Turns out, I never returned to the crash site after the night I spent helping with security. The National Transportation Safety Board arrived the following day, and they had a private security company take over. Search and rescue volunteers were off duty by 5 p.m. on Monday, the day after the mid-air collision, though we were paged out again on Tuesday to assist with the search for evidence—for pieces of a rotor that had not yet been located. Having gone out on a search on Monday night for a lost hiker on the Huckaby Trail in Sedona, I was not able to respond to that evidence search.
By Thursday, July 3, all wreckage from the two helicopters had been collected and loaded on flatbed trailers to be hauled to a secure site in Phoenix. On Thursday, July 4, the injured flight nurse from the Classic crew, the only one alive after the crash, died at Flagstaff Medical Center. A public memorial service for all seven victims—the five crew from both helicopters and the two patients they were transporting—will be held this coming Tuesday at 10 a.m. at the Pine Mountain Amphitheater.
According to an article today in the Arizona Daily Sun, medical transport helicopters en route to Flagstaff Medical Center communicate with a Guardian dispatcher at Pulliam Airport, not with anyone at the hospital or with one another, and most of the transmissions are regarding the status of patients on board. The dispatcher then relays information, including expected arrival time, to the hospital. Simultaneous approaches to the hospital are prohibited.
And that's about all I have to report about the crash at this time. I'll have an entry about a lost hiker on the Huckaby Trail in the next few days.
These are my stories as a volunteer member of the Sheriff's Search and Rescue team in Coconino County, Arizona. I'll share what it's like to go from a beginner with a lot to learn to an experienced and, hopefully, valuable member of the team, as well as the missions, training, and other activities along the way.
A Mid-Air Collision
This was a code I had not expected to see on my pager: A "700" appeared on the little screen at about 4:30 p.m., and I quickly consulted my list to double-check. Sure enough, 700 means disaster response. I couldn't imagine what that would mean.
When I called in, the message stated that there had been a mid-air collision "in the area." Turns out, two medical transport helicopters, both on approach to the hospital here in downtown Flagstaff, had collided and crashed about a half-mile from their destination. Articles and photos from the Arizona Daily Sun can be found here:
Tragedy Over Flagstaff
UPDATE: Victims of midair medical copter collision ID'd, plus VIDEO of morning press conference
Radio transcripts detail emergency response
Amazingly, neither helicopter hit any nearby buildings or homes or anyone on the ground. It was a beautiful summer Sunday afternoon, so a number of people were out and about and witnessed the collision. A friend of mine who lives nearby said he heard the explosion, and he and other neighbors ran to see what had happened. The helicopters crashed on McMillan Mesa, right in the middle of town near popular Buffalo Park and the Flagstaff Urban Trail.
There were six fatalities in the crash and one survivor, a flight nurse currently in critical condition.
Search and rescue personnel were on scene shortly after the crash, and several of our more experienced members retrieved the flight recorders. One of these people said it's a visual he'll never forget.
SAR members from both ground and mounted units (without horses) have been taking shifts since 5 p.m. on Sunday, June 29, providing site security to keep media and civilians—anyone other than uniformed officers and other officials—out of the large crash site.
The crash and subsequent explosions of the Guardian helicopter also began a 10-acre wildfire. SAR volunteers working the southern perimeter of the crash site last night said they smelled fumes from the smoldering wreckage throughout their shift. Though the fire was basically out by Sunday evening, a SAR volunteer who was on scene this morning called me and said there were hot-spots flaring up nearby, so she reported it and firefighters were responding as she was speaking to me.
I was on scene from 5 p.m. yesterday till 1:00 this morning. Most of that time, I sat up on Cedar Hill on the north side of the crash. From my vantage point, I could see several police cars at road blocks in two locations, the smoldering wreckage of one of the helicopters, and people walking along Cedar Drive to watch from a distance. No one approached the portion of the police line that I was monitoring, but apparently the area closer to the neighborhood on the south side of the crash saw some activity, with local residents coming over to get a closer look. Below me, there was also activity near the site of the second helicopter, with multiple news agencies showing up throughout the evening.
After half a night's sleep and a late breakfast, I'm now standing by, waiting for another call-out for the next shift. I'm not sure how long SAR will be needed for site security. That will depend, I assume, on how long it takes to remove all the wreckage, if that's even begun yet.
I'll update soon.
When I called in, the message stated that there had been a mid-air collision "in the area." Turns out, two medical transport helicopters, both on approach to the hospital here in downtown Flagstaff, had collided and crashed about a half-mile from their destination. Articles and photos from the Arizona Daily Sun can be found here:
Tragedy Over Flagstaff
UPDATE: Victims of midair medical copter collision ID'd, plus VIDEO of morning press conference
Radio transcripts detail emergency response
Amazingly, neither helicopter hit any nearby buildings or homes or anyone on the ground. It was a beautiful summer Sunday afternoon, so a number of people were out and about and witnessed the collision. A friend of mine who lives nearby said he heard the explosion, and he and other neighbors ran to see what had happened. The helicopters crashed on McMillan Mesa, right in the middle of town near popular Buffalo Park and the Flagstaff Urban Trail.
There were six fatalities in the crash and one survivor, a flight nurse currently in critical condition.
Search and rescue personnel were on scene shortly after the crash, and several of our more experienced members retrieved the flight recorders. One of these people said it's a visual he'll never forget.
SAR members from both ground and mounted units (without horses) have been taking shifts since 5 p.m. on Sunday, June 29, providing site security to keep media and civilians—anyone other than uniformed officers and other officials—out of the large crash site.
The crash and subsequent explosions of the Guardian helicopter also began a 10-acre wildfire. SAR volunteers working the southern perimeter of the crash site last night said they smelled fumes from the smoldering wreckage throughout their shift. Though the fire was basically out by Sunday evening, a SAR volunteer who was on scene this morning called me and said there were hot-spots flaring up nearby, so she reported it and firefighters were responding as she was speaking to me.
I was on scene from 5 p.m. yesterday till 1:00 this morning. Most of that time, I sat up on Cedar Hill on the north side of the crash. From my vantage point, I could see several police cars at road blocks in two locations, the smoldering wreckage of one of the helicopters, and people walking along Cedar Drive to watch from a distance. No one approached the portion of the police line that I was monitoring, but apparently the area closer to the neighborhood on the south side of the crash saw some activity, with local residents coming over to get a closer look. Below me, there was also activity near the site of the second helicopter, with multiple news agencies showing up throughout the evening.
After half a night's sleep and a late breakfast, I'm now standing by, waiting for another call-out for the next shift. I'm not sure how long SAR will be needed for site security. That will depend, I assume, on how long it takes to remove all the wreckage, if that's even begun yet.
I'll update soon.
Woods Canyon Rescue
I had no time to get nervous. Art, our acting coordinator tonight in Sergeant D's absence, pointed at me and said, "You and Mike get your stuff together, and Ranger will take you in." For a second, my mouth dropped open—my first helicopter ride!—but I snapped it shut and went to get my gear in order.
Tonight's mission is a search for an overdue hiker in the Woods Canyon area near Sedona. This same now-31-year-old man was short-hauled six years ago by two of the volunteers on tonight's mission, both retired helicopter pilots. They tell us that the subject, Andrew, is missing part of his skull as a result of that past climbing accident. We're hoping he didn't fall sometime today and hit that vulnerable part of his head.
Andrew was supposed to have gone on a day hike, but night came and he hadn't returned. Soon after his girlfriend reported him missing, Andrew's vehicle was located here where SAR personnel have now convened to begin the search.
Tonight's search could have been a long one with so much area to cover. We first would have looked for tracks beginning from Andrew's vehicle and gone from there. But, luckily, Ranger, the DPS helicopter, was able to locate the victim. At first, the pilot radioed that he could see nothing but thick brush, but then Art suggested he fly along the rim. And, moments later, we heard the crew had spotted the subject down in the canyon. His condition, however, could not be determined, nor could the pilot or crew member tell if there would be a way to get to Andrew without technical skill and equipment. So, in the interest of time, Art has chosen me and Michael, an experienced canyoneer, to be flown in, closer to the rim, to see if we can determine Andrew's condition and a possible route to his location.
Next thing I know, I'm being led to the waiting helicopter by the crew member. He didn't have tell ME twice to stay low! I once saw an episode of ER, where a surgeon got his arm lopped off by a rotor, and it sure was graphic. So I'd have crawled on my belly if he'd let me. But all in one piece and with my pride intact, I'm loaded into the helicopter, my backpack handed in to me, and told to buckle up and put the headset on. That last instruction keeps me busy for most of the flight, and I never am able to get the thing snug on my head or the microphone in the proper position in front of my mouth.
It's an odd sensation, flying in a helicopter at night, not being able to see much of anything until we're close to the ground again and the spotlights illuminate the treetops. The flight is smooth, but just feet from the ground, we start to wobble as if the pilot has to fight to land. I'm not sure why that is, but we soon touch down, Mike and I shed our headsets and seat belts, grab our packs, and are physically whisked away from the chopper. The crew member quickly gives us directions on how to get to the rim above the victim's location, then Mike and I stay low until the noisy metal bird takes off and we can stand upright and put our packs on.
After being redirected a couple of times by Ranger, watching us from above, we find the correct two-track they'd been talking about—there are several in this area—and then find the stock tank and drainage the crew member had described. It's rough going, but we're soon on the rim of Woods Canyon, picking our way along through cactus and brush. It's a steep drop and not looking promising.
But just before we begin to call out, an excited voice comes from the darkness below. "Hey! Am I glad to see you!" Well, at least we know Andrew's alive. He's seen our lights, and we begin calling back and forth to get a fix on his location. We've overshot him and double back.
"Andrew, are you hurt?" Mike calls down.
"Well, I hit my head pretty hard! And it's bleeding."
Uh-oh. Not the head again.
"Have you lost much blood?" Mike asks.
"Well, yeah, a decent amount. I have a shirt wrapped around it."
Mike asks, "Can you walk?"
"Yeah, I can walk!"
Well, that's a plus. Mike tells Andrew to stay put, though, and we continue to look for a way down. Eventually, as I work the radio and communicate with Art back at Incident Command, Mike finds a spot where he thinks he can down-climb. He takes off his pack, and I illuminate the way as he gives it a try. I figure if Mike falls, at least I'll be in one piece up top and can call for more help.😏
But Mike makes it down the trickiest part, and from there it's not so bad, he says. I hear him calling back and forth to Andrew, and suddenly a head pops up from the brush below. Andrew has followed Mike's voice and come up to meet him. Then, with Mike carrying Andrew's pack, the two of them climb back to where I'm standing.
Yeah, Andrew is indeed pretty bloody. The t-shirt wrapped around his head is soaked through, and I see blood down the side of his face and on the back of his shirt. He looks and sounds alert, though, and despite a little wobbliness, which he claims is from fatigue, Andrew says he can walk with us. I stay close behind our subject as he follows Mike, ready to lower Andrew to the ground if he passes out. We make our way back toward the landing zone, so Ranger can pick him up.
Soon, however, we see headlights. SAR personnel have been able to drive out fairly close to the landing zone, as I've been monitoring on the radio, but they can't get all the way there; the going has gotten much too rough. And while I have the landing zone (LZ) coordinates on my GPS, and my gadget tells me the LZ is not in the same direction as the headlights, Mike thinks the lights and LZ are one and the same location. He politely vetoes my statement that the LZ is "over there" and wants to head directly for the lights, where we know for sure someone is waiting. If nothing else, he says, Andrew can be driven back to a waiting ambulance. As we move toward the vehicle, I hear Ranger on the radio, repeatedly saying we're going the wrong way, but I continue to follow Mike's lead nonetheless.
In the end, we get to the vehicle, which really isn't all that far from the LZ. Oly, one of the retired pilots, is there and, having more medical experience than the rest of us, quickly checks Andrew—more of a verbal check than physical—and then walks Andrew to the helicopter. Ranger will take Andrew directly to the hospital, while Mike and I drive out with Oly and another volunteer on the long, rough Forest Service road.
The night seems to have flown by and, thankfully, has ended well. I feel like I was more a part of the mission's outcome than ever before.
Tonight's mission is a search for an overdue hiker in the Woods Canyon area near Sedona. This same now-31-year-old man was short-hauled six years ago by two of the volunteers on tonight's mission, both retired helicopter pilots. They tell us that the subject, Andrew, is missing part of his skull as a result of that past climbing accident. We're hoping he didn't fall sometime today and hit that vulnerable part of his head.
Andrew was supposed to have gone on a day hike, but night came and he hadn't returned. Soon after his girlfriend reported him missing, Andrew's vehicle was located here where SAR personnel have now convened to begin the search.
Tonight's search could have been a long one with so much area to cover. We first would have looked for tracks beginning from Andrew's vehicle and gone from there. But, luckily, Ranger, the DPS helicopter, was able to locate the victim. At first, the pilot radioed that he could see nothing but thick brush, but then Art suggested he fly along the rim. And, moments later, we heard the crew had spotted the subject down in the canyon. His condition, however, could not be determined, nor could the pilot or crew member tell if there would be a way to get to Andrew without technical skill and equipment. So, in the interest of time, Art has chosen me and Michael, an experienced canyoneer, to be flown in, closer to the rim, to see if we can determine Andrew's condition and a possible route to his location.
Next thing I know, I'm being led to the waiting helicopter by the crew member. He didn't have tell ME twice to stay low! I once saw an episode of ER, where a surgeon got his arm lopped off by a rotor, and it sure was graphic. So I'd have crawled on my belly if he'd let me. But all in one piece and with my pride intact, I'm loaded into the helicopter, my backpack handed in to me, and told to buckle up and put the headset on. That last instruction keeps me busy for most of the flight, and I never am able to get the thing snug on my head or the microphone in the proper position in front of my mouth.
It's an odd sensation, flying in a helicopter at night, not being able to see much of anything until we're close to the ground again and the spotlights illuminate the treetops. The flight is smooth, but just feet from the ground, we start to wobble as if the pilot has to fight to land. I'm not sure why that is, but we soon touch down, Mike and I shed our headsets and seat belts, grab our packs, and are physically whisked away from the chopper. The crew member quickly gives us directions on how to get to the rim above the victim's location, then Mike and I stay low until the noisy metal bird takes off and we can stand upright and put our packs on.
After being redirected a couple of times by Ranger, watching us from above, we find the correct two-track they'd been talking about—there are several in this area—and then find the stock tank and drainage the crew member had described. It's rough going, but we're soon on the rim of Woods Canyon, picking our way along through cactus and brush. It's a steep drop and not looking promising.
But just before we begin to call out, an excited voice comes from the darkness below. "Hey! Am I glad to see you!" Well, at least we know Andrew's alive. He's seen our lights, and we begin calling back and forth to get a fix on his location. We've overshot him and double back.
"Andrew, are you hurt?" Mike calls down.
"Well, I hit my head pretty hard! And it's bleeding."
Uh-oh. Not the head again.
"Have you lost much blood?" Mike asks.
"Well, yeah, a decent amount. I have a shirt wrapped around it."
Mike asks, "Can you walk?"
"Yeah, I can walk!"
Well, that's a plus. Mike tells Andrew to stay put, though, and we continue to look for a way down. Eventually, as I work the radio and communicate with Art back at Incident Command, Mike finds a spot where he thinks he can down-climb. He takes off his pack, and I illuminate the way as he gives it a try. I figure if Mike falls, at least I'll be in one piece up top and can call for more help.😏
But Mike makes it down the trickiest part, and from there it's not so bad, he says. I hear him calling back and forth to Andrew, and suddenly a head pops up from the brush below. Andrew has followed Mike's voice and come up to meet him. Then, with Mike carrying Andrew's pack, the two of them climb back to where I'm standing.
Yeah, Andrew is indeed pretty bloody. The t-shirt wrapped around his head is soaked through, and I see blood down the side of his face and on the back of his shirt. He looks and sounds alert, though, and despite a little wobbliness, which he claims is from fatigue, Andrew says he can walk with us. I stay close behind our subject as he follows Mike, ready to lower Andrew to the ground if he passes out. We make our way back toward the landing zone, so Ranger can pick him up.
Soon, however, we see headlights. SAR personnel have been able to drive out fairly close to the landing zone, as I've been monitoring on the radio, but they can't get all the way there; the going has gotten much too rough. And while I have the landing zone (LZ) coordinates on my GPS, and my gadget tells me the LZ is not in the same direction as the headlights, Mike thinks the lights and LZ are one and the same location. He politely vetoes my statement that the LZ is "over there" and wants to head directly for the lights, where we know for sure someone is waiting. If nothing else, he says, Andrew can be driven back to a waiting ambulance. As we move toward the vehicle, I hear Ranger on the radio, repeatedly saying we're going the wrong way, but I continue to follow Mike's lead nonetheless.
In the end, we get to the vehicle, which really isn't all that far from the LZ. Oly, one of the retired pilots, is there and, having more medical experience than the rest of us, quickly checks Andrew—more of a verbal check than physical—and then walks Andrew to the helicopter. Ranger will take Andrew directly to the hospital, while Mike and I drive out with Oly and another volunteer on the long, rough Forest Service road.
The night seems to have flown by and, thankfully, has ended well. I feel like I was more a part of the mission's outcome than ever before.
A James Canyon Rescue
Imagine hiking into a quiet canyon on a beautiful spring day. Where the canyon becomes a narrow slot and the creek bed falls off dramatically into a deep, narrow pool, you set up your canvas and paints on a ledge above the water. What a perfect spot on a perfect day.
But then one bad step changes everything. You slide, then fall, 50 feet into that deep pool, where the shaded water is icy cold. The fall results in a fractured femur and ankle and possibly a broken pelvis. It's 2:00 in the afternoon, but no one is anywhere near, no one can hear you call, and the walls of slickrock surrounding the pool are sheer and impossible to free-climb even if you weren't injured. So, cold and in pain, you wait. And wait and wait for hours.
Luckily, you manage to float to the edge of the deep pool, where you find just enough of a toe-hold to keep yourself from sinking. Nightfall finally comes. You know your family knows where you've gone, and they'll eventually come looking for you. And, sure enough, in the middle of the night after three hours of searching, your father finds you and runs for help.
That's when our search and rescue team, members of Highland Fire Department, Guardian Medical, and DPS become involved in the effort to save the 20-year-old victim who's fallen into James Canyon. It's a rugged area without a trail, and a carry-out of this 270-pound young man will take hours and be a risky undertaking for both victim and rescuers. But, first, the rescuers have to figure out how to get him up, out of the cold water, and onto the ledge above.
The first call-out earlier tonight was for technical team members of our SAR unit. About an hour later, another page came, this time for additional ground-pounders to assist with the rescue, at w. I responded to the SAR building and then, along with three others, to the staging area at James Canyon.
While the three other volunteers leave the scene to retrieve drinks and food, I stay behind with the deputy and listen to the radio communication between the rescuers in the canyon below, DPS, and incident command. At 2 a.m., after a technical maneuver requiring a rather elaborate pulley system, the victim is out of the water. He's severely hypothermic, and paramedics begin trying to warm him and stabilize his injuries. I listen to all of this on the radio and piece together the bits of that communication into a mental picture of what's going on down there.
Then I hear they need IV bags and other supplies, meaning someone needs to hike down from my location. The other three ground-pounders haven't returned yet, so I get my chance to help. After my pack is loaded with the medical supplies and I'm given instructions on how to find my way to the rescuers and victim, I start out on my own.
Though usually on edge in the woods at night, adrenaline keeps my nerves at bay. The route is marked with glow sticks and flagging tape, though the tape is sometimes difficult to find after they'd run out of glow sticks to lead the way. Twice I've had to double back and search for the route while carefully watching my step and climbing over blowdowns and boulders.
After about 40 minutes, I see the light of the rescuers' fire and make my way to where the victim is lying, strapped to a backboard, wrapped in sleeping bags and blankets, and surrounded by at least 15 men including several SAR members. I hand off the medical supplies and find myself a spot around the fire.
A decision has been made by Incident Command, with much discussion between DPS, the technical rescue team, and the deputy in charge. DPS will attempt a short-haul at first light instead of rescuers trying to carry the victim out of the canyon. The injured young man, thoroughly doped up on IV pain meds, moaned in pain nonetheless when he was carefully moved closer to the fire. I can only imagine how painful a long, rugged carry-out would be. There's absolutely no way to be gentle on this kind of terrain, not to mention how difficult it would be to carry such a big guy on a level trail. That said, the young man's size and extra body fat were probably the only things that kept him alive in the icy cold water for all those hours. A smaller person probably would have succumbed to hypothermia long before the rescue.
I watch the victim as I and the others wait for daylight and the helicopter to return. A short haul can't be performed by just any pilot, but, luckily, one trained to do short hauls is available, and a deputy on scene here in the canyon is certified to be on the end of the rope with the victim. I've seen this maneuver on video but never up close and personal.
At 5:30 am, we hear the helicopter approaching and quickly secure all of the gear strewn about. It's already very cold in the canyon, but the wind created by the helicopter makes it downright frigid. I feel like I'm in the middle of an Arctic hurricane as the Bowman bag is lowered. At least rescuers are able to shield themselves and take some cover from the wind; the victim is stuck out there, strapped down flat on his back.
Then the helicopter moves away, so the victim, backboard and all, can be packaged up and he and the deputy can be readied for the short haul. Once everything is in order, the helicopter is summoned back and the rest of us move away again.
It's kind of scary yet exciting to watch. Eventually, the helicopter is directly overhead. As the deputy gives the signal that he's ready, he and the victim are lifted, spinning, out of the canyon, the deputy slightly clipping a tree on their way up. And I watch them whisked off, high in the sky, to the waiting ambulance.
It seems anticlimactic, watching the helicopter return for the cargo net full of gear, then retracing our steps the staging area. We now have somewhat of a trail to follow part of the way up, since firefighters with chainsaws worked through the night to clear a path, just in case a carry-out had become necessary. Thank goodness it wasn't!
But, wow, what a rescue. That's one lucky young man. Lucky that his family knew where he'd gone and had planned to look for him if he didn't return by dark. Lucky that he was able to find a foothold on the edge of the pool, which probably prevented him from drowning. Lucky he didn't sustain even more serious injuries from the fall or lose consciousness (which would likely have meant drowning), and lucky that he didn't have to suffer through an extremely difficult and dangerous carry-out. My role in the rescue was minimal by comparison, but I'm glad to have been a part of it and thrilled to have witnessed a life saved.
But then one bad step changes everything. You slide, then fall, 50 feet into that deep pool, where the shaded water is icy cold. The fall results in a fractured femur and ankle and possibly a broken pelvis. It's 2:00 in the afternoon, but no one is anywhere near, no one can hear you call, and the walls of slickrock surrounding the pool are sheer and impossible to free-climb even if you weren't injured. So, cold and in pain, you wait. And wait and wait for hours.
Luckily, you manage to float to the edge of the deep pool, where you find just enough of a toe-hold to keep yourself from sinking. Nightfall finally comes. You know your family knows where you've gone, and they'll eventually come looking for you. And, sure enough, in the middle of the night after three hours of searching, your father finds you and runs for help.
That's when our search and rescue team, members of Highland Fire Department, Guardian Medical, and DPS become involved in the effort to save the 20-year-old victim who's fallen into James Canyon. It's a rugged area without a trail, and a carry-out of this 270-pound young man will take hours and be a risky undertaking for both victim and rescuers. But, first, the rescuers have to figure out how to get him up, out of the cold water, and onto the ledge above.
The first call-out earlier tonight was for technical team members of our SAR unit. About an hour later, another page came, this time for additional ground-pounders to assist with the rescue, at w. I responded to the SAR building and then, along with three others, to the staging area at James Canyon.
While the three other volunteers leave the scene to retrieve drinks and food, I stay behind with the deputy and listen to the radio communication between the rescuers in the canyon below, DPS, and incident command. At 2 a.m., after a technical maneuver requiring a rather elaborate pulley system, the victim is out of the water. He's severely hypothermic, and paramedics begin trying to warm him and stabilize his injuries. I listen to all of this on the radio and piece together the bits of that communication into a mental picture of what's going on down there.
Then I hear they need IV bags and other supplies, meaning someone needs to hike down from my location. The other three ground-pounders haven't returned yet, so I get my chance to help. After my pack is loaded with the medical supplies and I'm given instructions on how to find my way to the rescuers and victim, I start out on my own.
Though usually on edge in the woods at night, adrenaline keeps my nerves at bay. The route is marked with glow sticks and flagging tape, though the tape is sometimes difficult to find after they'd run out of glow sticks to lead the way. Twice I've had to double back and search for the route while carefully watching my step and climbing over blowdowns and boulders.
After about 40 minutes, I see the light of the rescuers' fire and make my way to where the victim is lying, strapped to a backboard, wrapped in sleeping bags and blankets, and surrounded by at least 15 men including several SAR members. I hand off the medical supplies and find myself a spot around the fire.
A decision has been made by Incident Command, with much discussion between DPS, the technical rescue team, and the deputy in charge. DPS will attempt a short-haul at first light instead of rescuers trying to carry the victim out of the canyon. The injured young man, thoroughly doped up on IV pain meds, moaned in pain nonetheless when he was carefully moved closer to the fire. I can only imagine how painful a long, rugged carry-out would be. There's absolutely no way to be gentle on this kind of terrain, not to mention how difficult it would be to carry such a big guy on a level trail. That said, the young man's size and extra body fat were probably the only things that kept him alive in the icy cold water for all those hours. A smaller person probably would have succumbed to hypothermia long before the rescue.
I watch the victim as I and the others wait for daylight and the helicopter to return. A short haul can't be performed by just any pilot, but, luckily, one trained to do short hauls is available, and a deputy on scene here in the canyon is certified to be on the end of the rope with the victim. I've seen this maneuver on video but never up close and personal.
At 5:30 am, we hear the helicopter approaching and quickly secure all of the gear strewn about. It's already very cold in the canyon, but the wind created by the helicopter makes it downright frigid. I feel like I'm in the middle of an Arctic hurricane as the Bowman bag is lowered. At least rescuers are able to shield themselves and take some cover from the wind; the victim is stuck out there, strapped down flat on his back.
Then the helicopter moves away, so the victim, backboard and all, can be packaged up and he and the deputy can be readied for the short haul. Once everything is in order, the helicopter is summoned back and the rest of us move away again.
It's kind of scary yet exciting to watch. Eventually, the helicopter is directly overhead. As the deputy gives the signal that he's ready, he and the victim are lifted, spinning, out of the canyon, the deputy slightly clipping a tree on their way up. And I watch them whisked off, high in the sky, to the waiting ambulance.
It seems anticlimactic, watching the helicopter return for the cargo net full of gear, then retracing our steps the staging area. We now have somewhat of a trail to follow part of the way up, since firefighters with chainsaws worked through the night to clear a path, just in case a carry-out had become necessary. Thank goodness it wasn't!
But, wow, what a rescue. That's one lucky young man. Lucky that his family knew where he'd gone and had planned to look for him if he didn't return by dark. Lucky that he was able to find a foothold on the edge of the pool, which probably prevented him from drowning. Lucky he didn't sustain even more serious injuries from the fall or lose consciousness (which would likely have meant drowning), and lucky that he didn't have to suffer through an extremely difficult and dangerous carry-out. My role in the rescue was minimal by comparison, but I'm glad to have been a part of it and thrilled to have witnessed a life saved.
A Mock Search
Today, ten SAR volunteers—four ground-pounders and six from the mounted unit—are participating in a mock search in the Gray Mountain area north of Flagstaff. The scenario: three hikers who'd been returning to their vehicles each evening after hunting for petrified dinosaur dung all day (a little humor there because, you see, SAR folks do have funny bones) have been missing for two days now. They're experienced hikers but aren't carrying provisions for staying in the field overnight.
At the start of the mission, the deputy acting as incident commander divides us into teams of two and gives us our assignments. We're also provided maps with search sectors drawn in and briefings about the three subjects we're looking for, including their shoe sizes to aid in tracking.
Despite the fact that this is a mock search, I'm just as eager to find the three missing hikers, who happen to be two SAR volunteers and the wife of a deputy, as much as I would be if this were real. At the same time, I'm feeling more bold in testing my skills—navigation, radio communication, tracking, and so forth—than I might if this were an actual mission. In a real situation, I'm still tentative, not wanting to make a mistake, to say something awkward on the radio, or to have to ask more experienced team members too many questions. So I'm just as motivated today but not as inhibited.
During this mock search, I'm leader of Ground Team 2 since I do seem have more search and rescue skills than my partner. I drive while also handling most of the radio communication and navigation. I have a chance to make certain decisions that I'd otherwise defer to a more experienced companion. We have a lot of area to cover for a relatively small number of people, and I do my best to scan the open countryside, sometimes using my binoculars, and look for clues in my immediate surroundings. There's a lot of desert grassland, valleys, and mesas to search, but that wide open area is deceiving; there are innumerable nooks and crannies that can hide a person from view.
Several hours go by. One subject is found, sitting behind a rock on an open ridge, where you'd think a person would be in plain view. Dennis responded to a searcher calling out, reminding us how important it is to make some noise—to call the subjects' names, blow our whistles, and run the sirens. According to Dennis, the first subject was going to be a "gimme;" as long we were making noise, he or she would definitely respond. Now there are two left, and we don't know if they also will respond to calls, so we have to keep trying.
And we try and try and search and search, sometimes on foot, sometimes driving oh-so-slowly along dirt roads, two-tracks, and power lines. After ten hours, we still haven't found the other two subjects, and the exercise is called off.
When Ken and Dianne, our subjects, arrive back at incident command, they tell us that two riders from the mounted unit passed right by them on the ridge just above where they were sitting amongst the rocks on the edge of one of our sectors. Since the riders didn't call out, neither of the subjects revealed their location. Had they been found, one of the two would have been a medevac.
Turns out, I did look in their direction while walking along a road on the far end of that same sector, but even with my binoculars, they were too far away for me to have seen, especially being somewhat hidden by the rocks. I'd actually wanted to search over on that side, with my partner and I walking just below the ridge where we would have found them, but our assignment was changed by incident command before we'd had a chance. Had there been more people participating in the search, we likely would have been able to cover that area.
All in all, it was a beneficial exercise, giving me some added confidence in my abilities, not to mention showing me where I can use more practice. This mock search also gave other SAR members experience with planning a search.
At the start of the mission, the deputy acting as incident commander divides us into teams of two and gives us our assignments. We're also provided maps with search sectors drawn in and briefings about the three subjects we're looking for, including their shoe sizes to aid in tracking.
Despite the fact that this is a mock search, I'm just as eager to find the three missing hikers, who happen to be two SAR volunteers and the wife of a deputy, as much as I would be if this were real. At the same time, I'm feeling more bold in testing my skills—navigation, radio communication, tracking, and so forth—than I might if this were an actual mission. In a real situation, I'm still tentative, not wanting to make a mistake, to say something awkward on the radio, or to have to ask more experienced team members too many questions. So I'm just as motivated today but not as inhibited.
During this mock search, I'm leader of Ground Team 2 since I do seem have more search and rescue skills than my partner. I drive while also handling most of the radio communication and navigation. I have a chance to make certain decisions that I'd otherwise defer to a more experienced companion. We have a lot of area to cover for a relatively small number of people, and I do my best to scan the open countryside, sometimes using my binoculars, and look for clues in my immediate surroundings. There's a lot of desert grassland, valleys, and mesas to search, but that wide open area is deceiving; there are innumerable nooks and crannies that can hide a person from view.
Several hours go by. One subject is found, sitting behind a rock on an open ridge, where you'd think a person would be in plain view. Dennis responded to a searcher calling out, reminding us how important it is to make some noise—to call the subjects' names, blow our whistles, and run the sirens. According to Dennis, the first subject was going to be a "gimme;" as long we were making noise, he or she would definitely respond. Now there are two left, and we don't know if they also will respond to calls, so we have to keep trying.
And we try and try and search and search, sometimes on foot, sometimes driving oh-so-slowly along dirt roads, two-tracks, and power lines. After ten hours, we still haven't found the other two subjects, and the exercise is called off.
When Ken and Dianne, our subjects, arrive back at incident command, they tell us that two riders from the mounted unit passed right by them on the ridge just above where they were sitting amongst the rocks on the edge of one of our sectors. Since the riders didn't call out, neither of the subjects revealed their location. Had they been found, one of the two would have been a medevac.
Turns out, I did look in their direction while walking along a road on the far end of that same sector, but even with my binoculars, they were too far away for me to have seen, especially being somewhat hidden by the rocks. I'd actually wanted to search over on that side, with my partner and I walking just below the ridge where we would have found them, but our assignment was changed by incident command before we'd had a chance. Had there been more people participating in the search, we likely would have been able to cover that area.
All in all, it was a beneficial exercise, giving me some added confidence in my abilities, not to mention showing me where I can use more practice. This mock search also gave other SAR members experience with planning a search.
The Boy Who Ran
I returned from the SAR conference on Sunday, April 20, tired but excited about all that I'd learned, both the new skills and others that were reinforced. And now, less than 12 hours later, I have a chance to put some of those skills to use.
At 0300, my pager sang its little song. As usual, I went from sleeping to vertical in a split second, pulling on my fleece-lined tights, hiking shoes, thermal top, fleece jacket, and winter coat. Minutes later, I was driving across town to the SAR building. It may be spring, and the days are often in the sixties now, but nights are still sub-freezing. In this arid climate, the difference between night and daytime temperatures is often as much as 60 degrees. So, what you might wear in mid-afternoon would be very inadequate at night and in the early morning hours.
The 17-year-old boy we're now looking for was under-dressed for the conditions when he and a friend took off running at 10:00 last night, as a Sheriff's deputy approached to check out their vehicle. The boys had parked along a Forest Service road in an unusual spot, the deputy said, and he drove up without flashing light to investigate. Before he'd stopped his patrol car, the two teenagers emerged from the vehicle and ran into the forest. The deputy did not pursue them.
Soon, the young driver returned to the car. He was the registered owner. But his friend, for whom he gave a false name to the deputy, did not come back. Instead, he disappeared into the cold night wearing just shorts, a sweatshirt, and tennis shoes.
Jay (name changed), the person we're searching for, is not from or familiar with this area, where he's visiting his aunt and uncle who live south of Flagstaff in Mountainaire. The deputy told us he found a bong and marijuana grinder on the ground not far from the car, and the one boy-driver who returned admitted they'd been smoking pot and some other drug, too. Jay is currently on probation, which has a lot to do with why he ran when he saw the deputy's car.
The deputy released the driver, who then went to Jay's aunt and uncle's house. At about 2 a.m., he decided to wake them and tell them what had happened. As I understand it, they then called the Sheriff, and that's how the deputy found out who it is that's missing, since the friend had given him the false name earlier. The original deputy and others who were called to assist have been searching for Jay since soon after he disappeared, patrolling roads and walking the immediate area near where the teenagers had parked. It is now 4:30 a.m., and three of us volunteers and Cassie, our K-9 assistant, have arrived to help.
Cassie smells the scent article, a pair of Jay's jeans provided by his uncle, and is off like a shot with her handler, Al, in tow at the end of her 30-foot lead and myself and Scott close behind. At first, Cassie is definitely on scent as we depart from where the boys ran off. She heads toward a concrete tunnel under the highway, filled with a foot of standing water, then north along the barbed wire fence just below I-17. Al and I hear the occasional semi truck pass by on the highway above as we follow Cassie, searching for clues and prints as we go while keeping up with the dog.
Soon, Cassie begins casting side-to-side; she's unsure of the track now and easily distracted, not to mention clearly frustrated. The strong winds have dispersed the scent and made it difficult for her pick up. Eventually, she's lost the track altogether, and we return to the beginning to give it another try.
And Cassie goes right back to the tunnel. However, instead of passing it by this time, she gets very excited and wants to go into the standing water and under the highway. But Al holds her back, and we look through the tunnel as we did before. Still don't see anything. It's daylight now, but we shine our lights in the murkiness, just to be sure.
From above the tunnel, I look down at the water at the entrance and see no disturbance in the mud or rocks. We decide to climb the steep bank, carefully cross the divided highway, and check the other side.
We know the deputy had called for backups when the boys ran off, and some had arrived up on I-17, above the tunnel, just minutes later. As Al, Cassie, and I reach the pavement, we see the deputies' footprints along the side of the highway. None were made by sneakers, of that we're sure, but there's not much chance that Jay went up and over with the flashing blue lights visible from below. Cassie appears to confirm that as we climb the embankment. She doesn't pick up on anything.
On the other side of the highway, there's no disturbance in the algae on the standing water as it emerges from the tunnel, and Cassie isn't detecting anything with her nose. Al takes her in a big circle, checking. Nothing. As the DPS helicopter also circles, we decide that Jay did not cross the highway, at least not here, and we return to the other side. There's much more traffic now, so crossing is trickier.
Jay's mother and stepfather have arrived, as well as the aunt and uncle, so quite a few people are standing around. Another SAR call-out eventually produces four more volunteers, and we give them a rundown of what we know and what we've done so far. Cassie is now in the truck--—a ground-scent dog is not going to be effective on this search, since the wind has made it impossible for her to follow the track—and we'll continue the search without her. She did the best she could.
Now we split up. Scott drives one of the SAR vehicles, while Dave and Howard go up to the highway and soon are following some prints along the edge of the road, heading south. We don't know what type of sneakers Jay is wearing, so we can't be sure if we're seeing his tracks. Val, Oly, and I walk north, paralleling the Forest Service road as we search the woods and open areas between the trees and I-17. I show them where Cassie had stopped earlier on her first attempt, having lost any scent at that point, and we continue in that direction.
And, as it turns out, the three of us are going the right way. We hear on our radios that a deputy has located Jay near Flagstaff's airport, not all that far from our current location. He doesn't say "Code 4," but I'm assuming the boy is okay for lack of any other information. All SAR volunteers start heading back to base.
As we slowly drive away to return to the SAR building, we see Jay get out of a patrol car and approach his waiting family, which now includes his father. We know his father works for the Department of Corrections in a different city, because he'd offered to have more dogs from his department—the kind that air-scent, which is what we would have needed to have any chance in this wind. We also know Jay lives with his mother and stepfather. As we drive past them, we see a tall, red-faced boy who looks like he's angry and on the verge of tears jump back as his father lunges at him. A deputy grabs the father before he can strike Jay, and we drive off, leaving the family drama behind. The boy may have gotten himself into trouble again, but at this moment, I can't help but feel bad for him. Dad could have started off with a hug.
At 0300, my pager sang its little song. As usual, I went from sleeping to vertical in a split second, pulling on my fleece-lined tights, hiking shoes, thermal top, fleece jacket, and winter coat. Minutes later, I was driving across town to the SAR building. It may be spring, and the days are often in the sixties now, but nights are still sub-freezing. In this arid climate, the difference between night and daytime temperatures is often as much as 60 degrees. So, what you might wear in mid-afternoon would be very inadequate at night and in the early morning hours.
The 17-year-old boy we're now looking for was under-dressed for the conditions when he and a friend took off running at 10:00 last night, as a Sheriff's deputy approached to check out their vehicle. The boys had parked along a Forest Service road in an unusual spot, the deputy said, and he drove up without flashing light to investigate. Before he'd stopped his patrol car, the two teenagers emerged from the vehicle and ran into the forest. The deputy did not pursue them.
Soon, the young driver returned to the car. He was the registered owner. But his friend, for whom he gave a false name to the deputy, did not come back. Instead, he disappeared into the cold night wearing just shorts, a sweatshirt, and tennis shoes.
Jay (name changed), the person we're searching for, is not from or familiar with this area, where he's visiting his aunt and uncle who live south of Flagstaff in Mountainaire. The deputy told us he found a bong and marijuana grinder on the ground not far from the car, and the one boy-driver who returned admitted they'd been smoking pot and some other drug, too. Jay is currently on probation, which has a lot to do with why he ran when he saw the deputy's car.
The deputy released the driver, who then went to Jay's aunt and uncle's house. At about 2 a.m., he decided to wake them and tell them what had happened. As I understand it, they then called the Sheriff, and that's how the deputy found out who it is that's missing, since the friend had given him the false name earlier. The original deputy and others who were called to assist have been searching for Jay since soon after he disappeared, patrolling roads and walking the immediate area near where the teenagers had parked. It is now 4:30 a.m., and three of us volunteers and Cassie, our K-9 assistant, have arrived to help.
Cassie smells the scent article, a pair of Jay's jeans provided by his uncle, and is off like a shot with her handler, Al, in tow at the end of her 30-foot lead and myself and Scott close behind. At first, Cassie is definitely on scent as we depart from where the boys ran off. She heads toward a concrete tunnel under the highway, filled with a foot of standing water, then north along the barbed wire fence just below I-17. Al and I hear the occasional semi truck pass by on the highway above as we follow Cassie, searching for clues and prints as we go while keeping up with the dog.
Soon, Cassie begins casting side-to-side; she's unsure of the track now and easily distracted, not to mention clearly frustrated. The strong winds have dispersed the scent and made it difficult for her pick up. Eventually, she's lost the track altogether, and we return to the beginning to give it another try.
And Cassie goes right back to the tunnel. However, instead of passing it by this time, she gets very excited and wants to go into the standing water and under the highway. But Al holds her back, and we look through the tunnel as we did before. Still don't see anything. It's daylight now, but we shine our lights in the murkiness, just to be sure.
From above the tunnel, I look down at the water at the entrance and see no disturbance in the mud or rocks. We decide to climb the steep bank, carefully cross the divided highway, and check the other side.
We know the deputy had called for backups when the boys ran off, and some had arrived up on I-17, above the tunnel, just minutes later. As Al, Cassie, and I reach the pavement, we see the deputies' footprints along the side of the highway. None were made by sneakers, of that we're sure, but there's not much chance that Jay went up and over with the flashing blue lights visible from below. Cassie appears to confirm that as we climb the embankment. She doesn't pick up on anything.
On the other side of the highway, there's no disturbance in the algae on the standing water as it emerges from the tunnel, and Cassie isn't detecting anything with her nose. Al takes her in a big circle, checking. Nothing. As the DPS helicopter also circles, we decide that Jay did not cross the highway, at least not here, and we return to the other side. There's much more traffic now, so crossing is trickier.
Jay's mother and stepfather have arrived, as well as the aunt and uncle, so quite a few people are standing around. Another SAR call-out eventually produces four more volunteers, and we give them a rundown of what we know and what we've done so far. Cassie is now in the truck--—a ground-scent dog is not going to be effective on this search, since the wind has made it impossible for her to follow the track—and we'll continue the search without her. She did the best she could.
Now we split up. Scott drives one of the SAR vehicles, while Dave and Howard go up to the highway and soon are following some prints along the edge of the road, heading south. We don't know what type of sneakers Jay is wearing, so we can't be sure if we're seeing his tracks. Val, Oly, and I walk north, paralleling the Forest Service road as we search the woods and open areas between the trees and I-17. I show them where Cassie had stopped earlier on her first attempt, having lost any scent at that point, and we continue in that direction.
And, as it turns out, the three of us are going the right way. We hear on our radios that a deputy has located Jay near Flagstaff's airport, not all that far from our current location. He doesn't say "Code 4," but I'm assuming the boy is okay for lack of any other information. All SAR volunteers start heading back to base.
As we slowly drive away to return to the SAR building, we see Jay get out of a patrol car and approach his waiting family, which now includes his father. We know his father works for the Department of Corrections in a different city, because he'd offered to have more dogs from his department—the kind that air-scent, which is what we would have needed to have any chance in this wind. We also know Jay lives with his mother and stepfather. As we drive past them, we see a tall, red-faced boy who looks like he's angry and on the verge of tears jump back as his father lunges at him. A deputy grabs the father before he can strike Jay, and we drive off, leaving the family drama behind. The boy may have gotten himself into trouble again, but at this moment, I can't help but feel bad for him. Dad could have started off with a hug.
Training
Practice, practice, practice. I hear it all the time from SAR instructors, and it's so true. We learn skills in training, and they often seem clear at the time, but it's like most things: You don't use it, you lose it. Sometimes there's a stretch between missions, and not all missions require all skills, so you can get rusty. As for me, if I don't start practicing right after learning a skill in class, I don't really get it down to begin with.
Over the past few weeks, I've taken part in the following trainings:
Although the instructor told me it can actually be easier to maneuver the larger trailer on a goose-neck hitch than the smaller trailer hitched to the back of the vehicle, which is more sensitive to every little move of the steering wheel, I figured I would rarely, if ever, have occasion to tow a horse trailer. The ATV trailers, however, are called for frequently, so I might as well learn the harder way. All I can say is, that skill is going to take me a LOT of practice to master.
At the end of the day, the instructor said he'd recommend that I be allowed to drive with the trailer as long as someone with experience is riding with me. Sounds good to me; I'll never have a chance to practice if I don't actually take the wheel on missions. They say to go slow. Ha! They'll be telling ME to hurry up!
When it comes to GPS, many people are what are called "out-of-the-box users." They buy the gadget, take it out of the box, and go on an outing without first learning how to use the thing. Also, many people rely on a GPS but have no map or compass with them—or map and compass skills, for that matter. But a GPS is an electronic device, right? Si it can fail. It can drop and break. It can run out of batteries when you have no replacements. Sometimes, it doesn't work at all in certain areas because it's can't access enough satellites. So it's really important to have map and compass skills too, not to mention alternative navigation in case your GPS decides to give up the ghost.
Many GPS owners know how to mark the location of their vehicle and then, later, use that recorded landmark as a "go to" to return to where they started. That's all well and good, but it's only one of many functions of a GPS and certainly not enough for SAR missions.
For example, a GPS can be used to mark coordinates of footprints and other clues, determine areas that have already been searched, convert from one coordinate system and map datum to another (i.e., when communicating with the DPS helicopter using lat/long and WGS84 map datum versus the UTM coordinate system and NAD27 Conus datum we often use on the ground in SAR), give Incident Command the location of the subject when that person is found, and so on. We use our GPSs on just about every mission, though we always have our maps and compasses, as well.
Some of the training sessions I attended over the past couple of weeks were held at the annual three-day Search & Rescue Conference in Heber, AZ. In attendance were SAR volunteers and coordinators from teams all over the state, as well as a few from other states. Classes were given for ground-pounders like me and for mounted and K-9 units, with multiple concurrent classes to choose from.
In addition to those I attended, classes included Lost Person Behavior, Basic and Advanced ATV, Alzheimer's and Dementia Subject Behavior, Personal Locator Beacons, Map and Compass, Wilderness First Aid, Introduction to Technical Ground Support, and so forth. It was a fantastic, albeit tiring, weekend, packed with learning.
And I'm now really noticing the improvement in my abilities and confidence, especially with the skills I've learned and had occasion to put to use multiple times now. It feels great feeling.
Over the past few weeks, I've taken part in the following trainings:
- Truck and trailer training (10 hours)
- Navigation Refresher Field Day (8 hours)
- GPS (8 hours: four in the classroom, four in the field)
- UTV (utility terrain vehicle) training
- Venomous Insects and Animals of Arizona
- Tracking (4 hours)
- Patient Packaging (3 hours)
Although the instructor told me it can actually be easier to maneuver the larger trailer on a goose-neck hitch than the smaller trailer hitched to the back of the vehicle, which is more sensitive to every little move of the steering wheel, I figured I would rarely, if ever, have occasion to tow a horse trailer. The ATV trailers, however, are called for frequently, so I might as well learn the harder way. All I can say is, that skill is going to take me a LOT of practice to master.
At the end of the day, the instructor said he'd recommend that I be allowed to drive with the trailer as long as someone with experience is riding with me. Sounds good to me; I'll never have a chance to practice if I don't actually take the wheel on missions. They say to go slow. Ha! They'll be telling ME to hurry up!
When it comes to GPS, many people are what are called "out-of-the-box users." They buy the gadget, take it out of the box, and go on an outing without first learning how to use the thing. Also, many people rely on a GPS but have no map or compass with them—or map and compass skills, for that matter. But a GPS is an electronic device, right? Si it can fail. It can drop and break. It can run out of batteries when you have no replacements. Sometimes, it doesn't work at all in certain areas because it's can't access enough satellites. So it's really important to have map and compass skills too, not to mention alternative navigation in case your GPS decides to give up the ghost.
Many GPS owners know how to mark the location of their vehicle and then, later, use that recorded landmark as a "go to" to return to where they started. That's all well and good, but it's only one of many functions of a GPS and certainly not enough for SAR missions.
For example, a GPS can be used to mark coordinates of footprints and other clues, determine areas that have already been searched, convert from one coordinate system and map datum to another (i.e., when communicating with the DPS helicopter using lat/long and WGS84 map datum versus the UTM coordinate system and NAD27 Conus datum we often use on the ground in SAR), give Incident Command the location of the subject when that person is found, and so on. We use our GPSs on just about every mission, though we always have our maps and compasses, as well.
Some of the training sessions I attended over the past couple of weeks were held at the annual three-day Search & Rescue Conference in Heber, AZ. In attendance were SAR volunteers and coordinators from teams all over the state, as well as a few from other states. Classes were given for ground-pounders like me and for mounted and K-9 units, with multiple concurrent classes to choose from.
In addition to those I attended, classes included Lost Person Behavior, Basic and Advanced ATV, Alzheimer's and Dementia Subject Behavior, Personal Locator Beacons, Map and Compass, Wilderness First Aid, Introduction to Technical Ground Support, and so forth. It was a fantastic, albeit tiring, weekend, packed with learning.
And I'm now really noticing the improvement in my abilities and confidence, especially with the skills I've learned and had occasion to put to use multiple times now. It feels great feeling.
Update: Missing Man Found
Just after I finished my last post, I checked the Arizona Daily Sun website and found the following update:
Missing man found near Mormon Canyon
By Daily Sun Staff
The Coconino County Sheriff’s Office and the Coconino County Sheriff’s Search and Rescue Unit successfully located a man who had been missing since Sunday morning. According to a press release from CCSO, searchers found Fredrick Daniel Boone, 50, walking on Forest Service Road 82 about 1/4-mile north of Mormon Canyon. Boone was last seen near Winona at about 8 a.m. Sunday. He intended to hike in on the forest road to locate his truck, which was stuck somewhere off that road. Boone was tired, cold and hungry, and had minor injuries to his legs from walking through thick underbrush and minor injuries to his hands from trying to free his vehicle from the mud and rocks, but he did not require medical attention.
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I'm so glad Fredrick was found but sorry we weren't able to locate him sooner.
Missing man found near Mormon Canyon
By Daily Sun Staff
The Coconino County Sheriff’s Office and the Coconino County Sheriff’s Search and Rescue Unit successfully located a man who had been missing since Sunday morning. According to a press release from CCSO, searchers found Fredrick Daniel Boone, 50, walking on Forest Service Road 82 about 1/4-mile north of Mormon Canyon. Boone was last seen near Winona at about 8 a.m. Sunday. He intended to hike in on the forest road to locate his truck, which was stuck somewhere off that road. Boone was tired, cold and hungry, and had minor injuries to his legs from walking through thick underbrush and minor injuries to his hands from trying to free his vehicle from the mud and rocks, but he did not require medical attention.
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I'm so glad Fredrick was found but sorry we weren't able to locate him sooner.
Once Was Not Enough
Okay, this is weird. Two nights in a row, same guy.
Saturday evening, my pager goes off shortly after eight. Steve is getting sleepy, but I'm happy for some pending adventure to work off my unused energy. Sergeant D's message says this is a call-out for a lost motorist whose vehicle got stuck somewhere down a Forest Service road. The man walked away from his vehicle earlier today and has been wandering around in the pinion-juniper forest for hours, no idea where he is. But he's gotten to a place where he has a cell phone signal and called for help.
I'm actually surprised I've made it to the Search & Rescue building before getting the ol' 10-22. Given the circumstances, I'm betting that Ranger, the DPS helicopter, is going to find this guy. The light of a cell phone screen is pretty easy for them to spot at night, and if his cell phone is still working, they can have an ongoing dialog with the lost motorist and probably hone in on his position. In fact, as I'm changing into proper clothing for a cold night's mission, I can hear radio traffic just outside the bathroom door, and, sure enough, Ranger, Dispatch and the lost man are communicating. The man tells Dispatch he can hear and then see the helicopter, and he describes Ranger's relative position. But six of us volunteers continue to get ready, just in case. We get the ATV trailers hooked up, sign out radios, grab extra batteries, ATV helmets, and .... oh, okay, put it all away; they've got the guy. And he's in an open field where Ranger can land.
So I go home, sleep, spend a wonderful 10th anniversary Sunday with my husband, have dinner and ... beep, beep, beep! But Steve doesn't mind--the good-natured soul that he is--so off I go to search and, hopefully, rescue. Besides, the same guy is missing for a second night in a row? This time, there's no cell phone contact. I have to respond to this one.
The scenario goes like this: At approximately 8:00 this morning, this guy's soon-to-be ex-wife drops him off along the same Forest Service road he drove down yesterday. He wants to go find his vehicle, a 3/4-ton Ford 250 pickup. Apparently, everything he owns is in that truck. But the soon-to-be ex doesn't want to drive her car too far down the unpaved road, so she drops the man off at a rock-filled gully about 4 miles in. Then the subject, dressed in Carhardt coveralls and a baseball cap, proceeds to walk at least nine miles to where he thinks his truck is located. This 50 year-old long-time smoker was apparently carrying a grocery bag filled with Camel cigarettes. As far as we know, that's all he was carrying.
At about 3pm, the subject made a cell phone call to his wife, but the call was broken up. He was talking about getting a tow truck. (Note to self: that means he'd probably found his vehicle by then.) But I guess that was the extent of the conversation when the call was dropped. Sergeant D has made repeated calls to the man's phone but has had to leave messages. The cell phone company has confirmed which tower the call utilized and that the phone is now powered down, which could mean a dead battery. They gave a range of 4 miles for that cell tower, though my companions this evening don't put much stock in that information; they seem to think the range can be much further. At any rate, the subject's wife didn't hear from him again and he didn't return to the shelter in Flagstaff, where he's been staying.
Tonight, we have the same group of volunteers as last night, plus eventually three more. We split into three groups, two towing ATV trailers, and spread out. I'm riding with Scott and Ken, studying the map as we turn off I-40 east onto Forest Service Road 82 with three ATVs on our trailer. Another group with ATVs is heading up the same road from the south, so we're making our way towards each other. Two others have driven further down I-40 to begin searching closer to the cell phone tower.
About four miles in, we clearly see where the subject was dropped off at the rock-filled gully. It isn't that bad; even in a car, it could be crossed, and the road looks good up ahead. Poor guy had to walk a lot further than necessary, in my opinion. We stop now and then to get out and look for footprints, but we aren't sure what type of shoes the man was wearing, and there appears to have been vehicle traffic which could have wiped out most, if not all, prints on the road.
We soon flag down a group of woodcutters in three trucks, who at first seem hesitant to talk to us. The men in the first two trucks deny seeing anyone today, but according to the two men and one young boy in the third truck, they saw our guy before they began woodcutting around noon. After looking at our map, which Scott and Ken spread out on the hood of their truck, and being shown where we're standing and where certain features are on the map, the woodcutters seem to agree on where they saw Fredrick. I can't help but wonder about their information, primarily because they were fed the description of the subject's clothing and approximate location. But I suppose I should go along with it as being true. Scott and Ken seem to think so.
We continue down the road and come to a fork. FSR 82 goes to the right, FSR 233 to the left. We wander around, the wind whipping as it's been doing all day. I walk slowly along the left side of 233, though we're feeling quite confident that the subject headed down 82; that assumption goes along with what the woodcutters said and is more in the direction of the man's rescue location from last night. But then I find something. The butt of a cigarette, just a couple of yards down 233. The little camel picture is still visible--that's the subject's brand!--and the butt is squishy, so it seems fresh. Yippee! I found a clue! But ... well, my companions, who have 25 combined years of experience with CCSSAR, don't think it helps us much. They say there's no footprint near it, that the piece of cigarette could have blown over here, and that the woodcutters say they saw the subject further down FSR 82 (the other road) earlier today. Oh, phooey. But I stick the little souvenir clue in my pocket, anyway.
Okay, I admit it! You dragged it out me. I'm a little competitive. I wanna find me a clue! I wanna find the guy and have the "old-timers" say, "Hey, Deb is pretty good at this." Well, maybe next time. And hopefully that next time will be tonight.
But, alas, at 1am, the subject has yet to be found. After riding around on increasingly rough roads, getting a bit hung up towing that ATV trailer through some tight spots, and finding lots of footprints, none of which we could be sure belonged to the man we're looking for, Sergeant D tells us to call it a night. The DPS helicopter, unavailable on Sunday, will be back after dawn to fly the area. Maybe they can spot the subject's truck from the air, and if the truck is found, hopefully Fredrick will be with it.
Before leaving the SAR building, we give our Coordinator a run-down of what we did, what we found--including my little cigarette butt, which he seems to think is important--and where Scott and Ken think Ranger should concentrate their search. Driving home a few minutes later, I'm feeling a little frustrated. I really wanted to drive down FSR 233. If ... or, I should say, when ... the subject is found, I'll be really interested to know where he was.
http://www.debralauman.com/
Saturday evening, my pager goes off shortly after eight. Steve is getting sleepy, but I'm happy for some pending adventure to work off my unused energy. Sergeant D's message says this is a call-out for a lost motorist whose vehicle got stuck somewhere down a Forest Service road. The man walked away from his vehicle earlier today and has been wandering around in the pinion-juniper forest for hours, no idea where he is. But he's gotten to a place where he has a cell phone signal and called for help.
I'm actually surprised I've made it to the Search & Rescue building before getting the ol' 10-22. Given the circumstances, I'm betting that Ranger, the DPS helicopter, is going to find this guy. The light of a cell phone screen is pretty easy for them to spot at night, and if his cell phone is still working, they can have an ongoing dialog with the lost motorist and probably hone in on his position. In fact, as I'm changing into proper clothing for a cold night's mission, I can hear radio traffic just outside the bathroom door, and, sure enough, Ranger, Dispatch and the lost man are communicating. The man tells Dispatch he can hear and then see the helicopter, and he describes Ranger's relative position. But six of us volunteers continue to get ready, just in case. We get the ATV trailers hooked up, sign out radios, grab extra batteries, ATV helmets, and .... oh, okay, put it all away; they've got the guy. And he's in an open field where Ranger can land.
So I go home, sleep, spend a wonderful 10th anniversary Sunday with my husband, have dinner and ... beep, beep, beep! But Steve doesn't mind--the good-natured soul that he is--so off I go to search and, hopefully, rescue. Besides, the same guy is missing for a second night in a row? This time, there's no cell phone contact. I have to respond to this one.
The scenario goes like this: At approximately 8:00 this morning, this guy's soon-to-be ex-wife drops him off along the same Forest Service road he drove down yesterday. He wants to go find his vehicle, a 3/4-ton Ford 250 pickup. Apparently, everything he owns is in that truck. But the soon-to-be ex doesn't want to drive her car too far down the unpaved road, so she drops the man off at a rock-filled gully about 4 miles in. Then the subject, dressed in Carhardt coveralls and a baseball cap, proceeds to walk at least nine miles to where he thinks his truck is located. This 50 year-old long-time smoker was apparently carrying a grocery bag filled with Camel cigarettes. As far as we know, that's all he was carrying.
At about 3pm, the subject made a cell phone call to his wife, but the call was broken up. He was talking about getting a tow truck. (Note to self: that means he'd probably found his vehicle by then.) But I guess that was the extent of the conversation when the call was dropped. Sergeant D has made repeated calls to the man's phone but has had to leave messages. The cell phone company has confirmed which tower the call utilized and that the phone is now powered down, which could mean a dead battery. They gave a range of 4 miles for that cell tower, though my companions this evening don't put much stock in that information; they seem to think the range can be much further. At any rate, the subject's wife didn't hear from him again and he didn't return to the shelter in Flagstaff, where he's been staying.
Tonight, we have the same group of volunteers as last night, plus eventually three more. We split into three groups, two towing ATV trailers, and spread out. I'm riding with Scott and Ken, studying the map as we turn off I-40 east onto Forest Service Road 82 with three ATVs on our trailer. Another group with ATVs is heading up the same road from the south, so we're making our way towards each other. Two others have driven further down I-40 to begin searching closer to the cell phone tower.
About four miles in, we clearly see where the subject was dropped off at the rock-filled gully. It isn't that bad; even in a car, it could be crossed, and the road looks good up ahead. Poor guy had to walk a lot further than necessary, in my opinion. We stop now and then to get out and look for footprints, but we aren't sure what type of shoes the man was wearing, and there appears to have been vehicle traffic which could have wiped out most, if not all, prints on the road.
We soon flag down a group of woodcutters in three trucks, who at first seem hesitant to talk to us. The men in the first two trucks deny seeing anyone today, but according to the two men and one young boy in the third truck, they saw our guy before they began woodcutting around noon. After looking at our map, which Scott and Ken spread out on the hood of their truck, and being shown where we're standing and where certain features are on the map, the woodcutters seem to agree on where they saw Fredrick. I can't help but wonder about their information, primarily because they were fed the description of the subject's clothing and approximate location. But I suppose I should go along with it as being true. Scott and Ken seem to think so.
We continue down the road and come to a fork. FSR 82 goes to the right, FSR 233 to the left. We wander around, the wind whipping as it's been doing all day. I walk slowly along the left side of 233, though we're feeling quite confident that the subject headed down 82; that assumption goes along with what the woodcutters said and is more in the direction of the man's rescue location from last night. But then I find something. The butt of a cigarette, just a couple of yards down 233. The little camel picture is still visible--that's the subject's brand!--and the butt is squishy, so it seems fresh. Yippee! I found a clue! But ... well, my companions, who have 25 combined years of experience with CCSSAR, don't think it helps us much. They say there's no footprint near it, that the piece of cigarette could have blown over here, and that the woodcutters say they saw the subject further down FSR 82 (the other road) earlier today. Oh, phooey. But I stick the little souvenir clue in my pocket, anyway.
Okay, I admit it! You dragged it out me. I'm a little competitive. I wanna find me a clue! I wanna find the guy and have the "old-timers" say, "Hey, Deb is pretty good at this." Well, maybe next time. And hopefully that next time will be tonight.
But, alas, at 1am, the subject has yet to be found. After riding around on increasingly rough roads, getting a bit hung up towing that ATV trailer through some tight spots, and finding lots of footprints, none of which we could be sure belonged to the man we're looking for, Sergeant D tells us to call it a night. The DPS helicopter, unavailable on Sunday, will be back after dawn to fly the area. Maybe they can spot the subject's truck from the air, and if the truck is found, hopefully Fredrick will be with it.
Before leaving the SAR building, we give our Coordinator a run-down of what we did, what we found--including my little cigarette butt, which he seems to think is important--and where Scott and Ken think Ranger should concentrate their search. Driving home a few minutes later, I'm feeling a little frustrated. I really wanted to drive down FSR 233. If ... or, I should say, when ... the subject is found, I'll be really interested to know where he was.
http://www.debralauman.com/
Search and Rescue News
I wish I had a SAR story to tell you from the past few weeks, but no recent call-outs have led to actual missions. But that's not to say nothing's been going on.
On the afternoon of Sunday, March 16, during a brief snow storm that created whiteout conditions on I-40 west of Flagstaff, we got a stand-by (888) page about a huge vehicle pileup, which we later learned involved 139 cars and trucks! When I called in and heard Sergeant D's message, my husband and I were driving through town and soon came to an I-40 underpass. Looking up, we saw semi after semi parked along the highway. Traffic was backed up for at least 20 miles. Our coordinator said search and rescue volunteers might be needed to help with evacuations, so Steve and I headed home, and I got my gear together for a winter mission.
A few hours later, another stand-by page came through, and this time the message stated that four SAR personnel were on scene and may need to be relieved if the situation continued past 2200 hours. There had never been an actual call-out so, at the time, I didn't know who those four SAR personnel were. I hesitate to admit it, but I felt a little jealous; I wanted to be out there helping, too. But I assumed Sergeant D had directly contacted the most experienced members of the team. That turned out to be the case, as I learned at the next team meeting.
Our SAR meetings are held the third Thursday of each month, and one of the usual items on the agenda is to review the past month's missions, both those involving volunteers and any that involved just sheriff's deputies. This month, we learned that Sergeant D had been out of town when the pile-up occurred, so he contacted our SAR captain (also a volunteer) and three others to respond in his absence while he was en route. Those four men helped evacuate uninjured motorists stranded on the interstate. City busses were also taken out of service here in Flagstaff and sent to transport people stuck in the backup and bring them to a local shelter at a school, opened by two Red Cross members who also happen to be SAR volunteers.
We learned that two people had died in the accident, while numerous others were injured, some critically. Helicopters were unable to land close to the injured, many of whom had to be carried by EMS personnel quite a distance on stretchers. The photos and video on the Arizona Daily Sun website the next day revealed just how massive this pile-up was. By 2200 hours, however, SAR services were no longer needed, so Sergeant D didn't make any additional call-outs.
Mini training sessions are also held at those monthly general meetings. This time, it was patient packaging: how to place an injured or ill victim in a litter, strap them in, and transport them out of the backcountry. The type of litter used in this training was a "break-apart" litter, which, as the name implies, separates into two pieces for ease of carrying to the patient's location. Available in both stainless steel (34 pounds) and titanium (20 pounds), this litter's light weight also makes it easier to transport than other one-piece, heavier devices. There's a wheel attachment as well, so the litter can be rolled along the ground where possible rather than carried.
With our largest member as the guinea pig, we put the rig to the test. Wheel or no wheel, it's not an easy feat, even on a level, carpeted floor, let alone in the great outdoors with all of the rocks, roots, slopes, and other obstacles that come with it. After transporting the first "patient" around the room, we released him and nominated Val, my companion from the sheep herder search, to be the next volunteer and proceeded to learn how to strap someone in to ensure they don't slide up or down and out if, for example, they're being hoisted into a hovering helicopter or up or down a cliff.
Having been a volunteer victim myself for Wilderness First Responder classes, I know that being strapped into a litter and carried and jostled and jolted and tilted can make a person nauseous, so I piped up for the first time during a SAR meeting to make that point. (Losing last meal while in a prone position on one's back is not a good thing, after all.) That comment prompted a short discussion about keeping the patient in mind during an evac and appointing one rescuer to keep talking to and monitoring the subject. So I was glad I mustered the guts to open my mouth.
Besides the break-apart, our unit has other types of patient transport devices, including plastic litters that can slide along snow and ice, as well as a new piece of equipment that, by using a pump, has the air sucked out of it so it conforms to the patient's body. I don't recall the name of that device, and Sergeant D is still waiting to receive the pump, so we couldn't try it out at the meeting.
In the weeks following the huge traffic pile-up and most recent team meeting, there have been a couple more page-outs. One came in just as Steve and I were returning from the long Easter weekend we spent at Zion National Park. Really tired and dirty, I opted not to respond. Sergeant D's message said the call-out was primarily for the technical team, but any available general members were encouraged to respond, to assist with a possible litter-carry. How appropriate, considering our recent mini-training.
Sergeant D's message also said that a pilot actually saw a climber fall off Steamboat Rock in Sedona. Wow, I thought, that sounds really bad. It wasn't easy to NOT respond, but I found out later that it didn't matter: No climber was ever found, and no one had been able to contact the reporting party. Could it have been a hoax? Or did a pilot (in a small plane, I assume) think he saw something he didn't?
Another call-out came last night, just as I was getting ready for bed. I had to be at the office at eight this morning (I work two days a week as a leasing agent at an apartment complex), but I decided to respond. Who needs sleep anyway? The message stated that two kids had wandered off from a broken-down school bus in the very rural Mormon Lake area about 45 minutes from Flagstaff. But not long after five of us got to The 105 building and had begun getting our equipment and ATVs ready, the kids were located. In fact, they were home already. All that was needed then were a couple of volunteers to go out to Mormon Lake and get the deputy's vehicle unstuck. So I went home and to bed instead.
And that's about it for now. I've read several missing person stories in the local paper recently, including one about a 29-year-old guy who walked away from Grand Canyon Village, where he lives and works for a concessionaire in the National Park, and hasn't been seen for at least a week. He was apparently upset at the time of his disappearance. But no clues to his whereabouts or destination have been found, and it's not even known if he's in the area. I keep thinking one of these articles will turn into a Coconino County Sheriff's Search and Rescue mission , but, so far nothin'.
On the afternoon of Sunday, March 16, during a brief snow storm that created whiteout conditions on I-40 west of Flagstaff, we got a stand-by (888) page about a huge vehicle pileup, which we later learned involved 139 cars and trucks! When I called in and heard Sergeant D's message, my husband and I were driving through town and soon came to an I-40 underpass. Looking up, we saw semi after semi parked along the highway. Traffic was backed up for at least 20 miles. Our coordinator said search and rescue volunteers might be needed to help with evacuations, so Steve and I headed home, and I got my gear together for a winter mission.
A few hours later, another stand-by page came through, and this time the message stated that four SAR personnel were on scene and may need to be relieved if the situation continued past 2200 hours. There had never been an actual call-out so, at the time, I didn't know who those four SAR personnel were. I hesitate to admit it, but I felt a little jealous; I wanted to be out there helping, too. But I assumed Sergeant D had directly contacted the most experienced members of the team. That turned out to be the case, as I learned at the next team meeting.
Our SAR meetings are held the third Thursday of each month, and one of the usual items on the agenda is to review the past month's missions, both those involving volunteers and any that involved just sheriff's deputies. This month, we learned that Sergeant D had been out of town when the pile-up occurred, so he contacted our SAR captain (also a volunteer) and three others to respond in his absence while he was en route. Those four men helped evacuate uninjured motorists stranded on the interstate. City busses were also taken out of service here in Flagstaff and sent to transport people stuck in the backup and bring them to a local shelter at a school, opened by two Red Cross members who also happen to be SAR volunteers.
We learned that two people had died in the accident, while numerous others were injured, some critically. Helicopters were unable to land close to the injured, many of whom had to be carried by EMS personnel quite a distance on stretchers. The photos and video on the Arizona Daily Sun website the next day revealed just how massive this pile-up was. By 2200 hours, however, SAR services were no longer needed, so Sergeant D didn't make any additional call-outs.
Mini training sessions are also held at those monthly general meetings. This time, it was patient packaging: how to place an injured or ill victim in a litter, strap them in, and transport them out of the backcountry. The type of litter used in this training was a "break-apart" litter, which, as the name implies, separates into two pieces for ease of carrying to the patient's location. Available in both stainless steel (34 pounds) and titanium (20 pounds), this litter's light weight also makes it easier to transport than other one-piece, heavier devices. There's a wheel attachment as well, so the litter can be rolled along the ground where possible rather than carried.
With our largest member as the guinea pig, we put the rig to the test. Wheel or no wheel, it's not an easy feat, even on a level, carpeted floor, let alone in the great outdoors with all of the rocks, roots, slopes, and other obstacles that come with it. After transporting the first "patient" around the room, we released him and nominated Val, my companion from the sheep herder search, to be the next volunteer and proceeded to learn how to strap someone in to ensure they don't slide up or down and out if, for example, they're being hoisted into a hovering helicopter or up or down a cliff.
Having been a volunteer victim myself for Wilderness First Responder classes, I know that being strapped into a litter and carried and jostled and jolted and tilted can make a person nauseous, so I piped up for the first time during a SAR meeting to make that point. (Losing last meal while in a prone position on one's back is not a good thing, after all.) That comment prompted a short discussion about keeping the patient in mind during an evac and appointing one rescuer to keep talking to and monitoring the subject. So I was glad I mustered the guts to open my mouth.
Besides the break-apart, our unit has other types of patient transport devices, including plastic litters that can slide along snow and ice, as well as a new piece of equipment that, by using a pump, has the air sucked out of it so it conforms to the patient's body. I don't recall the name of that device, and Sergeant D is still waiting to receive the pump, so we couldn't try it out at the meeting.
In the weeks following the huge traffic pile-up and most recent team meeting, there have been a couple more page-outs. One came in just as Steve and I were returning from the long Easter weekend we spent at Zion National Park. Really tired and dirty, I opted not to respond. Sergeant D's message said the call-out was primarily for the technical team, but any available general members were encouraged to respond, to assist with a possible litter-carry. How appropriate, considering our recent mini-training.
Sergeant D's message also said that a pilot actually saw a climber fall off Steamboat Rock in Sedona. Wow, I thought, that sounds really bad. It wasn't easy to NOT respond, but I found out later that it didn't matter: No climber was ever found, and no one had been able to contact the reporting party. Could it have been a hoax? Or did a pilot (in a small plane, I assume) think he saw something he didn't?
Another call-out came last night, just as I was getting ready for bed. I had to be at the office at eight this morning (I work two days a week as a leasing agent at an apartment complex), but I decided to respond. Who needs sleep anyway? The message stated that two kids had wandered off from a broken-down school bus in the very rural Mormon Lake area about 45 minutes from Flagstaff. But not long after five of us got to The 105 building and had begun getting our equipment and ATVs ready, the kids were located. In fact, they were home already. All that was needed then were a couple of volunteers to go out to Mormon Lake and get the deputy's vehicle unstuck. So I went home and to bed instead.
And that's about it for now. I've read several missing person stories in the local paper recently, including one about a 29-year-old guy who walked away from Grand Canyon Village, where he lives and works for a concessionaire in the National Park, and hasn't been seen for at least a week. He was apparently upset at the time of his disappearance. But no clues to his whereabouts or destination have been found, and it's not even known if he's in the area. I keep thinking one of these articles will turn into a Coconino County Sheriff's Search and Rescue mission , but, so far nothin'.
Search and Rescue K-9: Our New Team Member, Cassie
A few months ago, just after our search and rescue team acquired a special member with an extra-special skill, I became part of our newly-formed K-9 committee. On January 17th, an article in the Arizona Daily Sun stated, "Like all volunteers with the Coconino County Sheriff's Office's Search and Rescue unit, Cassie wears a snappy vest with a departmental patch on it and a badge bearing her name and a photo. She's a dedicated professional, working daily to keep sharp her mind and body--especially her nose."
Though most trained working dogs usually cost thousands of dollars—I've heard figures up to $20,000—Cassie was donated to our unit by a Tuscon breeder who has also provided dogs to the Border Patrol Search, Trauma & Rescue Team.
Cassie now lives with Al and Joan, husband and wife members of our team, whom I first met during SAR Academy. Al is very agile and quick, and, being Cassie's primary handler, that athleticism certainly comes in handy. I recently had an opportunity to go out in the field with Al, another member of our committee, and Cassie, who works on a 30-foot lead, and that four-legged girl is fast, especially when she's sure she's on a scent. The three of us took her out for a training session, not only for Cassie but also for those of us who'll be working with her. And I was impressed.
During the training, we took turns getting lost. Then, whoever was handling Cassie would give her a sample of the scent, and off she'd go with handler in tow.
When it was my turn to lay the track, I tried to trip her up. I zigzagged along the route, circled a tree, jumped across some areas still covered with snow and, just before selecting a hiding place, went around a large water tank the more difficult way—clockwise—where the tank is up against a rock-covered slope. I went three-quarters of the way around the tank and then hid behind a tree.
Sure enough, Cassie found me. I was later told she did double-back at one point when she lost my trail, but she figured out where she'd gone wrong and picked it again. When she got to the water tank, Cassie followed my scent the way I'd walked instead of taking the easier and shorter route—counterclockwise—to where I was hiding, proving what I'd been told: that Cassie is a ground-scent tracker rather than a dog who follows an air scent. If she'd been following my air scent, she likely would have gone counterclockwise around the tank.
I'd assumed Cassie would be excited when she found the person she was tracking, but that wasn't the case. When she found me, she just kept sniffing around my feet, almost as if I weren't there. What she does get excited about is her toy. As the Daily Sun article pointed out, "Cassie doesn't work for treats, but she does earn plenty of praise and a fun tug-of-war session with a chunk of rubber hose attached to a long piece of rope." After Cassie completed each task, Al would pull out the toy as her reward, and she would go berzerk.
Another statement from that article definitely holds true, as I've found each time I've been around Cassie: "Not a hyperactive dog, but not one to sit still, Cassie smells chairs, asphalt, garbage bins, the floor, pant legs—her snout is in perpetual motion, twitching while it turns this way and that. This dog was born to sniff."
But the reporter did leave something off her list of where Cassie sticks her nose; when I first met her, it was like, "Wooh! Watch that big shnoz!" I've never met a dog who views and catalogs the world quite so much through its snout.
My primary role regarding Cassie will be as the "nav/comm" person, meaning the one who takes charge of the maps, GPS and compass, and radio while following—perhaps at times running—behind the handler, who will be too busy working with the search dog to navigate and communicate with incident command or other field teams at the same time. I'll also assist the other members of the committee with K-9 fundraising and community events to introduce Cassie to the public.
I've yet to work with Cassie on an actual mission, but I'm looking forward to being part of it when it happens. It's up to our coordinator, Sergeant D, to decide if a mission calls for Cassie's expertise, and I'm hoping we'll soon have an opportunity to show the public what she can do.
Though most trained working dogs usually cost thousands of dollars—I've heard figures up to $20,000—Cassie was donated to our unit by a Tuscon breeder who has also provided dogs to the Border Patrol Search, Trauma & Rescue Team.
Cassie now lives with Al and Joan, husband and wife members of our team, whom I first met during SAR Academy. Al is very agile and quick, and, being Cassie's primary handler, that athleticism certainly comes in handy. I recently had an opportunity to go out in the field with Al, another member of our committee, and Cassie, who works on a 30-foot lead, and that four-legged girl is fast, especially when she's sure she's on a scent. The three of us took her out for a training session, not only for Cassie but also for those of us who'll be working with her. And I was impressed.
During the training, we took turns getting lost. Then, whoever was handling Cassie would give her a sample of the scent, and off she'd go with handler in tow.
When it was my turn to lay the track, I tried to trip her up. I zigzagged along the route, circled a tree, jumped across some areas still covered with snow and, just before selecting a hiding place, went around a large water tank the more difficult way—clockwise—where the tank is up against a rock-covered slope. I went three-quarters of the way around the tank and then hid behind a tree.
Sure enough, Cassie found me. I was later told she did double-back at one point when she lost my trail, but she figured out where she'd gone wrong and picked it again. When she got to the water tank, Cassie followed my scent the way I'd walked instead of taking the easier and shorter route—counterclockwise—to where I was hiding, proving what I'd been told: that Cassie is a ground-scent tracker rather than a dog who follows an air scent. If she'd been following my air scent, she likely would have gone counterclockwise around the tank.
I'd assumed Cassie would be excited when she found the person she was tracking, but that wasn't the case. When she found me, she just kept sniffing around my feet, almost as if I weren't there. What she does get excited about is her toy. As the Daily Sun article pointed out, "Cassie doesn't work for treats, but she does earn plenty of praise and a fun tug-of-war session with a chunk of rubber hose attached to a long piece of rope." After Cassie completed each task, Al would pull out the toy as her reward, and she would go berzerk.
Another statement from that article definitely holds true, as I've found each time I've been around Cassie: "Not a hyperactive dog, but not one to sit still, Cassie smells chairs, asphalt, garbage bins, the floor, pant legs—her snout is in perpetual motion, twitching while it turns this way and that. This dog was born to sniff."
But the reporter did leave something off her list of where Cassie sticks her nose; when I first met her, it was like, "Wooh! Watch that big shnoz!" I've never met a dog who views and catalogs the world quite so much through its snout.
My primary role regarding Cassie will be as the "nav/comm" person, meaning the one who takes charge of the maps, GPS and compass, and radio while following—perhaps at times running—behind the handler, who will be too busy working with the search dog to navigate and communicate with incident command or other field teams at the same time. I'll also assist the other members of the committee with K-9 fundraising and community events to introduce Cassie to the public.
I've yet to work with Cassie on an actual mission, but I'm looking forward to being part of it when it happens. It's up to our coordinator, Sergeant D, to decide if a mission calls for Cassie's expertise, and I'm hoping we'll soon have an opportunity to show the public what she can do.
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