SAR and the Art of Hurry-Up-and-Waiting

This had started out as Yavapai SAR's (YSAR's) mission, since the search area was mostly in their county. But when a night and most of the next day went by without locating the subjects, our team was asked to assist.

The two men, one in his early 50s and the other in his 60s, had driven their UTV all the way from Camp Verde to where it eventually ran out of gas, a long way down a network of Forest Service roads somewhere between Beaver Creek and West Clear Creek.

Lucky for the stranded pair, who apparently had no provisions for staying out overnight in those cold and snowy/rainy conditions, they found shelter in a nearby line cabin—a structure used by cowboys out on the range—and were able to make a cellphone call to 911.

I heard they'd told dispatch they were cold, hungry, and thirsty but they weren't sure of their exact location, and the weather and road conditions were quickly deteriorating. So was their cellphone battery. And a cell tower ping provided only a very general area, so that gave us no additional information beyond what had been relayed to us by Yavapai County.

So south we went toward the Mogollon Rim with six Coconino SAR volunteers and a coordinator, towing our Mattrax (a Suburban with tracks instead of tires) and four snowmobiles, only to later realize the snowmobiles would be useless. There was snow on the ground and more coming down, but once off the pavement, there wasn't enough snow over all the mud and rocks to use those machines.

So wherever we'd go, we'd have to go in the Mattrax or on foot, the hard way. But we had such a long distance to cover, slogging through the muck wouldn't be practical or really possible. And then, how would we get the two men out if we located them? Using a vehicle was necessary.

First, we tried a shortcut to the search area, attempting to go in from the north near Stoneman Lake. As two of my teammates and I waited back at the furthest point our regular vehicles could go, the crew in the Mattrax continued on, successfully winching a large blowdown out of the way. Eventually, they were stopped by a 20-foot-wide, fast-running, swollen creek and steep bank on the opposite side. We'd have to go the long way in from the south.

So, back on the freeway we went, then 12 miles down Forest Road 618 (I think it was), heading lower in elevation where the snow was replaced by rain and the mud only got deeper. Once again, three of us and our coordinator waited for hours while the Mattrax crew did their thing.

Occasionally, when the precipitation let up, I'd get out of the truck to stretch my legs, slipping along the muddy road. At one point, I ventured into the darkness amongst the pinion–juniper and prickly pear to pee and sunk to the tops of my boots in mud. Then I got back in the vehicle to listen for more radio traffic, pick away at a really gross MRE I snatched from the coordinator's stash (because I'd forgotten to replenish the food in my pack), yack with my likewise-waiting teammates, and occasionally try to get comfortable enough to catch a few winks, which didn't happen.

Sometimes, going on a SAR mission means you're asked to stand by as backup. And I don't mind that at all (okay, I admit it; it's usually not much fun). Being a backup is important, and sometimes the backups turn out to be vital. In this case, though, I wasn't sure what kind of backup we three could provide, given that we had no other vehicle with us that could manage that kind of deep mud mixed with snow mixed with loads of rocks. Then again, we can't always anticipate what needs might arise, so wait we did through the night. At least we kept our coordinator company as he did his... well, coordinating and information gathering. I know he appreciated us being there.

At about 4 a.m., those of us doing the waiting were finally sent back to Flagstaff, towing the unnecessary snowmobiles. At that point, the Mattrax was headed back to base, low on fuel, but the stranded men had not been located. And that was still the case when we arrived back at the SAR building at 7:00. At that point, YSAR volunteers were returning to the search area.

Sometime later that morning, I got a message on Twitter from a YSAR member, telling me they'd finally located the subjects, who were in good condition. I'm sure they were extremely relieved to be back to warmth and food, home and family after two unexpected days and nights in that line shack.

 A Yavapai County SAR jeep used on this search

Photo courtesy of Jim Cobey, YSAR

Back From Ropes That Rescue

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Week Of Technical Rescue

My living room is filled with gear. A bunch is for cold-weather camping. The rest is a big pile of tech rescue equipment required for the Ropes That Rescue course I'll be taking in Sedona, Arizona, from Saturday, February 13th through the following Friday—seven straight days of rigging and knot-tying, rappelling, belaying, climbing (eek!), and mock rescues.

I'll be taking the Mountain Rescue Workshop, which concentrates on "a minimalist approach to mountain rescue procedures and teaches the access, stabilization and extrication of patients involved in mid-face free or aid climbing accidents." I'll be joined by 11 other students from Arizona and beyond for a week of physical activity and fun... and a little stress on my part, which always seems to accompany me on tech rescue trainings.

So I'll be back after class and will let you know how it went.

A Severe Out-Of-Bounds Injury

He's an experienced backcountry snowboarder. In fact, he's a snowboard instructor. And he did have one of the free winter backcountry permits required for entering the wilderness from the Snowbowl ski area. (Note: This permit requirement has since been discontinued).

But accidents happen, of course, and this was a bad one. The 28-year-old snowboarder lost control on some ice and slammed into a tree, breaking his femur with knee involvement, an obviously very painful and potentially life-threatening injury should shock become a factor.

The victim was fortunate, though, that he was accompanied by three friends, one of whom stayed with him while two went for help. And luckily, Ski Patrol personnel were still on the mountain. They quickly came to the aid of the injured snowboarder and packaged him in a sked. While search and rescue was en route to the scene, we were in contact with these first responders, who kept us apprised of the victim's condition and their progress down the mountain.

In the meantime, a large group of us SAR volunteers deployed the snowcat and three snowmobiles. In the snowcat were a driver, a co-pilot/navigator, and five others, including myself and two Guardian medics, one of whom is also a SAR volunteer. The plan was to get us as far in as possible in the 'cat and then for some of us to continue on foot (on snowshoes, of course) to rendezvous with Ski Patrol and the victim.

Eventually, the snowcat began to bog down in very deep snow, so the five us in the back got out and snowshoed instead to lighten the load. We caught up to the snowcat when it could go no further, and then three of us continued upslope as the sun set and the glow of the full moon permeated the fog. Despite the task at hand, I couldn't help but notice what a beautiful evening it was on the mountain, a far cry from conditions during our last rescue in the middle of a blizzard.

Soon, our whistle blasts were answered by Ski Patrol, and we veered left toward the sound. Not a minute later, we spotted our moving target, making fast downhill progress with the aid of a rope attached to the sked. We'd heard they had to make several technical lowers along the way.

Time had been of the essence from the beginning, but now rescuers were even more concerned about the patient's condition. The three of us SAR folks could see that Ski Patrol wasn't about to stop for us to catch up . They were making a beeline toward the lights of the snowmobiles, which had stopped well short of the snowcat because of a mechanical issue. So, we radioed the 'cat crew and told them to go back the way they'd come, to meet Ski Patrol and the victim further down. We then snowshoed as quickly as we could to rendezvous with the whole group and got there soon after Ski Patrol and the snowcat connected.

The victim was alert but in agony. There's just no painless, gentle way to bring someone down a mountain. Not with that kind of injury. Add to that the fact that his leg was too deformed to put on a traction splint, and you're talking one extremely miserable patient. It was too cold to administer IV fluids or painkillers, so he had to wait till he was loaded into the back of the warmer snowcat. I later heard that nothing touched the pain, and every slight bump or lurch of the snowcat made him scream, which was constant, I'm afraid.

My snowshoeing teammates and I walked out as the snowcat delivered the patient to a waiting ambulance.

All in all, the mission went very well and quite fast (though I'm sure it seemed like an eternity to the victim), thanks in large part to the coordinated effort between Ski Patrol and SAR.

See the article in the Arizona Daily Sun: Ski patrol rescues out-of-bounds skier 

P-SAR On The Peaks

P stands for "preventative."

This past weekend, following a series of storms that dropped 92 inches (yes, you saw that correctly: that's nearly eight feet) of new snow on the San Francisco Peaks, a teammate and I took one of the P-SAR shifts at the top of the Agassiz chairlift (11,500 feet) at Snowbowl.

The backcountry was officially closed due to the extreme avalanche danger, so we were supposed to—try to—stop anyone from going out of bounds, or, if they insisted, to check to see that they had working avalanche beacons and survival gear.

If they got into trouble out there, they'd be on their own, not to mention risk criminal prosecution and a heavy fine for disregarding the official closure.

Luckily, we didn't have to try to stop anyone because no one tried to go beyond the boundary rope... at least, not where we were hanging out by the ski patrol shack. That common exit point was piled high with snow, with the sign pictured above blocking the way.

While people were apparently heeding the warning signs at the base of the ski area as well as the one where we were stationed, a few skiers and snowboarders did ask us questions, including when the backcountry would be opened. We couldn't really answer that, but we advised people to keep a lookout for a press release or word from Arizona Snowbowl on their website. (See the "News & Events" links on the homepage.) They could also call the Peaks Ranger District at (928) 526-0866 for information.

We did overhear talk amongst Snowbowl management and the Forest Service ranger on duty there as they were reviewing information from an aerial survey of the avalanche conditions and work being done on the ground, and we know they'll open the backcountry as soon as they deem conditions "reasonably safe."

Anyhow...

It was beautiful up there, even with the wind chill added to the 6-degree temp when we first arrived at the top of the lift line. It sure was nice to have the warm ski patrol shack to retreat into when we could no longer feel our noses or toes.

Here are a few more photos from the top...

      

 

What Were They Thinking?

Okay. I'm usually not critical of the people rescued by our SAR team... at least not publicly. I mean, we all make mistakes. And even the most prepared, experienced outdoors-people get into bad situations, either by a bit of poor luck or a momentary lapse in judgment. But COME ON, folks. Trying to climb the highest peak in Arizona (12,633 feet to be exact) during one of the worst blizzards in Flagstaff history—really?

I wasn't involved with this particular mission, but here's the article from today's issue of the Arizona Daily Sun: Trio Rescued Off Humphreys

Kudos, though, to our SAR coordinator for his handling of the situation. Having the Snowbowl grooming machines line up and shine their lights toward the area was another great idea! And that helped keep team members safer, too.

Also, thanks to those from Coconino SAR who went out on the mountain on a night like that. It was bad enough on Wednesday night and early Thursday morning when I was up there, but I don't think it was AS bad as Thursday night.

Out-Of-Bounders Beware

It's nearly two a.m., and I'm now back at Incident Command, inside the Agassiz Lodge at Snowbowl, warming up and resting a bit before going back out to continue searching.

The blizzard really has intensified. It's blowing and snowing something fierce out there, and I'm thinking about my teammates who are still on the mountain. Three of them just went up the chair lift in whiteout conditions, to search First Gully from the top down. They'll be starting at 11,500 feet.

This isn't looking good. The subject--a 19 year-old male from the Phoenix area--was last seen around 3:00 in the afternoon, when he and his friends ducked under the ropes marking the boundary of the ski area so they could snowboard on fresh powder. This young man is not an experienced backcountry hiker, skier or snowboarder, and he's not carrying any survival gear or an avalanche beacon.

Our team was called out at 5:30pm, after the subject's friends reported him missing. At the time and for several hours into the search, there was no precipitation. But the news media has been warning of this series of major winter storms--combining within several days' time to be a "top-three weather event" for the area--for at least a week. And, sure enough, it started right on schedule around 11pm.

Conditions quickly deteriorated as some of our field teams snowshoed while others did containment on Snowbowl Road and on a Forest Service road in the snowcat. We're also assisted tonight by Snowbowl personnel, who were a huge help in getting the chairlift up and running to bring teams up the mountain.

I guess I'll do what a few of my teammates are doing and find a spot on the floor to try to sleep until we get our next assignment.

*******

Later...

I was just awakened by our team captain as he burst into the room and loudly announced, "We got him!"

It took me a moment to shake off the sleep and realize what he meant.

"He's alive, Code 4," Andy said. "He walked into our containment team in the snowcat."

Amazing! And, wow, that really highlights the fact that containment on a search is so important. Earlier in the mission, after the snowcat team had driven out and back on Friedline Prairie Road, doing sound sweeps as they slowly went along, searching for tracks, they'd called in to Incident Command to say they'd completed their assignment—negative contact. Then they were told to do it again. And again. And thank goodness they did, because it was that containment that led the missing party to them when he saw the lights from the snowcat and then followed its track.

******

The missing snowboarder was located at approximately 2 a.m., about 11 hours after he'd separated from his friends. He was transported by ambulance to Flagstaff Medical Center for evaluation.

Meanwhile, several of our team members were still on the mountain in increasingly difficult conditions, slowly making their way to pickup points along Snowbowl Rd. Once everyone was safely at the vehicles, we carefully drove back to town on snow-packed, slippery streets. I made it home at 7:00.

Read:  Rescuers Find Lost Snowboarder; Missing Man Located from the Arizona Daily Sun.

******

A Note To Those Considering Out-of-Bounds Skiing and Snowboarding

Be aware that a free backcountry permit is required during the winter for the Kachina Peaks Wilderness. So, if you're planning to do any recreating in this area or want to go out of bounds from the Arizona Snowbowl to do some snowboarding or skiing, be sure to contact the Peaks Ranger District at (928) 526-0866 before doing so.

Permits can also be obtained at the Arizona Snowbowl at the Agassiz Lodge ticket window on Saturdays, Sundays, and holidays between 9:00 and 11:00 a.m.

[[UPDATE: Sometime after I originally wrote this post, the winter backcountry permit requirement was discontinued. See what's taken its place on the Coconino National Forest website.]]

Also, anyone venturing into the backcountry should have with them a pack with survival gear, including but not limited to light sources, fire-starting supplies, extra layers of clothing, an emergency bivy, food and water, a fully charged cellphone (but don't rely on there being a signal), and in the winter, an avalanche beacon.

Over The Edge: Technical Rescue Simulations

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

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

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

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

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

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

Scott works the 540 belay....

                

And in other news...

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

Snow Play SAR Style

It was kind of funny. There we are, riding around (and around and around) on snowmobiles and in the snowcat and the vehicle with the Mattracks, while families with children are sledding and building snowmen and igloos in our midst. Besides "Don't break anything," the big rule of the day was "Don't squash any kids." I'm happy to report we didn't do either one.

But there were no families with kids around when we first got to our training area on Saturday, just some campers who'd spent the night near the cellphone tower. Our rather large group of SAR folks, Forest Service personnel, and deputies interrupted their morning solitude when we arrived our contingent of cars, trucks, and "snow play equipment" and proceeded to divide ourselves into groups for the various stations. In addition to the snow machines, we also had a snowshoeing and winter gear review station.

It was a fun day. I enjoyed seeing my teammates after quite a long stretch without any missions. I also learned some new things. And I got past—though not over—my fear of loading and unloading the snowcat from its trailer. (Thanks for not letting me back out, Sergeant D.) Darn, I wish I had pictures of how the snowcat trailer works, but I forgot my camera that day.

Suffice it to say,when I climbed into the driver's seat, my experienced teammate on the passenger side yelled, "Hey, anybody know if the airbags are workin' in this thing?" (No, there ARE no air bags in a snowcat.) But I think I did a pretty okay job of it. After all, I didn't dump the beast off the side of the trailer. I trusted my teammates—the one in the vehicle with me and the one out front—to guide me through it. And I managed to pull it off with only one "duh" moment. ("Why isn't this thing moving forward? I asked. And my teammate replied, "Because you have to put your foot on the gas." Yeah... I knew that. I was just nervous, you see.)

Trust, though... that's something we talked about briefly on the drive back to the SAR building. It's a really good feeling to have people around who you know you can rely on, who have your best interest and safety at heart and care about what happens to you. To me, it doesn't matter that I see most of these folks just during SAR missions, trainings, and meetings; I still trust them with my life — like when I rappel over the edge during tech training. If a teammate I trust has safety-checked everything, I feel as secure as possible (which will never be completely secure) and know that things will be okay.

A SAR-Related Trip To Nepal

Now that I'm sure about my upcoming adventure, I thought I'd share it with you.

Several weeks ago, the founder of Nepal's only search and rescue team, Dutchman Ingo Schnabel, contacted me to see if I'd be interested in writing a book about them. This would mean spending three months with him and the rest of the Himalaya Rescue Dog Squad Nepal (HRDSN) this summer. At first, I was hesitant... for a few hours. Then I woke up in the middle of the night and thought, hmm, why not! So that's what I'll be doing from April through July.

Twenty years ago this past October, Ingo followed through on his dream of starting a SAR team in Nepal. Ingo explains how this came about in a post on Nepal Friends in Times of Need. He wrote:

"I was sitting in Maastricht in the Netherlands in front of the television, a beer in one hand and potato chips in the other. I was just 41 years old and had traveled half the world. I was a researcher in Africa, a dog trainer (Imperial Iranian Air Force) and Biology teacher in Tehran, then called the Empire of Iran, where Shah-Han-Shah Reza Pahlevi, the powerful Emperor, crumbled at that time and I had to leave.

"Back in the Netherlands, I tried my best to settle down, and I got fat and lazy. Then suddenly, in front of that TV, I saw a program about the misery after the earthquake in Darjeeling and Dharan in 1988. I remembered that I had promised to my Tibetan friend Lobsang that I would come to India and Nepal and start a dog breeding center for earthquake relief. I jumped up, switched off the TV, and selected six dogs from different local breeding centers and started fundraising and their training in Maastricht at the motorcycle road race trajectory in the forest. A year later, on October 8, 1989, I arrived with these dogs in Nepal and have never left the country since."

During those 20 years in Nepal, Ingo and the team have started hospitals in remote areas of the country and even a special school that doesn't adhere to Nepal's caste system. They respond to natural disasters, such as earthquakes, landslides and flashfloods, mass casualty and medical situations, and to reports of missing and injured trekkers. The more I learn about Ingo and the HRDSN, the more fascinated and excited I am about the trip. I only hope I can do their story justice. I'll write the book when I return to Arizona.

In the meantime, I'll be writing about it here occasionally before I go and will include updates while I'm in the country.

So, have any of you ever been there? Not me!

A Christmas Without SAR

Since the round-the-clock SAR missions involving dozens of stranded hunters a few weeks ago, there hasn't been a peep from SAR central. Which drives home the fact that search and rescue really has become a big part of my life. When we go through a quiet stretch, I sure notice the difference. Too much time on my hands. (Isn't that a song?)

I also realize how often I've not done things—not gone to the movies, not gone out of town for a weekend—so I wouldn't chance missing a SAR call. And that's just plain silly. So, one of my own New Year's resolutions is to go about my life and not worry about when there might be a call-out. I do love to participate, but that definitely shouldn't get in the way of doing other things... right? But I'll still continue to keep all of my gear in my car, just in case.

Anyhow, during this lull, I've read another SAR-related book, though this one is very much from a victim's perspective and doesn't involve a lot of search and rescue action. Angels in the Wilderness: The True Story of One Woman's Survival Against All Odds is a gripping firsthand account about being severely injured deep in the backcountry, while no one knows where the injured solo hiker is and won't miss her for days to come.

This hiker was Amy Racina, who fell 60 feet in a remote part of King's Canyon National Park, breaking both legs. Battling pain, fear, and exhaustion, she survived for four days, pulling herself inch-by-inch along a ravine until her calls were heard by a man who was partially deaf.

One of the most riveting aspects of the story, in my opinion, was the fact that one difference amongst a number of events that led to her rescue could very well have cost Amy her life. I mean, what if the hiking party who found her had canceled their trip for some reason or chosen another route? Or left even one day later? What if Amy hadn't been calling for help at the time the hikers happened to pass by above her—hikers she couldn't see or hear from the ravine? What if she hadn't dragged herself up the ravine but had stayed where she'd fallen? The hikers would probably never have heard her. Amy questions those and other circumstances that fell into place to ultimately save her life at close to the last minute.

I really found this book interesting and inspiring, which is why I read from sundown to sunup until I'd turned the last page.
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If you want to read my opinion of other SAR-related and wilderness survival books, I review each one I read here: Wilderness Survival and Rescue Reading.