Missing Boy Found

Yesterday, having just returned from a 17-hour round of searching for the missing 7-year old, I saw an update on Twitter from a Flagstaff news reporter that Michael Sandoval had been found and was in good condition. What a relief!

Check out this news story with videos from Channel 3, including a video of Michael explaining how he survived the cold night alone, wearing just a t-shirt and jeans. Apparently, he slept in the open, which was surprising to me; I'd assumed a child would be more likely to tuck himself under a tree or in some more protected spot, partly out of fear and also to keep warmer. Not so in this case.

I also read in the Arizona Daily Sun report that Michael saw and heard searchers (us) on Monday night but didn't call out because he got scared.

I'm still waiting to learn where exactly Michael was found. I'll be curious to know if my teammate and I were near, because we did drive slowly through several open areas, calling, honking (we were afraid the siren on the Sheriff's vehicle would frighten him, so we didn't use it) and searching with the spotlight. I always like to know where a lost person is eventually found and, if possible, the route they took to get there.

Three Ongoing Searches

This is one of them, as reported on the Arizona Daily Sun website this afternoon:

7-year-old boy missing near Red Mountain

"A 7-year-old boy who was on an outing near Red Mountain with a group from The Guidance Center in Flagstaff has been reported missing.

"According to information from the Coconino County Sheriff’s Office, Michael Sandoval has been missing since about 3 p.m. Monday in the Red Mountain area off Highway 180 about 30 miles north of the city. He was part of a group of three adults and 10 clients from TGC. He was last seen wearing a black ball cap with an image of a white bear in the front, a medium to dark blue shirt with the word 'baseball' on the front in white letters. He also was wearing blue jeans and skateboard shoes.

"Search and Rescue crews on the ground and an Arizona Department of Public Safety helicopter crew have been searching the area.

"Anybody traveling on Highway 180 in the area of Red Mountain are asked to watch for the missing child and to contact sheriff’s officials if the boy is sighted by calling 774-4523 or 1-800-338-7888."

I just got home after being relieved by a fresh team after 17 hours in the field, from 5:45 p.m. yesterday till 11 a.m. today. I'm punchy from lack of sleep, not to mention very concerned for the little boy. My partner and I called his name throughout the night, searching along a network of dirt roads while other teammates searched on foot and ATVs. Our canine unit was on scene, too.

We'd discovered some tracks thought to belong to the boy and were following them when our crew of bleary-eyed searchers were relieved by fresh eyes this morning.

Also in today's edition of the Arizona Daily Sun was this news about the continued search for Mark Irby, which began on January 2nd of this year:

ATV belonging to missing man found

"The recent discovery of the ATV belonging to a Valley man who went missing from his Forest Lakes vacation home earlier this year has reignited the search for the man.

"According to information from the Coconino County Sheriff's Office, on Saturday, two men on a hunting and fishing trip found the red Bombardier ATV belonging to Mark R. Irby abandoned off Forest Service Road 170, about a mile southeast of Chevelon Canyon Lake and about 12 miles by road from Irby's cabin. Irby, 51, was last seen riding the ATV on Jan. 2. According to family members, Irby was going to take a short ride around the subdivision before returning to his primary home in Chandler. He was not dressed to hike or spend an extended amount of time in the woods, which had a deep snow pack at the time.

"On Sunday, police and search and rescue volunteers began combing the area where the ATV was found and intensive search efforts will continue throughout the week. Searchers had not previously covered the Chevelon Canyon Lake area.

More than 1,800 hours have been invested in the search for Irby."

I participated in this ongoing search on Sunday and would have been back at it today had the call not come in for the missing child yesterday afternoon, which kept me out all night.

Meanwhile, we've yet to find the man from the van abandoned along Interstate 17 near the scenic vista south of Munds Park.

Nine contiguous days of search and rescue activity for our team... and counting. And not so long ago, I'd remarked about how quiet it had been for more than a month.

Now off to the shower and to squeeze in some errands before an early bedtime. I have a feeling our pagers will be going off today for more searching tomorrow.

Update at 12:50 p.m.:
I just found out via Twitter that the boy has been found! Sounds like he's okay. At 12:47 @FlagstaffNews posted: "Searchers found 7-year-old boy who spent night in forest after getting separated from group yesterday. He's being checked out now."

And a few minutes later, this breaking news story showed up on the Arizona Daily Sun website: Searchers Find Missing 7-Year Old Boy. Phew!

Five Out Of The Last Seven Days

That's how much I've been on SAR missions lately. And I could be back out there today too, but I've decided to take a "day off" and catch up on some other business. If there's searching to do tomorrow, though, I'll be going.

You know, sometimes I look around at my teammates, working hard at their assignments and giving their all in the field, and think to myself, wow, they don't have to be out here. Search and rescue isn't a job for us; we're volunteers. But you wouldn't know it if you saw the effort these folks put in. I'm truly inspired by their dedication, and I feel that way, too. When our pagers go off or the phone rings and we're asked to respond, it doesn't matter that we're not paid for this. SAR is rewarding and satisfying.

But it can be very frustrating too. We want to find who, and sometimes what, we're looking for. Day after day of searching but finding nothing—not even a clue—turns me into a redundant rambler. My poor husband, he has to listen to me say things like, "It just doesn't make sense; that person has to be out there," or "Where could they be?" as I make him look at maps with me. I'm fortunate, though, that Steve is truly interested and understands when I get hung up on an unresolved mission.

And we've had a couple of those lately, including the man from the van. I was out there helping search for him for four days, doing my best to look under every bush and tree while trying not to twist my ankle or trip on the rocks and keeping an eye on my teammate to my right or left as we did grid searches. It's one thing to do that in an open field, but staying in line and on track over rugged terrain and through dense brush is certainly a challenge. I appreciated the great work my team leaders did during those assignments, not only searching and navigating but keeping an eye on the rest of us and keeping us in proper formation at the same time. I most definitely learned some things and think I improved my grid search skills this past week.

Well, it's time to trade my pajamas for spandex and a cotton tee and head to Jazzercise. I'm still trying to lose some pounds off of me and up my fitness level in preparation for that "3 miles in 45 minutes with a 45-pound pack" test for the technical rescue team. Then, after an hour of aerobic dancin', it's back to this chair for several hours of work. Part of my mind, though, will be on my teammates in the field today. I do hope there will be some news.

The Mystery Of The Man With The Van

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

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

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

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

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

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

No Map, No Clue

 It's 10am, and my face is just about thawed out. But when I got off that machine at 5:00 this morning, I couldn't feel my nose, and my mouth wouldn't work well enough to say, "Whoo-ee! That was colder'n a witch's..." Well, anyway.

I got that ATV ride in after all, and there was no getting around it this time. Actually, it even bordered on fun. I mean, why not get out of bed in the middle of the night and freeze your face, hands, and other poorly protected body parts off while noisily riding around on Forest Service roads? Beats sleeping in a cozy, warm bed anytime. (Not!)

But at least I got over my growing phobia about those machines and now know I can hop on any time I'm assigned to an ATV team. I shouldn't go a year and a half without riding now that I'm in SAR, and we do use the quads quite a bit. I've gotten used to driving the Polaris Ranger UTV, but that's quite a different ride. More like a little car than how the ATVs feel.

Anyhow, the call-out was for four lost young adults (local college students, I believe), who'd parked their vehicle just off a main road at about 9 p.m. yesterday and went on foot in search of the Lava Cave (or "Ice Caves" as the deputy was referring to the place last night), which is a mile-long underground tube, basically. From where the "kids" (I'm almost at that age where I can say that about college students) had parked, the Forest Service access was too snow-covered to drive, and the road was gated and closed.

Normally, it should have been something like a three-mile walk. That is, if they'd had a map. Instead, the foursome probably walked eight or 10 miles before they finally decided to call for help at around 11:45. By then, they were exhausted, cold, and thoroughly lost. Luckily, just as with the injured woodcutter night before last, one of them had a lighter and was able to start a small campfire to keep them warm-ish.

Unlike the night before last, however, we didn't have the help of a helicopter, so a deputy started driving around out there, periodically running his siren, while two of us volunteers and a coordinator from SAR were on our way. The deputy did have cellphone contact with the subjects, so that was a big help in figuring out their approximate location. Eventually, they reported hearing the deputy's siren in the distance, which narrowed things down even more.

My teammate and I got to the staging area at around, oh, 3 a.m. I guess, unloaded the two ATVs we'd brought along, strapped our packs and, just in case, our snowshoes onto the quads, and took off to find the foursome. We went in from a different direction than they had, where the roads were more passable. Still, the deputy got his pickup stuck more than once in the soft snow and mud.

After riding several miles while I glanced side-to-side looking for the flicker of a campfire and sniffed at the cold air for any hint of smoke, Al and I spotted a flashing light ahead. Moments later, four figures with that stiff, hands-stuffed-in-pockets, chilled-to-the-bone stance converged around my teammate. I pulled up alongside him, and immediately one of the young men came over to shake my hand. They thanked us profusely more than once.

So all was well that ended well. Al buried the small campfire in dirt and snow, and we waited for the deputy and our coordinator to make their way, spinning and sliding, to our location.

On the ride back to the Sheriff's office, once we'd loaded the ATVs at the staging area where we'd dropped the trailer, I heard comments from the back seat along the lines of "man, I'll never do that again" and "I'm never going out there without a guide." I wanted to turn around and say, "You would have been okay if you'd had a map and known how to read it," but I held my snarky tongue. They were nice "kids," and I'm sure they didn't need me to tell them what their mistake was.

A Wood-Cutting Outing Gone Bad

I don't think I'll ever be completely comfortable around helicopters. And maybe that's not a bad thing, really. I mean, you don't want to take those spinning blades lightly.

At the same time, though, it sure is fun to ride in 'em!

I got my second chance last night, on our first call-out in about a month. My pager went off at 4 p.m., just as I was getting ready for Jazzercise class. So I quickly changed from spandex tights, a t-shirt, and aerobic sneakers into long johns, fleece, coated nylon, and hiking boots. Some of which I did at a rather long red light.

This mission involved an injured man whose exact location was not yet known. "Somewhere south of Williams" was all we heard as we loaded gear—technical, medical, general, and personal—into the SAR vehicles and ATVs onto a trailer.

We had a very good turnout for this mission, which called for technical team members as well as general SAR ground-pounders. Sometimes, or perhaps I should say often, you just don't know what a mission will turn into and what search and rescue volunteers will be called upon to do.

SAR missions are dynamic, to say the least. You think you're heading into a particular scenario, then things quickly change, sometimes drastically. We're always listening to radio traffic on our way to a staging area, and we often hear of changes as we drive. And as the situation changes and develops, so too must plans for the mission.

Yesterday, on our way to Williams, where we'd meet deputies and SAR coordinators at the courthouse for a briefing, information was sketchy. It sounded like the injured man must have made a cellphone call, but for some reason, he wasn't able to give his exact location. Apparently, he'd fallen off a ledge. We knew there were canyons in the area, where he often went to cut wood, but the man's vehicle had yet to be located and there are numerous dirt roads and two-tracks around, many of which aren't on any map.

As we waited for our briefing, deputies were speaking by cellphone with a member of the injured man's family who was out looking for his vehicle, but even she was having difficulty relaying her location. Two helicopters, one DPS and the other from a contiguous county, were in the air, but they had spotted neither the victim, the victim's vehicle, nor the family member's vehicle by the time we received our assignments and headed out to do our thing.

At that time, I was assigned to an ATV team. Our goal was to find the family member and then the victim's vehicle. From there, we would hopefully be able to track him.

As the four of us on that team drove to our assigned area, I mentally reviewed ATV driving, which I haven't done once since my training back in October, the first and only time I'd ever ridden a quad. I've been assigned to do so since then, but each time, things changed and I was reassigned, usually to go out on foot or in a vehicle. And this time was no different: Things changed.

Just before getting to the point where we'd unload the ATVs, we heard that the victim's vehicle had been spotted by the DPS helicopter, in the trees just a short distance from the road we were on. And soon thereafter, they saw the injured man in a nearby canyon. He'd managed to start a fire, which was a good sign.

So things happened quickly from there. Since the subject was on the other side of the canyon, at the bottom of which was a swiftly flowing creek swollen with snowmelt, the helicopter shuttled tech team members and rescue gear to the opposite rim. Meanwhile, I helped with the roadblock (so the helo could use the road as a landing zone) and talked to the man's worried family, who'd immediately driven to our new staging area. I felt good about the situation at that point and tried to make the family feel better, too. I was relieved to see them smile a bit.

Time went on and a sunny day turned into a clear, starry, and chilly night. I was hanging out on the road, chatting with a couple other non-tech members and assuming I would stay there until the man was carried out, when suddenly I heard our field leader say over the radio, "Send Deb." That's always kind of exciting, I must admit.

Next thing you know, I'm sitting next to the helicopter pilot, looking at all those lights and gauges and gadgets and watching the ground fall away through the glass near my feet. Two more non-tech members were also in the chopper. This was to be a difficult carry-out, and more muscle was needed.

Speaking of which, I often don't feel I'm a great help on litter evacuations, though I try my darndest to pull my weight. And now that I've assisted with several of them, I do think I've become more valuable to the team. This time, though, we had to actually carry the subject in the litter because it was too steep and rugged to use the wheel. The weight combined with the crummy footing and dense brush really challenged me, and at one point, I got stuck on a bush that wouldn't give, and I nearly fell on the poor man. Luckily, a teammate quickly responded when I started to lose my balance and said, "Somebody push me into the bushes!" So I landed in the brush instead of on the patient, which I'm sure he appreciated.

Anyhow, long story shorter, with the help of some rope and a lot of muscle, sweat, and satisfying teamwork, we got our subject back up to the landing zone, where he was whisked off to an ambulance on the other side of the canyon. Two and three at a time, SAR members, a deputy, and an EMT were then shuttled back to the road, saving us a rather long and difficult hike out.

At 2:30 a.m., my sweat dry and muscles sore and with bits and pieces of bushes tangled in my hair, I arrived home, shoved my dog to the middle of the bed where she belongs, and crawled in.

Read the news story about this mission here: Injured Chino Valley man rescued after fall near Williams.

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.

Shhhh.....

 Be vewwwy quiiiet. My pager has been, anyway.

Just a shout out to let ya'll know I'm still here, in case you were wondering. It's just that my SAR pager hasn't made a peep in... hm, what's it been? At least a couple of weeks.

And that's a good thing. I mean, as much as I love being on the team and going on missions, I don't WISH for people to get hurt, stranded, or lost, especially in the very wintry weather we've had lately.

Not to mention that it certainly is nice to be warm and cozy inside when it's snowing like crazy and c-c-cold outside.

Anyhow, in the meantime, I've been reading away. More SAR stuff, of course, including Heart of the Storm: My Adventures as a Helicopter Rescue Pilot and Commander by Colonel Edward Fleming. I wrote a little review on my other SAR blog, SARstoriesNews, if you're interested.

Now, though, as I take a break from books about helicopters, which I seem to have developed a bit of a fascination with over the past year or so, I'm reading a piece of fiction for a change, called The Wall by Jeff Long. It's a thriller that takes place on Yosemite's El Capitan. (I'm giving you the Amazon links, but I've found these books at our local library, so you probably can, too.)

Anyhow, I'll be back to babbling about search and rescue when something babble-worthy happens.

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.

Missed Missions and Being Missed

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.

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.