Okay, this is weird. Two nights in a row, same guy.
Saturday evening, my pager goes off shortly after eight. Steve is getting sleepy, but I'm happy for some pending adventure to work off my unused energy. Sergeant D's message says this is a call-out for a lost motorist whose vehicle got stuck somewhere down a Forest Service road. The man walked away from his vehicle earlier today and has been wandering around in the pinion-juniper forest for hours, no idea where he is. But he's gotten to a place where he has a cell phone signal and called for help.
I'm actually surprised I've made it to the Search & Rescue building before getting the ol' 10-22. Given the circumstances, I'm betting that Ranger, the DPS helicopter, is going to find this guy. The light of a cell phone screen is pretty easy for them to spot at night, and if his cell phone is still working, they can have an ongoing dialog with the lost motorist and probably hone in on his position. In fact, as I'm changing into proper clothing for a cold night's mission, I can hear radio traffic just outside the bathroom door, and, sure enough, Ranger, Dispatch and the lost man are communicating. The man tells Dispatch he can hear and then see the helicopter, and he describes Ranger's relative position. But six of us volunteers continue to get ready, just in case. We get the ATV trailers hooked up, sign out radios, grab extra batteries, ATV helmets, and .... oh, okay, put it all away; they've got the guy. And he's in an open field where Ranger can land.
So I go home, sleep, spend a wonderful 10th anniversary Sunday with my husband, have dinner and ... beep, beep, beep! But Steve doesn't mind--the good-natured soul that he is--so off I go to search and, hopefully, rescue. Besides, the same guy is missing for a second night in a row? This time, there's no cell phone contact. I have to respond to this one.
The scenario goes like this: At approximately 8:00 this morning, this guy's soon-to-be ex-wife drops him off along the same Forest Service road he drove down yesterday. He wants to go find his vehicle, a 3/4-ton Ford 250 pickup. Apparently, everything he owns is in that truck. But the soon-to-be ex doesn't want to drive her car too far down the unpaved road, so she drops the man off at a rock-filled gully about 4 miles in. Then the subject, dressed in Carhardt coveralls and a baseball cap, proceeds to walk at least nine miles to where he thinks his truck is located. This 50 year-old long-time smoker was apparently carrying a grocery bag filled with Camel cigarettes. As far as we know, that's all he was carrying.
At about 3pm, the subject made a cell phone call to his wife, but the call was broken up. He was talking about getting a tow truck. (Note to self: that means he'd probably found his vehicle by then.) But I guess that was the extent of the conversation when the call was dropped. Sergeant D has made repeated calls to the man's phone but has had to leave messages. The cell phone company has confirmed which tower the call utilized and that the phone is now powered down, which could mean a dead battery. They gave a range of 4 miles for that cell tower, though my companions this evening don't put much stock in that information; they seem to think the range can be much further. At any rate, the subject's wife didn't hear from him again and he didn't return to the shelter in Flagstaff, where he's been staying.
Tonight, we have the same group of volunteers as last night, plus eventually three more. We split into three groups, two towing ATV trailers, and spread out. I'm riding with Scott and Ken, studying the map as we turn off I-40 east onto Forest Service Road 82 with three ATVs on our trailer. Another group with ATVs is heading up the same road from the south, so we're making our way towards each other. Two others have driven further down I-40 to begin searching closer to the cell phone tower.
About four miles in, we clearly see where the subject was dropped off at the rock-filled gully. It isn't that bad; even in a car, it could be crossed, and the road looks good up ahead. Poor guy had to walk a lot further than necessary, in my opinion. We stop now and then to get out and look for footprints, but we aren't sure what type of shoes the man was wearing, and there appears to have been vehicle traffic which could have wiped out most, if not all, prints on the road.
We soon flag down a group of woodcutters in three trucks, who at first seem hesitant to talk to us. The men in the first two trucks deny seeing anyone today, but according to the two men and one young boy in the third truck, they saw our guy before they began woodcutting around noon. After looking at our map, which Scott and Ken spread out on the hood of their truck, and being shown where we're standing and where certain features are on the map, the woodcutters seem to agree on where they saw Fredrick. I can't help but wonder about their information, primarily because they were fed the description of the subject's clothing and approximate location. But I suppose I should go along with it as being true. Scott and Ken seem to think so.
We continue down the road and come to a fork. FSR 82 goes to the right, FSR 233 to the left. We wander around, the wind whipping as it's been doing all day. I walk slowly along the left side of 233, though we're feeling quite confident that the subject headed down 82; that assumption goes along with what the woodcutters said and is more in the direction of the man's rescue location from last night. But then I find something. The butt of a cigarette, just a couple of yards down 233. The little camel picture is still visible--that's the subject's brand!--and the butt is squishy, so it seems fresh. Yippee! I found a clue! But ... well, my companions, who have 25 combined years of experience with CCSSAR, don't think it helps us much. They say there's no footprint near it, that the piece of cigarette could have blown over here, and that the woodcutters say they saw the subject further down FSR 82 (the other road) earlier today. Oh, phooey. But I stick the little souvenir clue in my pocket, anyway.
Okay, I admit it! You dragged it out me. I'm a little competitive. I wanna find me a clue! I wanna find the guy and have the "old-timers" say, "Hey, Deb is pretty good at this." Well, maybe next time. And hopefully that next time will be tonight.
But, alas, at 1am, the subject has yet to be found. After riding around on increasingly rough roads, getting a bit hung up towing that ATV trailer through some tight spots, and finding lots of footprints, none of which we could be sure belonged to the man we're looking for, Sergeant D tells us to call it a night. The DPS helicopter, unavailable on Sunday, will be back after dawn to fly the area. Maybe they can spot the subject's truck from the air, and if the truck is found, hopefully Fredrick will be with it.
Before leaving the SAR building, we give our Coordinator a run-down of what we did, what we found--including my little cigarette butt, which he seems to think is important--and where Scott and Ken think Ranger should concentrate their search. Driving home a few minutes later, I'm feeling a little frustrated. I really wanted to drive down FSR 233. If ... or, I should say, when ... the subject is found, I'll be really interested to know where he was.
http://www.debralauman.com/
These are my stories as a volunteer member of the Sheriff's Search and Rescue team in Coconino County, Arizona. I'll share what it's like to go from a beginner with a lot to learn to an experienced and, hopefully, valuable member of the team, as well as the missions, training, and other activities along the way.
Search and Rescue News
I wish I had a SAR story to tell you from the past few weeks, but no recent call-outs have led to actual missions. But that's not to say nothing's been going on.
On the afternoon of Sunday, March 16, during a brief snow storm that created whiteout conditions on I-40 west of Flagstaff, we got a stand-by (888) page about a huge vehicle pileup, which we later learned involved 139 cars and trucks! When I called in and heard Sergeant D's message, my husband and I were driving through town and soon came to an I-40 underpass. Looking up, we saw semi after semi parked along the highway. Traffic was backed up for at least 20 miles. Our coordinator said search and rescue volunteers might be needed to help with evacuations, so Steve and I headed home, and I got my gear together for a winter mission.
A few hours later, another stand-by page came through, and this time the message stated that four SAR personnel were on scene and may need to be relieved if the situation continued past 2200 hours. There had never been an actual call-out so, at the time, I didn't know who those four SAR personnel were. I hesitate to admit it, but I felt a little jealous; I wanted to be out there helping, too. But I assumed Sergeant D had directly contacted the most experienced members of the team. That turned out to be the case, as I learned at the next team meeting.
Our SAR meetings are held the third Thursday of each month, and one of the usual items on the agenda is to review the past month's missions, both those involving volunteers and any that involved just sheriff's deputies. This month, we learned that Sergeant D had been out of town when the pile-up occurred, so he contacted our SAR captain (also a volunteer) and three others to respond in his absence while he was en route. Those four men helped evacuate uninjured motorists stranded on the interstate. City busses were also taken out of service here in Flagstaff and sent to transport people stuck in the backup and bring them to a local shelter at a school, opened by two Red Cross members who also happen to be SAR volunteers.
We learned that two people had died in the accident, while numerous others were injured, some critically. Helicopters were unable to land close to the injured, many of whom had to be carried by EMS personnel quite a distance on stretchers. The photos and video on the Arizona Daily Sun website the next day revealed just how massive this pile-up was. By 2200 hours, however, SAR services were no longer needed, so Sergeant D didn't make any additional call-outs.
Mini training sessions are also held at those monthly general meetings. This time, it was patient packaging: how to place an injured or ill victim in a litter, strap them in, and transport them out of the backcountry. The type of litter used in this training was a "break-apart" litter, which, as the name implies, separates into two pieces for ease of carrying to the patient's location. Available in both stainless steel (34 pounds) and titanium (20 pounds), this litter's light weight also makes it easier to transport than other one-piece, heavier devices. There's a wheel attachment as well, so the litter can be rolled along the ground where possible rather than carried.
With our largest member as the guinea pig, we put the rig to the test. Wheel or no wheel, it's not an easy feat, even on a level, carpeted floor, let alone in the great outdoors with all of the rocks, roots, slopes, and other obstacles that come with it. After transporting the first "patient" around the room, we released him and nominated Val, my companion from the sheep herder search, to be the next volunteer and proceeded to learn how to strap someone in to ensure they don't slide up or down and out if, for example, they're being hoisted into a hovering helicopter or up or down a cliff.
Having been a volunteer victim myself for Wilderness First Responder classes, I know that being strapped into a litter and carried and jostled and jolted and tilted can make a person nauseous, so I piped up for the first time during a SAR meeting to make that point. (Losing last meal while in a prone position on one's back is not a good thing, after all.) That comment prompted a short discussion about keeping the patient in mind during an evac and appointing one rescuer to keep talking to and monitoring the subject. So I was glad I mustered the guts to open my mouth.
Besides the break-apart, our unit has other types of patient transport devices, including plastic litters that can slide along snow and ice, as well as a new piece of equipment that, by using a pump, has the air sucked out of it so it conforms to the patient's body. I don't recall the name of that device, and Sergeant D is still waiting to receive the pump, so we couldn't try it out at the meeting.
In the weeks following the huge traffic pile-up and most recent team meeting, there have been a couple more page-outs. One came in just as Steve and I were returning from the long Easter weekend we spent at Zion National Park. Really tired and dirty, I opted not to respond. Sergeant D's message said the call-out was primarily for the technical team, but any available general members were encouraged to respond, to assist with a possible litter-carry. How appropriate, considering our recent mini-training.
Sergeant D's message also said that a pilot actually saw a climber fall off Steamboat Rock in Sedona. Wow, I thought, that sounds really bad. It wasn't easy to NOT respond, but I found out later that it didn't matter: No climber was ever found, and no one had been able to contact the reporting party. Could it have been a hoax? Or did a pilot (in a small plane, I assume) think he saw something he didn't?
Another call-out came last night, just as I was getting ready for bed. I had to be at the office at eight this morning (I work two days a week as a leasing agent at an apartment complex), but I decided to respond. Who needs sleep anyway? The message stated that two kids had wandered off from a broken-down school bus in the very rural Mormon Lake area about 45 minutes from Flagstaff. But not long after five of us got to The 105 building and had begun getting our equipment and ATVs ready, the kids were located. In fact, they were home already. All that was needed then were a couple of volunteers to go out to Mormon Lake and get the deputy's vehicle unstuck. So I went home and to bed instead.
And that's about it for now. I've read several missing person stories in the local paper recently, including one about a 29-year-old guy who walked away from Grand Canyon Village, where he lives and works for a concessionaire in the National Park, and hasn't been seen for at least a week. He was apparently upset at the time of his disappearance. But no clues to his whereabouts or destination have been found, and it's not even known if he's in the area. I keep thinking one of these articles will turn into a Coconino County Sheriff's Search and Rescue mission , but, so far nothin'.
On the afternoon of Sunday, March 16, during a brief snow storm that created whiteout conditions on I-40 west of Flagstaff, we got a stand-by (888) page about a huge vehicle pileup, which we later learned involved 139 cars and trucks! When I called in and heard Sergeant D's message, my husband and I were driving through town and soon came to an I-40 underpass. Looking up, we saw semi after semi parked along the highway. Traffic was backed up for at least 20 miles. Our coordinator said search and rescue volunteers might be needed to help with evacuations, so Steve and I headed home, and I got my gear together for a winter mission.
A few hours later, another stand-by page came through, and this time the message stated that four SAR personnel were on scene and may need to be relieved if the situation continued past 2200 hours. There had never been an actual call-out so, at the time, I didn't know who those four SAR personnel were. I hesitate to admit it, but I felt a little jealous; I wanted to be out there helping, too. But I assumed Sergeant D had directly contacted the most experienced members of the team. That turned out to be the case, as I learned at the next team meeting.
Our SAR meetings are held the third Thursday of each month, and one of the usual items on the agenda is to review the past month's missions, both those involving volunteers and any that involved just sheriff's deputies. This month, we learned that Sergeant D had been out of town when the pile-up occurred, so he contacted our SAR captain (also a volunteer) and three others to respond in his absence while he was en route. Those four men helped evacuate uninjured motorists stranded on the interstate. City busses were also taken out of service here in Flagstaff and sent to transport people stuck in the backup and bring them to a local shelter at a school, opened by two Red Cross members who also happen to be SAR volunteers.
We learned that two people had died in the accident, while numerous others were injured, some critically. Helicopters were unable to land close to the injured, many of whom had to be carried by EMS personnel quite a distance on stretchers. The photos and video on the Arizona Daily Sun website the next day revealed just how massive this pile-up was. By 2200 hours, however, SAR services were no longer needed, so Sergeant D didn't make any additional call-outs.
Mini training sessions are also held at those monthly general meetings. This time, it was patient packaging: how to place an injured or ill victim in a litter, strap them in, and transport them out of the backcountry. The type of litter used in this training was a "break-apart" litter, which, as the name implies, separates into two pieces for ease of carrying to the patient's location. Available in both stainless steel (34 pounds) and titanium (20 pounds), this litter's light weight also makes it easier to transport than other one-piece, heavier devices. There's a wheel attachment as well, so the litter can be rolled along the ground where possible rather than carried.
With our largest member as the guinea pig, we put the rig to the test. Wheel or no wheel, it's not an easy feat, even on a level, carpeted floor, let alone in the great outdoors with all of the rocks, roots, slopes, and other obstacles that come with it. After transporting the first "patient" around the room, we released him and nominated Val, my companion from the sheep herder search, to be the next volunteer and proceeded to learn how to strap someone in to ensure they don't slide up or down and out if, for example, they're being hoisted into a hovering helicopter or up or down a cliff.
Having been a volunteer victim myself for Wilderness First Responder classes, I know that being strapped into a litter and carried and jostled and jolted and tilted can make a person nauseous, so I piped up for the first time during a SAR meeting to make that point. (Losing last meal while in a prone position on one's back is not a good thing, after all.) That comment prompted a short discussion about keeping the patient in mind during an evac and appointing one rescuer to keep talking to and monitoring the subject. So I was glad I mustered the guts to open my mouth.
Besides the break-apart, our unit has other types of patient transport devices, including plastic litters that can slide along snow and ice, as well as a new piece of equipment that, by using a pump, has the air sucked out of it so it conforms to the patient's body. I don't recall the name of that device, and Sergeant D is still waiting to receive the pump, so we couldn't try it out at the meeting.
In the weeks following the huge traffic pile-up and most recent team meeting, there have been a couple more page-outs. One came in just as Steve and I were returning from the long Easter weekend we spent at Zion National Park. Really tired and dirty, I opted not to respond. Sergeant D's message said the call-out was primarily for the technical team, but any available general members were encouraged to respond, to assist with a possible litter-carry. How appropriate, considering our recent mini-training.
Sergeant D's message also said that a pilot actually saw a climber fall off Steamboat Rock in Sedona. Wow, I thought, that sounds really bad. It wasn't easy to NOT respond, but I found out later that it didn't matter: No climber was ever found, and no one had been able to contact the reporting party. Could it have been a hoax? Or did a pilot (in a small plane, I assume) think he saw something he didn't?
Another call-out came last night, just as I was getting ready for bed. I had to be at the office at eight this morning (I work two days a week as a leasing agent at an apartment complex), but I decided to respond. Who needs sleep anyway? The message stated that two kids had wandered off from a broken-down school bus in the very rural Mormon Lake area about 45 minutes from Flagstaff. But not long after five of us got to The 105 building and had begun getting our equipment and ATVs ready, the kids were located. In fact, they were home already. All that was needed then were a couple of volunteers to go out to Mormon Lake and get the deputy's vehicle unstuck. So I went home and to bed instead.
And that's about it for now. I've read several missing person stories in the local paper recently, including one about a 29-year-old guy who walked away from Grand Canyon Village, where he lives and works for a concessionaire in the National Park, and hasn't been seen for at least a week. He was apparently upset at the time of his disappearance. But no clues to his whereabouts or destination have been found, and it's not even known if he's in the area. I keep thinking one of these articles will turn into a Coconino County Sheriff's Search and Rescue mission , but, so far nothin'.
Search and Rescue K-9: Our New Team Member, Cassie
A few months ago, just after our search and rescue team acquired a special member with an extra-special skill, I became part of our newly-formed K-9 committee. On January 17th, an article in the Arizona Daily Sun stated, "Like all volunteers with the Coconino County Sheriff's Office's Search and Rescue unit, Cassie wears a snappy vest with a departmental patch on it and a badge bearing her name and a photo. She's a dedicated professional, working daily to keep sharp her mind and body--especially her nose."
Though most trained working dogs usually cost thousands of dollars—I've heard figures up to $20,000—Cassie was donated to our unit by a Tuscon breeder who has also provided dogs to the Border Patrol Search, Trauma & Rescue Team.
Cassie now lives with Al and Joan, husband and wife members of our team, whom I first met during SAR Academy. Al is very agile and quick, and, being Cassie's primary handler, that athleticism certainly comes in handy. I recently had an opportunity to go out in the field with Al, another member of our committee, and Cassie, who works on a 30-foot lead, and that four-legged girl is fast, especially when she's sure she's on a scent. The three of us took her out for a training session, not only for Cassie but also for those of us who'll be working with her. And I was impressed.
During the training, we took turns getting lost. Then, whoever was handling Cassie would give her a sample of the scent, and off she'd go with handler in tow.
When it was my turn to lay the track, I tried to trip her up. I zigzagged along the route, circled a tree, jumped across some areas still covered with snow and, just before selecting a hiding place, went around a large water tank the more difficult way—clockwise—where the tank is up against a rock-covered slope. I went three-quarters of the way around the tank and then hid behind a tree.
Sure enough, Cassie found me. I was later told she did double-back at one point when she lost my trail, but she figured out where she'd gone wrong and picked it again. When she got to the water tank, Cassie followed my scent the way I'd walked instead of taking the easier and shorter route—counterclockwise—to where I was hiding, proving what I'd been told: that Cassie is a ground-scent tracker rather than a dog who follows an air scent. If she'd been following my air scent, she likely would have gone counterclockwise around the tank.
I'd assumed Cassie would be excited when she found the person she was tracking, but that wasn't the case. When she found me, she just kept sniffing around my feet, almost as if I weren't there. What she does get excited about is her toy. As the Daily Sun article pointed out, "Cassie doesn't work for treats, but she does earn plenty of praise and a fun tug-of-war session with a chunk of rubber hose attached to a long piece of rope." After Cassie completed each task, Al would pull out the toy as her reward, and she would go berzerk.
Another statement from that article definitely holds true, as I've found each time I've been around Cassie: "Not a hyperactive dog, but not one to sit still, Cassie smells chairs, asphalt, garbage bins, the floor, pant legs—her snout is in perpetual motion, twitching while it turns this way and that. This dog was born to sniff."
But the reporter did leave something off her list of where Cassie sticks her nose; when I first met her, it was like, "Wooh! Watch that big shnoz!" I've never met a dog who views and catalogs the world quite so much through its snout.
My primary role regarding Cassie will be as the "nav/comm" person, meaning the one who takes charge of the maps, GPS and compass, and radio while following—perhaps at times running—behind the handler, who will be too busy working with the search dog to navigate and communicate with incident command or other field teams at the same time. I'll also assist the other members of the committee with K-9 fundraising and community events to introduce Cassie to the public.
I've yet to work with Cassie on an actual mission, but I'm looking forward to being part of it when it happens. It's up to our coordinator, Sergeant D, to decide if a mission calls for Cassie's expertise, and I'm hoping we'll soon have an opportunity to show the public what she can do.
Though most trained working dogs usually cost thousands of dollars—I've heard figures up to $20,000—Cassie was donated to our unit by a Tuscon breeder who has also provided dogs to the Border Patrol Search, Trauma & Rescue Team.
Cassie now lives with Al and Joan, husband and wife members of our team, whom I first met during SAR Academy. Al is very agile and quick, and, being Cassie's primary handler, that athleticism certainly comes in handy. I recently had an opportunity to go out in the field with Al, another member of our committee, and Cassie, who works on a 30-foot lead, and that four-legged girl is fast, especially when she's sure she's on a scent. The three of us took her out for a training session, not only for Cassie but also for those of us who'll be working with her. And I was impressed.
During the training, we took turns getting lost. Then, whoever was handling Cassie would give her a sample of the scent, and off she'd go with handler in tow.
When it was my turn to lay the track, I tried to trip her up. I zigzagged along the route, circled a tree, jumped across some areas still covered with snow and, just before selecting a hiding place, went around a large water tank the more difficult way—clockwise—where the tank is up against a rock-covered slope. I went three-quarters of the way around the tank and then hid behind a tree.
Sure enough, Cassie found me. I was later told she did double-back at one point when she lost my trail, but she figured out where she'd gone wrong and picked it again. When she got to the water tank, Cassie followed my scent the way I'd walked instead of taking the easier and shorter route—counterclockwise—to where I was hiding, proving what I'd been told: that Cassie is a ground-scent tracker rather than a dog who follows an air scent. If she'd been following my air scent, she likely would have gone counterclockwise around the tank.
I'd assumed Cassie would be excited when she found the person she was tracking, but that wasn't the case. When she found me, she just kept sniffing around my feet, almost as if I weren't there. What she does get excited about is her toy. As the Daily Sun article pointed out, "Cassie doesn't work for treats, but she does earn plenty of praise and a fun tug-of-war session with a chunk of rubber hose attached to a long piece of rope." After Cassie completed each task, Al would pull out the toy as her reward, and she would go berzerk.
Another statement from that article definitely holds true, as I've found each time I've been around Cassie: "Not a hyperactive dog, but not one to sit still, Cassie smells chairs, asphalt, garbage bins, the floor, pant legs—her snout is in perpetual motion, twitching while it turns this way and that. This dog was born to sniff."
But the reporter did leave something off her list of where Cassie sticks her nose; when I first met her, it was like, "Wooh! Watch that big shnoz!" I've never met a dog who views and catalogs the world quite so much through its snout.
My primary role regarding Cassie will be as the "nav/comm" person, meaning the one who takes charge of the maps, GPS and compass, and radio while following—perhaps at times running—behind the handler, who will be too busy working with the search dog to navigate and communicate with incident command or other field teams at the same time. I'll also assist the other members of the committee with K-9 fundraising and community events to introduce Cassie to the public.
I've yet to work with Cassie on an actual mission, but I'm looking forward to being part of it when it happens. It's up to our coordinator, Sergeant D, to decide if a mission calls for Cassie's expertise, and I'm hoping we'll soon have an opportunity to show the public what she can do.
Never Too Early for a Joy-Ride
It's 4 a.m. We're on our way to search for a 25-year-old man named Jason. Jason decided to take his new, yellow Yamaha ATV for a spin at 1:00 this morning, riding loops around the campsite (and his wife). On one of those loops, Jason disappeared. Hmm...
In our briefing, under the heading of "Subject," we're given Jason's age, ethnicity, height, weight, and the fact that he's wearing all black clothing. It also states, "Reported to have ETOH on board." I have no idea what that is, so, going by the context, I sort of assume it's a drug. But, shame on me: I'm soon corrected when Al explains that ETOH is a fuel additive that gives the machine extra power. (I didn't know ATVs needed extra juice; they seem plenty powerful to me in their "natural state.") I'd have thought that detail would have been listed under the heading of "Vehicle," but anyhow...
We're also informed that Jason has with him a Mini-Maglite, cigarettes, and a lighter. He has no known medical conditions. I hope, given the circumstances, that that last bit of information still holds true. Darkness, trees, ditches, cinder hills, and a souped-up ATV don't necessarily mix all that well. And there's some indication that Jason may have tied one on, or at least had a few drinks, before he went for the ride. I'm thinking this isn't sounding so good.
As Al drives, I'm silently reviewing what I learned in Wilderness First Responder class about initial scene and patient assessment. This time, the blood and broken bones might be for real.
We're almost at the campsite now, bumping along a dirt road. Deputies have already been out in the area, searching, and the DPS helicopter is in the air for an "NVG" (night vision goggle) flight. But...
Oh. Never mind. Jason just walked into camp. Code 4, we hear over the radio. His ATV broke down somewhere along the power line. Well, we don't rescue ATVs, so back to The 105 to unload we go.
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Later today, at 1:00 in the afternoon as Steve and I are finishing lunch at our favorite pizza place, my pager goes off again. I call in and hear that a father and three young children got their ATVs stuck in the mud.
I hang up without leaving a message, to think this one over for a minute. So, we have to go pull them out of the mud? Do I want to do that on this lazy weekend afternoon?
Seconds later, that becomes irrelevant when my pager goes off again. 10-22. Mission cancelled. That was fast.
-----------------------------------
At 4:50 p.m., my pager beeps for the fourth time today. By now, Steve and I are at home. I call in and Sergeant D's message says there's been a snowmobile accident with injuries, and the medics need assistance with access. He needs volunteers who can drive snowmobiles and the Thiakol. Well, I did drive a snowmobile about 12 years ago up at the North Rim. Does that count?
Probably not. We have a snowmobile training coming up on March 29th, which I'm scheduled to attend, so I guess I'll have to wait till after that. Still, I wonder if they could use my help anyway. But it doesn't matter now—a fifth page with another 10-22. What a day for some search and rescue, hurry up and wait, and cancel that!
In our briefing, under the heading of "Subject," we're given Jason's age, ethnicity, height, weight, and the fact that he's wearing all black clothing. It also states, "Reported to have ETOH on board." I have no idea what that is, so, going by the context, I sort of assume it's a drug. But, shame on me: I'm soon corrected when Al explains that ETOH is a fuel additive that gives the machine extra power. (I didn't know ATVs needed extra juice; they seem plenty powerful to me in their "natural state.") I'd have thought that detail would have been listed under the heading of "Vehicle," but anyhow...
We're also informed that Jason has with him a Mini-Maglite, cigarettes, and a lighter. He has no known medical conditions. I hope, given the circumstances, that that last bit of information still holds true. Darkness, trees, ditches, cinder hills, and a souped-up ATV don't necessarily mix all that well. And there's some indication that Jason may have tied one on, or at least had a few drinks, before he went for the ride. I'm thinking this isn't sounding so good.
As Al drives, I'm silently reviewing what I learned in Wilderness First Responder class about initial scene and patient assessment. This time, the blood and broken bones might be for real.
We're almost at the campsite now, bumping along a dirt road. Deputies have already been out in the area, searching, and the DPS helicopter is in the air for an "NVG" (night vision goggle) flight. But...
Oh. Never mind. Jason just walked into camp. Code 4, we hear over the radio. His ATV broke down somewhere along the power line. Well, we don't rescue ATVs, so back to The 105 to unload we go.
-----------------------------------
Later today, at 1:00 in the afternoon as Steve and I are finishing lunch at our favorite pizza place, my pager goes off again. I call in and hear that a father and three young children got their ATVs stuck in the mud.
I hang up without leaving a message, to think this one over for a minute. So, we have to go pull them out of the mud? Do I want to do that on this lazy weekend afternoon?
Seconds later, that becomes irrelevant when my pager goes off again. 10-22. Mission cancelled. That was fast.
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At 4:50 p.m., my pager beeps for the fourth time today. By now, Steve and I are at home. I call in and Sergeant D's message says there's been a snowmobile accident with injuries, and the medics need assistance with access. He needs volunteers who can drive snowmobiles and the Thiakol. Well, I did drive a snowmobile about 12 years ago up at the North Rim. Does that count?
Probably not. We have a snowmobile training coming up on March 29th, which I'm scheduled to attend, so I guess I'll have to wait till after that. Still, I wonder if they could use my help anyway. But it doesn't matter now—a fifth page with another 10-22. What a day for some search and rescue, hurry up and wait, and cancel that!
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