SAR Updates and Clarifications

Last night, our SAR unit held the monthly general meeting, where we discussed this past month's missions and received updated information about a high-profile mission that took place more than two years ago.

So, I wanted to share some of what we learned.

Regarding the flood in Havasu Canyon, there have been some misleading news stories floating around, not the least of which was a local Fox News report I saw yesterday afternoon, stating, "The Grand Canyon will be closed for four weeks following extensive damage caused by flash-flooding. 173 people were airlifted out of the Canyon." No, the Grand Canyon isn't closed; Havasupai is closed to tourists until further notice, but the National Park is open as usual. So if the NPS sees a sudden and dramatic decline in visitation to the Canyon, I guess they have Fox to thank for the solitude (and loss of revenue). And I believe the official number of people evacuated from Havasupai was 406. We counted names while working on the list back at the Sheriff's office on Tuesday.

We were told the Coconino County Sheriff's Office had to set up a call center, in large part due to at least one news outlet that reported a dam had broken at the Grand Canyon, and then they showed a picture of Glen Canyon Dam! People were freaking out, calling to say they had loved ones in the canyon and on the Colorado River. What actually failed was the small, earthen Redlands Dam about 45 miles upstream of Havasupai. That dam failed after days of heavy rain, up to eight inches since Friday, but the flooding in Havasu Canyon was occurring even before the dam breach.

I'm also unsure about my previous statement that two homes may have been lost in the village of Supai. While I did hear that bit of information while at Haulapai Hilltop on Sunday, other reports stated that no structures were lost, so I'll count that as rumor at the moment. Surely, many of the houses in Supai were in disrepair before this past weekend's flooding, so it's possible that even minor flooding in the village, which is higher up than the campground that was wiped out, did just enough additional damage to count some homes as "lost." But not having seen the village myself or received official word on that, I can't be sure.

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Some of you may have read my earlier report called "They Call Her Cinder Hill Cindy," the name given to then-unidentified skeletal remains found on Navajo Army Depot grounds in early August, near Bellemont, Arizona. I later updated my blog with the name of the woman once a positive ID was made following our evidence search in the area and subsequent forensic testing.

Last night at our meeting, the lead detective on the case filled in some additional detail. Thirty-three year-old Julie Renee Windhorn's backpack had been found in the early spring of 2007 near Old Munds Highway by some boys looking for salamanders. In the backpack was a passport and a note with suicidal implications. An attorney from Virginia, Julie had been having some emotional and mental health issues before her disappearance, so the note did follow suit. In the backpack was also a vehicle insurance card, but Julie's vehicle has yet to be found.

At this point, the cause of Julie's death is still considered unknown, but evidence points to hypothermia. Julie's remains and her neatly laid-out clothing and ID were found about 15 miles from where her backpack was discovered a year and a half earlier. Our unit may be called out later this year, when the leaves have dropped off the thick underbrush in the area, to do another search for more bones and any other evidence that might turn up. At this point, there's no indication of foul play in this case.

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One case that did involve foul play was that of Tamomi Hanamure, a 34-year-old Japanese tourist who was murdered at Havasupai in May, 2006, the same area where the flooding occurred this past weekend. Tamomi was reported missing when a maid at the Supai Lodge discovered that the young woman's personal belongings were still in her room after checkout time and the bed had not been slept in. A search was initiated involving multiple agencies, including Coconino County Search & Rescue.

I was not yet on the team at the time of this mission, but I've heard numerous conversations about it since I joined, as well as a previous update by the FBI after the 19-year-old perpetrator's guilty plea was accepted and sentencing took place. The killer, a Supai resident, tried to be the "hero," telling authorities he'd discovered the body when in fact he'd gotten nervous seeing all the uniformed personnel and bloodhounds closing in on Tamomi's location. He somehow thought the attention would be focused on other people if it was him who led them to the victim.

An FBI dive team later located the knife used in the attack, in the water not far from where Tomomi's body was found. Testing at a crime lab also revealed that the t-shirt worn by the killer contained Tamomi's blood, though it couldn't be seen by the naked eye. This evidence, along with the killer's eventual detailed confession, resulted in four consecutive life sentences with no possibility of parole.

Last night, we saw a slideshow of the search for and discovery of Tamomi Hanamure's body. The detective said it was one of the most emotional cases he'd ever worked on, and I know it had a significant impact on my SAR teammates who participated in the mission. Tamomi was enamored with the United States and the Grand Canyon in particular. She'd been to the canyon two or three times before and this time was going to visit the waterfalls in Havasupai as a 34th birthday gift to herself. The detective told us that Tamomi was an only child and her father's world. I couldn't stop staring at her photo up on the screen, taken shortly before her hike into the canyon.

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Well, I do hope the next couple of days at least will be quiet ones when it comes to searching and rescuing. I absolutely love being part of the team and the volunteer work we do, but it sure seems like it's been nonstop lately following a relatively quiet July. Somehow, though, I sense that my trusty little pager is juuuust about to sing.

A Grand Canyon and Havasupai Flood SAR

What a stark contrast, going from the scene of rescue efforts at Havasupai to this little office at the apartment complex where I work two days a week. I've gone from interviewing people who'd scrambled for their lives when a wall of water came rumbling through the narrow canyon to writing up maintenance work orders for tenants with clogged toilets.

The people who were rescued, many of whom had lost everything but the clothes on their backs, and some of those in just bathing suits and bare feet were in good spirits, while today I've dealt with tenants who are cranky because the staff haven't been quick enough replacing window blinds they (the tenants) broke. Wow. What a contrast indeed.

The flooding in Havasu Canyon began on Saturday afternoon, August 16, and was still happening on Monday the 18th. Havasu is a side canyon of the Grand Canyon, located about 30 miles west of the South Rim. Havasu Canyon is part of the Indian reservation of the same name, with the small village of Supai at the bottom. The village is accessible only by helicopter or an eight-mile hiking and pack-mule trail.

About 450 out of a total of roughly 650 members of the tribe live in Supai, and their primary source of income is tourist dollars from those who visit the incredibly beautiful waterfalls and pools about two miles down canyon from the village. At this time of year, a weekend can see hundreds of visitors, as was the case this past weekend when monsoon rains caused flash-flooding, which in turn breached an earthen dam near Williams, Arizona, exacerbating already dangerous conditions in Havasu. The usually blue-green water was running brown with mud, laden with debris and boulders.

Our unit was called out on Sunday morning, August 17, along with members of the Mohave County Search & Rescue team, the National Guard, National Park Service, members of the Bureau of Indian Affairs, the Department of Public Safety, Red Cross, Salvation Army, and probably others I'm not aware of.

Though there are certainly common elements, each person involved in the flood has a unique story, from the more than 400 tourists and Supai residents rescued by helicopter to the pilots and crew on those helicopters to both paid and volunteer rescue personnel in and on the rim of the canyon. During my interviews, which were intended to document everyone who came out of the canyon and find out if anyone in their party was missing or if they'd seen anyone injured or swept off by the flood, I heard many of those stories.

Most told of being suddenly awakened in the middle of the night by the loud rumble of water, falling rocks, and shouting. One man told me three kids had clung to a tree for hours until they were rescued. A couple and their dog were stranded on a rock in the middle of the flood. Sixteen people from a river trip, who had stopped at the confluence of Havasu Creek and the Colorado River, had to be short-hauled off a cliff after their boats were washed away and they'd had to quickly climb to avoid the same fate. I heard that two houses in Supai were lost.

For hours, I took names, addresses, dates of birth, and other information from evacuees, often waiting while they practically inhaled some food before they'd answer my next question. The Salvation Army provided food and drinks to the hungry and parched people airlifted out of the canyon, as well as to those of us working the evacuation.

One thing I noted as I watched the activity at the "Hilltop Helispot" location on the rim of Havasu Canyon, where evacuees were first "processed" after coming off the helicopters, is that one could not differentiate between those who were paid personnel and who were volunteers. All were working with enthusiasm or waiting with good spirits between assigned tasks. And when given a new task, each person jumped to work. While there are always opportunities to learn and improve, I was really impressed with the effort and the coordination between units and by how well everyone worked together. Overall, it was a successful effort, and as far as we know, there was no loss of life from the flood.

To be sure, however, air and ground searches are ongoing. And, as of Tuesday morning, I heard that residents of Supai who'd been evacuated were being allowed to return to their village, which has sustained considerable damage. The campground has apparently been wiped out. My husband and I are going to look into how we might go about volunteering in the rebuilding efforts.

Read the latest article in the Arizona Daily Sun here: Supai flood evacuees scramble to safety.

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.