I suppose if you have to get buried alive, it's best if it's done by fellow SAR members who will also dig you out.
When my cell phone rang and I saw it was our coordinator, I figured I was being selectively called for a mission, which happens now and then when only a small number of searchers and/or rescuers are needed.
But that wasn't the case this time. No, this time I was asked to be the live avalanche victim for our team's third and final Mountain Rescue Association test—the Snow & Ice/Alpine test—to be held on Agassiz Peak on March 6th.
"We'll give you a straw so you can breathe," the sergeant said.
I laughed (a little). "Very funny," I replied... but noticed the absence of a chuckle on the other end. Um... uh-oh.
As it turned out, I didn't even get the straw. After trudging up to the test area with evaluators, I turned my beacon to transmit and, as my teammates got closer, lay down in the hole that was dug out to fit my body. When they got within minutes of being in view of the (fake) avalanche path, with me and a deceased dummy (without a beacon) buried in it, one of the evaluators from Las Vegas shoveled several inches of snow over my face, leaving a small air space. With one eye, I could see a bit of blue sky as I waited for rescue and the snow melted by my warm breath trickled onto my face and down my neck.
Within minutes, I heard snowshoes crunching quickly across the mountainside, coming toward my head, as one of the searchers picked up my beacon signal with his own beacon and honed in on my location. Moments later, a shovel nailed me on the leg. I emitted a muffled "ow!" which wasn't part of my instructions, then went back to being the verbally unresponsive victim I was supposed to be.
Soon, the snow was removed from my wet face, and two more teammates showed up to begin a medical evaluation. Being "pain-responsive only," I moaned when my right rib cage and upper right leg were palpated. Otherwise, I kept my eyes closed and stayed as limp as I could. That is, until I started shivering uncontrollably. That part was real.
Honestly, I've never been so cold in my life. My alpine clothing has always been sufficient in the past, but then again, I've never tested it by lying on, let alone being buried in, the snow for any length of time. Though a small closed cell foam pad had been placed between my core and the snow, moisture eventually soaked through my two bottom layers to my legs, and the cold seeped into my arms through layers of thermal underwear, fleece, and my lined coat and to my head through my wool hat. My attending teammates covered me with a space blanket and whatever else they had with them, but without the evacuation team there with extra hands and the Bowman bag and litter, they couldn't get me off the snow. So, they tended to me—for fake and real issues—including placing a traction splint on my right leg for the fake femur fracture, and we waited.
Oh, right... I was let out of my hole to go for a quick pee break, but that movement did little to warm me up. Then back to my hole and (sort of) unresponsive state I went to wait for the others. When they arrived and I was lifted onto the Bowman bag, I warmed up right away. Or I should say, I was less cold at that point. Once packaged like a burrito in the litter, I stopped shivering completely and relaxed for the ride down the mountain, secured by rope and my capable teammates. The ride was a smooth one... while it lasted.
Then I heard at the same time my teammates did, "Rig for raise!" Oh, crud. The evaluators wanted to see the team display a "hot changeover" and alpine raising skills. With my eyes closed and face mostly covered by warm layers, going up felt just like going down. The only difference for me was that I heard the litter attendants' breathing become more labored with the extra effort of going uphill at altitude.
And then I heard an evaluator yell, "Okay, unpackage her and let her out!"
Shoot. There went my easy ride down the mountain, not to mention the warmth of the gear burrito I'd been in the middle of.
When I was helped to my feet, I was colder than ever. As my teammates who are alpine certified continued testing on various skills, several others on the mountain worked to boil water to make me hot drinks and started a small fire. Shivering despite additional layers and a wool blanket wrapped around me and chilled on the inside, I danced around and waited. Once I got hot liquid into me, sipping as I leaned over the fire, I finally warmed up again. By the time the testing was over and we were ready to hike out, I felt like myself again, vowing to invest in some better alpine clothing right away.
Oh, and I should mention... the team passed the test! Yay, Coconino County Sheriff's SAR! Ours is now only the fourth MRA-accredited team in the Southwest region. It's been a long and sometimes stressful effort but worth it. Our team will be formally voted in as an MRA member at their Spring conference this June 16–19 in Eagle, Colorado.
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.
I'm Not Missing! (And a Ropes That Rescue Class)
Actually, compared to most of the past few years, when it wasn't unusual to get a least one or two calls per week, lasting anywhere from hours to days, it's been relatively quiet lately. There has been some SAR activity, but I've either been out of town at the time or tied up with my elderly mom, who I take care of and who's had some medical issues lately.
We did have a decent snow storm back in January, when I-17 and other slippery roads in and out of Flagstaff were closed for most of an afternoon, evening, and night, stranding motorists. Several SAR volunteers were hand-called that night (as opposed to a general call-out) and went out in the storm to bring water and blankets and other supplies to people stuck in their vehicles and rescue some who couldn't stick it out. I was pretty well snowed in that night and listened to my teammates on an online scanner.
Let's see... what else happened? Well, there were a few calls that never really got off the ground, when SAR responded late at night, only to hang out at the building until it was confirmed that the situations had been resolved by the helicopter crew or other means. Such is SAR sometimes.
And there were a couple of missions down in the West Fork of Oak Creek—searches for overdue hikers—that both ended well. As did a situation on the peaks, when two of my teammates were asked to go up there to help a couple who'd gotten a bit misplaced, not having a map. They didn't have the required (free) winter backcountry permit, either, so they had a little meet-n-greet with the Forest Service when they emerged from the forest. So that'll cost 'em a bit more than the free permit would have. (Added later: As of 2019, this free permit is no longer required for winter backcountry recreation in the Kachina Peaks Wilderness. Here the Forest Service update.)
At our recent monthly meeting, our team coordinator said he attributes some of this slow-down in calls to the fact that snow conditions have been pretty crappy so far this winter, so skiers and snowboarders generally haven't been venturing out-of-bounds from the ski area or otherwise going into the backcountry. That could change as of this weekend, though, because it's currently snowing quite heavily, and the storm is expected to dump as much as 18 inches here in town, with more on the peaks.
So, I don't have any recent firsthand SAR mission experiences to tell you about since back on New Year's Eve. But I have been doing SAR stuff, including practicing technical rescue skills. Back in November, I took my second class with Ropes That Rescue in Sedona, Arizona, and I just finished a third. Here are some photos from the class.
Just Your Average Christmas Eve (in SAR)
At least telling people I went out to help look for an arm makes for a good ice-breaker at social gatherings. Don't you think?
I really shouldn't give the details about this particular arm—whose it was, why it was out there—but, basically, this was the result of a homicide earlier this year. And by the time authorities knew where exactly to look for the body, it had been scattered by coyotes. So that's why the arm was still missing.
And that's why I got a call from our K-9 team leader, asking if I'd come along as a backer for one of the handlers. Each dog/handler/backer team would have an 11-acre segment to search, making tight grids back and forth since the dogs would be looking for something potentially as small as a finger bone.
When the three handlers, three backers, and six dogs rendezvoused at the SAR building on the morning of Christmas Eve, I just had to ask. "So, if they (law enforcement) got the rest of the body, then... well... why do they need the arm?"
They didn't, really, I was told. This was more of a training for the dogs, handlers, and backers. Of course, if we found what we were searching for—the arm or some bones thereof—we'd mark it, call it in to the detective, and he'd come collect the remains. But as far as the case against the person who (I guess I'm supposed to insert the word "allegedly") committed the crime, these bones would not be necessary evidence. I'd think a find would, however, mean something to family of the deceased.
So, we did our best, making our grids as tight as possible given the obstacles—the pinion–juniper, rocks, cactus, and the mud. And, wow, was it muddy. I felt (and looked) like I had 10 pounds of clay mud caked on the bottom of my boots. I had mud up the front and back of my pants. I was slipping and stumbling like I was drunk, which was really draining. I think it even wore on the dogs after a while. But they and we kept working through all that mud and other obstacles until we'd completed our search areas.
Unfortunately, we didn't have a find, but the dogs alerted on the spot where the body had previously been found, even though it had been quite some time since it had been removed. So, we knew they were working and doing what they'd been trained to do.
I really shouldn't give the details about this particular arm—whose it was, why it was out there—but, basically, this was the result of a homicide earlier this year. And by the time authorities knew where exactly to look for the body, it had been scattered by coyotes. So that's why the arm was still missing.
And that's why I got a call from our K-9 team leader, asking if I'd come along as a backer for one of the handlers. Each dog/handler/backer team would have an 11-acre segment to search, making tight grids back and forth since the dogs would be looking for something potentially as small as a finger bone.
When the three handlers, three backers, and six dogs rendezvoused at the SAR building on the morning of Christmas Eve, I just had to ask. "So, if they (law enforcement) got the rest of the body, then... well... why do they need the arm?"
They didn't, really, I was told. This was more of a training for the dogs, handlers, and backers. Of course, if we found what we were searching for—the arm or some bones thereof—we'd mark it, call it in to the detective, and he'd come collect the remains. But as far as the case against the person who (I guess I'm supposed to insert the word "allegedly") committed the crime, these bones would not be necessary evidence. I'd think a find would, however, mean something to family of the deceased.
So, we did our best, making our grids as tight as possible given the obstacles—the pinion–juniper, rocks, cactus, and the mud. And, wow, was it muddy. I felt (and looked) like I had 10 pounds of clay mud caked on the bottom of my boots. I had mud up the front and back of my pants. I was slipping and stumbling like I was drunk, which was really draining. I think it even wore on the dogs after a while. But they and we kept working through all that mud and other obstacles until we'd completed our search areas.
Unfortunately, we didn't have a find, but the dogs alerted on the spot where the body had previously been found, even though it had been quite some time since it had been removed. So, we knew they were working and doing what they'd been trained to do.
What a Strange Mission
Things changing on a dime during a SAR mission isn't anything unusual; situations are often dynamic, and we're accustomed to altering the plan, often more than once during a search or rescue. But this one takes the cake for the weirdest twists and turns during any mission I've been on over the past few years.
So, okay, this is my best attempt to explain...
First, we responded to a call-out for overdue hikers in the area of Schnebly Hill Rd. in Sedona. That was sometime around 5:30 p.m.
As we were loading gear and getting ready to deploy, there was a second call-out, this one for a search on Mt. Elden. Technical team members were requested for that mission. Several of us were already at the SAR building, so we split off from the other group heading to Schnebly Hill. Others tech members would be responding directly to the mountain and rendezvous with us there.
Apparently, a couple of hikers on Mt. Elden had reported hearing someone yelling from somewhere above them. That was all we knew.
Information-gathering was ongoing as five of us drove to a trail access to the waterfall area. En route, a teammate who was handling ops (operations) advised us that we should split up—drop two of us off at Buffalo Park to hike east and try to make voice contact with whoever was out there... or might be out there, possibly stuck or injured on the mountain.
In the meantime, a deputy had hiked in toward the waterfall (which is usually more of a trickle on a steep slope covered with huge boulders that eventually cliffs out) and was able to make voice contact... with someone. After hearing from that someone that he was not injured but was stuck on a ledge, the deputy hiked back to meet with SAR members at the parking area.
Over the radio, our ops leader gave the rest of us approximate coordinates of where the voice came from, and we all headed that way. I was one of the two hiking from Buffalo Park, so we had a longer distance to cover than the others.
Somewhere along the line—not quite sure of the exact timing of all this—two of my teammates who live near Mt. Elden got a head start on climbing and also eventually made voice contact... with someone.
At one point, I heard radio traffic stating the subject had an ankle injury and would need a litter evacuation. Huh? Why had the stranded person not told the deputy he was hurt? Or was this a new injury since then? An evac team began preparing to hike in with the litter and ropes.
Then the information changed again. No injury now. We all kept moving toward the coordinates we'd been given.
Soon, the going got much tougher. The trail Sueanne and I had been following petered out so we used game trails instead, and the terrain steepened to the point where we had to use our hands to scramble. The spear-like agave and prickly pear cactus became formidable obstacles. (I later discover scrapes on my legs that I somehow hadn't felt during the mission. And Sueanne put her hand right on a prickly pear while climbing.)
Okay, so...
We saw our teammates' lights above and continued in their direction when, all of a sudden, we heard a scream. Was that an animal? It didn't sound very human. Then we heard it again. Yep, human alright, and it sounded bad. There was some radio talk amongst the rest of the team and IC (Incident Command) about that scream. Someone said, "He sounds altered." Uh-huh. A head injury? Drugs?
Eventually, Sueanne and I had climbed to the location where most of the rest of the team had stopped. The other two who'd gotten a head start were above us—some were guessing 50 feet above, some 100 feet... no one was quite sure—and they'd now gotten a visual on two people.
Is this getting too long? Sorry, I'll try to speed it up...
So, long story shorter, we had one young guy on a cliff. He's the one who'd screamed. The other guy—older, who turned out to be a homeless man who'd been living in a cave somewhere on the mountain for more than 10 years—said the younger guy was suicidal. The "cave man" was yelling in a threatening way at my two teammates, who were in a precarious situation, both terrain-wise and otherwise.
Were either of the subjects armed? Were they dangerous? The older guy from the cave was demanding our teammates shut off their headlamps and climb down in the dark. Afraid of having rocks hurled at them (or worse) while clinging to the side of the cliff, they retreated to a safer location and requested law enforcement assistance. Two deputies began hiking toward the mountain. In the meantime, the rest of us were told to hold our position.
As we later learned, when the cave man continued to yell and demand our teammates turn off their lights and hike down in the dark, they'd responded with something like,"No, we're not going to do that. You two go that way, and we'll go the other way." Then they turned off their lights and stayed put for about 15 minutes as they watched the two subjects move off. That's when the rest of us were informed they might be headed toward us and that we should turn off our headlamps, too, but talk so we wouldn't startle them. No, we didn't want to surprise those two.
Eventually, IC told us to return to base. We waited till our teammates above descended to our location, and then the nine of us picked our way down the mountain. Maybe half a mile from the parking area, word traveled up to the front of our line of SAR volunteers that the younger subject had come up behind the last person. No sign of the cave man.
Our teammate in the back, who I'm sure was a bit startled, had said, "Hey... where ya goin'?"
And the young man replied, "Down."
"Well... do you want to walk with us?
"Okay," the subject had agreed. He was clearly dehydrated, weak, and cold.
The rest of us were asked to wait as two SAR members in the back stopped to give Eric—that was his name—some water, snacks, and a jacket. He was very tall and extremely thin, wearing all black clothing and untied combat boots. His shaggy hair hung down over his face but not enough to conceal his blackened eyes. Was that makeup? Or bruises?
When Eric was able to continue walking, we went the rest of the way to Incident Command at the parking lot. At one point, I stopped and Eric passed me, and I watched him sway. I was ready to grab him if he fell over.
When he saw the lights from the deputies' vehicles and waiting ambulance, Eric repeatedly looked at my teammate Sueanne, an EMT who'd evaluated him after he joined us. He was clearly nervous.
He also looked very familiar.
When we arrived at the vehicles, Eric was helped into the waiting ambulance as I walked over to hear what one of the deputies had to say. He told of a close encounter with the cave man, a dark shadow moving through the forest. That dark shadow must have brought Eric down to where we were (followed us without our knowing it), set him in our direction, and then slinked off. When the cave man passed the deputy, he hadn't responded to his request (or order, I would assume) to stop. They'd be looking for that dark shadow in the morning, he said.
As my teammates and I were headed back to the SAR building, someone mentioned that Eric had said he was from Munds Park. And that's when I knew why he looked so familiar; we'd searched for him earlier this year when he walked away from the group home where he was (is?) living.
So, how did he come to be on that ledge on Mt. Elden? Did the cave man lure him up there? Or did he find him up there? Eric said he started walking in the morning, but we weren't sure if that was accurate. He said he hadn't had anything to eat or drink in a day, and he certainly wasn't dressed for the temperature. Had he been out there all night, the result likely would not have been good.
And who had been talking to the deputy when he first made voice contact? Eric or the other guy?
Well, I'm sure I've left out some details, but that's the gist of it. Kinda weird, huh?
As far as the other mission—the one in Sedona we'd initially responded to—I don't know yet what happened with that, but I think I heard someone say it had been wrapped up fairly quickly.
And here's a media release about a rescue (that I wasn't able to respond to) in the same waterfall area on Mt. Elden the night before these two missions: (content was removed) Search and Rescue Locates and Rescues Overdue Hiker on Mt. Elden
So, okay, this is my best attempt to explain...
First, we responded to a call-out for overdue hikers in the area of Schnebly Hill Rd. in Sedona. That was sometime around 5:30 p.m.
As we were loading gear and getting ready to deploy, there was a second call-out, this one for a search on Mt. Elden. Technical team members were requested for that mission. Several of us were already at the SAR building, so we split off from the other group heading to Schnebly Hill. Others tech members would be responding directly to the mountain and rendezvous with us there.
Apparently, a couple of hikers on Mt. Elden had reported hearing someone yelling from somewhere above them. That was all we knew.
Information-gathering was ongoing as five of us drove to a trail access to the waterfall area. En route, a teammate who was handling ops (operations) advised us that we should split up—drop two of us off at Buffalo Park to hike east and try to make voice contact with whoever was out there... or might be out there, possibly stuck or injured on the mountain.
In the meantime, a deputy had hiked in toward the waterfall (which is usually more of a trickle on a steep slope covered with huge boulders that eventually cliffs out) and was able to make voice contact... with someone. After hearing from that someone that he was not injured but was stuck on a ledge, the deputy hiked back to meet with SAR members at the parking area.
Over the radio, our ops leader gave the rest of us approximate coordinates of where the voice came from, and we all headed that way. I was one of the two hiking from Buffalo Park, so we had a longer distance to cover than the others.
Somewhere along the line—not quite sure of the exact timing of all this—two of my teammates who live near Mt. Elden got a head start on climbing and also eventually made voice contact... with someone.
At one point, I heard radio traffic stating the subject had an ankle injury and would need a litter evacuation. Huh? Why had the stranded person not told the deputy he was hurt? Or was this a new injury since then? An evac team began preparing to hike in with the litter and ropes.
Then the information changed again. No injury now. We all kept moving toward the coordinates we'd been given.
Soon, the going got much tougher. The trail Sueanne and I had been following petered out so we used game trails instead, and the terrain steepened to the point where we had to use our hands to scramble. The spear-like agave and prickly pear cactus became formidable obstacles. (I later discover scrapes on my legs that I somehow hadn't felt during the mission. And Sueanne put her hand right on a prickly pear while climbing.)
Okay, so...
We saw our teammates' lights above and continued in their direction when, all of a sudden, we heard a scream. Was that an animal? It didn't sound very human. Then we heard it again. Yep, human alright, and it sounded bad. There was some radio talk amongst the rest of the team and IC (Incident Command) about that scream. Someone said, "He sounds altered." Uh-huh. A head injury? Drugs?
Eventually, Sueanne and I had climbed to the location where most of the rest of the team had stopped. The other two who'd gotten a head start were above us—some were guessing 50 feet above, some 100 feet... no one was quite sure—and they'd now gotten a visual on two people.
Is this getting too long? Sorry, I'll try to speed it up...
So, long story shorter, we had one young guy on a cliff. He's the one who'd screamed. The other guy—older, who turned out to be a homeless man who'd been living in a cave somewhere on the mountain for more than 10 years—said the younger guy was suicidal. The "cave man" was yelling in a threatening way at my two teammates, who were in a precarious situation, both terrain-wise and otherwise.
Were either of the subjects armed? Were they dangerous? The older guy from the cave was demanding our teammates shut off their headlamps and climb down in the dark. Afraid of having rocks hurled at them (or worse) while clinging to the side of the cliff, they retreated to a safer location and requested law enforcement assistance. Two deputies began hiking toward the mountain. In the meantime, the rest of us were told to hold our position.
As we later learned, when the cave man continued to yell and demand our teammates turn off their lights and hike down in the dark, they'd responded with something like,"No, we're not going to do that. You two go that way, and we'll go the other way." Then they turned off their lights and stayed put for about 15 minutes as they watched the two subjects move off. That's when the rest of us were informed they might be headed toward us and that we should turn off our headlamps, too, but talk so we wouldn't startle them. No, we didn't want to surprise those two.
Eventually, IC told us to return to base. We waited till our teammates above descended to our location, and then the nine of us picked our way down the mountain. Maybe half a mile from the parking area, word traveled up to the front of our line of SAR volunteers that the younger subject had come up behind the last person. No sign of the cave man.
Our teammate in the back, who I'm sure was a bit startled, had said, "Hey... where ya goin'?"
And the young man replied, "Down."
"Well... do you want to walk with us?
"Okay," the subject had agreed. He was clearly dehydrated, weak, and cold.
The rest of us were asked to wait as two SAR members in the back stopped to give Eric—that was his name—some water, snacks, and a jacket. He was very tall and extremely thin, wearing all black clothing and untied combat boots. His shaggy hair hung down over his face but not enough to conceal his blackened eyes. Was that makeup? Or bruises?
When Eric was able to continue walking, we went the rest of the way to Incident Command at the parking lot. At one point, I stopped and Eric passed me, and I watched him sway. I was ready to grab him if he fell over.
When he saw the lights from the deputies' vehicles and waiting ambulance, Eric repeatedly looked at my teammate Sueanne, an EMT who'd evaluated him after he joined us. He was clearly nervous.
He also looked very familiar.
When we arrived at the vehicles, Eric was helped into the waiting ambulance as I walked over to hear what one of the deputies had to say. He told of a close encounter with the cave man, a dark shadow moving through the forest. That dark shadow must have brought Eric down to where we were (followed us without our knowing it), set him in our direction, and then slinked off. When the cave man passed the deputy, he hadn't responded to his request (or order, I would assume) to stop. They'd be looking for that dark shadow in the morning, he said.
As my teammates and I were headed back to the SAR building, someone mentioned that Eric had said he was from Munds Park. And that's when I knew why he looked so familiar; we'd searched for him earlier this year when he walked away from the group home where he was (is?) living.
So, how did he come to be on that ledge on Mt. Elden? Did the cave man lure him up there? Or did he find him up there? Eric said he started walking in the morning, but we weren't sure if that was accurate. He said he hadn't had anything to eat or drink in a day, and he certainly wasn't dressed for the temperature. Had he been out there all night, the result likely would not have been good.
And who had been talking to the deputy when he first made voice contact? Eric or the other guy?
Well, I'm sure I've left out some details, but that's the gist of it. Kinda weird, huh?
As far as the other mission—the one in Sedona we'd initially responded to—I don't know yet what happened with that, but I think I heard someone say it had been wrapped up fairly quickly.
And here's a media release about a rescue (that I wasn't able to respond to) in the same waterfall area on Mt. Elden the night before these two missions: (content was removed) Search and Rescue Locates and Rescues Overdue Hiker on Mt. Elden
Hunters Lost
It's been a common theme lately with our call-outs: hunters lost or reported overdue. It's usually been late at night or duing the wee hours of the morning and a good distance from our SAR home base in Flagstaff.
But the volunteers have responded, getting out of their warm beds and going out into the cold nights to search and rescue. At least, that was plan on several recent occasions. I've been able to respond to only one of these calls, in part because I've been away at a Ropes That Rescue class for a week (more on that later), but I've gotten the scoop from teammates.
The missions have gone something like this...
Overdue hunters on horseback, not dressed for the conditions. SAR is called, drives to the search area a few hours away, and arrives just as the three subjects are spotted by the helicopter.
Overdue hunters again. SAR responds. The helicopter spots the subjects, and SAR waits at the building for about an hour in the middle of the night until it's confirmed the lost have been retrieved.
Hunter is reported overdue near Happy Jack. SAR is called, drives an hour or so. Hunter is found at the first campsite SAR checks.
Lost hunters south of Williams, Arizona. They walked away from their truck but couldn't find their way back. So, SAR responds just after midnight and arrives on the scene just after the pair are spotted and retrieved by helicopter. One of them isn't feeling well and, after being flown to the road, climbs into the waiting ambulance for treatment as SAR turns trucks and trailers around and heads home. (I responded to this one and got back into bed six hours after getting out of it, just as the sun was coming up.)
Overdue hunter near Long Lake. SAR is called around 2:30 a.m. The team is ready to deploy from the building when our coordinator receives a call: The helicopter has spotted a campfire. SAR waits at the building until it's confirmed that the hunter and his horse have been found and rescued.
Well, such is SAR sometimes. But the next time could very well be one of those times when the team saves a life. You just never know, so you go when you can.
But the volunteers have responded, getting out of their warm beds and going out into the cold nights to search and rescue. At least, that was plan on several recent occasions. I've been able to respond to only one of these calls, in part because I've been away at a Ropes That Rescue class for a week (more on that later), but I've gotten the scoop from teammates.
The missions have gone something like this...
Overdue hunters on horseback, not dressed for the conditions. SAR is called, drives to the search area a few hours away, and arrives just as the three subjects are spotted by the helicopter.
Overdue hunters again. SAR responds. The helicopter spots the subjects, and SAR waits at the building for about an hour in the middle of the night until it's confirmed the lost have been retrieved.
Hunter is reported overdue near Happy Jack. SAR is called, drives an hour or so. Hunter is found at the first campsite SAR checks.
Lost hunters south of Williams, Arizona. They walked away from their truck but couldn't find their way back. So, SAR responds just after midnight and arrives on the scene just after the pair are spotted and retrieved by helicopter. One of them isn't feeling well and, after being flown to the road, climbs into the waiting ambulance for treatment as SAR turns trucks and trailers around and heads home. (I responded to this one and got back into bed six hours after getting out of it, just as the sun was coming up.)
Overdue hunter near Long Lake. SAR is called around 2:30 a.m. The team is ready to deploy from the building when our coordinator receives a call: The helicopter has spotted a campfire. SAR waits at the building until it's confirmed that the hunter and his horse have been found and rescued.
Well, such is SAR sometimes. But the next time could very well be one of those times when the team saves a life. You just never know, so you go when you can.
**********
Alpine season is back, and the San Francisco Peaks are getting whiter, so our technical team will be training accordingly. In the spirit of the season, this is the "mountaineering bible" members of our team are reading and reviewing...Mountaineering: Freedom of the Hills
"Since the publication of the first edition in 1960, Freedom, as the book is known, has endured as a classic mountaineering text. From choosing equipment to tying a climbing knot, and from basic rappelling techniques to planning an expedition, it is all here in this essential mountaineering reference. A team of more than forty experts, all active climbers and climbing educators, reviewed, revised, and updated this compendium to reflect the latest evolutions in mountaineering equipment and techniques. Major updates include a significant new chapter on conditioning, plus detailed and extensive revisions to rescue and first-response, aid climbing, and waterfall and ice climbing."
Some Climbing Fun for the Tech Team
On the second Saturday of each month, our technical rescue team gets together for a regularly scheduled, all-day training. This is in addition to other random trainings throughout the year, such as ski lift evac training at Arizona Snowbowl, avalanche courses given by the Kachina Peaks Avalanche Center, and foul weather navigation.
For November's regular training, one of our team leaders decided that we should celebrate our recent success in the Mountain Rescue Association rock rescue test by doing some climbing instead of training per se. So, we headed out to the Mt. Elden climbing area for some fun. It was my first climbing experience.
For a new climber like me, those are some pretty big walls...
Being a Saturday with mild weather, we had plenty of company on the cliffs, including a class from Northern Arizona University...
Okay, here are a couple shots of me. How's my form? (Don't answer that.) I even once used my face, but, hey, I didn't fall onto the rope until I was ready to come down. Not that I'm going to tell how far up I got. 😉
Would you believe me if I said I was 100 feet off the ground here?
For November's regular training, one of our team leaders decided that we should celebrate our recent success in the Mountain Rescue Association rock rescue test by doing some climbing instead of training per se. So, we headed out to the Mt. Elden climbing area for some fun. It was my first climbing experience.
For a new climber like me, those are some pretty big walls...
Being a Saturday with mild weather, we had plenty of company on the cliffs, including a class from Northern Arizona University...
Okay, here are a couple shots of me. How's my form? (Don't answer that.) I even once used my face, but, hey, I didn't fall onto the rope until I was ready to come down. Not that I'm going to tell how far up I got. 😉
Would you believe me if I said I was 100 feet off the ground here?
A Technical Rescue in Waterholes Canyon
Twelve of us, including nine technical rescue team members, a lieutenant, and two deputies, stood near the rim of Waterholes Canyon, watching the helicopter fly low over the landscape as the pilot assessed the situation. Would a short haul of the two stranded young men in the canyon be possible? And, if so, was a short haul the best option?
That had yet to be determined by the time our team had driven two hours north from Flagstaff and then overland across the desert about a mile from the highway. We had a lot of heavy gear to haul, especially all the rope, so we were glad to be able to use vehicles and the Polaris Ranger UTV to get it closer to the rescue site.
Eventually, the helicopter landed and the pilot and medic came over to talk to the team. A short haul was not advisable, the pilot said, and the team had already come to the conclusion that a ground technical rescue would be the safest option. The subjects were in good condition without any injuries or medical complaints, so the'd be able to assist in their own rescue.
The call had come at around 11 p.m. the night before. Tech team members were asked to report to the SAR building by 4:45 in the morning. Voice contact had been made between the two stranded men and a deputy on the rim several hundred feet above, and the two said they were unhurt and okay to spend the night down there. They had enough gear, food, and water to wait for a daylight rescue, which would be safer for all involved.
It was a calm, beautiful day on the Colorado Plateau near Page, Arizona, but the forecast was calling for very high winds, which had already picked up to the south. High winds would make the rescue more difficult, in part because it would hamper voice communication between rescuers and subjects since the subjects didn't have radios. So, once the short haul was ruled out, there was no time to waste getting to the two men and assisting them back to the rim. While no one rushed unnecessarily, the team got right to work.
This was our team's first technical rescue since passing the MRA (Mountain Rescue Association) rock rescue portion of the three-part test, which took place on October 9th. (The third will be the Snow & Ice test on the San Francisco Peaks here in Flagstaff in early March.) To me, my teammates now seemed much more relaxed than before the test. Maybe it was my imagination, but it felt like there was more camaraderie than there had been prior to our day-long evaluation during the challenging simulated rescue. (Edited to add: Just to clarify, this was not Coconino County SAR's first technical rescue by any means. Coco SAR has been doing tech rescue for a long time. MRA certification is not something that's mandatory.)
Basically the Waterholes Canyon rescue went like this:
Our team leader that day was able to make voice contact with the men in the canyon and, along with other rescuers, decided on a good route to descend. They'd bring the subjects back up those several hundred feet using fixed lines, one below the other on two different anchors. This plan meant the two men down in the canyon would need to do one more 50-foot rappel to rendezvous with the hasty team, which they were equipped and very able to do, they said.
The subjects were experienced canyoneers. However, they'd gotten what they said was some bad information and had been unable to locate a particular "escape route" out of the canyon partway between the starting point at the bridge on Highway 89 and the Colorado River. They had not intended to travel the whole canyon, which would require some very long rappels further down, and they didn't have enough rope to continue to the river, where they could have been picked up by boat. Unable to safely go up or keep going down, they'd stayed put until the girlfriend of one of the men reported them overdue and the responding deputy finally made voice contact that night.
In the end, after a two-hour operation from the time the rescuers began their descent until the three of them arrived back at the rim with the two subjects, everything went smoothly. We were packed up and on the road home by the time the strong winds reached Waterholes Canyon.
Here are some photos from the mission:
Check out these photos from down in the Canyon:
Lower Waterholes Canyon
Waterholes Canyon
That had yet to be determined by the time our team had driven two hours north from Flagstaff and then overland across the desert about a mile from the highway. We had a lot of heavy gear to haul, especially all the rope, so we were glad to be able to use vehicles and the Polaris Ranger UTV to get it closer to the rescue site.
Eventually, the helicopter landed and the pilot and medic came over to talk to the team. A short haul was not advisable, the pilot said, and the team had already come to the conclusion that a ground technical rescue would be the safest option. The subjects were in good condition without any injuries or medical complaints, so the'd be able to assist in their own rescue.
The call had come at around 11 p.m. the night before. Tech team members were asked to report to the SAR building by 4:45 in the morning. Voice contact had been made between the two stranded men and a deputy on the rim several hundred feet above, and the two said they were unhurt and okay to spend the night down there. They had enough gear, food, and water to wait for a daylight rescue, which would be safer for all involved.
It was a calm, beautiful day on the Colorado Plateau near Page, Arizona, but the forecast was calling for very high winds, which had already picked up to the south. High winds would make the rescue more difficult, in part because it would hamper voice communication between rescuers and subjects since the subjects didn't have radios. So, once the short haul was ruled out, there was no time to waste getting to the two men and assisting them back to the rim. While no one rushed unnecessarily, the team got right to work.
This was our team's first technical rescue since passing the MRA (Mountain Rescue Association) rock rescue portion of the three-part test, which took place on October 9th. (The third will be the Snow & Ice test on the San Francisco Peaks here in Flagstaff in early March.) To me, my teammates now seemed much more relaxed than before the test. Maybe it was my imagination, but it felt like there was more camaraderie than there had been prior to our day-long evaluation during the challenging simulated rescue. (Edited to add: Just to clarify, this was not Coconino County SAR's first technical rescue by any means. Coco SAR has been doing tech rescue for a long time. MRA certification is not something that's mandatory.)
Basically the Waterholes Canyon rescue went like this:
Our team leader that day was able to make voice contact with the men in the canyon and, along with other rescuers, decided on a good route to descend. They'd bring the subjects back up those several hundred feet using fixed lines, one below the other on two different anchors. This plan meant the two men down in the canyon would need to do one more 50-foot rappel to rendezvous with the hasty team, which they were equipped and very able to do, they said.
The subjects were experienced canyoneers. However, they'd gotten what they said was some bad information and had been unable to locate a particular "escape route" out of the canyon partway between the starting point at the bridge on Highway 89 and the Colorado River. They had not intended to travel the whole canyon, which would require some very long rappels further down, and they didn't have enough rope to continue to the river, where they could have been picked up by boat. Unable to safely go up or keep going down, they'd stayed put until the girlfriend of one of the men reported them overdue and the responding deputy finally made voice contact that night.
In the end, after a two-hour operation from the time the rescuers began their descent until the three of them arrived back at the rim with the two subjects, everything went smoothly. We were packed up and on the road home by the time the strong winds reached Waterholes Canyon.
Here are some photos from the mission:
 |
| We were able to use the Polaris to haul some of the gear close to the site. |
 |
| Ranger flies over the canyon, where they spot the subjects and assess the situation. |
 |
| Ranger comes in for a landing near the rim of the canyon. |
 |
| The helicopter pilots talks to our team about the possibility of a short haul rescue. |
 |
| After a short haul is ruled out, our hasty team heads to the rim to descend to the subjects. |
 |
| Phillip ties in (left) and goes to the edge to keep an eye on the rescuers and subjects below. |
 |
| You can see the top of the upper fixed line on the boulder to the right. |
 |
| The first subject arrives at the rim with a rescuer behind him. |
Check out these photos from down in the Canyon:
Lower Waterholes Canyon
Waterholes Canyon
Back-to-Back SAR with an Hour Off for Dinner
I had just finished my last bite of dinner when the phone rang: SAR. I'd heard some radio traffic about missing base jumpers earlier in the day while on another mission, but hours had passed with no call-out. I figured the situation had been resolved. I guess not.
The earlier mission had been a rather sedentary one, with a long drive to and from Forest Lakes, the same rural development where we'd searched for Mark Irby for 10 days. This time, our coordinator had requested five volunteers to go down there to assist the dive team from Page, Arizona—the Coconino County Sheriff's Office Underwater Search and Recovery Team from the Page Substation, to be specific—who would be searching a pond for a the body of a man who'd been missing since this past summer. (That initial search had taken place while I was in Nepal.)
I had no idea how we were supposed to help a dive team. We weren't told to wear swimsuits (lucky for me) or bring snorkels, only to check in with the deputy on scene when we arrived.
So, here's what we were instructed to do: Each of us SAR folks would stand on shore, holding a rope. At the other end of a rope would be a diver, holding the rope in his hand, keeping it taut. The ropes would have two purposes:
1. As means of communication between the diver and his partner on shore — One tug meant something, two tugs something else, three yet another message, etc. (things like, stop, go, surface, found something, and so forth). The recipient of the message on the other end of the rope was supposed to repeat the tugs, indicating they'd understood. And the tugs needed to be exaggerated, so the diver and especially the person on shore could differentiate actual communication tugs from involuntary pulls on the rope, like as the diver swam.
2. As a means of keeping the diver on his grid — Each diver would search an area of the pond in a back-and-forth grid pattern. The diver would swim to the outer edge of their area, and then that diver and their partner—the person on shore—would take up any slack in the rope. The rope would be kept taut as the diver went under and searched. After the first pass, the diver would turn around, the person on shore would take in the rope about three feet (that distance determined by the amount of visibility underwater, which was low in this case), and then the diver would swim back the other way, thereby making the second sweep three feet away and parallel to the first one. Then the person on shore would take up another three feet of rope for the diver's next pass and so forth.
Make any sense?
So that's what my teammates and I did for several hours—hold rope, take in rope, and tug if necessary—while the dive team swam back and forth. I sat on shore, then I stood, and I sat and stood some more, trying to stay focused on my job while the warm sun made me sleepy. Our one teammate without a rope to manage periodically delivered drinks and snacks to the rest of us stationed around the pond.
In the end, the divers did a thorough search but found nothing... except some unusually huge crawdads.
So homeward bound we'd headed, listening to the radio traffic along the way. That's when we'd heard about those missing base jumpers.
"What's a base jumper?" I'd asked my friends.
I was told that a base jumper is someone who puts on a parachute and jumps off a cliff. Oh. Is that, like, fun? Guess it is for some folks, but apparently this particular foursome, who'd jumped into the Little Colorado River Gorge, hadn't planned well for getting out of the canyon once they'd jumped in. Oops.
But there had been no call-out for SAR by the time we returned to the building. So, I headed home, grabbed some microwavable dinner, and had been there for about an hour when the call finally came.
And back to the SAR building I went. I figured this mission might be a bit more on the active side than the first—possibly a tech rescue—and I had plenty of energy in reserve.
As it turned out, the reason for the delay before the call-out was the need for more investigation by the Sheriff's Department to determine where exactly we needed to look. They had received information using base jumper nomenclature, which was not marked on any map. Based on past experience, several areas were checked and the subjects' vehicle eventually located. And then SAR was called.
Apparently, the four young men, ranging in age from 18 to 30, were now a day overdue, the reporting party had said. As I understand it, this was supposed to be a day trip: jump, open parachutes, land, hike out. But I guess the route out, which they'd heard about from someone somewhere, hadn't been so obvious.
As we made the rather long drive from Flagstaff to Cameron and then onto Navajo Reservation land, the four subjects were spotted by the helicopter, climbing out of the canyon... as in, hand-over-hand climbing. They had left their gear, including parachutes and camera equipment, at the bottom. They were also very dehydrated. As SAR was en route, still thinking we'd need to go down to help them out, the helicopter dropped (or lowered... not sure) water to the men.
As we bumped our way along the unpaved roads, the Navajo officer on scene reported that one of the men had made it to the rim. Then another and another and, finally, the fourth. They were all basically okay and apparently wanting to know how they were going to get their gear out of the bottom of the canyon.
From what I heard, what they did get were citations for being on the rez without permits and for "littering" by leaving gear down there.
After waiting to meet up with the four shirtless and shoeless jumpers so our coordinator could take a report, SAR headed for home. I got in sometime around midnight, making it a 19-hour day of SAR with a lotta sittin'.
The earlier mission had been a rather sedentary one, with a long drive to and from Forest Lakes, the same rural development where we'd searched for Mark Irby for 10 days. This time, our coordinator had requested five volunteers to go down there to assist the dive team from Page, Arizona—the Coconino County Sheriff's Office Underwater Search and Recovery Team from the Page Substation, to be specific—who would be searching a pond for a the body of a man who'd been missing since this past summer. (That initial search had taken place while I was in Nepal.)
I had no idea how we were supposed to help a dive team. We weren't told to wear swimsuits (lucky for me) or bring snorkels, only to check in with the deputy on scene when we arrived.
So, here's what we were instructed to do: Each of us SAR folks would stand on shore, holding a rope. At the other end of a rope would be a diver, holding the rope in his hand, keeping it taut. The ropes would have two purposes:
1. As means of communication between the diver and his partner on shore — One tug meant something, two tugs something else, three yet another message, etc. (things like, stop, go, surface, found something, and so forth). The recipient of the message on the other end of the rope was supposed to repeat the tugs, indicating they'd understood. And the tugs needed to be exaggerated, so the diver and especially the person on shore could differentiate actual communication tugs from involuntary pulls on the rope, like as the diver swam.
2. As a means of keeping the diver on his grid — Each diver would search an area of the pond in a back-and-forth grid pattern. The diver would swim to the outer edge of their area, and then that diver and their partner—the person on shore—would take up any slack in the rope. The rope would be kept taut as the diver went under and searched. After the first pass, the diver would turn around, the person on shore would take in the rope about three feet (that distance determined by the amount of visibility underwater, which was low in this case), and then the diver would swim back the other way, thereby making the second sweep three feet away and parallel to the first one. Then the person on shore would take up another three feet of rope for the diver's next pass and so forth.
Make any sense?
So that's what my teammates and I did for several hours—hold rope, take in rope, and tug if necessary—while the dive team swam back and forth. I sat on shore, then I stood, and I sat and stood some more, trying to stay focused on my job while the warm sun made me sleepy. Our one teammate without a rope to manage periodically delivered drinks and snacks to the rest of us stationed around the pond.
In the end, the divers did a thorough search but found nothing... except some unusually huge crawdads.
So homeward bound we'd headed, listening to the radio traffic along the way. That's when we'd heard about those missing base jumpers.
"What's a base jumper?" I'd asked my friends.
I was told that a base jumper is someone who puts on a parachute and jumps off a cliff. Oh. Is that, like, fun? Guess it is for some folks, but apparently this particular foursome, who'd jumped into the Little Colorado River Gorge, hadn't planned well for getting out of the canyon once they'd jumped in. Oops.
 |
| Base jumpers (Source: Wikimedia Commons) |
But there had been no call-out for SAR by the time we returned to the building. So, I headed home, grabbed some microwavable dinner, and had been there for about an hour when the call finally came.
And back to the SAR building I went. I figured this mission might be a bit more on the active side than the first—possibly a tech rescue—and I had plenty of energy in reserve.
As it turned out, the reason for the delay before the call-out was the need for more investigation by the Sheriff's Department to determine where exactly we needed to look. They had received information using base jumper nomenclature, which was not marked on any map. Based on past experience, several areas were checked and the subjects' vehicle eventually located. And then SAR was called.
Apparently, the four young men, ranging in age from 18 to 30, were now a day overdue, the reporting party had said. As I understand it, this was supposed to be a day trip: jump, open parachutes, land, hike out. But I guess the route out, which they'd heard about from someone somewhere, hadn't been so obvious.
As we made the rather long drive from Flagstaff to Cameron and then onto Navajo Reservation land, the four subjects were spotted by the helicopter, climbing out of the canyon... as in, hand-over-hand climbing. They had left their gear, including parachutes and camera equipment, at the bottom. They were also very dehydrated. As SAR was en route, still thinking we'd need to go down to help them out, the helicopter dropped (or lowered... not sure) water to the men.
As we bumped our way along the unpaved roads, the Navajo officer on scene reported that one of the men had made it to the rim. Then another and another and, finally, the fourth. They were all basically okay and apparently wanting to know how they were going to get their gear out of the bottom of the canyon.
From what I heard, what they did get were citations for being on the rez without permits and for "littering" by leaving gear down there.
After waiting to meet up with the four shirtless and shoeless jumpers so our coordinator could take a report, SAR headed for home. I got in sometime around midnight, making it a 19-hour day of SAR with a lotta sittin'.
 | |
| The Little Colorado River meets up with the Colorado River in Grand Canyon |
Some SAR for Flagstaff Twisters
It was just before 6 a.m. when the ringing woke me up. Glancing at my cellphone, I wasn't surprised at that still-dark hour to see it was a SAR call, but when I answered, I wasn't sure I'd heard correctly in my sleepy fog. Did our coordinator say tornado?
Not only had he said tornado, but throughout the day, several more twisters would touch down in the Flagstaff area, one of which destroyed more than 30 homes and damaged about 100 others in Bellemont and toppled 28 freight train cars. Another twister originated in the Blue Ridge area, leaving a 15-mile swath of broken trees in its wake while miraculously missing nearby structures.
When all responding SAR members arrived at the building, we took off toward Bellemont, watching the dark clouds swirl overhead, scanning the sky near and far for any sign of more funnel clouds forming. As we drove, we talked about where we could take cover. One of my teammates pointed out a ditch and culvert, while another mentioned an overpass somewhere ahead that we could park beneath.
At one point, some of us stopped to set up a road block, directing drivers to turn around in the median and go back to Flagstaff. Semi trucks had been turned over on I-40 and another tornado had been spotted, heading toward the highway and again the Bellemont neighborhood.
A DPS officer eventually arrived to take over the road block, relieving us so we could continue on to the command center, at that time located in the fire station near the original tornado's path. The rain resumed full force as we passed Camper's World, where RVs had been mangled and tossed every which way in the parking area and sales yard. Debris was scattered across the road and median.
We waited at the fire station for assignments, listening to radio traffic about more tornadoes forming as we watched the lightning, rain, wind, and hail from the dry side of the bay windows.
Some time later, we were relocated to the NOAA building at Camp Navajo, considered a more secure building. Weather Service personnel were staring at their banks of colorful computer monitors and busily walking desk to desk, room to room, calm but clearly running on adrenaline. One man said, "This is what we all train for but hope never happens."
Eventually, SAR personnel were sent into the field to do welfare checks and damage assessments, with the exception of me and one other team member, who were asked to stay behind to monitor the radios, record the transmissions and activities on the computer, and do some mapping. The others headed out to get very wet while canvassing the Bellemont neighborhood.
At the end of the day, patches of blue sky began to emerge. The tornado warnings subsided and later the watch was lifted. The severe and unusual storm had left behind lots of damage and some minor injuries but, thankfully, no serious physical trauma or loss of life.
The next day, SAR teams were dispatched to search Forest Service roads, to make sure no campers or hunters had been stranded or injured.
*********************
Per the National Weather Service on October 6,2010....
A STRONG PACIFIC LOW PRESSURE SYSTEM LOCATED ACROSS SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA COMBINED WITH SUBSTANTIAL MOISTURE MOVING NORTH FROM MEXICO...LED TO THE DEVELOPMENT OF WIDESPREAD SEVERE THUNDERSTORM ACTIVITY ACROSS THE REGION WEDNESDAY. NUMEROUS REPORTS OF HAIL WERE RECEIVED...AS WELL AS FIVE CONFIRMED TORNADOES.
TORNADOES...
BLUE RIDGE...(153-212 AM)...FOREST SERVICE AND NATIONAL WEATHER SERVICE EMPLOYEES VERIFIED A 10-15 MILE PATH WITH NUMEROUS TREES DOWN AND SEVERAL FOREST ROADS BLOCKED. DAMAGE INTENSITY VARIED CONSIDERABLY ALONG PATH, WHICH VARIED FROM 75 TO 400 YARDS WIDE.
BELLEMONT TORNADO #1...(507-535 AM)...CONSIDERABLE STRUCTURAL DAMAGE IN AND AROUND THE COMMUNITY OF BELLEMONT. AREAL AND GROUND SURVEYS VERIFIED A SEMI-CONTINUOUS TORNADO PATH FROM AT LEAST 9 MILES SOUTH OF BELLEMONT...EXTENDING NORTHWARD CROSSING HIGHWAY 180 NORTHWEST OF FLAGSTAFF. TOTAL PATH LENGTH OF AT LEAST 22 MILES. PRELIMINARY ESTIMATES OF DAMAGE INTENSITY IN THE COMMUNITY OF BELLEMONT PUT THIS TORNADO AT EF-1 ON THE ENHANCED FUJITA SCALE. MOST INTENSE DAMAGE (NOT YET RATED) WAS IN THE FOREST SOUTH AND JUST NORTH OF BELLEMONT.
BELLEMONT TORNADO #2...(558-640 AM)...THIS TORNADO CAUSED EXTENSIVE FOREST DAMAGE (PRIMARILY SOUTH OF BELLEMONT)...ALONG A CONTINUOUS TRACK WHICH EXTENDED FROM 15 MILES SOUTH OF BELLEMONT...EVENTUALLY CROSSING HIGHWAY 180 NORTHWEST OF FLAGSTAFF. 28 RAIL CARS DERAILED IN BELLEMONT...WITH ADDITIONAL STRUCTURAL AND AUTO DAMAGE. TOTAL PATH LENGTH OF AT LEAST 30 MILES. NO TORNADO INTENSITY HAS BEEN ESTIMATED YET.
MUNDS PARK...(1208-1220 PM)...THIS TORNADO WAS SIGHTED CROSSING INTERSTATE 17 MOVING NORTHBOUND...LATER OBSERVED 4 MILES SOUTH OF THE COUNTRY CLUB NEIGHBORHOOD ON THE EAST SIDE OF FLAGSTAFF. LITTLE SURFACE DAMAGE REPORTED AT THIS TIME.
AN ADDITIONAL TORNADO TRACK WAS DISCOVERED NORTH AND WEST OF FORT VALLEY NEAR THE FLAGSTAFF NORDIC CENTER. THIS TRACK WAS DISTINCTLY SEPARATE FROM THE TWO EARLIER BELLEMONT TORNADO TRACKS...HOWEVER APPEARED TO BE MUCH SHORTER IN LENGTH.
HAIL REPORTS...
CORNVILLE..........................2.00 INCH DIAMETER
PARKS..............................1.75 INCH DIAMETER
TEEC NOS POS.......................1.75 INCH DIAMETER
RIMROCK............................1.25 INCH DIAMETER
KACHINA VILLAGE....................1.00 INCH DIAMETER
COTTONWOOD 1 MI SOUTH..............1.00 INCH DIAMETER
MUNDS PARK 5 MI NORTH..............1.00 INCH DIAMETER
See also:
News video: 'Tornado train' rocks Arizona
Article: Bellemont Becomes Tornado Alley
Photos of tornado aftermath
Update: 8 Tornadoes now confirmed
Not only had he said tornado, but throughout the day, several more twisters would touch down in the Flagstaff area, one of which destroyed more than 30 homes and damaged about 100 others in Bellemont and toppled 28 freight train cars. Another twister originated in the Blue Ridge area, leaving a 15-mile swath of broken trees in its wake while miraculously missing nearby structures.
When all responding SAR members arrived at the building, we took off toward Bellemont, watching the dark clouds swirl overhead, scanning the sky near and far for any sign of more funnel clouds forming. As we drove, we talked about where we could take cover. One of my teammates pointed out a ditch and culvert, while another mentioned an overpass somewhere ahead that we could park beneath.
At one point, some of us stopped to set up a road block, directing drivers to turn around in the median and go back to Flagstaff. Semi trucks had been turned over on I-40 and another tornado had been spotted, heading toward the highway and again the Bellemont neighborhood.
A DPS officer eventually arrived to take over the road block, relieving us so we could continue on to the command center, at that time located in the fire station near the original tornado's path. The rain resumed full force as we passed Camper's World, where RVs had been mangled and tossed every which way in the parking area and sales yard. Debris was scattered across the road and median.
We waited at the fire station for assignments, listening to radio traffic about more tornadoes forming as we watched the lightning, rain, wind, and hail from the dry side of the bay windows.
Some time later, we were relocated to the NOAA building at Camp Navajo, considered a more secure building. Weather Service personnel were staring at their banks of colorful computer monitors and busily walking desk to desk, room to room, calm but clearly running on adrenaline. One man said, "This is what we all train for but hope never happens."
Eventually, SAR personnel were sent into the field to do welfare checks and damage assessments, with the exception of me and one other team member, who were asked to stay behind to monitor the radios, record the transmissions and activities on the computer, and do some mapping. The others headed out to get very wet while canvassing the Bellemont neighborhood.
At the end of the day, patches of blue sky began to emerge. The tornado warnings subsided and later the watch was lifted. The severe and unusual storm had left behind lots of damage and some minor injuries but, thankfully, no serious physical trauma or loss of life.
The next day, SAR teams were dispatched to search Forest Service roads, to make sure no campers or hunters had been stranded or injured.
*********************
Per the National Weather Service on October 6,2010....
A STRONG PACIFIC LOW PRESSURE SYSTEM LOCATED ACROSS SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA COMBINED WITH SUBSTANTIAL MOISTURE MOVING NORTH FROM MEXICO...LED TO THE DEVELOPMENT OF WIDESPREAD SEVERE THUNDERSTORM ACTIVITY ACROSS THE REGION WEDNESDAY. NUMEROUS REPORTS OF HAIL WERE RECEIVED...AS WELL AS FIVE CONFIRMED TORNADOES.
TORNADOES...
BLUE RIDGE...(153-212 AM)...FOREST SERVICE AND NATIONAL WEATHER SERVICE EMPLOYEES VERIFIED A 10-15 MILE PATH WITH NUMEROUS TREES DOWN AND SEVERAL FOREST ROADS BLOCKED. DAMAGE INTENSITY VARIED CONSIDERABLY ALONG PATH, WHICH VARIED FROM 75 TO 400 YARDS WIDE.
BELLEMONT TORNADO #1...(507-535 AM)...CONSIDERABLE STRUCTURAL DAMAGE IN AND AROUND THE COMMUNITY OF BELLEMONT. AREAL AND GROUND SURVEYS VERIFIED A SEMI-CONTINUOUS TORNADO PATH FROM AT LEAST 9 MILES SOUTH OF BELLEMONT...EXTENDING NORTHWARD CROSSING HIGHWAY 180 NORTHWEST OF FLAGSTAFF. TOTAL PATH LENGTH OF AT LEAST 22 MILES. PRELIMINARY ESTIMATES OF DAMAGE INTENSITY IN THE COMMUNITY OF BELLEMONT PUT THIS TORNADO AT EF-1 ON THE ENHANCED FUJITA SCALE. MOST INTENSE DAMAGE (NOT YET RATED) WAS IN THE FOREST SOUTH AND JUST NORTH OF BELLEMONT.
BELLEMONT TORNADO #2...(558-640 AM)...THIS TORNADO CAUSED EXTENSIVE FOREST DAMAGE (PRIMARILY SOUTH OF BELLEMONT)...ALONG A CONTINUOUS TRACK WHICH EXTENDED FROM 15 MILES SOUTH OF BELLEMONT...EVENTUALLY CROSSING HIGHWAY 180 NORTHWEST OF FLAGSTAFF. 28 RAIL CARS DERAILED IN BELLEMONT...WITH ADDITIONAL STRUCTURAL AND AUTO DAMAGE. TOTAL PATH LENGTH OF AT LEAST 30 MILES. NO TORNADO INTENSITY HAS BEEN ESTIMATED YET.
MUNDS PARK...(1208-1220 PM)...THIS TORNADO WAS SIGHTED CROSSING INTERSTATE 17 MOVING NORTHBOUND...LATER OBSERVED 4 MILES SOUTH OF THE COUNTRY CLUB NEIGHBORHOOD ON THE EAST SIDE OF FLAGSTAFF. LITTLE SURFACE DAMAGE REPORTED AT THIS TIME.
AN ADDITIONAL TORNADO TRACK WAS DISCOVERED NORTH AND WEST OF FORT VALLEY NEAR THE FLAGSTAFF NORDIC CENTER. THIS TRACK WAS DISTINCTLY SEPARATE FROM THE TWO EARLIER BELLEMONT TORNADO TRACKS...HOWEVER APPEARED TO BE MUCH SHORTER IN LENGTH.
HAIL REPORTS...
CORNVILLE..........................2.00 INCH DIAMETER
PARKS..............................1.75 INCH DIAMETER
TEEC NOS POS.......................1.75 INCH DIAMETER
RIMROCK............................1.25 INCH DIAMETER
KACHINA VILLAGE....................1.00 INCH DIAMETER
COTTONWOOD 1 MI SOUTH..............1.00 INCH DIAMETER
MUNDS PARK 5 MI NORTH..............1.00 INCH DIAMETER
See also:
News video: 'Tornado train' rocks Arizona
Article: Bellemont Becomes Tornado Alley
Photos of tornado aftermath
Update: 8 Tornadoes now confirmed
What a Workout! A Patient Carry on the Peaks
She looked up at me from the Stokes litter, her eyes, nose, and mouth lined with dried blood, her upper lip, deeply split. She'd need some stitches there. I saw blood spattered on her shirt.
A drop of my sweat just missed her face. She noticed and seemed to smile at me apologetically with her eyes, but her injured mouth didn't move. The woman did answer, though, whenever someone asked how she was doing. She was okay, she would say, but her neck was bothering her.
She and her husband, both in their early 60s, had been enjoying a hike on a perfect afternoon on the Kachina Trail, the sky almost as blue as our SAR shirts, when she tripped and did a face-plant right into a rock. She'd injured her neck in the fall and, clearly, her face. We weren't sure if she had a concussion, but she was experiencing some anomalies with her vision.
She didn't complain a bit, though, as we maneuvered the litter up and down the rough trail, lifting it over rocks and sometimes struggling to maintain our footing on the narrow trail. It was not a smooth ride.
I'd been in the check-out line at the grocery store when the call came in. It would take me at least 45 minutes to get home, put all the perishable food away, and then get to the SAR building. Too long. So, I called our coordinator and asked where I could meet the team. I was told to drive to Snowbowl Road and, from there, take FS 522 (Friedline Prairie Road) about a mile in and look for the SAR vehicles at the corrals. From there, I'd hike up an unofficial trail to intersect the Kachina Trail. The patient was closer to the midpoint of the trail than the trailhead, so this would be a faster route.
Still reacclimating after my three months at a much lower altitude in Nepal, I was breathing heavily as I climbed, wondering how far up the trail the intersection was. I'd never hiked up from that road before. I pushed myself to maintain a steady pace as I tried to catch up with my teammates. Before I reached intersection, I saw a blue SAR shirt up ahead.
The last two teammates in the initial group were moving slowly. One of them wasn't feeling too well. The other, just ahead, was keeping an eye on her while carrying the extra weight of the backboard on his own back in addition to his pack. At the intersection, he handed off the backboard to me and stayed behind to check on our teammate. I pushed on, unsure how far up that roller coaster of a trail the rest of the team, the patient, and two Guardian medics were located. Turned out, they were farther up than I expected.
Just before I reached the others, one of my teammates met me on the trail and relieved me of the backboard. A fast hiker with long legs, he'd headed down to see if he could speed up the process of getting the backboard to the patient's location, so they could get her secured in the litter and ready for the carry-out. By that time, she'd been there for a couple of hours, and it would take a least a few more to get her to the waiting ambulance.
With just seven of us on the litter, it was a difficult evacuation. Only one person at a time could take a break, while the rest shifted sides to at least rest one arm a bit.
Using a piece of webbing hitched to the litter railing, crossed behind my neck and over my shoulders, and held by the hand away from the litter helped me make more of a contribution to the effort. Without the webbing, my arm on the litter was doing all the work, which meant my lack of upper body strength compared to my male teammates made me less effective. But my sore, tired arms and dripping sweat were testament to the fact that I was trying my hardest to help. By the time we reached the ambulance a few hours later, I was spent.
A day after the rescue, we received a nice thank you email from the patient's husband. He said his wife was doing well and didn't have a concussion after all. It's a rather rare treat to hear from a subject or the family after a mission.
A drop of my sweat just missed her face. She noticed and seemed to smile at me apologetically with her eyes, but her injured mouth didn't move. The woman did answer, though, whenever someone asked how she was doing. She was okay, she would say, but her neck was bothering her.
She and her husband, both in their early 60s, had been enjoying a hike on a perfect afternoon on the Kachina Trail, the sky almost as blue as our SAR shirts, when she tripped and did a face-plant right into a rock. She'd injured her neck in the fall and, clearly, her face. We weren't sure if she had a concussion, but she was experiencing some anomalies with her vision.
She didn't complain a bit, though, as we maneuvered the litter up and down the rough trail, lifting it over rocks and sometimes struggling to maintain our footing on the narrow trail. It was not a smooth ride.
I'd been in the check-out line at the grocery store when the call came in. It would take me at least 45 minutes to get home, put all the perishable food away, and then get to the SAR building. Too long. So, I called our coordinator and asked where I could meet the team. I was told to drive to Snowbowl Road and, from there, take FS 522 (Friedline Prairie Road) about a mile in and look for the SAR vehicles at the corrals. From there, I'd hike up an unofficial trail to intersect the Kachina Trail. The patient was closer to the midpoint of the trail than the trailhead, so this would be a faster route.
Still reacclimating after my three months at a much lower altitude in Nepal, I was breathing heavily as I climbed, wondering how far up the trail the intersection was. I'd never hiked up from that road before. I pushed myself to maintain a steady pace as I tried to catch up with my teammates. Before I reached intersection, I saw a blue SAR shirt up ahead.
The last two teammates in the initial group were moving slowly. One of them wasn't feeling too well. The other, just ahead, was keeping an eye on her while carrying the extra weight of the backboard on his own back in addition to his pack. At the intersection, he handed off the backboard to me and stayed behind to check on our teammate. I pushed on, unsure how far up that roller coaster of a trail the rest of the team, the patient, and two Guardian medics were located. Turned out, they were farther up than I expected.
Just before I reached the others, one of my teammates met me on the trail and relieved me of the backboard. A fast hiker with long legs, he'd headed down to see if he could speed up the process of getting the backboard to the patient's location, so they could get her secured in the litter and ready for the carry-out. By that time, she'd been there for a couple of hours, and it would take a least a few more to get her to the waiting ambulance.
With just seven of us on the litter, it was a difficult evacuation. Only one person at a time could take a break, while the rest shifted sides to at least rest one arm a bit.
Using a piece of webbing hitched to the litter railing, crossed behind my neck and over my shoulders, and held by the hand away from the litter helped me make more of a contribution to the effort. Without the webbing, my arm on the litter was doing all the work, which meant my lack of upper body strength compared to my male teammates made me less effective. But my sore, tired arms and dripping sweat were testament to the fact that I was trying my hardest to help. By the time we reached the ambulance a few hours later, I was spent.
A day after the rescue, we received a nice thank you email from the patient's husband. He said his wife was doing well and didn't have a concussion after all. It's a rather rare treat to hear from a subject or the family after a mission.
*******
The next day, our team received another call-out for another litter carry, this time on the Humphreys Trail. But one of our team members who lives near Humphreys responded directly and quickly and was able to walk the patient out. So the SAR response was canceled.
Two days after that, during the compass class field exercise for this year's SAR Academy members, we received yet another call-out for a litter carry off of Humprheys Trail. Seven of the 13 of us helping with the class left, reconvened at the SAR building to get some equipment, and then drove Code 3 (fast, like an ambulance) to the mountain, lights and sirens going. (I have to admit, that's fun.) By the time we reached the trailhead, however, that patient was also already at the trailhead.
A Tracking Challenge: Are We Making This Up?
"Are we making this up?" Robert asked, not for the first time that morning, talking to himself again as much as to me.
I stood there, staring at the faint depression in the pine needles.
"I don't think so," I replied without confidence. "I mean, we keep seeing things, and we were sure that was a partial print back there. So, I think we're on the track."
Whether it was the subject's track, though, was another question. We'd been told he was wearing "motorcycle boots," but we weren't sure of the tread and couldn't be sure the information was accurate, either. It would not have been the first time we'd been told a missing person was wearing one kind of shoe only to later find out they were wearing something very different.
We'd been trying to follow whomever's track that was for a couple of hours, starting not far from the campsite the missing man had been sharing with his son, until he walked away from there the day before and failed to return. It was now nearing noon, the worst time of day for tracking with the sun overhead.
We were sure someone had crawled under the barbed wire fence at the bottom of the hill—the grass was flattened, and there was a partial print nearby—and we were pretty sure that same someone had come up to the top of the hill where we were standing. But trying to track through pine needles is a real challenge. Robert and I kept having to kneel down and carefully move the needles out of the way to see if, in fact, that faint impression was indeed a footstep.
Then there were the little holes I saw here and there near the impressions. We'd been told the 77-year-old subject had been carrying a cut-off golf club as a hiking stick. The holes I saw now and then in the small patches of bare dirt seemed kind of small to be made by a cut-off golf club. But, then again, it had rained heavily during the night, and some dirt had probably washed back into the holes. Robert wasn't as convinced as I was that, yes indeed, those were cut-off golf club holes.
As the two of us made slow progress along the track, we heard a couple of our teammates on the radio, also following some tracks. Could we all be on the same track, I wondered, just made at different times and places? Based on their location, I thought it was possible.
As we were tracking, other teams were driving containment on Forest Service roads, a K9 team was in the field, and some folks from our mounted unit were searching on horseback. Other campers and a deputy in the area were also looking for the missing man. Given his age and the fact that he had not been carrying any supplies when he left the day before, I don't think I was the only one concerned about the subject's well-being.
BUT, as it turned out, he was in very good shape when he came walking along the meadow toward camp. Turns out, the man had indeed gotten lost and spent the rest of the day before and all that morning wandering around, trying to find his way back to his camp. He'd spent at least some of the night lying on the ground, trying to sleep. But aside from being a bit dehydrated, he was okay.
Before Robert and I headed back to base to debrief, we did have a chance to look at the subject's boots. Yep, those had been his tracks alright! And it seems that Robert and I were following the same tracks that our teammates had been following, only we were further along in the timeline. (That is, the tracks we were on were more recent.) From what the K9 handler said, the dogs had been showing signs of interest when they'd been getting close to where the man had apparently walked not long before they arrived. So, not only did this search have a positive outcome, but we SAR members also got some positive reinforcement that our skills had been working for us.
I stood there, staring at the faint depression in the pine needles.
"I don't think so," I replied without confidence. "I mean, we keep seeing things, and we were sure that was a partial print back there. So, I think we're on the track."
Whether it was the subject's track, though, was another question. We'd been told he was wearing "motorcycle boots," but we weren't sure of the tread and couldn't be sure the information was accurate, either. It would not have been the first time we'd been told a missing person was wearing one kind of shoe only to later find out they were wearing something very different.
We'd been trying to follow whomever's track that was for a couple of hours, starting not far from the campsite the missing man had been sharing with his son, until he walked away from there the day before and failed to return. It was now nearing noon, the worst time of day for tracking with the sun overhead.
We were sure someone had crawled under the barbed wire fence at the bottom of the hill—the grass was flattened, and there was a partial print nearby—and we were pretty sure that same someone had come up to the top of the hill where we were standing. But trying to track through pine needles is a real challenge. Robert and I kept having to kneel down and carefully move the needles out of the way to see if, in fact, that faint impression was indeed a footstep.
Then there were the little holes I saw here and there near the impressions. We'd been told the 77-year-old subject had been carrying a cut-off golf club as a hiking stick. The holes I saw now and then in the small patches of bare dirt seemed kind of small to be made by a cut-off golf club. But, then again, it had rained heavily during the night, and some dirt had probably washed back into the holes. Robert wasn't as convinced as I was that, yes indeed, those were cut-off golf club holes.
As the two of us made slow progress along the track, we heard a couple of our teammates on the radio, also following some tracks. Could we all be on the same track, I wondered, just made at different times and places? Based on their location, I thought it was possible.
As we were tracking, other teams were driving containment on Forest Service roads, a K9 team was in the field, and some folks from our mounted unit were searching on horseback. Other campers and a deputy in the area were also looking for the missing man. Given his age and the fact that he had not been carrying any supplies when he left the day before, I don't think I was the only one concerned about the subject's well-being.
BUT, as it turned out, he was in very good shape when he came walking along the meadow toward camp. Turns out, the man had indeed gotten lost and spent the rest of the day before and all that morning wandering around, trying to find his way back to his camp. He'd spent at least some of the night lying on the ground, trying to sleep. But aside from being a bit dehydrated, he was okay.
Before Robert and I headed back to base to debrief, we did have a chance to look at the subject's boots. Yep, those had been his tracks alright! And it seems that Robert and I were following the same tracks that our teammates had been following, only we were further along in the timeline. (That is, the tracks we were on were more recent.) From what the K9 handler said, the dogs had been showing signs of interest when they'd been getting close to where the man had apparently walked not long before they arrived. So, not only did this search have a positive outcome, but we SAR members also got some positive reinforcement that our skills had been working for us.
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