aircraft flew right over his head and heard the impact moments later.
A couple of days later, on the snowy, windy, very cold evening of January 25, my pager went off again. Steve and I were in a restaurant at the time (that favorite sushi place of ours I mentioned in my last post), and I called in to find out what was going on. A technical rescue on Mt. Elden. I thought for a moment, knowing that non-technical team members were welcome to respond and go along in case we could be of help carrying gear or performing any other non-technical tasks that might arise.
On the other hand, Steve and I had driven to the restaurant in one vehicle (we sometimes take separate cars, just in case there's a call-out), and I'd first have to drop him off at home before responding. This would take at least 20 minutes, and then I'd have the drive across town. I didn't want to hold the team up and wasn't sure I'd actually be needed anyway... so I decided not to respond.
As Steve and I drove home after dinner, I looked over at the mountain, mostly hidden in the clouds, and shivered. I knew my teammates were probably still up there on that wet and wintry night and felt a pang of remorse at not being out there, too.
But such is life as a SAR volunteer. Sometimes you just have to pass.
Read Stranded Hikers Rescued from Elden Cliffs from the Arizona Daily Sun.
These are my stories as a volunteer member of the Sheriff's Search and Rescue team in Coconino County, Arizona. I'll share what it's like to go from a beginner with a lot to learn to an experienced and, hopefully, valuable member of the team, as well as the missions, training, and other activities along the way.
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.
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.
Putting SAR Skills to the Test
Tracking was something I first learned during Basic SAR Academy, and I've practiced those skills time and again during previous missions, but never before have I officially been put on a "tracking team." Not until yesterday, that is, when one of our senior members pointed to me and said, "Is your stuff ready? Good, grab your gear and head to the staging area. You guys (referring to myself and two teammates) will be the tracking team." My mind immediately went into review mode.
At about 11:00 a.m., as my teammates and I drove to Doney Park east of Flagstaff to begin the search, I mentally ran through all the tracking basics I could recall. Things like, measure the stride heel to heel or toe to toe, and mark it on my hiking pole with duct tape. Do I have duct tape on my pole? Yes, check. Measure the length of the print, the width of the ball and the heel, and make a sketch of the sole pattern. I double-checked to be sure I had flagging tape to mark tracks and other clues, and I knew I had a flexible measuring tape and a Sharpie for writing on the flagging. Somewhere in my pack. Darn, I should have re-organized my pack the day before as I'd promised myself I'd do. But I hadn't.
That's been a weak point of mine. For all the backpacking I've done and all the gear management, I've been lax when it comes to reorganizing and replenishing my 24-hour pack following each mission. So mission after mission, it's only gotten more topsy-turvy and more lacking in certain items. Like food, for one. Shame on me. This time, that meant my stomach was growling for all my teammates to hear, and I had to take off my pack and quickly sift through the contents to find the measuring tape and marker. The one time I had to ask a teammate to borrow a Sharpie, I felt like a doofus. Never again!
Anyhow, when we got to the staging area, we were very briefly briefed and shown some tracks known to be—or at least presumed to be—the missing subject's. My teammates and I did the necessary measuring and began trying to follow the girl's movements. We went back and forth, round and round. We'd pick up the track then lose it. Find it and lose it again. Seemed she'd changed directions quite a bit. And given the fact that there were many prints made by different people in the immediate vicinity and some ground that was not the easiest on which to track, the task was quite a challenge.
At the same time, I realized that over the past 16 months, I've definitely gotten better at "seeing." I was able to pick up small portions of prints and detect shine, which is basically a track left as a result of flattening, leaving no evidence other than the way the sun or artificial light reflects, or shines, on the flattened surface.
Still, after a significant amount of time had passed, we trackers hadn't gotten out of sight of the staging area. We were making wider and wider circles, though, cutting for sign and attempting to find matching prints heading away from the area, to determine a direction of travel. In the meantime, other teammates were carrying out different assignments, including driving area roads and hiking to the top of nearby hills. The team tracking dog and members of our mounted unit came out as well.
We were looking for a juvenile who'd been missing since sometime during the previous night. As of early afternoon, the air was still but chilly, and we were intent on finding the girl before sundown. We knew she wasn't dressed warmly enough.
Eventually, assignments were changed as the situation warranted, and I ended up on a team asked to drive some unpaved roads and a pipeline. As we went slowly along, periodically spinning our tires on the snow-covered cinders, I leaned out of my passenger-side window, alternating between scanning the ground for prints and the forest for any sign of movement or anything that didn't belong. As for the latter, all I saw was a very old, smashed car with remnants of two very dead pigs in it. Um... interesting. But no footprints.
Just as our team of three was about to leave the vehicle when it could go no further and head out on snowshoes, we heard a voice on the radio say, "I've got the subject." Yay! And she was basically okay. Yay again! She needed some medical attention but nothing that sounded too serious. A member of our mounted unit had made the find.
Oh, and those prints we'd been following? Well, not the right ones after all. It happens. What matters in the end is the happy ending.
And happy about a successful mission myself, I called my husband and asked him to meet me at a favorite Mexican restaurant not far from the SAR building. After a grande burrito (and a little of Steve's too), which made up my breakfast, lunch, and dinner rolled into one much-needed meal, I headed home and fixed up my backpack. Okay, now I'm ready for the next one!
At about 11:00 a.m., as my teammates and I drove to Doney Park east of Flagstaff to begin the search, I mentally ran through all the tracking basics I could recall. Things like, measure the stride heel to heel or toe to toe, and mark it on my hiking pole with duct tape. Do I have duct tape on my pole? Yes, check. Measure the length of the print, the width of the ball and the heel, and make a sketch of the sole pattern. I double-checked to be sure I had flagging tape to mark tracks and other clues, and I knew I had a flexible measuring tape and a Sharpie for writing on the flagging. Somewhere in my pack. Darn, I should have re-organized my pack the day before as I'd promised myself I'd do. But I hadn't.
That's been a weak point of mine. For all the backpacking I've done and all the gear management, I've been lax when it comes to reorganizing and replenishing my 24-hour pack following each mission. So mission after mission, it's only gotten more topsy-turvy and more lacking in certain items. Like food, for one. Shame on me. This time, that meant my stomach was growling for all my teammates to hear, and I had to take off my pack and quickly sift through the contents to find the measuring tape and marker. The one time I had to ask a teammate to borrow a Sharpie, I felt like a doofus. Never again!
Anyhow, when we got to the staging area, we were very briefly briefed and shown some tracks known to be—or at least presumed to be—the missing subject's. My teammates and I did the necessary measuring and began trying to follow the girl's movements. We went back and forth, round and round. We'd pick up the track then lose it. Find it and lose it again. Seemed she'd changed directions quite a bit. And given the fact that there were many prints made by different people in the immediate vicinity and some ground that was not the easiest on which to track, the task was quite a challenge.
At the same time, I realized that over the past 16 months, I've definitely gotten better at "seeing." I was able to pick up small portions of prints and detect shine, which is basically a track left as a result of flattening, leaving no evidence other than the way the sun or artificial light reflects, or shines, on the flattened surface.
Still, after a significant amount of time had passed, we trackers hadn't gotten out of sight of the staging area. We were making wider and wider circles, though, cutting for sign and attempting to find matching prints heading away from the area, to determine a direction of travel. In the meantime, other teammates were carrying out different assignments, including driving area roads and hiking to the top of nearby hills. The team tracking dog and members of our mounted unit came out as well.
We were looking for a juvenile who'd been missing since sometime during the previous night. As of early afternoon, the air was still but chilly, and we were intent on finding the girl before sundown. We knew she wasn't dressed warmly enough.
Eventually, assignments were changed as the situation warranted, and I ended up on a team asked to drive some unpaved roads and a pipeline. As we went slowly along, periodically spinning our tires on the snow-covered cinders, I leaned out of my passenger-side window, alternating between scanning the ground for prints and the forest for any sign of movement or anything that didn't belong. As for the latter, all I saw was a very old, smashed car with remnants of two very dead pigs in it. Um... interesting. But no footprints.
Just as our team of three was about to leave the vehicle when it could go no further and head out on snowshoes, we heard a voice on the radio say, "I've got the subject." Yay! And she was basically okay. Yay again! She needed some medical attention but nothing that sounded too serious. A member of our mounted unit had made the find.
Oh, and those prints we'd been following? Well, not the right ones after all. It happens. What matters in the end is the happy ending.
And happy about a successful mission myself, I called my husband and asked him to meet me at a favorite Mexican restaurant not far from the SAR building. After a grande burrito (and a little of Steve's too), which made up my breakfast, lunch, and dinner rolled into one much-needed meal, I headed home and fixed up my backpack. Okay, now I'm ready for the next one!
Where is Mark?
That's the question many people have been asking for the past 10 days. It's the question that's kept me up at night even when I'm exhausted from another day of searching. And I know everyone involved in the effort feels the same. We just want to find Mark, to give this story an ending.
I've started this entry over several times. While every mission I've been involved with—and there have been about 40 or so in my 16 months on the team—has been unique, this one was especially different for me. Not only did the initial facts seem to point to a fairly rapid resolution that didn't happen, but ground-pounders (rather, snow-pounders in this case) didn't find a single clue. At least, nothing that panned out. No matter how closely we looked, we didn't come up with a thing. And that feels... well, really bad.
At the same time, I was seeing Mark's family and friends, who were also searching along with SAR teams from around the state of Arizona, Forest Service personnel, K-9 teams, Civil Air Patrol, and the Department of Public Safety. But it wasn't the lack of a uniform that told me someone was a relative or friend of the missing. That was clear in their faces, even if they gave us a smile.
Over the past 10 days, five of which I was in the field in Forest
Lakes, I wanted so much to hear that familiar tone of voice that comes
over the radio when a searcher finds something. You can hear it when a
SAR member calls Incident Command, and the rest of us stop in our tracks
to listen to what will come next. That didn't happen this time.
But no ending (yet) doesn't mean there's an end to hope. If you'd read as many search and rescue stories as I have in the past year and a half, you know that just about anything can happen. So I'll be keeping Mark Irby and his family in my thoughts and waiting for the day we hear he's been found.
48 Hours and Counting
This is an ongoing mission, from which I just returned after 25 hours in the field. I arrived on Saturday, January 3, as several of my teammates were finishing up their own 20-plus-hour shifts, still with a long drive ahead of them back to Flagstaff. I'll fill you in on more of the story once the mission is concluded, hopefully with a find, but in the meantime, this is who we're looking for, reprinted from the Coconino County Sheriff's Office press release:
Missing Person
"Mark Russell Irby is described as a white man, 51 years of age, 5/10, 175 pounds, brown hair, brown eyes, and wearing prescription glasses. He was last seen wearing a denim shirt, blue jeans and 'Croc' style shoes, and riding a red Bombardier ATV with AZ license plate 36B-175. Irby is on medication for high blood pressure. There are no other known medical conditions. Irby was not dressed for the extreme weather or an extended trip away from home.
"Mr. Irby had been known to travel out of the Forest Lakes Subdivision to the west and travel trails between the subdivision and Forest Service Rd. 237. He was last seen when he left the home in the Forest Lakes area at about 10:00 AM Friday, January, 2nd.
"Anyone with information regarding the welfare or whereabouts of Mark Russell Irby is urged to call the Coconino County Sheriff's Office at (928)774-4523 or (800)338-7888."
When I left incident command today, Sunday, January 4, just after 10 a.m., there were at least 30 volunteers from three county SAR teams in the field, and another call-out has since been made for more volunteers to relieve them in the morning, to continue the search if Mr. Irby hasn't been located. I'll be rejoining the mission at 6 a.m. on Monday.
Also, a DPS helicopter has been flying, searching areas around the Forest Lakes subdivision.
It's now snowing heavily, complicating matters because any ATV tracks that may have been visible on Saturday are now much more difficult to detect. This is becoming a very frustrating mission, as search teams have checked and rechecked all logical areas and then some without locating any clues, which is unusual.
Today, Sunday, teams are literally going door to door in the subdivision, walking around each and every house. Many of them are seasonal homes. Searchers will also be checking snow and ice slides that have come off the roofs, some of which are large enough to potentially bury both a man and his quad. That is, if the quad could even have made it up to the houses. It would have been nearly impossible for the ATV to have crossed the huge berms along the sides of the roads and made it through deep snow on the unplowed driveways of unoccupied homes without getting stuck in the attempt. But there's been no sign of the red quad or the man who was driving it.
Let's hope this turns out well.
"Mark Russell Irby is described as a white man, 51 years of age, 5/10, 175 pounds, brown hair, brown eyes, and wearing prescription glasses. He was last seen wearing a denim shirt, blue jeans and 'Croc' style shoes, and riding a red Bombardier ATV with AZ license plate 36B-175. Irby is on medication for high blood pressure. There are no other known medical conditions. Irby was not dressed for the extreme weather or an extended trip away from home."Mr. Irby had been known to travel out of the Forest Lakes Subdivision to the west and travel trails between the subdivision and Forest Service Rd. 237. He was last seen when he left the home in the Forest Lakes area at about 10:00 AM Friday, January, 2nd.
"Anyone with information regarding the welfare or whereabouts of Mark Russell Irby is urged to call the Coconino County Sheriff's Office at (928)774-4523 or (800)338-7888."
When I left incident command today, Sunday, January 4, just after 10 a.m., there were at least 30 volunteers from three county SAR teams in the field, and another call-out has since been made for more volunteers to relieve them in the morning, to continue the search if Mr. Irby hasn't been located. I'll be rejoining the mission at 6 a.m. on Monday.
Also, a DPS helicopter has been flying, searching areas around the Forest Lakes subdivision.
It's now snowing heavily, complicating matters because any ATV tracks that may have been visible on Saturday are now much more difficult to detect. This is becoming a very frustrating mission, as search teams have checked and rechecked all logical areas and then some without locating any clues, which is unusual.
Today, Sunday, teams are literally going door to door in the subdivision, walking around each and every house. Many of them are seasonal homes. Searchers will also be checking snow and ice slides that have come off the roofs, some of which are large enough to potentially bury both a man and his quad. That is, if the quad could even have made it up to the houses. It would have been nearly impossible for the ATV to have crossed the huge berms along the sides of the roads and made it through deep snow on the unplowed driveways of unoccupied homes without getting stuck in the attempt. But there's been no sign of the red quad or the man who was driving it.
Let's hope this turns out well.
Same Subject, Different Day
Déjà vu set in—see Once Was Not Enough from 3/31—as I listened to our coordinator's message even before my pager had finished playing its song. (I'm a fast hand when it comes to grabbing the phone to call in for a SAR mission. Like lightnin'.) Sergeant D said this would be a search for the same man who'd been rescued the night before.
Night before? I checked my pager. Nope, no old pages that I'd missed. Must have been a direct call to certain team members, I figured. Which turned out to be the case. They needed volunteers certified to drive the snowcat and snowmobiles, and, though I'm able to operate both, at least to some extent, I haven't been properly trained or certified by the team. Hopefully, I'll have the opportunity to get that done in the near future.
Anyhow, this man had gotten his vehicle stuck on a Forest Service road on Christmas Day. And what a day that was, with heavy snow and wind gusts texceeding 40 miles per hour. As much as I get all revved up when there's a SAR call, I do admit I wasn't thrilled at the idea of going out in that weather. (But I woulda.)
So, from what I understand, people in three other vehicles had attempted to help the stranded motorist, and they too became stuck. According to the article in the Arizona Daily Sun, search and rescue crews spent much of Christmas rescuing a large group, including children and dogs. Then on Friday, one of the former rescue-ees attempted to hike back to his vehicle and hadn't been seen for two hours. I gather from the article that the subject must have had a cellphone and informed members of his party he could no longer continue hiking. So a call for a second round of help was made.
When I arrived at The 105 building after a slow drive across town, concerned about icy roads, a few of my teammates were already there, readying the snowcat for another run and hooking up the trailers loaded with snowmobiles. As I tossed my personal gear into one of the vehicles, the house phone rang. It was our coordinator, asking if everyone had snowshoes. All shouted affirmatives.
Have I mentioned yet how much I love my new snowshoes? I bought them just after returning from the last mission in Forest Lakes and have been using them every day since. Not only is it great exercise—I've heard you can burn 600 calories per hour on those things—but I really enjoy being out amongst the ponderosa pines on virgin snow, untouched except for all the critter prints crisscrossing my path. I walk out my door, 'shoe into the forest, and immediately see that elk, mule deer, jackrabbits, Abert squirrels, a fox, and even a bobcat have recently been out and about. As far as I'm concerned, all this snow can stick around until at least March. I looove my snowshoes.
Anyhow, where was I? Oh, the mission...
As it turns out, it was a pretty dynamic situation, and plans changed rapidly. No longer were snowshoers needed, just the snowcat and snowmobile drivers again. So off went several of my certified teammates, and the rest of us reorganized the SAR building to make room for the trailers when the others eventually returned, and then we headed home.
As I learned from the morning paper, the cold and disoriented man was picked up by an Arizona Department of Public Safety helicopter at 8 p.m. and flown to Flagstaff Medical Center.
Well, it's past my bedtime—unless my pager goes off again, that is—but maybe I'll just take the trash out on my beloved snowshoes before I hit the sack.
Night before? I checked my pager. Nope, no old pages that I'd missed. Must have been a direct call to certain team members, I figured. Which turned out to be the case. They needed volunteers certified to drive the snowcat and snowmobiles, and, though I'm able to operate both, at least to some extent, I haven't been properly trained or certified by the team. Hopefully, I'll have the opportunity to get that done in the near future.
Anyhow, this man had gotten his vehicle stuck on a Forest Service road on Christmas Day. And what a day that was, with heavy snow and wind gusts texceeding 40 miles per hour. As much as I get all revved up when there's a SAR call, I do admit I wasn't thrilled at the idea of going out in that weather. (But I woulda.)
So, from what I understand, people in three other vehicles had attempted to help the stranded motorist, and they too became stuck. According to the article in the Arizona Daily Sun, search and rescue crews spent much of Christmas rescuing a large group, including children and dogs. Then on Friday, one of the former rescue-ees attempted to hike back to his vehicle and hadn't been seen for two hours. I gather from the article that the subject must have had a cellphone and informed members of his party he could no longer continue hiking. So a call for a second round of help was made.
When I arrived at The 105 building after a slow drive across town, concerned about icy roads, a few of my teammates were already there, readying the snowcat for another run and hooking up the trailers loaded with snowmobiles. As I tossed my personal gear into one of the vehicles, the house phone rang. It was our coordinator, asking if everyone had snowshoes. All shouted affirmatives.
Have I mentioned yet how much I love my new snowshoes? I bought them just after returning from the last mission in Forest Lakes and have been using them every day since. Not only is it great exercise—I've heard you can burn 600 calories per hour on those things—but I really enjoy being out amongst the ponderosa pines on virgin snow, untouched except for all the critter prints crisscrossing my path. I walk out my door, 'shoe into the forest, and immediately see that elk, mule deer, jackrabbits, Abert squirrels, a fox, and even a bobcat have recently been out and about. As far as I'm concerned, all this snow can stick around until at least March. I looove my snowshoes.
Anyhow, where was I? Oh, the mission...
As it turns out, it was a pretty dynamic situation, and plans changed rapidly. No longer were snowshoers needed, just the snowcat and snowmobile drivers again. So off went several of my certified teammates, and the rest of us reorganized the SAR building to make room for the trailers when the others eventually returned, and then we headed home.
As I learned from the morning paper, the cold and disoriented man was picked up by an Arizona Department of Public Safety helicopter at 8 p.m. and flown to Flagstaff Medical Center.
Well, it's past my bedtime—unless my pager goes off again, that is—but maybe I'll just take the trash out on my beloved snowshoes before I hit the sack.
But the Volvo Wasn't so Lucky
It was mesmerizing, the falling snow coming right at us, illuminated by the snowcat's bright headlights. This was my first mission in the midst of a full-on blizzard. My hands were cramping as I held the 'cat's steering and braking levers too tightly. Maneuvering the tank-like machine was easy enough, especially given our top speed of about 10 miles per hour, but adrenaline was making me lean forward, stiff-backed, gripping the controls as if the extra effort on my part would help the beast push through the fresh, deep snow on the long incline. Over the din of the engine, I could hear bits and pieces of radio traffic as we followed the tracks of our two teammates on snowmobiles, who'd gone ahead to locate the subjects' vehicle.
We were looking for two overdue hikers from Tucson, a male and female ages 26 and 21. They'd set out for a multi-day backpack on Thursday, due to return on Sunday. When they began their hike, the skies were sunny and clear and the temperature seasonably warm. On Saturday, the mercury plunged and the snow began. By Sunday, the storm was in full swing with a thickening white blanket on the ground. On the afternoon of Tuesday, December 16, the call came for search teams from both Coconino and Gila counties to look for the missing couple.
The Mogollon Rim is a rugged escarpment that forms the southern edge of the Colorado Plateau, dropping as much as 2,000 feet in some areas. The twosome's intended route would have taken them in a loop both above and below the rim, a trip of about 50 miles in the Forest Lakes area of Northern Arizona. A forest ranger had seen the couple at the beginning of their hike above the rim and knew the location of their vehicle, which they'd parked at a primitive campground near Bear Lake about 12 miles from the nearest paved road. As of Sunday, that vehicle was still there, but the hikers were not.
With Coconino County being over 18,000 square miles and much of it very remote and accessible only by Forest Service roads and rough two-tracks (if by vehicle at all), our team sometimes has to travel several hours to reach the staging area for a search or rescue. Today, the weather and driving conditions slowed us down even more, so, by midnight, we were still trying to reach the missing hikers' Volvo, the first place our coordinator decided we should check.
Earlier in the evening, Gila County SAR had been searching below the rim when they came to a swollen, fast-moving creek they were unable to cross—a creek which likely had been easily crossed before the storm. Our snowmobilers were having some difficulty locating their turn in the current whiteout, as the four of us in the snowcat made our way in that direction. We'd be continuing further along the Rim Road, the hikers' intended return route to their vehicle. After checking the car, part of our team would then search a nearby power line.
We had a lot of ground to cover, and a call-out for more volunteers and other resources had already been made for the morning. Also, two members of our group stayed behind at the staging area to rest; they'd be going out on snowshoes if the hikers were not soon found by the snowmobilers or those of us in the cat. I wondered if I too might end up snowshoeing, which I was more than ready to do.
I glanced at the gauges often as I drove, mostly checking the RPMs as I'd been instructed. I was also watching our fuel level. Wow, that machine was really eats up the gas.
We noticed a fire tower just off the road and backed up to check it out. It was difficult to see much of anything not directly in the path of our headlights, so we'd almost missed it. As we pulled up to the small outbuilding near the tower, Art decided to jump out to take a closer look and immediately sunk to his waist in the snow. I can't imagine anyone walking very far without snowshoes, which we know the two hikers didn't have with them. We were quite sure they were not on the move.
And that assumption proved correct. Just as Art signaled that no one was inside or behind the outbuilding or around the tower, the snowmobilers announced they'd located the vehicle and the subjects with it, code 4. Phew!
Turns out, the hikers had taken a shortcut when the weather started to turn, but that shortcut had proven more difficult to locate and hike than expected. They'd arrived back at the Volvo on Monday after 10 hours of hiking that day, but due to the depth of the snow, could no longer drive out. They'd been at the car for 36 hours by the time our team located them, passing time playing cards, strumming their ukulele and making up songs, and staring out the window at the falling snow, waiting and hoping someone would eventually rescue them.
The couple had some things in their favor despite their predicament. For one, they'd left an itinerary with a roommate, so search and rescue teams had a good idea where to look right from the beginning. Even if hikers leave their planned route, either on purpose or unintentionally, having the itinerary means SAR personnel are able to make educated guesses on the most likely places they may have gone off course.
Also, the couple did have some essentials, including a backpacking stove, a pot, fuel, and fire starter to melt snow for drinking water. They had warm sleeping bags, pads, a tent, and light sources (not to mention the ukulele, of course.) They had brought a map, which, though printed from the internet and somewhat lacking in detail, did help them locate a shortcut to their vehicle. There was no cellphone reception, but had they turned on their phone at some point, special equipment requested by our coordinator could have helped determine their location, if I understood that correctly. I also understood that that equipment would be available sometime on Wednesday.
In addition to gear, the hikers made the right decision in staying at their vehicle and waiting rather than attempting to walk out. If they'd tried to walk in what was about three feet of snow, fatigue and cold could have—would have—really put them at risk despite being young and fit.
Althooough... parking about 12 miles from the nearest paved road when there's a major winter storm coming in wasn't exactly the best decision. But I sorta think they won't do that again. That is, after they eventually get the car back. Their poor little Volvo is probably going to spend a long, lonely winter on the Mogollon Rim.
****
On this rather rare occasion, we have a chance to read about the mission from a subject's perspective. Read hiker John's firsthand account of getting stranded then rescued on his blog.Read the articles from the Arizona Daily Sun for the media's perspective:
Overdue Hikers Missing Near Forest Lakes
"Overdue Hikers Found Safe in Waist-Deep Snow
Checking the SAR Line
I thought I'd do a test to see if the trend will continue. Ready? Drum roll, please...
Gee, it's been REALLY QUIET LATELY!
Ten... nine... eight...
I called the SAR phone number today, to be sure the most recent message about a call-out was the last one I heard when my pager went off at 2:30 a.m. on November 24. That mission was 10-22'd (cancelled) pretty quickly as I was en route to The 105 building. So I called to be sure my pager was working. Yep, I haven't missed anything. Still the same message from the 24th, about a lady missing near Williams.
Seven... six... five...
Before that was the plane crash in Sedona. So it's been over two weeks since we've had a call-out. Wow, I'm getting used to sleeping through the night.
Four...
Read some good search and rescue books lately, during all these quiet evenings at home (with my pager next to me on the nightstand, of course). The first was Lost In the Yellowstone: Truman Everts's Thirty Seven Days of Peril
written by Truman Everts himself, who was—you guessed it—lost in Yellowstone (before it was a National Park). That was back in the late 1800s and apparently is still the longest anyone has gone missing in that area and been found alive... though not far from death in Evert's case. A thin book and a good read but a little challenging with all of the side notes, some of which are about the concurrent movements by the rest of Evert's party and others who went looking for him.
Three...
Then I read Coming Home from Devil Mountain
by Eleanor Dart O'Bryon, who became separated from her fiance while climbing Picacho del Diablo in Baja, Mexico, and both were stranded without food for nearly three weeks. Another quick read, composed mostly of interlocking journals kept by Eleanor while alone on the mountain, starving, and her father, who mounted a search effort with the Sierra Madre SAR team.
TWO...
And my definite favorite of the three is Coming Back Alive: The True Story of the Most Harrowing Search and Rescue Mission Ever Attempted on Alaska's High Seas
by Spike Walker. For me, it was one of those "I don't care how tired I'll be at work tomorrow, I've gotta keep reading" books. Totally distant from any experience I'll ever have, I found it fascinating.
One and a HALF...
So, no Coconino County SAR news (that I know of) to report for now. There's probably been plenty going on that just hasn't required volunteers or at least nothing that necessitated paging the whole team. Sometimes, certain team members with a lot of experience or specific skills are called directly to help with specialized missions. We usually hear about that stuff at our monthly general meetings.
One and a QUARTER...
But I'll be back as soon as I have something SAR to share.
ONE!
Hm.
Gee, it's been REALLY QUIET LATELY!
Ten... nine... eight...
I called the SAR phone number today, to be sure the most recent message about a call-out was the last one I heard when my pager went off at 2:30 a.m. on November 24. That mission was 10-22'd (cancelled) pretty quickly as I was en route to The 105 building. So I called to be sure my pager was working. Yep, I haven't missed anything. Still the same message from the 24th, about a lady missing near Williams.
Seven... six... five...
Before that was the plane crash in Sedona. So it's been over two weeks since we've had a call-out. Wow, I'm getting used to sleeping through the night.
Four...
Read some good search and rescue books lately, during all these quiet evenings at home (with my pager next to me on the nightstand, of course). The first was Lost In the Yellowstone: Truman Everts's Thirty Seven Days of Peril
written by Truman Everts himself, who was—you guessed it—lost in Yellowstone (before it was a National Park). That was back in the late 1800s and apparently is still the longest anyone has gone missing in that area and been found alive... though not far from death in Evert's case. A thin book and a good read but a little challenging with all of the side notes, some of which are about the concurrent movements by the rest of Evert's party and others who went looking for him.Three...
Then I read Coming Home from Devil Mountain
by Eleanor Dart O'Bryon, who became separated from her fiance while climbing Picacho del Diablo in Baja, Mexico, and both were stranded without food for nearly three weeks. Another quick read, composed mostly of interlocking journals kept by Eleanor while alone on the mountain, starving, and her father, who mounted a search effort with the Sierra Madre SAR team. TWO...
And my definite favorite of the three is Coming Back Alive: The True Story of the Most Harrowing Search and Rescue Mission Ever Attempted on Alaska's High Seas
by Spike Walker. For me, it was one of those "I don't care how tired I'll be at work tomorrow, I've gotta keep reading" books. Totally distant from any experience I'll ever have, I found it fascinating. One and a HALF...
So, no Coconino County SAR news (that I know of) to report for now. There's probably been plenty going on that just hasn't required volunteers or at least nothing that necessitated paging the whole team. Sometimes, certain team members with a lot of experience or specific skills are called directly to help with specialized missions. We usually hear about that stuff at our monthly general meetings.
One and a QUARTER...
But I'll be back as soon as I have something SAR to share.
ONE!
Hm.
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.
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.
A Plane Crash in Sedona
Al and I stood along the fire line, staring at the smoldering wreckage.
"Is that part of a wing?" I asked.
"No, that's a stabilizer," he said. "That's part of a wing over there. I think this was a Piper, but I can't tell for sure."
It was a little after 8 a.m. How different the crash site looked now that the sun was up. During the night, the wreckage had been illuminated by the light of the full moon and the orange glow of flames, making it seem almost surreal. But now, in the stark light of day, it was all too vivid and all too real.
At about 5:30 p.m. on Thursday, November 13, my pager had gone off. It was a 300 code for a rescue, so I was surprised to hear our captain's message that this was an airplane disaster. At the time, he didn't know if it was a private or commercial plane, how many people were involved, or the status of the victims. He did know the location, near Schnebly Hill Road in Sedona.
At least a dozen volunteers had responded to the SAR building by the time the call-out was cancelled, but that didn't mean the mission was over. As more information came in, Lieutenant Christian told us that only four of us would be needed for the night, two to station themselves at the intersection of Schnebly Hill Rd. and the rough two-track that led relatively close to the crash site and two to spend the night watching over the wreckage. Al and I were the two who'd spend the night with what was left of the plane. And the two men who hadn't survived.
And that's what was foremost in my mind as I lay on the ground nearby, inside my bivy bag with my head on my backpack. I had forgotten my ground pad, and there wasn't a clear spot anywhere to be found that was free of rocks, but my own discomfort was nothing. All I could think about were the people affected by this crash: the two men who'd died, the pilot who'd somehow crawled from the wreckage with second- and third-degree burns over half his body, and the rest of their families. It's one thing to hear about tragedies in the news—it's quite another to be so... well, up close and personal.
As it turned out, the three victims were related: two brothers, Michael and Tommy Johnson, and their cousin, Rockney Mark Herring. I saw their picture when Michael's son, Micah, held up his cellphone to show Al and me the photo the morning following the crash, when we returned to the intersection at Schnebly Hill Rd. after being relieved by two other SAR members. He and other family members were there, waiting to be taken to the scene. Seeing the pictures of the men whose remains we'd watched over during the night really had an impact on me.
Micah said that his dad, Michael from Phoenix, and his uncle Tommy of Texas hadn't seen one another in nearly 10 years. They'd been enjoying a sightseeing flight with their cousin Rockney, the pilot, when, after refueling at the Sedona Airport, their Piper PA 32-260 fixed-wing, single-engine aircraft lost power and went down in that rugged, heavily treed area about eight miles east of Sedona.
A vacationing New York firefighter camping nearby had been the first on the scene. He found the injured pilot lying next to a tree and rendered first aid until a DPS rescue helicopter was able to land and transport the patient. Arriving in the darkness a few hours after the crash, the first thing I'd seen in the firelight was what turned out to be the pilot's mangled headset on the ground next to a tree, marked with evidence tape.
When we hiked up to the crash site, a lieutenant, a deputy, and numerous Forest Service personnel were there. The Forest Service folks had cut a fire line around the wreckage and were finishing up their work for the time being. Al and I would keep tabs on the fire during the night to be sure the flames didn't kick up again or cross the fire line.
As the others prepared to leave, the deputy asked if Al and I would be comfortable up there on our own. The deputy would remain at the intersection on Schnebly Hill Rd. where he had provisions in his patrol car, and we could call him by cellphone or radio if we needed him at the site. We were also given numbers to call if there were an issue with the fire.
It was a long night, with the moon so bright I could read small print without my headlamp. Unfortunately, the only thing I did have to read was the info sheet that came with my brand new bivy bag. Which, by the way, I found out isn't quite adequate for mid-November, particularly between 2 and 4 a.m. With the rocks, the cold, the radio traffic I monitored throughout the night, and frequent fire checks, especially when the breeze picked up, there wasn't much sleep happening.
"You awake?" I heard Al ask sometime around 1:30.
"Yeeeaaahhh," I groaned.
"I'm going to take a walk around the crash site to make sure everything's okay."
From my location upwind of the fire, I watched Al disappear behind illuminated smoke. Looking at my moonlit surroundings, I was struck by how quiet it was, except for the occasional crack or pop from the embers or some shifting piece of plane or smoldering tree limb.
Al returned to his own spot amongst the rocks, and we both lay there for another six hours or so, my bivy and his space blanket crinkling intermittently as we both tried to find comfortable positions for a few minutes at a time. I was relieved when the sun came up and things would soon be happening. At some point, the National Transportation Safety Board and Medical Examiner would arrive, then Michael and Tommy's remains would be removed from beneath the wreckage.
But before that happened, media helicopters were on the scene, flying in slow circles above our heads. I thought about how different it was here on the ground, standing only feet from what I'd normally just see on the news.
From the Arizona Daily Sun: Family Mourns Brothers Killed in Plane Crash
"Is that part of a wing?" I asked.
"No, that's a stabilizer," he said. "That's part of a wing over there. I think this was a Piper, but I can't tell for sure."
It was a little after 8 a.m. How different the crash site looked now that the sun was up. During the night, the wreckage had been illuminated by the light of the full moon and the orange glow of flames, making it seem almost surreal. But now, in the stark light of day, it was all too vivid and all too real.
At about 5:30 p.m. on Thursday, November 13, my pager had gone off. It was a 300 code for a rescue, so I was surprised to hear our captain's message that this was an airplane disaster. At the time, he didn't know if it was a private or commercial plane, how many people were involved, or the status of the victims. He did know the location, near Schnebly Hill Road in Sedona.
At least a dozen volunteers had responded to the SAR building by the time the call-out was cancelled, but that didn't mean the mission was over. As more information came in, Lieutenant Christian told us that only four of us would be needed for the night, two to station themselves at the intersection of Schnebly Hill Rd. and the rough two-track that led relatively close to the crash site and two to spend the night watching over the wreckage. Al and I were the two who'd spend the night with what was left of the plane. And the two men who hadn't survived.
And that's what was foremost in my mind as I lay on the ground nearby, inside my bivy bag with my head on my backpack. I had forgotten my ground pad, and there wasn't a clear spot anywhere to be found that was free of rocks, but my own discomfort was nothing. All I could think about were the people affected by this crash: the two men who'd died, the pilot who'd somehow crawled from the wreckage with second- and third-degree burns over half his body, and the rest of their families. It's one thing to hear about tragedies in the news—it's quite another to be so... well, up close and personal.
As it turned out, the three victims were related: two brothers, Michael and Tommy Johnson, and their cousin, Rockney Mark Herring. I saw their picture when Michael's son, Micah, held up his cellphone to show Al and me the photo the morning following the crash, when we returned to the intersection at Schnebly Hill Rd. after being relieved by two other SAR members. He and other family members were there, waiting to be taken to the scene. Seeing the pictures of the men whose remains we'd watched over during the night really had an impact on me.
Micah said that his dad, Michael from Phoenix, and his uncle Tommy of Texas hadn't seen one another in nearly 10 years. They'd been enjoying a sightseeing flight with their cousin Rockney, the pilot, when, after refueling at the Sedona Airport, their Piper PA 32-260 fixed-wing, single-engine aircraft lost power and went down in that rugged, heavily treed area about eight miles east of Sedona.
A vacationing New York firefighter camping nearby had been the first on the scene. He found the injured pilot lying next to a tree and rendered first aid until a DPS rescue helicopter was able to land and transport the patient. Arriving in the darkness a few hours after the crash, the first thing I'd seen in the firelight was what turned out to be the pilot's mangled headset on the ground next to a tree, marked with evidence tape.
When we hiked up to the crash site, a lieutenant, a deputy, and numerous Forest Service personnel were there. The Forest Service folks had cut a fire line around the wreckage and were finishing up their work for the time being. Al and I would keep tabs on the fire during the night to be sure the flames didn't kick up again or cross the fire line.
As the others prepared to leave, the deputy asked if Al and I would be comfortable up there on our own. The deputy would remain at the intersection on Schnebly Hill Rd. where he had provisions in his patrol car, and we could call him by cellphone or radio if we needed him at the site. We were also given numbers to call if there were an issue with the fire.
It was a long night, with the moon so bright I could read small print without my headlamp. Unfortunately, the only thing I did have to read was the info sheet that came with my brand new bivy bag. Which, by the way, I found out isn't quite adequate for mid-November, particularly between 2 and 4 a.m. With the rocks, the cold, the radio traffic I monitored throughout the night, and frequent fire checks, especially when the breeze picked up, there wasn't much sleep happening.
"You awake?" I heard Al ask sometime around 1:30.
"Yeeeaaahhh," I groaned.
"I'm going to take a walk around the crash site to make sure everything's okay."
From my location upwind of the fire, I watched Al disappear behind illuminated smoke. Looking at my moonlit surroundings, I was struck by how quiet it was, except for the occasional crack or pop from the embers or some shifting piece of plane or smoldering tree limb.
Al returned to his own spot amongst the rocks, and we both lay there for another six hours or so, my bivy and his space blanket crinkling intermittently as we both tried to find comfortable positions for a few minutes at a time. I was relieved when the sun came up and things would soon be happening. At some point, the National Transportation Safety Board and Medical Examiner would arrive, then Michael and Tommy's remains would be removed from beneath the wreckage.
But before that happened, media helicopters were on the scene, flying in slow circles above our heads. I thought about how different it was here on the ground, standing only feet from what I'd normally just see on the news.
From the Arizona Daily Sun: Family Mourns Brothers Killed in Plane Crash
A First Snow's Mission
It's still Sunday. I got home from the "Drunk on Devil's Head" mission at 4:30 this morning. At five-something this afternoon, we had another call-out. Between the two missions, Steve and I enjoyed a midday dog walk, during which the sun was shining and it warmed up enough that I shed my winter coat and tied it around my waist. Sometime during the afternoon, however, while we were busy painting our bathrooms (too yellow, unfortunately), the clouds moved in, the temp dropped, and white stuff began falling for the first time this season.
And now I'm in a warm SAR vehicle, while several of my teammates are hiking in the precipitation, alternating between flurries and whiteout conditions throughout the evening. Three other volunteers have driven around to the other end of this five-mile section of the 800-mile Arizona Trail, which stretches from the U.S.–Mexico border to the Utah state line. The two lost subjects, a man and woman, are stuck between Sandy's Canyon and Marshall Lake.
This is a basic unprepared hiker scenario: no maps, no lights (save for the flash of a camera, we're told), improper clothing. But they do have a cellphone that ain't dead yet. So, when they got lost and it got dark, the couple called for help.
As a result of cellphone communication with a deputy, we pretty much know where the stranded hikers are located. In fact, they can see our spotlight from here at Incident Command and even heard the deputy yell when he walked a short distance into the forest. So, as the crow flies, they aren't far from here, but there's a canyon between us and them, and they can't safely move in the dark. They're also now wet and cold.
Fifteen of us are out tonight, so more than enough SAR as long as things go smoothly and no one gets hurt or overly hypothermic. That's why I'm toasty and snug in the vehicle along with two of my teammates, while four others are getting some exercise. The leader of the ground team just called in some coordinates on the radio, and I could hear him huffing and puffing.
Time passes as my vehicle-mates and I chat about this and that. I keep one ear on radio comms and the other on the conversation in the truck. Oh good, they have voice contact. And soon, the ground team reaches the subjects. They're going to warm the two up and give them additional clothing before hiking them out.
Turns out, they're closer to the other SAR vehicle near Marshall Lake, so that's where they're headed. The rest of us drive around to rendezvous there.
We wait for a while until the ground team arrives with the rescued hikers, who appear to be in their fifties or so. They look happy and grateful. I can't hear what they're saying, but I see their smiles, their single Camelbak (water pack) and one water bottle, the camera around the man's neck, their cotton sweatshirts. While I don't personally condone hiking with cellphones to the exclusion of other essential gear, it's a good thing they were able to make that call tonight. Otherwise, severe hypothermia would most likely have caught up with them before anyone else would have.
Another happy ending.
And now I'm in a warm SAR vehicle, while several of my teammates are hiking in the precipitation, alternating between flurries and whiteout conditions throughout the evening. Three other volunteers have driven around to the other end of this five-mile section of the 800-mile Arizona Trail, which stretches from the U.S.–Mexico border to the Utah state line. The two lost subjects, a man and woman, are stuck between Sandy's Canyon and Marshall Lake.
This is a basic unprepared hiker scenario: no maps, no lights (save for the flash of a camera, we're told), improper clothing. But they do have a cellphone that ain't dead yet. So, when they got lost and it got dark, the couple called for help.
As a result of cellphone communication with a deputy, we pretty much know where the stranded hikers are located. In fact, they can see our spotlight from here at Incident Command and even heard the deputy yell when he walked a short distance into the forest. So, as the crow flies, they aren't far from here, but there's a canyon between us and them, and they can't safely move in the dark. They're also now wet and cold.
Fifteen of us are out tonight, so more than enough SAR as long as things go smoothly and no one gets hurt or overly hypothermic. That's why I'm toasty and snug in the vehicle along with two of my teammates, while four others are getting some exercise. The leader of the ground team just called in some coordinates on the radio, and I could hear him huffing and puffing.
Time passes as my vehicle-mates and I chat about this and that. I keep one ear on radio comms and the other on the conversation in the truck. Oh good, they have voice contact. And soon, the ground team reaches the subjects. They're going to warm the two up and give them additional clothing before hiking them out.
Turns out, they're closer to the other SAR vehicle near Marshall Lake, so that's where they're headed. The rest of us drive around to rendezvous there.
We wait for a while until the ground team arrives with the rescued hikers, who appear to be in their fifties or so. They look happy and grateful. I can't hear what they're saying, but I see their smiles, their single Camelbak (water pack) and one water bottle, the camera around the man's neck, their cotton sweatshirts. While I don't personally condone hiking with cellphones to the exclusion of other essential gear, it's a good thing they were able to make that call tonight. Otherwise, severe hypothermia would most likely have caught up with them before anyone else would have.
Another happy ending.
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