Two Nights In a Row and Now on Stand-by

So, I'm sitting here with my pack loaded, ready to be self-sufficient for 48 hours as instructed, waiting to be called to leave for the Grand Canyon with other members of our SAR team.

Last night around 8:00, my pager went off with an 888 code, meaning it was a stand-by call. Our coordinator's message said that four boats had been found floating down the Colorado River about 10 miles past the confluence with Havasu Creek. Life jackets were tied to the boats, but no one was on board. The boats were pulled from the river at Fern Glenn Rapid, but the status of the passengers was unknown. Sergeant D said he'd update us either late last night or early this morning.

By 9:30 a.m., there still had been no further update, so I decided to go running. When I returned, I found a cellphone message from one of our team leaders, asking if I'd be available from "now" through Tuesday night. I called him back and found out that the boat incident from last night had become part of a much larger situation, and the National Guard had been called in, too.

Flash-flooding had caused a dam break near Tusayan, in turn flooding Cataract Canyon, which leads into Havasu Canyon. Havasu Canyon then intersects with the Grand Canyon and the Colorado River. The Native American village of Supai, with 400-some-odd residents, is located at the bottom of Havasu Canyon, and that village is now being evacuated along with an unknown number of campers. Havasu Canyon is a popular destination, especially for its waterfalls and beautiful natural pools. At the moment, I don't know much more about the unfolding situation, but I was told that search and rescue will be asked to "look for bodies." 

So, as I continue to sit here next to my backpack full of gear and 48 hours-worth of food and liquids, I'll tell you about Friday night's search.

Thursday night was the Kendrick Peak search for two men who'd tried to take a shortcut off the mountain that backfired quite miserably. I'd gotten up that morning around six and was just about to fall asleep Thursday night when my pager beeped at 11 p.m. That mission had lasted until 9:30 Friday morning, at which time I had to take care of a full day of obligations. At 8:00 Friday night, with no sleep since I'd gotten out of bed 38 hours earlier, my pager went off again. This time, it was a call-out for a search for two young men in the area of the Arizona Trail on Anderson Mesa near Flagstaff.

So, off I went for a second time in two nights. I soon found out that the two lost hikers had called 9-1-1 from a cell phone, so I figured this probably wouldn't be a tough mission. There are all sorts of Forest Service roads up on the mesa, so access shouldn't be a problem. And by the time we got to the staging area, the helicopter had spotted the two men and provided coordinates.

But getting to them wasn't quite as easy. Four members of our group set off on foot along the Arizona Trail, while Bob and I drove rough dirt roads at a snail's pace. The hikers were no longer on the AZ Trail but on one of those secondary forest roads, and we didn't know if we could get all the way to them by vehicle.

Sure enough, a large mud puddle put a stop to our driving, so Bob and I set off on foot. We had some trouble locating the intersection with the obscure road the hikers were on, and in the meantime, the other ground-pounder team reached the young men.

As we finally located the intersection, the team with the hikers headed our way, and soon we met up and walked to the truck. We skirted around the big mud puddle and everybody piled in, with some of our team in the truck bed. Bob and I gave 'em a good teeth-rattling and sore heineys on the ride back, but all was well that ended well.

I returned home at 2 a.m. Saturday and got the best six hours of sleep I think I've ever had. Probably could have used more, but the sun shining through the window wouldn't let me stay in bed.

And now I'll go back to my waiting and knee-bouncing with my backpack at the ready until it's time to go to the Grand Canyon.

An All-Nighter on Kendrick Peak

I haven't slept for 36 hours, so if I sound loopy, that's my excuse. I was just drifting off to sleep last night when my pager jerked me awake and onto my feet. Two overdue hikers on Kendrick Peak, Arizona's fourth highest mountain at 10,418 feet.

I checked the clock: 11 p.m. Why were we being called out so late? Maybe the reporting party, one of the missing men's sons, kept thinking they'd show up at any moment and procrastinated. Oh well, no matter. Off I went.

When seven of us got to the mountain, a deputy was already climbing the 4.5-mile Kendrick Trail but had not had any voice contact with the subjects or found any sign of them. Another deputy filled us in on the details as the reporting party sat cross-legged on the ground nearby, not looking particularly alarmed by the situation. We were told the men were in their early fifties and weighed about 260 and 280 pounds. (I hope they'll be able to walk out on their own, I was thinking. A carry-out would be a doozy.) They had no lights, maybe one liter of water between them, were wearing t-shirts, and had no extra layers of clothing. They did have cell phones but had left them in the car.

Our plan: Four of us would start up the trail, putting our tracking skills to use and calling periodically, until we'd reach the point where the subjects had last been seen by the son as he was descending. (The older men had turned around, having decided they weren't up for continuing to the summit. The son was much faster and had already gone to the top.) At that point, at about 8,800 feet, we'd split into two groups of two searchers and go off trail. Meanwhile, the others would drive Forest Service roads around the base of the mountain.

As we all set off to carry out our assignments, Kingman DPS Ranger was searching from the air. The noise from the helicopter made it difficult to listen for any response to our calls. Every once in a while as we were hiking, one of us would stop suddenly and say, "Hey, I think I heard something." So we'd wait until the helicopter moved off, call again, and listen. Nothing. 

Though I had a hard time hearing anything but my own huffing and puffing. It wasn't easy keeping up with my speedy companions, who didn't seem winded at all. We spent about an hour on the trail before coming to the point last seen.

Even with our headlamps and flashlights off, we could easily see the trail; the moon was bright and the sky clear. Much of the trail was lined with rocks, but we did check for prints where drainages or game trails may have confused the men in the dark and caused them to veer off, but we found no evidence anyone had gone off the trail.

At the point last seen, we stopped for a drink and snack break while studying our topo map and discussing the next course of action, when we'd split into two and two. Meanwhile, we listened to radio traffic between Incident Command, Kingman Ranger, and the volunteers driving Forest Service roads. The men in one of our vehicles had stopped to call out and listen and thought they'd heard something in the distance, up on the mountain. Ranger was in the process of flying over that area.

Soon, we heard that the lost men had been spotted, high on the mountain, one of them waving a white cloth as the helicopter passed over. They appeared to be uninjured. Somehow, our SAR teammates and the two hikers had heard one another from over a mile away. Amazing how the sound had carried. Ranger transmitted some lat-long coordinates, which we converted to UTM and plotted on our map.

The decision was made that Ken and Joel would stay put and wait for the deputy to come back down the trail, then return with him to Incident Command while Al and I would contour around the mountain and make our way toward the subjects. They certainly had gone a long way off the trail somehow, and Al and I would have to bushwhack at least a couple of miles to get to them. The coordinates taken from the air were only approximate, so we'd have to gain voice contact and hone in on their exact location.

Meanwhile, Val and Joe would leave their vehicle and head up the mountain, too. Eventually, the four of us would rendezvous with the stationery subjects and escort them, hopefully under their own power, to the vehicle. We were all carrying extra drinks, snacks, headlamps, and clothing to share with them.

Initial voice contact with the subjects had been established at about 2:45 a.m. It was close to dawn by the time Val and Joe reached the men, and Al and I arrived a short time later, a bit bruised and scratched from the effort. The going was tedious and slow through thick stands of young aspen trees, piles of dead fall like oversized pickup sticks, and large boulder fields.

But we were happy to find two uninjured, albeit exhausted and dehydrated, men, both in good spirits. Seeing there was a female in the group, one of them gave me a humorous warning the moment I arrived, telling me he'd torn open the seat of his jeans so I might want to avoid the sight if I was easily embarrassed. "Ah, that's okay," Val said. "Deb hangs out with us."

We were able to turn off our headlamps soon after we began picking our way down the mountain as the sun came up. And now the going was painfully slow. I fidgeted each time we stopped to give the men a break. But they were good-natured and grateful, and we couldn't have hoped for nicer rescue-ees.

One of the men admitted to me they'd gone off-trail on purpose on their way down, cutting switchbacks in an attempt to make a beeline back to their car and shorten the distance. It was still daylight when they realized they were very lost, and matters only worsened when it got dark. Well, that plan certainly backfired.

When we finally reached the vehicle at about 8 a.m., rescuers and the rescued had the longest farewell session I've experienced so far, with the men telling us they're going to make a donation to our team. Very cool. Unexpected and unsolicited but very much appreciated.

When I signed out back at the SAR building around 9:45 a.m., I had just enough time to drive across town to pick up my mom for a full day of errand-running (she doesn't drive anymore) and a pre-planned lunch. I met Steve at home at 5:00. We had some dinner and ... my pager just went off again.

Did I say how much I enjoy this SAR stuff? Let's see what's goin' on now...

Update: Cinder Hill Cindy Has a Real Name

Her name was Julie Renee Windhorn. She was 33 years young when she died on a nondescript cinder hill on the Navajo Army Depot grounds west of Flagstaff. The cause of death has been listed as "undetermined," but nothing is being ruled out.

Read the Arizona Daily Sun story and see a photo of Julie here: Human remains found near Bellemont identified

They Call Her Cinder Hill Cindy

Pushing through the brush, thorns tear at my clothing and skin, leaving snags, nicks, and blood streaks behind. Young locust trees, from knee to chest high, are everywhere. I'm down on hands and knees from time to time to peer under what I can't get through, then carefully pick my way around the worst of it, trying to stay at least somewhat even with the searchers to my right and left. It's difficult to maintain our line in this thick underbrush.

Our assignment today is to look for more pieces of "Cinder Hill Cindy," the name given to skeletal remains found a few days ago by some men working near this cinder hill, here on army depot grounds. As they were driving by, the men spotted what they thought was an elk antler, shining white in the sun halfway up the steep slope. Upon closer inspection, they realized that what they'd found were human ribs. Then a skull, mandible, and other bones were located nearby. Authorities were contacted, more searching and forensic tests were conducted, and it was determined that the bones, including a pelvis, belonged to a female between the ages of 25 and 35, with a mean age of 30.7 years. The pelvic bone also provided the approximate height of the young lady. We're told they found some teeth and hair, also, which are currently being analyzed.

Nine SAR volunteers are searching today, along with two detectives, a forensic anthropologist, and a medical examiner. We've ascended the cinder hill, spread out at roughly five-foot intervals, and are making our way across the top, which is covered with thick, thorny vegetation.

The idea is to space ourselves just close enough that we can spot something the size of a six-inch bone midway between one another. We're also on the lookout for anything else that "doesn't belong" here. Whatever we happen to see, we're not to touch. Instead, we call for the line to stop, mark the GPS location of the object, flag it with yellow tape, and wait for one of the detectives to come over and take a look. They'll decide if the object—be it bone, fabric, jewelry, or whatnot—has any merit in this case. Once we get to the end of our search zone, we'll pivot around and head back the other way, so as not to overlook anything between the out and the back. We're still missing significant pieces of Cinder Hill Cindy.

It's hot and buggy here, which adds to the discomfort. I've got prickly little bebbles stuck all over my socks, and I've given up some hair to the locust thorns. But I'm determined to check as many nooks and crannies as possible and try not to miss anything that may be on either side of me. There are some really overgrown areas, though, that are just impossible to check so thoroughly, and my imagination tells me those impenetrable areas must be where the bones and other clues are hidden, probably dragged under there by animals.

After an hour or more, finding only what turned out to be deer bones and one small piece of purple latex of some sort (part of a balloon? or could it be from a glove?), we arrive at the end of our search area and take a break before pivoting around to head in the opposite direction. We're not discouraged per se, but I don't think any of us are all that optimistic about finding anything significant. More experienced SAR members tell me they've been on lots of these evidence searches and often found nothing at all. One of the detectives had joked, just before we started out today, that we should locate the young lady's wallet, please. Yeah, wouldn't that be helpful.

Well, guess what.

Liz makes the find of the day, and what a find it is. Clothing. A full set, laid out just so. Jacket, pants, trail runner type of shoes, underwear. And a credit card and drivers license in plain view! The detectives are astonished. They set down numbered markers and dial their cell phones at the same time.

Now Cinder Hill Cindy has a real name, and this find has solved a missing person case. Two years ago, this young lady, aged 32, was reported missing from back east. A year and a half ago, during the winter, a backpack belonging to this same person was found on I-17, which is between 15 to 20 miles from this location. And now, we've discovered her fate.

But now that one big question has been answered, many more have been created. How did she get here? This is a secure area, which we had to have an escort to enter. Could she have climbed a fence along a more remote section? Did someone bring her here, or did she get in on her own? What happened to her? How did she die?

We're told the skull and other bones found thus far show no signs of trauma. Neither did the clothing, laid out so neatly and still that way after two years. And the credit card and ID right there, face-up on the ground? I'm told that not only do hypothermic people often end up disrobing but place their clothing neatly as well. Could that explain this situation?

We discuss the possibilities for the next couple of hours, until we finally sign out and part ways back at the SAR building. And I'm sure we'll be talking about this one for a long time to come. I hope, as we were promised, detectives will let us know when... that is, if any conclusion is ever made.

A Rescue on Mt. Elden

"What do you think?" I asked Liz. "Should I do it?"

I was standing at the base of a huge boulder, looking up. If I did get up there, would I eventually be able to get back down? I'm not very experienced at bouldering, and I'm kind of a chicken too. But, Liz, who is 20 years older and maybe six inches shorter than I am and therefore has shorter legs, seemed to think it would be fine to keep going. I looked up again and continued to ponder the situation.

Liz and I were the only non-technical members of the team climbing the south side of Mt. Elden on the night of July 29, en route to rescue four stranded hikers. With their single light source, they'd signaled S-O-S, which was not only noticed by someone in a neighborhood at the base of the mountain but recognized as a call for help and reported to the Sheriff. Lucky for them!

My pager went off at 8:30 p.m., while my husband was at a Toastmasters meeting. Sergeant D's message said it would be a technical rescue, but non-tech ground-pounders could help carry gear up. So I scribbled a note to Steve—"SAR call, rescue on Elden, gotta git. Love, Me"—and headed across town to The 105 building. There, I met up with Liz and Al, and, after loading a bunch of equipment and extra bottles of water and electrolyte drink, we were soon on our way.

When we arrived at the trail access on a neighborhood cul-de-sac, Sergeant D and a number of resident bystanders were gathered around. Several tech team members had responded directly to that location and were already headed up the mountain toward the subjects to try to make contact. Liz, Al, and I loaded climbing gear and helmets into our packs and, along with another tech team member, set off at a fast clip. The sweat was dripping profusely in no time.

The four of us were on trail for just a short time, until we arrived at the base of a maze of huge boulders. We slowed significantly at that point and began to climb. As mentioned, bouldering is not my forte, but I managed quite well until we hit that gnarly spot where I asked Liz if she thought I should go for it. If she said yes, I'd go... eventually. But, to my relief, I pondered just long enough for Al to call down that that wasn't the right way. Phew! I wouldn't have to decide after all. The rest of the route was challenging but not quite as stressful for me as that one spot, particularly because it was so dark and I couldn't see just how far I'd have to fall.

Soon, we made voice contact with the rest of the tech team who, from their position higher up, had voice contact with the subjects and could see their light. From the point where Liz, Al, Phillip, and I were standing, the route became too technical for Liz and me, so we were instructed to sit tight for a while. Al stayed with us as Philip collected some of the extra gear and climbed up.

Perhaps half an hour later, as we listened to radio reports from those above and ropes were rigged, the tech team rendezvoused with the stranded hikers, who had cliffed out at the top of "The Waterfall." The three young men and one girl had no food or water, were wearing shorts and t-shirts (a bit chilly even for a summer night up on the mountain), and three were wearing sandals. Among them were two from France, one from Australia, and one from Washington State, who'd all met while staying at the youth hostel downtown. They said they'd taken the bus across town, hiked up the Elden Lookout Trail, then lost the trail when it got dark and ended up trying to descend the boulder-covered south side.

Though apparently experienced hikers, the four had not planned or prepared well at all and ended up in a precarious situation. But not only were they lucky the reporting party had seen and recognized their signal, they were also lucky to have some very experienced tech team SAR volunteers to get them down.

At three in the morning, after having gone much of the way down the mountain on my butt, even through the slippery, wet part, caring less about my pride than my neck and other fragile body parts, I signed out at the SAR building and headed home.

I must admit, I was proud of myself for making it up and down that route. It may have been fairly easy for some, but for me it was a confidence-building accomplishment. The adrenaline of that night helped carry me through my day at the office after only a couple hours of sleep.

Read the Arizona Daily Sun article about this rescue here: SOS signal alerts resident to stranded hikers on Mount Elden

From 700 to 200

From "disaster response" (700) to a search (200).

This time, we were called out on a straightforward, find-and-escort mission. It felt great to be able to help someone out of a pickle after the disastrous mid-air helicopter collision of a couple of days earlier. By sharp contrast, this was a search for an out-of-towner on a day hike who had misjudged how long it would take to walk out and back on Sedona's Huckaby Trail, and when darkness overtook her, lost her way.

Without any light source, it was impossible for the unequipped hiker to navigate the rough terrain. Lucky for her, she not only had a cellphone signal but one bar of battery left, and she was able to call her husband. Her husband called for help, and soon afterward, my pager went off as I was lying in bed, unable to sleep anyway.

While Al, John, and I prepared our equipment at The 105 (SAR building) and waited for further instructions, we monitored radio traffic and knew DPS Ranger was in the air. The helo crew weren't having any luck locating the lost hiker, but with cellphone contact, the deputy at the trailhead was able to determine where she was in proximity to the helicopter. Also, she was able to hear the deputy's siren, she said. So we knew she couldn't be all that far from the trailhead.

It was about an hour's drive from The 105 to the trailhead, not to mention a short detour when our coordinator, who was in the vehicle ahead of us, made a traffic stop when he suspected a DUI. (Turned out the driver was texting, causing him to swerve. We'd pulled over to wait for Sergeant D to finish that bit of business before continuing to follow him to our destination.)

It must have been about 11:30pm by the time Al, John, and I hoisted our packs, carrying extra food, water, and a flashlight for the hiker, who apparently didn't have any gear with her at all.

I was a bit surprised the situation hadn't been resolved before we arrived, but the lost hiker's husband was waiting at the trailhead parking lot, very happy we were finally there. As we three searchers moved along the trail, I called the subject's name and blew my whistle periodically, and each time, we'd stop for a long moment to listen. We walked for about 20 minutes without any response, which again was somewhat of a surprise. On the other hand, the trail does veer sharply in one direction and then switch back the other way, so I figured maybe we'd moved away from the subject's position far enough that she couldn't hear us.

Turns out that was indeed the case. When the trail switched back and we'd traveled just as far in the opposite direction, my shout received a response out of the darkness. "Over here!" yelled a rather happy-sounding lady. We told her to stay put, and we continued to call back and forth to get a handle on her location.

A few minutes later, we found the hiker, who was about 15 feet off the trail, in the brush. She was in good condition and very good spirits, and as we escorted her back to the trailhead and her family, she asked question after question about search and rescue and seemed delighted to hear some stories. (No one mentioned the helicopter crash, though; we kept it to tales with happy endings.)

At 2 a.m., I signed out back at the SAR building and headed home. Falling asleep was not a problem when my head hit the pillow about half an hour later.

Helicopter Collision Update

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.