Incident Commander (IC): So, when you parked the ATV and got off, what were you planning to do?
Subject: I was just going to check out a couple of tanks (man-made watering holes) in the area, for elk sign. I figured that one tank was only, like, 1000 yards away or something, so I just walked that direction. But I never saw it.
IC: And what did you do then?
Subject: I kept going, but I guess I got turned around. I thought I was walking back to the power line where I'd left my ATV, but I never found it again. I walked for hours. Then it got dark and cold, so I laid down and covered myself with pine needles.
IC: Did you ever see the helicopter?
Subject: Yeah, they flew right over, but I had no way to signal them.
IC: And what about the searchers on the ground? Did you hear them calling or any whistles during the night?
Subject: No, not till right before they found me. Then I started yelling back. I did hear a siren once, earlier, but it was a long way off.
IC: So, what would you tell someone else who was in this sort of situation?
Subject: [emphatically] I'd tell 'em never, ever walk away without your pack. Take a light, food, and water, a map and compass, and all that. Even if you're just going for a short walk, be prepared! I've been doin' this outdoor stuff and hunting for a long time, so this can happen to anybody.
I leaned over the seat, watching through the open rear hatch of the incident commander's vehicle as this conversation was going on. I'd been waiting back at IC for teammates to return with the subject, who'd been located about an hour earlier around 2:30 a.m. The commander asked those of us in the vehicle, "You guys have anything to add?"
I looked at the subject, illuminated by the interior lights of the cab, as he stood out back with our commander. The man had been driven to base by one of our teammates in a SAR vehicle, while the others hiked back to retrieve their ATVs and the subject's quad. "No," I answered. "We're just really glad you're okay."
With his arms wrapped around himself, the man nodded and, in a shaky voice, said, "Thank you all. Thank you very much."
Poor guy. It'd been a long, uncomfortable, and probably scary night for him. He'd heard about rabid animals in the area, he'd said, and he worried about the coyotes. Just because you've been camping, hiking, and hunting for a long time doesn't mean you're immune to mistakes or being afraid. I could tell he was embarrassed.
It had been a long night for us searchers, too. We'd been called out shortly before sundown and, after loading trailers and equipment, we responded to the staging area near Kinnikinick Lake. While we were en route and as the light was fading, the man's ATV was spotted along a power line by air rescue.
When a deputy on the ground reached the quad, he found that it was dry beneath the vehicle and wet all around. That means it had rained since the ATV was parked, and he was unable to find any foot tracks near the quad to determine the subject's direction of travel from that point. Trackers from our team tried cutting for sign in the immediate area but didn't find any prints.
By then dark, we continued to search in pairs for six, seven hours before some foot tracks were finally picked up along a forest service road. Twenty minutes later, I heard a teammate report through the static that he thought they "had our subject." Radio communications and cell phone contact were sketchy at best, so the rest of us had to wait for several long minutes to find out that they meant a living subject. Due to some medical history, we'd been worried that a health issue may have been the reason the man hadn't returned to his ATV or to the camp he was sharing with his brother, the reporting party, since 10 a.m. the previous day.
At 7:30 the following morning—yesterday, Tuesday, May 1—I got home just after my husband had gone to work. After two nights of SAR in a row, I was rather wiped out, but I'd have to wait till that evening to get some sleep. I had things to do for my mom and some practice back at the SAR building already arranged for yesterday afternoon with two other teammates for a little Rock Rescue Academy homework.
Needless to say, when I did finally commune with my pillow at 9:30 last night, I slept really well until the sun through the window woke me up this morning.
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.
Such Are SAR Calls Sometimes
On Sunday evening, my pager went off at about 6:15. I signed in at the SAR building at 6:45. At maybe 7:30, four of us were on the road. At, oh, 10 p.m.-ish, we pulled over en route to the far reaches of our county near the Arizona/Utah border. The overdue hikers had been located.
Standing around at the side of the road, we listened to radio traffic, and our coordinator made some calls. At 10:30 give or take, after star-gazing for a bit and checking out the night vision goggles, we headed back to Flagstaff. The subjects had been spotted by the helicopter crew and scooped up, dehydrated but otherwise okay.
At 1:00 a.m. Monday morning, we were back at the SAR building. After refueling the vehicles and unloading the ATVs, UTV, and all the rest of the equipment, we headed home.
Tah-dah! Maybe my shortest blog post yet!
Yes, but wait till later, after I've gotten a little sleep. We were out all night again last night.
Standing around at the side of the road, we listened to radio traffic, and our coordinator made some calls. At 10:30 give or take, after star-gazing for a bit and checking out the night vision goggles, we headed back to Flagstaff. The subjects had been spotted by the helicopter crew and scooped up, dehydrated but otherwise okay.
At 1:00 a.m. Monday morning, we were back at the SAR building. After refueling the vehicles and unloading the ATVs, UTV, and all the rest of the equipment, we headed home.
Tah-dah! Maybe my shortest blog post yet!
Yes, but wait till later, after I've gotten a little sleep. We were out all night again last night.
Rock Rescue Academy Continues
I think I've aged about 50 years overnight. Let's just say, I'm getting well-acquainted with muscles I must have been ignoring for far too long as I shuffle around the house this morning, oo-ing and mpf-ing.
For a while yesterday, as I was dangling from a tree limb, spinning and bumping into the trunk, struggling to do what I thought looked pretty straightforward, I was about ready to give up. Matter of fact, when I took a break to rest my quivering muscles and give someone else a chance to practice ascending before moving to actual rock walls, I had to bite my lip hard to keep from crying. I was pissed (at myself.). I really want to be able to do this. I really want to pass that proficiency test in June.
Here's a picture of a teammate going right up the rope. The one manning the belay kept letting out the line so we had more to climb than the actual distance from the ground to the branch:
After time spent collecting my thoughts and some personal attention from a teammate who graciously tried to help me get the hang of the movements, I was back to the tree. Again, what seemed to come easily to others—and what I thought should come easily to me too, because I'm not uncoordinated (you should see me Jazzercise!)—I was again at a loss.
UNTIL one of the guys said, "Hey, why don't you try it one-legged." He explained what to do. I took my right foot out of the right "step" (steps in this case are loops made of webbing), followed my teammate's instructions on how to alter the movement, and right up I went! I was so thrilled. In fact, I heard someone on the ground say, "She's going up faster than anybody." I wanted to cry again but this time because I was elated.
And then I went to the bottom of the cliff. I thought, hey, no problem now; I can do this! But the fatigue from the stress and overexertion on the tree had worn me down. My legs were shaking and every arm and back muscle was tight. As soon as I started up, I knew I was in for a long, slow grunt to the top.
On both ascents, I had trouble getting started, which fatigued me even more. When I finally did get moving upward, I used some quiet swearing to help me along, particularly over the difficult sections where there was overhanging or "bulging" rock.
Matter of fact, just below the top edge on my first ascent, I thought I might have to go all the way back to the bottom. I just couldn't seem to make the moves to get past the overhang, and I was having the hardest time getting a foot or leg up to where I could heave myself away from the rock. I needed to get the rope off the rock so I could "throw" the ascender past that bulge in the cliff. The teammate manning the edge was leaning over, trying to talk me through it, saying, "Now, there are a couple of things we can do here. You can put your foot here on this ledge and push yourself up..." Uh-huh. My foot would have been right about the level of my ear. Nothing I tried seemed like it was going to work.
But, finally... somehow... and I couldn't tell you how... I was on top. I'm amazed I didn't fall right over in one big exhausted lump of limbs and gear. My legs and the rest of me was Jell-o.
By the end of the second ascent, though, I was actually starting to find my rhythm and figure out the technique that worked best for me. I managed to get past bulges (I don't know what else to call them) with much less struggle. But I didn't have the energy left for a third go-round to see if I could do it even better. It would have completely done me in, and we still had hours of training ahead of us.
So after a break...
...we moved on to anchor-building...
We covered a lot yesterday, and today I wonder how much I've retained, both mentally and physically. I'm definitely going to take my experienced teammates up on their offers to meet us newbies at the SAR building for some extra practice between trainings. I'll have to if I'm ever going to pass the proficiency test at the end of the five-week acadeby. If I do, it'll be a big accomplishment for me. But if I don't, I'm going to keep trying and working at it until I do!
For a while yesterday, as I was dangling from a tree limb, spinning and bumping into the trunk, struggling to do what I thought looked pretty straightforward, I was about ready to give up. Matter of fact, when I took a break to rest my quivering muscles and give someone else a chance to practice ascending before moving to actual rock walls, I had to bite my lip hard to keep from crying. I was pissed (at myself.). I really want to be able to do this. I really want to pass that proficiency test in June.
Here's a picture of a teammate going right up the rope. The one manning the belay kept letting out the line so we had more to climb than the actual distance from the ground to the branch:
After time spent collecting my thoughts and some personal attention from a teammate who graciously tried to help me get the hang of the movements, I was back to the tree. Again, what seemed to come easily to others—and what I thought should come easily to me too, because I'm not uncoordinated (you should see me Jazzercise!)—I was again at a loss.
UNTIL one of the guys said, "Hey, why don't you try it one-legged." He explained what to do. I took my right foot out of the right "step" (steps in this case are loops made of webbing), followed my teammate's instructions on how to alter the movement, and right up I went! I was so thrilled. In fact, I heard someone on the ground say, "She's going up faster than anybody." I wanted to cry again but this time because I was elated.
And then I went to the bottom of the cliff. I thought, hey, no problem now; I can do this! But the fatigue from the stress and overexertion on the tree had worn me down. My legs were shaking and every arm and back muscle was tight. As soon as I started up, I knew I was in for a long, slow grunt to the top.
On both ascents, I had trouble getting started, which fatigued me even more. When I finally did get moving upward, I used some quiet swearing to help me along, particularly over the difficult sections where there was overhanging or "bulging" rock.
Matter of fact, just below the top edge on my first ascent, I thought I might have to go all the way back to the bottom. I just couldn't seem to make the moves to get past the overhang, and I was having the hardest time getting a foot or leg up to where I could heave myself away from the rock. I needed to get the rope off the rock so I could "throw" the ascender past that bulge in the cliff. The teammate manning the edge was leaning over, trying to talk me through it, saying, "Now, there are a couple of things we can do here. You can put your foot here on this ledge and push yourself up..." Uh-huh. My foot would have been right about the level of my ear. Nothing I tried seemed like it was going to work.
But, finally... somehow... and I couldn't tell you how... I was on top. I'm amazed I didn't fall right over in one big exhausted lump of limbs and gear. My legs and the rest of me was Jell-o.
By the end of the second ascent, though, I was actually starting to find my rhythm and figure out the technique that worked best for me. I managed to get past bulges (I don't know what else to call them) with much less struggle. But I didn't have the energy left for a third go-round to see if I could do it even better. It would have completely done me in, and we still had hours of training ahead of us.
So after a break...
...we moved on to anchor-building...
We covered a lot yesterday, and today I wonder how much I've retained, both mentally and physically. I'm definitely going to take my experienced teammates up on their offers to meet us newbies at the SAR building for some extra practice between trainings. I'll have to if I'm ever going to pass the proficiency test at the end of the five-week acadeby. If I do, it'll be a big accomplishment for me. But if I don't, I'm going to keep trying and working at it until I do!
######
I found this YouTube video, which shows the technique I was using, with one foot in the step, the other loose. Now, why does this look so easy here? One thing, though ... this guy, for the most part, is ascending away from the rock face, with no overhangs:
Searching x 2, Rappeling x 6
So, the last time we met here, I was returning from one search and heading right out for another. Basically, I got back from the search for the missing elderly woman with the chihuahua, grabbed a Gatorade and the keys to the Expedition from my teammate who'd just driven the last leg, and off we went again.
This was a search for a woman who'd apparently been... um... dropped off on a backwoods road. Somewhere. She'd called for help on her cell, but before deputies could locate her, the cell phone had (apparently, again) died, and the cell tower ping was inconclusive as to the bearing and distance of the caller's location. (Apparently once more...) The woman had no idea where she was but said she'd stay put in the middle of the road. Before her cellphone had died, she'd reported hearing a deputy's siren in the distance, so some general idea of her whereabouts was known.
Okay, so enter SAR. We split up in twos, six in vehicles and a pair on the Polaris UTV, and we began driving roads, entering the general area from various locations. And we drove and we drove, clearing road after road.
Fast forward: Two-thirty a.m. and no lost lady, and those of us who'd been searching since 1:00 the day before were sent home. By 1:00 on Friday afternoon, still no lost lady. At approximately 3:30 that same day, however, not-lost lady and her "friend" drove by SAR and a deputy on a dirt road we'd already checked and re-checked.
Conclusion: Maybe-never-really-lost lady had spent the night, warm in a sleeping bag and tent, not on said road. And I suppose 'nuff said, too.
I had just enough time after returning to the SAR building, filling up the vehicle, and putting equipment away to stop for dinner before heading to meeting #1 for the Rock Rescue Academy, this year's training series for technical rescue team wanna-be new recruits. Needless to say, I was yawning and not performing well as we learned knots. My brain had come to a complete halt by 9 p.m.
The next morning, when we reconvened for Day #1 of the rock rescue field course, I somehow tied a darn near perfect fisherman's knot while listening to one of our instructors go over the plan for the day. Maybe there was hope for me yet!
An hour later, I was standing on a cliff, hooked up to a safety line, sloooowly tying a figure 8 with a follow-through, rigging the belay line to my harness, then rigging the Rescue 8 descender under the watchful eye of an experienced teammate. Next came the safety check (good thing because I hadn't locked the carabiner), and then I walked backward off the cliff.
The adrenaline was pumping, but alas, I walked myself down the rock wall and stepped down onto solid ground still in one piece. I untied and unhooked myself, said a happy, "belay off!" and then "rappel off!" and tried to hide my giddy excitement. I did it! Then I did it again. And again. And again.
Okay, so I ended up with a few scratches from the bush I lowered my butt into on one rappel. And then there was the wee slip and clunk I did when first going over a tricky edge. Each time I got one thing right, I screwed up or blanked on something else. But I did have one clean rappel at the end, where I hooked myself up, passed the safety check, and went from top to bottom nice and smooth with a good tie-off in the middle.
Now, if I can just do that next weekend on top of whatever else we'll learn. I definitely have to practice knots. The Animated Knots by Grog website will come in handy as I sit here, making faces at my piece of rope.
next weekend, I'll try to take some nifty pics with my brand-new replacement camera. Remember, I lost my first brand-new camera during the search on Thursday. On Sunday, Steve and I went back to that area with the map with the GPS track on it provided by my teammate, the K-9 handler I'd searched with, and retraced my steps. But, woe is me, we didn't find the camera. I'm thinking I may have dropped it around the staging area, which is also a camping and fishing spot. So, my original brand new Kodak may very well be in someone's tackle box. Oh well.
This was a search for a woman who'd apparently been... um... dropped off on a backwoods road. Somewhere. She'd called for help on her cell, but before deputies could locate her, the cell phone had (apparently, again) died, and the cell tower ping was inconclusive as to the bearing and distance of the caller's location. (Apparently once more...) The woman had no idea where she was but said she'd stay put in the middle of the road. Before her cellphone had died, she'd reported hearing a deputy's siren in the distance, so some general idea of her whereabouts was known.
Okay, so enter SAR. We split up in twos, six in vehicles and a pair on the Polaris UTV, and we began driving roads, entering the general area from various locations. And we drove and we drove, clearing road after road.
Fast forward: Two-thirty a.m. and no lost lady, and those of us who'd been searching since 1:00 the day before were sent home. By 1:00 on Friday afternoon, still no lost lady. At approximately 3:30 that same day, however, not-lost lady and her "friend" drove by SAR and a deputy on a dirt road we'd already checked and re-checked.
Conclusion: Maybe-never-really-lost lady had spent the night, warm in a sleeping bag and tent, not on said road. And I suppose 'nuff said, too.
I had just enough time after returning to the SAR building, filling up the vehicle, and putting equipment away to stop for dinner before heading to meeting #1 for the Rock Rescue Academy, this year's training series for technical rescue team wanna-be new recruits. Needless to say, I was yawning and not performing well as we learned knots. My brain had come to a complete halt by 9 p.m.
The next morning, when we reconvened for Day #1 of the rock rescue field course, I somehow tied a darn near perfect fisherman's knot while listening to one of our instructors go over the plan for the day. Maybe there was hope for me yet!
An hour later, I was standing on a cliff, hooked up to a safety line, sloooowly tying a figure 8 with a follow-through, rigging the belay line to my harness, then rigging the Rescue 8 descender under the watchful eye of an experienced teammate. Next came the safety check (good thing because I hadn't locked the carabiner), and then I walked backward off the cliff.
The adrenaline was pumping, but alas, I walked myself down the rock wall and stepped down onto solid ground still in one piece. I untied and unhooked myself, said a happy, "belay off!" and then "rappel off!" and tried to hide my giddy excitement. I did it! Then I did it again. And again. And again.
Okay, so I ended up with a few scratches from the bush I lowered my butt into on one rappel. And then there was the wee slip and clunk I did when first going over a tricky edge. Each time I got one thing right, I screwed up or blanked on something else. But I did have one clean rappel at the end, where I hooked myself up, passed the safety check, and went from top to bottom nice and smooth with a good tie-off in the middle.
Now, if I can just do that next weekend on top of whatever else we'll learn. I definitely have to practice knots. The Animated Knots by Grog website will come in handy as I sit here, making faces at my piece of rope.
next weekend, I'll try to take some nifty pics with my brand-new replacement camera. Remember, I lost my first brand-new camera during the search on Thursday. On Sunday, Steve and I went back to that area with the map with the GPS track on it provided by my teammate, the K-9 handler I'd searched with, and retraced my steps. But, woe is me, we didn't find the camera. I'm thinking I may have dropped it around the staging area, which is also a camping and fishing spot. So, my original brand new Kodak may very well be in someone's tackle box. Oh well.
Lost And Found
My cell phone rang at 1 p.m. on Thursday, just as I was finishing lunch. "You available?" Al asked.
My adrenaline kicked in immediately. "You bet!" I told him and began gathering my gear while still on the phone. I admit, it feels good to be called before the pager has even gone off. Al said he needed someone to do nav/comm (to navigate and work the radio) while he would work with Cassie, his and the team's tracking dog.
This would be a search for an elderly woman (details omitted), who'd left the family's campsite that morning with her two dogs, but one dog had returned alone. Al needed to get to the staging area, where a scent article would be available, with Cassie as soon as possible and begin the hasty search. I quickly changed into field clothes and was out the door in five minutes.
After rendezvousing at the SAR building, then a stop at the Sheriff's office for a briefing, we were off toward Ashfork, down old (decaying) Route 66 and onto a rough dirt road to Stone Dam. A short while later, Cassie was in her harness and on her lead, and after a good sniff of the scent article, she and Al began working while I followed a short distance behind. I didn't want to distract Cassie or get in her way.
It was a good bit hotter at that lower elevation in the pinion-juniper than in Flagstaff. My mouth was dry within minutes, and my Gatorade was hot in no time, but I was in the zone, focused on our task, and didn't really notice the heat or the cactus barbs sticking through my trail runners.
While Al and I followed Cassie, weaving through thick brush along the south side of the lake, other field teams were heading out from base, some on foot and others on ATVs, calling the woman's name and searching for clues or prints, either those that might belong to the subject or the tiny dog she was with. We had no idea, of course, if the two were still together.
Cassie, a three year-old German shepherd, appeared very intent on her work, trying to find the scent, but she displayed "no positive alerts" during the hours that passed. At one point, we searched a narrow drainage, until a dropoff and thick brush prevented us from going further.
Al explained that it's easier for Cassie to follow scent in cooler temperatures—that it degrades faster in the heat. He was also unsure of the integrity, so to speak, of the scent article, which had been gathered by someone else before our arrival and mixed with a pair of boots.
After several hours of searching, we returned to base. Our intention was to leave Cassie there to rest after all that time in the heat and continue searching without her. But not long after we'd set down our packs for a short break ourselves, we heard over the radio that the subject had been found. What a relief! At her age and given the time since she'd last been seen, the heat, and lack of water, I was very concerned about the outcome. She was okay, though, and so was her dog. (I was worried about the chihuahua too!)
From what I understand, some of those programmable signs along the highway—you know, the kind that display road construction information or Amber alerts—had displayed a message about the missing woman, during which time a motorist saw that message, then spotted an elderly woman with a tiny dog along the road and reported it, and that led to our subject's rescue. Nice!
As the woman was reunited with family and our team reconvened and waited to debrief, I realized this had been one of the more costly missions I'd been on, personally speaking. You know that brand new camera I was so excited about? Gone. Yep, it's out there somewhere amongst the pinion-juniper. So if you happen to be out that way, doing some bushwhacking, and find a camera with some cool helicopter shots on it, let me know. If you wanna keep it, though, that's okay; my understanding and generous husband went out and bought me a new one with his own art supply fund after I'd called him, pouting, from the field. But no photos this time, I'm afraid.
At about 8 p.m., we arrived back at the SAR building and proceeded to unload all the unit gear and ATVs... JUST in time to head out for another mission.
My adrenaline kicked in immediately. "You bet!" I told him and began gathering my gear while still on the phone. I admit, it feels good to be called before the pager has even gone off. Al said he needed someone to do nav/comm (to navigate and work the radio) while he would work with Cassie, his and the team's tracking dog.
This would be a search for an elderly woman (details omitted), who'd left the family's campsite that morning with her two dogs, but one dog had returned alone. Al needed to get to the staging area, where a scent article would be available, with Cassie as soon as possible and begin the hasty search. I quickly changed into field clothes and was out the door in five minutes.
After rendezvousing at the SAR building, then a stop at the Sheriff's office for a briefing, we were off toward Ashfork, down old (decaying) Route 66 and onto a rough dirt road to Stone Dam. A short while later, Cassie was in her harness and on her lead, and after a good sniff of the scent article, she and Al began working while I followed a short distance behind. I didn't want to distract Cassie or get in her way.
It was a good bit hotter at that lower elevation in the pinion-juniper than in Flagstaff. My mouth was dry within minutes, and my Gatorade was hot in no time, but I was in the zone, focused on our task, and didn't really notice the heat or the cactus barbs sticking through my trail runners.
While Al and I followed Cassie, weaving through thick brush along the south side of the lake, other field teams were heading out from base, some on foot and others on ATVs, calling the woman's name and searching for clues or prints, either those that might belong to the subject or the tiny dog she was with. We had no idea, of course, if the two were still together.
Cassie, a three year-old German shepherd, appeared very intent on her work, trying to find the scent, but she displayed "no positive alerts" during the hours that passed. At one point, we searched a narrow drainage, until a dropoff and thick brush prevented us from going further.
Al explained that it's easier for Cassie to follow scent in cooler temperatures—that it degrades faster in the heat. He was also unsure of the integrity, so to speak, of the scent article, which had been gathered by someone else before our arrival and mixed with a pair of boots.
After several hours of searching, we returned to base. Our intention was to leave Cassie there to rest after all that time in the heat and continue searching without her. But not long after we'd set down our packs for a short break ourselves, we heard over the radio that the subject had been found. What a relief! At her age and given the time since she'd last been seen, the heat, and lack of water, I was very concerned about the outcome. She was okay, though, and so was her dog. (I was worried about the chihuahua too!)
From what I understand, some of those programmable signs along the highway—you know, the kind that display road construction information or Amber alerts—had displayed a message about the missing woman, during which time a motorist saw that message, then spotted an elderly woman with a tiny dog along the road and reported it, and that led to our subject's rescue. Nice!
As the woman was reunited with family and our team reconvened and waited to debrief, I realized this had been one of the more costly missions I'd been on, personally speaking. You know that brand new camera I was so excited about? Gone. Yep, it's out there somewhere amongst the pinion-juniper. So if you happen to be out that way, doing some bushwhacking, and find a camera with some cool helicopter shots on it, let me know. If you wanna keep it, though, that's okay; my understanding and generous husband went out and bought me a new one with his own art supply fund after I'd called him, pouting, from the field. But no photos this time, I'm afraid.
At about 8 p.m., we arrived back at the SAR building and proceeded to unload all the unit gear and ATVs... JUST in time to head out for another mission.
Good SAR News And Bad SAR News
The good news first.
Yesterday, I included a link to an article about Ken Knight, editor of Backpacking Light Magazine, who was missing after going for a multi-day trek on the Appalachian Trail. Today, he was found alive and in good health after getting lost and starting a signal fire... which got a wee bit out of hand. You can read more and see a photo of Ken as he's being taken to a hospital to be checked out, on NewsAdvance.com out of Lynchburg, Virginia.
On the sad side of the day's SAR news—this story much closer to home—one of the three young people who were carried away by the swift Colorado River current in Grand Canyon was found deceased, and the other two are still missing. Here's the latest article from the Arizona Daily Sun: One Of Three Swept Away In Colorado Found Dead.
As far as our navigation boot camp class goes, today was map and compass day. I sat in on the classroom session, helping students now and then and refreshing my own skills at the same time, but was excused from the field work since we had more than enough instructors.
Tomorrow is the GPS class, a full day for me. So, tonight I'd better get some sleep. I had a heck of a time keeping my eyes open sitting in the classroom after just five hours of sleep last night. I spend way too much time on this computer.
Zzzzzzzzz... huh? wha?
Yesterday, I included a link to an article about Ken Knight, editor of Backpacking Light Magazine, who was missing after going for a multi-day trek on the Appalachian Trail. Today, he was found alive and in good health after getting lost and starting a signal fire... which got a wee bit out of hand. You can read more and see a photo of Ken as he's being taken to a hospital to be checked out, on NewsAdvance.com out of Lynchburg, Virginia.
On the sad side of the day's SAR news—this story much closer to home—one of the three young people who were carried away by the swift Colorado River current in Grand Canyon was found deceased, and the other two are still missing. Here's the latest article from the Arizona Daily Sun: One Of Three Swept Away In Colorado Found Dead.
As far as our navigation boot camp class goes, today was map and compass day. I sat in on the classroom session, helping students now and then and refreshing my own skills at the same time, but was excused from the field work since we had more than enough instructors.
Tomorrow is the GPS class, a full day for me. So, tonight I'd better get some sleep. I had a heck of a time keeping my eyes open sitting in the classroom after just five hours of sleep last night. I spend way too much time on this computer.
Zzzzzzzzz... huh? wha?
Navigation Boot Camp & SAR News
First, a quick update: At the end of my last post, just as I was typing my final sentence, my pager went off. It was a call-out for a lost hiker in the Happy Jack area, which is approximately an hour outside of Flagstaff. Turned out to be one of those load up, drive, turn around, and unload missions. Air rescue located the lost woman, and then a deputy on the ground retrieved her before our team had left town. The only real excitement that night was that we witnessed part of a meteorite event, with reports coming into dispatch from all over the area, and it's possible one or more pieces hit the ground. We even heard air rescue say they'd been blinded by one of them.
(There's more "in the news" news at the end of this post, if you don't feel like reading my ramblings.)
Anyhow, this is day one of the three-day navigation "boot camp" our team is sponsoring, with members of other agencies along with some of our own teammates in the class. I was asked to be an assistant instructor, particularly during the field sessions or if someone needs one-on-one help during any of the classroom exercises.
Today's topic is alternative navigation (navigating without a compass or GPS), and tomorrow is map and compass. Sunday's class will be GPS.
Here are a few photos from today's class, and I'll explain what they're doing:
Instructor Art from our team jumped ahead with the curriculum at the beginning of the class, to get right to determining direction from the sun. He did this because the sun was fading fast as the day clouded up.
Above, you see students measuring one hand's width, starting from the sun's current location at the outer pinky edge of the hand to find due (true) south at the end of a comfortably extended thumb. It was around 11:30 a.m. at the time, and here in Flagstaff the sun is roughly at due south at 12:30 (though the actual range is between 12:15 and 12:40pm, depending on the time of year). So, being about one hour before "due south time" and each hand width being 15 degrees, or one hour of time in the sky, they measured one hand to the west. If it had been an hour past due south time or 1:30pm, they would have measured one hand width the other way, to the east.
Once the students each determined true south, they were able to then orient their map (being sure to turn it so the bottom of the map was facing south, rather than turning the top—map north—toward the south by mistake.
Once oriented, they could then determine a direction of travel by placing a pen on the map, one end on their current location and other other pointing toward their destination. (In this case, the latter was a random location for demonstration purposes.) Facing the body in direction of the pen, they would then be able to walk while keeping the sun in the same location relative to their body, at least for a time (because the sun moves... or the earth does relative to it, that is).
Without gadgetry, one could use various other methods of alternative navigation in conjunction with the map to travel to a particular point, comparing actual terrain to the features on the map, using terrain handrails, catch features, check points, and so forth. The key would be knowing your current location and finding it on the map to begin with.
A little later in the class, Art discussed and then demonstrated how one can determine distance traveled, both by time and by pacing. In this photo above, students are counting paces over a distance of 100 feet, then repeating the process twice more and averaging their results. A single pace is either left-right-left=1 pace or right-left-right=1. In general, an adult takes 18 to 20 paces per 100 feet, or 1,000 paces per mile over "average" terrain. Go downhill and pace will lengthen. Uphill and pace will shorten. Of course, as Art explained, there are errors to these things, but those errors can be reigned in by using other techniques and information on the map.
One case where it would be helpful to have some kind of distance estimate would be when traveling across relatively flat, featureless terrain in the dark and the falling snow. In a scenario like that, it would be a good idea to have an idea of how far you've traveled in the event that the GPS you have malfunctioned. Some people prefer to use time to judge distance, but then you do have to account for any stops and know your average speed.
To keep track of distance by pacing, you can always keep ranger beads on a string or compass lanyard, moving one bead per 100 feet, or you can pick up a pebble or something similar every 100 feet.
So, that's a little of what went on in today's class, along with discussion about map reading, celestial navigation, and techniques for using terrain to one's advantage. This evening, the class will go out to the field to practice, taking turns using alt. nav. skills to move from point to point, partly in the daylight and then extending past dark.
Also, on other "in the news" notes, here are some links to articles about folks who are still missing and some who've finally been found:
Backpacking Light Editor Missing After A.T. Hike — An ongoing search in Virginia along the Appalachian Trail
Body of missing hiker found near Goblin Valley — About a woman who disappeared in the Canyonlands area of southern Utah five months ago
Canyon crews search for 3 missing in Colorado River — In Grand Canyon National Park (This just happened yesterday, and there's still no further news that I've found.)
And this is a REAL old one: A Mystery of the West is Solved — Remains of Everett Ruess found!
(There's more "in the news" news at the end of this post, if you don't feel like reading my ramblings.)
Anyhow, this is day one of the three-day navigation "boot camp" our team is sponsoring, with members of other agencies along with some of our own teammates in the class. I was asked to be an assistant instructor, particularly during the field sessions or if someone needs one-on-one help during any of the classroom exercises.
Today's topic is alternative navigation (navigating without a compass or GPS), and tomorrow is map and compass. Sunday's class will be GPS.
Here are a few photos from today's class, and I'll explain what they're doing:
Instructor Art from our team jumped ahead with the curriculum at the beginning of the class, to get right to determining direction from the sun. He did this because the sun was fading fast as the day clouded up.
Above, you see students measuring one hand's width, starting from the sun's current location at the outer pinky edge of the hand to find due (true) south at the end of a comfortably extended thumb. It was around 11:30 a.m. at the time, and here in Flagstaff the sun is roughly at due south at 12:30 (though the actual range is between 12:15 and 12:40pm, depending on the time of year). So, being about one hour before "due south time" and each hand width being 15 degrees, or one hour of time in the sky, they measured one hand to the west. If it had been an hour past due south time or 1:30pm, they would have measured one hand width the other way, to the east. 
Once the students each determined true south, they were able to then orient their map (being sure to turn it so the bottom of the map was facing south, rather than turning the top—map north—toward the south by mistake. Once oriented, they could then determine a direction of travel by placing a pen on the map, one end on their current location and other other pointing toward their destination. (In this case, the latter was a random location for demonstration purposes.) Facing the body in direction of the pen, they would then be able to walk while keeping the sun in the same location relative to their body, at least for a time (because the sun moves... or the earth does relative to it, that is).
Without gadgetry, one could use various other methods of alternative navigation in conjunction with the map to travel to a particular point, comparing actual terrain to the features on the map, using terrain handrails, catch features, check points, and so forth. The key would be knowing your current location and finding it on the map to begin with.
A little later in the class, Art discussed and then demonstrated how one can determine distance traveled, both by time and by pacing. In this photo above, students are counting paces over a distance of 100 feet, then repeating the process twice more and averaging their results. A single pace is either left-right-left=1 pace or right-left-right=1. In general, an adult takes 18 to 20 paces per 100 feet, or 1,000 paces per mile over "average" terrain. Go downhill and pace will lengthen. Uphill and pace will shorten. Of course, as Art explained, there are errors to these things, but those errors can be reigned in by using other techniques and information on the map. One case where it would be helpful to have some kind of distance estimate would be when traveling across relatively flat, featureless terrain in the dark and the falling snow. In a scenario like that, it would be a good idea to have an idea of how far you've traveled in the event that the GPS you have malfunctioned. Some people prefer to use time to judge distance, but then you do have to account for any stops and know your average speed.
To keep track of distance by pacing, you can always keep ranger beads on a string or compass lanyard, moving one bead per 100 feet, or you can pick up a pebble or something similar every 100 feet.
So, that's a little of what went on in today's class, along with discussion about map reading, celestial navigation, and techniques for using terrain to one's advantage. This evening, the class will go out to the field to practice, taking turns using alt. nav. skills to move from point to point, partly in the daylight and then extending past dark.
Also, on other "in the news" notes, here are some links to articles about folks who are still missing and some who've finally been found:
Backpacking Light Editor Missing After A.T. Hike — An ongoing search in Virginia along the Appalachian Trail
Body of missing hiker found near Goblin Valley — About a woman who disappeared in the Canyonlands area of southern Utah five months ago
Canyon crews search for 3 missing in Colorado River — In Grand Canyon National Park (This just happened yesterday, and there's still no further news that I've found.)
And this is a REAL old one: A Mystery of the West is Solved — Remains of Everett Ruess found!
Guess What I Got (And Training & News Too)
Heh heh, a new toy! Yep, now I can be a pest and take pictures—video too—of all things SAR. (Added later: This was a bit before cell phones had good cameras or maybe any cameras.) I'm photographically challenged, but I'll do my best to add some pizazz to my babbles from here on out with some images, though I'm sure, at times, it won't be possible—or right—to take pictures while on missions. Here, look, I think I figured out how to point and shoot:
That's the team, getting ready for some training earlier today, on line search and probability of detection. We had a good turnout—15 of us, I believe, including four from mounted with their horses.
Here's how it worked:
Yesterday, our team captain and other volunteers set up the course. They put out a bunch of five-gallon buckets, all painted brown to blend in with the surroundings. These buckets were spread out among the ponderosa pine, which is fairly open terrain but still littered with forest debris, rocks, and stumps, the latter resembling the buckets (or, rather, vice versa).
Behold Nelson and a bucket...
Today, we split into teams of three or four and, team by team, determined our critical spacing. That means an object roughly the same size as what we'd be looking for (in this case, it was an identical brown bucket) was set on the ground, and each person walked away from it to the point where they could still see the bucket and identify it as a bucket. We then counted our paces from that point back to the bucket. The average of each team's results was the critical spacing used for that team's line.
Now, using critical spacing usually means each person is twice that measured distance from the next searcher. That way, if the object is exactly between two people, it could still be seen. Critical spacing is affected not only by the size of the object—which, of course, could be as big as an unresponsive person or as small as a bullet—the terrain, the amount of brush, the weather, and so forth. Given the conditions and size of the objects today, our team's critical spacing turned out to be 30 paces, or roughly 90 to 100 feet, which meant searchers could be 60 paces, or about 200 feet, apart.
Given the size of the search area, however, and the number of people in our lines, we spread out at half critical spacing, or 30 paces apart (except for the mounted folks, who went two at a time, 60 paces apart). We all had radios in order to communicate rather than shouting down the line. We'd say, "Team 1, stop" or "Team 1, start," stating our team number first because there were other teams in the field, to start and stop our lines moving forward at intervals.
This photo shows the distance between me and my next teammate in the line, while another teammate paces off to his spot further out.
So, okay, each time a team member spotted a bucket, they would stop the line without pointing to the sighted bucket and write down the GPS coordinates of their current location, the direction of the bucket from their location using positions on a clock, and then their approximate distance from that bucket.
Sometimes, when the line stopped, other team members would spot the same bucket. Other times, the line would start up again, only to be stopped one step later when someone else spotted that or a different bucket. So it was stop and go, stop and go. We didn't know until we finished how many buckets were in the field.
I know, this sounds awfully thrilling, doesn't it? But I enjoy searching, not to mention the company of my teammates, and this was like a treasure hunt to me. It was also good practice for staying in our grid, keeping an eye on the person to our right and maintaining our spacing. That's much more challenging in more variable terrain and denser brush than we had today, though.
After the exercise, we all gave our notes to our coordinator, who's going to do some calculations and explain the results at our next meeting. Until then, I'm not really sure what kind of POD information he'll give us, but I'll let you know when he does.
So that was today's event. That and playing with my new camera and getting some news. Members of our team, along with the adjoining Yavapai County SAR team and others, have been searching on and off for more than two and a half years for a plane that disappeared in the Sedona area. That plane, flown by William Westover, a private pilot from Phoenix, with his passenger Marcy Randolph, has been found in a canyon in the Secret Mountain Wilderness. Here's the article from the Arizona Daily Sun: Plane wreckage identified.
Oops! There goes my pager! Gotta run...
That's the team, getting ready for some training earlier today, on line search and probability of detection. We had a good turnout—15 of us, I believe, including four from mounted with their horses.
Here's how it worked:
Yesterday, our team captain and other volunteers set up the course. They put out a bunch of five-gallon buckets, all painted brown to blend in with the surroundings. These buckets were spread out among the ponderosa pine, which is fairly open terrain but still littered with forest debris, rocks, and stumps, the latter resembling the buckets (or, rather, vice versa).
Behold Nelson and a bucket...
Today, we split into teams of three or four and, team by team, determined our critical spacing. That means an object roughly the same size as what we'd be looking for (in this case, it was an identical brown bucket) was set on the ground, and each person walked away from it to the point where they could still see the bucket and identify it as a bucket. We then counted our paces from that point back to the bucket. The average of each team's results was the critical spacing used for that team's line.
Now, using critical spacing usually means each person is twice that measured distance from the next searcher. That way, if the object is exactly between two people, it could still be seen. Critical spacing is affected not only by the size of the object—which, of course, could be as big as an unresponsive person or as small as a bullet—the terrain, the amount of brush, the weather, and so forth. Given the conditions and size of the objects today, our team's critical spacing turned out to be 30 paces, or roughly 90 to 100 feet, which meant searchers could be 60 paces, or about 200 feet, apart.
Given the size of the search area, however, and the number of people in our lines, we spread out at half critical spacing, or 30 paces apart (except for the mounted folks, who went two at a time, 60 paces apart). We all had radios in order to communicate rather than shouting down the line. We'd say, "Team 1, stop" or "Team 1, start," stating our team number first because there were other teams in the field, to start and stop our lines moving forward at intervals.
This photo shows the distance between me and my next teammate in the line, while another teammate paces off to his spot further out.
So, okay, each time a team member spotted a bucket, they would stop the line without pointing to the sighted bucket and write down the GPS coordinates of their current location, the direction of the bucket from their location using positions on a clock, and then their approximate distance from that bucket.
Sometimes, when the line stopped, other team members would spot the same bucket. Other times, the line would start up again, only to be stopped one step later when someone else spotted that or a different bucket. So it was stop and go, stop and go. We didn't know until we finished how many buckets were in the field.
I know, this sounds awfully thrilling, doesn't it? But I enjoy searching, not to mention the company of my teammates, and this was like a treasure hunt to me. It was also good practice for staying in our grid, keeping an eye on the person to our right and maintaining our spacing. That's much more challenging in more variable terrain and denser brush than we had today, though.
After the exercise, we all gave our notes to our coordinator, who's going to do some calculations and explain the results at our next meeting. Until then, I'm not really sure what kind of POD information he'll give us, but I'll let you know when he does.
So that was today's event. That and playing with my new camera and getting some news. Members of our team, along with the adjoining Yavapai County SAR team and others, have been searching on and off for more than two and a half years for a plane that disappeared in the Sedona area. That plane, flown by William Westover, a private pilot from Phoenix, with his passenger Marcy Randolph, has been found in a canyon in the Secret Mountain Wilderness. Here's the article from the Arizona Daily Sun: Plane wreckage identified.
Oops! There goes my pager! Gotta run...
Those Wonderful Search & Rescue Dogs
We do have a couple of search dogs on our own team—Cassie, our ground-tracking German shepherd, and Scout, an air-scenting brown Lab—but it's always a treat to meet others and see how they work.
Since Cassie joined our team about a year and a half ago, I've read some about SAR dogs, and I'm really interested in what they can do and how they're trained, though I doubt if I'd ever make that big commitment to become a handler. For one, I currently have a much-loved pup of 11 years, who'd not take kindly to sharing my attention. And once Sassy is no longer with us, I think it'll be a while before my husband and I own another dog (update: that turned out not to be true). Not with my plans for future multi-month thru-hikes and our intention to travel as extensively as possible. Someday, I'm sure we'll have another dog, but whether I'd want or be able to put in the time necessary to properly train a search and rescue canine would remain to be seen.
Anyhow, during our fieldwork this weekend, I enjoyed watching how each dog alerted differently during exercises. Some would bark, one would do circles (wing-dings, I call them), and another, a Weimaraner, basically body-checked her handler. They'd get so excited when it was time to work, which was usually communicated by their handlers putting certain collars, often with bells, or working-dog vests on them.
Also fascinating to me are the various commands and signals that pass between handlers and their dogs. For instance, one handler, Terry, explained to me that there's a difference between the command they give for a live person search and a search for a cadaver, and the dogs actually understand that difference. She explained that the dogs are "proofed" for certain animal bones so they ignore those of deer, elk, and other animals that aren't human. Terry and the others were gracious in answering the many questions my teammates and I pestered them with throughout the day.
Besides the treat of watching the dogs, it was also great to meet members of another SAR team as we sometimes do during big, multi-agency missions and at conferences. I enjoy learning about how they do things—sometimes quite differently than our own team—and what kinds of searches and rescues they've been on lately. I never get tired of the stories.
That's one reason I've put together the Search & Rescue Stories website, where I collect firsthand accounts by rescuers and the rescued and keep directories of websites for SAR teams around the world. I also participate on the SAR-L Discussion List, with topics ranging from techniques, training, and management to SAR tips, gear, news stories, and more. You can find a list of additional search and rescue online forums on my website in the "Articles & More" section.
Anyhow, other than some trainings lately, a litter-carry call that I hear was mostly handled by emergency medical personnel who were notified and quickly responded to the scene, and one 10-22'd call-out for a lost hiker who showed up just as we were loading gear at the SAR building, it's been relatively quiet for the past few weeks. Next weekend is the POD (probability of detection) and line search training, and then the three-day navigation "boot camp" begins on May 1st. The warming weather makes these activities much more enjoyable.
Rock Rescue Academy
That time of year is drawing near: Rock Rescue Academy will begin in one month, and this time around, I'm going to jump in. I'm a little jittery about it, though. Will I be able to learn the skills well enough? Will I be able to keep up? There are some very experienced, fast, and strong men in the group and one other woman who certainly fits that description. Many of the skills are new to me, and I've never been particularly quick at picking up such hands-on things like knot-tying, for one. I'll need to practice—often.
So, what is the Rock Rescue Academy? Well, it's the basic training course—a series of classroom and field sessions over about a month's time—that anyone who wants to become a member of the technical rescue team (TRT) must successfully complete.
The TRT is a subset of our general SAR team, and those particular members are expected to respond as often as possible to call-outs for technical missions. The TRT responds to incidents generally beyond the capabilities of the rest of the membership, such as high angle and high alpine rescue and missions that take place in difficult terrain, which means these volunteers are sometimes exposed to additional risk. This is why the TRT meets and trains on a monthly basis, and each person on that team must prove their competence with the skills annually to maintain membership.
Last year, I don't believe there were any new recruits to the TRT. Although I'd considered it, I ultimately felt I wasn't ready—that I needed more time to practice and get comfortable with the basics of SAR before taking on more technical skills. This year, I know I'm more capable and ready to give it a try, and I hear that several other general members, also known as ground-pounders, will be joining me in the tech academy for the first time.
Those of us interested in being tech team members have already received a list of special gear we'll need. That list includes:
Well, I'm out the door in a few minutes to meet a teammate. He and I are setting up a GPS field course for the upcoming three-day "navigation boot camp" our team is running for other agencies at the beginning of May. Perhaps this is also the time I should upgrade from my beloved 10-year-old GPS to a fancy-dancy new model. Oy, more money heading out the door, too.
So, what is the Rock Rescue Academy? Well, it's the basic training course—a series of classroom and field sessions over about a month's time—that anyone who wants to become a member of the technical rescue team (TRT) must successfully complete.
The TRT is a subset of our general SAR team, and those particular members are expected to respond as often as possible to call-outs for technical missions. The TRT responds to incidents generally beyond the capabilities of the rest of the membership, such as high angle and high alpine rescue and missions that take place in difficult terrain, which means these volunteers are sometimes exposed to additional risk. This is why the TRT meets and trains on a monthly basis, and each person on that team must prove their competence with the skills annually to maintain membership.
Last year, I don't believe there were any new recruits to the TRT. Although I'd considered it, I ultimately felt I wasn't ready—that I needed more time to practice and get comfortable with the basics of SAR before taking on more technical skills. This year, I know I'm more capable and ready to give it a try, and I hear that several other general members, also known as ground-pounders, will be joining me in the tech academy for the first time.
Those of us interested in being tech team members have already received a list of special gear we'll need. That list includes:
- Commercially sewn seat harness
- Commercially sewn chest harness or webbing for a chest harness
- 6-inch locking carabiners
- Climbing helmet
- Descender
- 8mm Tandem Prusik set
- Various lengths of Prusiks with a diameter no less than 6mm
- Two 1" multi-loop straps (or daisy chains) approximately 5" long
- Sturdy footwear (boots, not trail runners)
- Leather gloves
- Headlamp
- Trauma sheers or knife
Well, I'm out the door in a few minutes to meet a teammate. He and I are setting up a GPS field course for the upcoming three-day "navigation boot camp" our team is running for other agencies at the beginning of May. Perhaps this is also the time I should upgrade from my beloved 10-year-old GPS to a fancy-dancy new model. Oy, more money heading out the door, too.
An Ongoing Mystery
If I'd taken one, I'd show you a picture of all the vegetation that came out of my hair following our latest search—not only the pinon/juniper/ponderosa pine salad that collected around the shower drain the night I returned but also the pile of twig bits I assembled on my desk the next day. Long hair and SAR just don't mix very well.
Anyway, it was another bushwhack, this time in the area where the ATV belonging to Mark Russell Irby was found about a week and a half ago. As you might recall, Mr. Irby went missing on January 2nd from Forest Lakes, when he went out for "just a short ride" around the subdivision before he and his wife were to return to their home in the city. But Mark Irby never did return, and after a 10-day search, neither he nor the red Bombardier ATV he'd been driving had been located. Not until a couple of hunters stumbled upon the ATV earlier this month, well outside of the original search area.
This time, I participated in the "Irby search, Part 2," on two days, the first being a hasty search when the ATV was retrieved and then a full day, which included efforts by two counties, mounted units, K-9 teams, ATV riders, and ground teams. My field team was assigned to search a canyon. I took center position along the bottom, while Mike and Larry and Larry's chocolate lab Logger (or maybe it's Lager?) covered the flanks.
At first, the going was rather easy. We spread out a bit, keeping one another in sight, and slowly made our way along what began as a gently sloping drainage, scanning the ground and trees for anything out of the ordinary. We kept an eye out for clothing or perhaps even bones that weren't clearly those of an animal. We checked clusters of rocks and beneath bushes, being as thorough as we could.
Then the canyon began to deepen, and eventually my teammates were high above me and often out of sight, with steep, brush-covered walls on either side of me. At times, we were out of voice contact too, as the vertical distance between them and me grew into the hundreds of feet, so we resorted to communicating by radio as I periodically plotted our progress on my map and relayed to IC that we were Code 4 (okay) and our approximate location in our search segment. Eventually, though, I was too deep in the canyon to make radio contact with base, so my teammate on the rim above me relayed the messages.
At one point, I thought I might have to backtrack in order to ever exit that canyon. I'd come to a bit of a climb and, though Mike had found a place to make his way down to the bottom to join me and successfully negotiated the tricky spot, my arms and legs just weren't as long as his and I was having trouble finding good hand- and footholds that I could reach. So I walked back and forth, looking for an adequate spot to climb and finally gave in to handing my pack up to my teammate to make things a little easier.
"You think you might be able to brace yourself to give me a wrist?" I asked Mike as he stood looking down at me. I don't like to ask for help, but I figured it might speed things up—a lot.
Mike wedged his foot against a dead but sturdy tree and reached for my arm. It wasn't pretty, let me tell you, and I ended up in the dirt, but needless to say I made it with my teammate's assistance and we continued on.
As the canyon bottom gradually rose to rejoin the rims, so too did my radio make contact again with the others in the field. Teams were spread out all over the new search area, doing a good job of covering the 10 segments from morning till late afternoon. But, as far as I know, nothing of particular interest was found, and the mystery surrounding Mr. Irby's disappearance continues.
Anyway, it was another bushwhack, this time in the area where the ATV belonging to Mark Russell Irby was found about a week and a half ago. As you might recall, Mr. Irby went missing on January 2nd from Forest Lakes, when he went out for "just a short ride" around the subdivision before he and his wife were to return to their home in the city. But Mark Irby never did return, and after a 10-day search, neither he nor the red Bombardier ATV he'd been driving had been located. Not until a couple of hunters stumbled upon the ATV earlier this month, well outside of the original search area.
This time, I participated in the "Irby search, Part 2," on two days, the first being a hasty search when the ATV was retrieved and then a full day, which included efforts by two counties, mounted units, K-9 teams, ATV riders, and ground teams. My field team was assigned to search a canyon. I took center position along the bottom, while Mike and Larry and Larry's chocolate lab Logger (or maybe it's Lager?) covered the flanks.
At first, the going was rather easy. We spread out a bit, keeping one another in sight, and slowly made our way along what began as a gently sloping drainage, scanning the ground and trees for anything out of the ordinary. We kept an eye out for clothing or perhaps even bones that weren't clearly those of an animal. We checked clusters of rocks and beneath bushes, being as thorough as we could.
Then the canyon began to deepen, and eventually my teammates were high above me and often out of sight, with steep, brush-covered walls on either side of me. At times, we were out of voice contact too, as the vertical distance between them and me grew into the hundreds of feet, so we resorted to communicating by radio as I periodically plotted our progress on my map and relayed to IC that we were Code 4 (okay) and our approximate location in our search segment. Eventually, though, I was too deep in the canyon to make radio contact with base, so my teammate on the rim above me relayed the messages.
At one point, I thought I might have to backtrack in order to ever exit that canyon. I'd come to a bit of a climb and, though Mike had found a place to make his way down to the bottom to join me and successfully negotiated the tricky spot, my arms and legs just weren't as long as his and I was having trouble finding good hand- and footholds that I could reach. So I walked back and forth, looking for an adequate spot to climb and finally gave in to handing my pack up to my teammate to make things a little easier.
"You think you might be able to brace yourself to give me a wrist?" I asked Mike as he stood looking down at me. I don't like to ask for help, but I figured it might speed things up—a lot.
Mike wedged his foot against a dead but sturdy tree and reached for my arm. It wasn't pretty, let me tell you, and I ended up in the dirt, but needless to say I made it with my teammate's assistance and we continued on.
As the canyon bottom gradually rose to rejoin the rims, so too did my radio make contact again with the others in the field. Teams were spread out all over the new search area, doing a good job of covering the 10 segments from morning till late afternoon. But, as far as I know, nothing of particular interest was found, and the mystery surrounding Mr. Irby's disappearance continues.
Missing Boy Found
Yesterday, having just returned from a 17-hour round of searching for the missing 7-year old, I saw an update on Twitter from a Flagstaff news reporter that Michael Sandoval had been found and was in good condition. What a relief!
Check out this news story with videos from Channel 3, including a video of Michael explaining how he survived the cold night alone, wearing just a t-shirt and jeans. Apparently, he slept in the open, which was surprising to me; I'd assumed a child would be more likely to tuck himself under a tree or in some more protected spot, partly out of fear and also to keep warmer. Not so in this case.
I also read in the Arizona Daily Sun report that Michael saw and heard searchers (us) on Monday night but didn't call out because he got scared.
I'm still waiting to learn where exactly Michael was found. I'll be curious to know if my teammate and I were near, because we did drive slowly through several open areas, calling, honking (we were afraid the siren on the Sheriff's vehicle would frighten him, so we didn't use it) and searching with the spotlight. I always like to know where a lost person is eventually found and, if possible, the route they took to get there.
Check out this news story with videos from Channel 3, including a video of Michael explaining how he survived the cold night alone, wearing just a t-shirt and jeans. Apparently, he slept in the open, which was surprising to me; I'd assumed a child would be more likely to tuck himself under a tree or in some more protected spot, partly out of fear and also to keep warmer. Not so in this case.
I also read in the Arizona Daily Sun report that Michael saw and heard searchers (us) on Monday night but didn't call out because he got scared.
I'm still waiting to learn where exactly Michael was found. I'll be curious to know if my teammate and I were near, because we did drive slowly through several open areas, calling, honking (we were afraid the siren on the Sheriff's vehicle would frighten him, so we didn't use it) and searching with the spotlight. I always like to know where a lost person is eventually found and, if possible, the route they took to get there.
Three Ongoing Searches
This is one of them, as reported on the Arizona Daily Sun website this afternoon:
We'd discovered some tracks thought to belong to the boy and were following them when our crew of bleary-eyed searchers were relieved by fresh eyes this morning.
Also in today's edition of the Arizona Daily Sun was this news about the continued search for Mark Irby, which began on January 2nd of this year:
Meanwhile, we've yet to find the man from the van abandoned along Interstate 17 near the scenic vista south of Munds Park.
Nine contiguous days of search and rescue activity for our team... and counting. And not so long ago, I'd remarked about how quiet it had been for more than a month.
Now off to the shower and to squeeze in some errands before an early bedtime. I have a feeling our pagers will be going off today for more searching tomorrow.
Update at 12:50 p.m.:
I just found out via Twitter that the boy has been found! Sounds like he's okay. At 12:47 @FlagstaffNews posted: "Searchers found 7-year-old boy who spent night in forest after getting separated from group yesterday. He's being checked out now."
And a few minutes later, this breaking news story showed up on the Arizona Daily Sun website: Searchers Find Missing 7-Year Old Boy. Phew!
7-year-old boy missing near Red Mountain
"A 7-year-old boy who was on an outing near Red Mountain with a group from The Guidance Center in Flagstaff has been reported missing.
"According to information from the Coconino County Sheriff’s Office, Michael Sandoval has been missing since about 3 p.m. Monday in the Red Mountain area off Highway 180 about 30 miles north of the city. He was part of a group of three adults and 10 clients from TGC. He was last seen wearing a black ball cap with an image of a white bear in the front, a medium to dark blue shirt with the word 'baseball' on the front in white letters. He also was wearing blue jeans and skateboard shoes.
"Search and Rescue crews on the ground and an Arizona Department of Public Safety helicopter crew have been searching the area.
"Anybody traveling on Highway 180 in the area of Red Mountain are asked to watch for the missing child and to contact sheriff’s officials if the boy is sighted by calling 774-4523 or 1-800-338-7888."
We'd discovered some tracks thought to belong to the boy and were following them when our crew of bleary-eyed searchers were relieved by fresh eyes this morning.
Also in today's edition of the Arizona Daily Sun was this news about the continued search for Mark Irby, which began on January 2nd of this year:
ATV belonging to missing man found
"The recent discovery of the ATV belonging to a Valley man who went missing from his Forest Lakes vacation home earlier this year has reignited the search for the man.
"According to information from the Coconino County Sheriff's Office, on Saturday, two men on a hunting and fishing trip found the red Bombardier ATV belonging to Mark R. Irby abandoned off Forest Service Road 170, about a mile southeast of Chevelon Canyon Lake and about 12 miles by road from Irby's cabin. Irby, 51, was last seen riding the ATV on Jan. 2. According to family members, Irby was going to take a short ride around the subdivision before returning to his primary home in Chandler. He was not dressed to hike or spend an extended amount of time in the woods, which had a deep snow pack at the time.
"On Sunday, police and search and rescue volunteers began combing the area where the ATV was found and intensive search efforts will continue throughout the week. Searchers had not previously covered the Chevelon Canyon Lake area.
More than 1,800 hours have been invested in the search for Irby."
Meanwhile, we've yet to find the man from the van abandoned along Interstate 17 near the scenic vista south of Munds Park.
Nine contiguous days of search and rescue activity for our team... and counting. And not so long ago, I'd remarked about how quiet it had been for more than a month.
Now off to the shower and to squeeze in some errands before an early bedtime. I have a feeling our pagers will be going off today for more searching tomorrow.
Update at 12:50 p.m.:
I just found out via Twitter that the boy has been found! Sounds like he's okay. At 12:47 @FlagstaffNews posted: "Searchers found 7-year-old boy who spent night in forest after getting separated from group yesterday. He's being checked out now."
And a few minutes later, this breaking news story showed up on the Arizona Daily Sun website: Searchers Find Missing 7-Year Old Boy. Phew!
Five Out Of The Last Seven Days
That's how much I've been on SAR missions lately. And I could be back out there today too, but I've decided to take a "day off" and catch up on some other business. If there's searching to do tomorrow, though, I'll be going.
You know, sometimes I look around at my teammates, working hard at their assignments and giving their all in the field, and think to myself, wow, they don't have to be out here. Search and rescue isn't a job for us; we're volunteers. But you wouldn't know it if you saw the effort these folks put in. I'm truly inspired by their dedication, and I feel that way, too. When our pagers go off or the phone rings and we're asked to respond, it doesn't matter that we're not paid for this. SAR is rewarding and satisfying.
But it can be very frustrating too. We want to find who, and sometimes what, we're looking for. Day after day of searching but finding nothing—not even a clue—turns me into a redundant rambler. My poor husband, he has to listen to me say things like, "It just doesn't make sense; that person has to be out there," or "Where could they be?" as I make him look at maps with me. I'm fortunate, though, that Steve is truly interested and understands when I get hung up on an unresolved mission.
And we've had a couple of those lately, including the man from the van. I was out there helping search for him for four days, doing my best to look under every bush and tree while trying not to twist my ankle or trip on the rocks and keeping an eye on my teammate to my right or left as we did grid searches. It's one thing to do that in an open field, but staying in line and on track over rugged terrain and through dense brush is certainly a challenge. I appreciated the great work my team leaders did during those assignments, not only searching and navigating but keeping an eye on the rest of us and keeping us in proper formation at the same time. I most definitely learned some things and think I improved my grid search skills this past week.
Well, it's time to trade my pajamas for spandex and a cotton tee and head to Jazzercise. I'm still trying to lose some pounds off of me and up my fitness level in preparation for that "3 miles in 45 minutes with a 45-pound pack" test for the technical rescue team. Then, after an hour of aerobic dancin', it's back to this chair for several hours of work. Part of my mind, though, will be on my teammates in the field today. I do hope there will be some news.
You know, sometimes I look around at my teammates, working hard at their assignments and giving their all in the field, and think to myself, wow, they don't have to be out here. Search and rescue isn't a job for us; we're volunteers. But you wouldn't know it if you saw the effort these folks put in. I'm truly inspired by their dedication, and I feel that way, too. When our pagers go off or the phone rings and we're asked to respond, it doesn't matter that we're not paid for this. SAR is rewarding and satisfying.
But it can be very frustrating too. We want to find who, and sometimes what, we're looking for. Day after day of searching but finding nothing—not even a clue—turns me into a redundant rambler. My poor husband, he has to listen to me say things like, "It just doesn't make sense; that person has to be out there," or "Where could they be?" as I make him look at maps with me. I'm fortunate, though, that Steve is truly interested and understands when I get hung up on an unresolved mission.
And we've had a couple of those lately, including the man from the van. I was out there helping search for him for four days, doing my best to look under every bush and tree while trying not to twist my ankle or trip on the rocks and keeping an eye on my teammate to my right or left as we did grid searches. It's one thing to do that in an open field, but staying in line and on track over rugged terrain and through dense brush is certainly a challenge. I appreciated the great work my team leaders did during those assignments, not only searching and navigating but keeping an eye on the rest of us and keeping us in proper formation at the same time. I most definitely learned some things and think I improved my grid search skills this past week.
Well, it's time to trade my pajamas for spandex and a cotton tee and head to Jazzercise. I'm still trying to lose some pounds off of me and up my fitness level in preparation for that "3 miles in 45 minutes with a 45-pound pack" test for the technical rescue team. Then, after an hour of aerobic dancin', it's back to this chair for several hours of work. Part of my mind, though, will be on my teammates in the field today. I do hope there will be some news.
The Mystery Of The Man With The Van
I wish I could share anything and everything about our SAR missions, but legally and ethically I shouldn't. So I always re-read what I write here and reluctantly delete some details. Suffice it to say, this one was (or, rather, is) another puzzler.
A van sat abandoned along the freeway near a scenic overlook. Items found in the unlocked vehicle prompted many questions, and those of us searching on the first day of the mission contemplated possible scenarios. Why did the subject park here? What was going on with him at the time? Where the heck did he go? We came up with quite a few answers, some rather creative.
Meanwhile, my three teammates and I spread out for a grid search, keeping each other in sight through the pinion-juniper and thick underbrush as we stumbled over loose rocks and squished through the mud. We searched along the nearby cliff band too, carefully peering over the edge. We thought we were going to find the man from the van not all that far from the road.
But we didn't find a thing, so our coordinator did a call-out for the next day. I wasn't able to go back out to search—Mom's needs took precedence—but a teammate told me nothing turned up on Tuesday, either. My friend said she'd walked about five miles, zigzagging across her team's assigned segment. She said she was exhausted.
At least I know it wasn't just me. I mean, it wasn't mountaineering, but somehow I was more spent after that search than I usually am when we're on the peaks. Something about that rocky and muddy ground and climbing over barbed wire fence all afternoon really ate through my energy reserves. Not to mention that I hadn't eaten much before, and nothing during, the search. Silly me.
So, we'll see what happens with this mystery. Today, though, we're heading out for an evidence search connected with a bank robbery. Apparently, the suspects were caught along with the cash, but there's still something out there that law enforcement would like to have. So, if you happen to see a bunch of people in yellow shirts walking in a grid down the middle of a highway, that may just be us.
A van sat abandoned along the freeway near a scenic overlook. Items found in the unlocked vehicle prompted many questions, and those of us searching on the first day of the mission contemplated possible scenarios. Why did the subject park here? What was going on with him at the time? Where the heck did he go? We came up with quite a few answers, some rather creative.
Meanwhile, my three teammates and I spread out for a grid search, keeping each other in sight through the pinion-juniper and thick underbrush as we stumbled over loose rocks and squished through the mud. We searched along the nearby cliff band too, carefully peering over the edge. We thought we were going to find the man from the van not all that far from the road.
But we didn't find a thing, so our coordinator did a call-out for the next day. I wasn't able to go back out to search—Mom's needs took precedence—but a teammate told me nothing turned up on Tuesday, either. My friend said she'd walked about five miles, zigzagging across her team's assigned segment. She said she was exhausted.
At least I know it wasn't just me. I mean, it wasn't mountaineering, but somehow I was more spent after that search than I usually am when we're on the peaks. Something about that rocky and muddy ground and climbing over barbed wire fence all afternoon really ate through my energy reserves. Not to mention that I hadn't eaten much before, and nothing during, the search. Silly me.
So, we'll see what happens with this mystery. Today, though, we're heading out for an evidence search connected with a bank robbery. Apparently, the suspects were caught along with the cash, but there's still something out there that law enforcement would like to have. So, if you happen to see a bunch of people in yellow shirts walking in a grid down the middle of a highway, that may just be us.
No Map, No Clue
It's 10am, and my face is just about thawed out. But when I got off that machine at 5:00 this morning, I couldn't feel my nose, and my mouth wouldn't work well enough to say, "Whoo-ee! That was colder'n a witch's..." Well, anyway.
I got that ATV ride in after all, and there was no getting around it this time. Actually, it even bordered on fun. I mean, why not get out of bed in the middle of the night and freeze your face, hands, and other poorly protected body parts off while noisily riding around on Forest Service roads? Beats sleeping in a cozy, warm bed anytime. (Not!)
But at least I got over my growing phobia about those machines and now know I can hop on any time I'm assigned to an ATV team. I shouldn't go a year and a half without riding now that I'm in SAR, and we do use the quads quite a bit. I've gotten used to driving the Polaris Ranger UTV, but that's quite a different ride. More like a little car than how the ATVs feel.
Anyhow, the call-out was for four lost young adults (local college students, I believe), who'd parked their vehicle just off a main road at about 9 p.m. yesterday and went on foot in search of the Lava Cave (or "Ice Caves" as the deputy was referring to the place last night), which is a mile-long underground tube, basically. From where the "kids" (I'm almost at that age where I can say that about college students) had parked, the Forest Service access was too snow-covered to drive, and the road was gated and closed.
Normally, it should have been something like a three-mile walk. That is, if they'd had a map. Instead, the foursome probably walked eight or 10 miles before they finally decided to call for help at around 11:45. By then, they were exhausted, cold, and thoroughly lost. Luckily, just as with the injured woodcutter night before last, one of them had a lighter and was able to start a small campfire to keep them warm-ish.
Unlike the night before last, however, we didn't have the help of a helicopter, so a deputy started driving around out there, periodically running his siren, while two of us volunteers and a coordinator from SAR were on our way. The deputy did have cellphone contact with the subjects, so that was a big help in figuring out their approximate location. Eventually, they reported hearing the deputy's siren in the distance, which narrowed things down even more.
My teammate and I got to the staging area at around, oh, 3 a.m. I guess, unloaded the two ATVs we'd brought along, strapped our packs and, just in case, our snowshoes onto the quads, and took off to find the foursome. We went in from a different direction than they had, where the roads were more passable. Still, the deputy got his pickup stuck more than once in the soft snow and mud.
After riding several miles while I glanced side-to-side looking for the flicker of a campfire and sniffed at the cold air for any hint of smoke, Al and I spotted a flashing light ahead. Moments later, four figures with that stiff, hands-stuffed-in-pockets, chilled-to-the-bone stance converged around my teammate. I pulled up alongside him, and immediately one of the young men came over to shake my hand. They thanked us profusely more than once.
So all was well that ended well. Al buried the small campfire in dirt and snow, and we waited for the deputy and our coordinator to make their way, spinning and sliding, to our location.
On the ride back to the Sheriff's office, once we'd loaded the ATVs at the staging area where we'd dropped the trailer, I heard comments from the back seat along the lines of "man, I'll never do that again" and "I'm never going out there without a guide." I wanted to turn around and say, "You would have been okay if you'd had a map and known how to read it," but I held my snarky tongue. They were nice "kids," and I'm sure they didn't need me to tell them what their mistake was.
A Wood-Cutting Outing Gone Bad
I don't think I'll ever be completely comfortable around helicopters. And maybe that's not a bad thing, really. I mean, you don't want to take those spinning blades lightly.
At the same time, though, it sure is fun to ride in 'em!
I got my second chance last night, on our first call-out in about a month. My pager went off at 4 p.m., just as I was getting ready for Jazzercise class. So I quickly changed from spandex tights, a t-shirt, and aerobic sneakers into long johns, fleece, coated nylon, and hiking boots. Some of which I did at a rather long red light.
This mission involved an injured man whose exact location was not yet known. "Somewhere south of Williams" was all we heard as we loaded gear—technical, medical, general, and personal—into the SAR vehicles and ATVs onto a trailer.
We had a very good turnout for this mission, which called for technical team members as well as general SAR ground-pounders. Sometimes, or perhaps I should say often, you just don't know what a mission will turn into and what search and rescue volunteers will be called upon to do.
SAR missions are dynamic, to say the least. You think you're heading into a particular scenario, then things quickly change, sometimes drastically. We're always listening to radio traffic on our way to a staging area, and we often hear of changes as we drive. And as the situation changes and develops, so too must plans for the mission.
Yesterday, on our way to Williams, where we'd meet deputies and SAR coordinators at the courthouse for a briefing, information was sketchy. It sounded like the injured man must have made a cellphone call, but for some reason, he wasn't able to give his exact location. Apparently, he'd fallen off a ledge. We knew there were canyons in the area, where he often went to cut wood, but the man's vehicle had yet to be located and there are numerous dirt roads and two-tracks around, many of which aren't on any map.
As we waited for our briefing, deputies were speaking by cellphone with a member of the injured man's family who was out looking for his vehicle, but even she was having difficulty relaying her location. Two helicopters, one DPS and the other from a contiguous county, were in the air, but they had spotted neither the victim, the victim's vehicle, nor the family member's vehicle by the time we received our assignments and headed out to do our thing.
At that time, I was assigned to an ATV team. Our goal was to find the family member and then the victim's vehicle. From there, we would hopefully be able to track him.
As the four of us on that team drove to our assigned area, I mentally reviewed ATV driving, which I haven't done once since my training back in October, the first and only time I'd ever ridden a quad. I've been assigned to do so since then, but each time, things changed and I was reassigned, usually to go out on foot or in a vehicle. And this time was no different: Things changed.
Just before getting to the point where we'd unload the ATVs, we heard that the victim's vehicle had been spotted by the DPS helicopter, in the trees just a short distance from the road we were on. And soon thereafter, they saw the injured man in a nearby canyon. He'd managed to start a fire, which was a good sign.
So things happened quickly from there. Since the subject was on the other side of the canyon, at the bottom of which was a swiftly flowing creek swollen with snowmelt, the helicopter shuttled tech team members and rescue gear to the opposite rim. Meanwhile, I helped with the roadblock (so the helo could use the road as a landing zone) and talked to the man's worried family, who'd immediately driven to our new staging area. I felt good about the situation at that point and tried to make the family feel better, too. I was relieved to see them smile a bit.
Time went on and a sunny day turned into a clear, starry, and chilly night. I was hanging out on the road, chatting with a couple other non-tech members and assuming I would stay there until the man was carried out, when suddenly I heard our field leader say over the radio, "Send Deb." That's always kind of exciting, I must admit.
Next thing you know, I'm sitting next to the helicopter pilot, looking at all those lights and gauges and gadgets and watching the ground fall away through the glass near my feet. Two more non-tech members were also in the chopper. This was to be a difficult carry-out, and more muscle was needed.
Speaking of which, I often don't feel I'm a great help on litter evacuations, though I try my darndest to pull my weight. And now that I've assisted with several of them, I do think I've become more valuable to the team. This time, though, we had to actually carry the subject in the litter because it was too steep and rugged to use the wheel. The weight combined with the crummy footing and dense brush really challenged me, and at one point, I got stuck on a bush that wouldn't give, and I nearly fell on the poor man. Luckily, a teammate quickly responded when I started to lose my balance and said, "Somebody push me into the bushes!" So I landed in the brush instead of on the patient, which I'm sure he appreciated.
Anyhow, long story shorter, with the help of some rope and a lot of muscle, sweat, and satisfying teamwork, we got our subject back up to the landing zone, where he was whisked off to an ambulance on the other side of the canyon. Two and three at a time, SAR members, a deputy, and an EMT were then shuttled back to the road, saving us a rather long and difficult hike out.
At 2:30 a.m., my sweat dry and muscles sore and with bits and pieces of bushes tangled in my hair, I arrived home, shoved my dog to the middle of the bed where she belongs, and crawled in.
Read the news story about this mission here: Injured Chino Valley man rescued after fall near Williams.
At the same time, though, it sure is fun to ride in 'em!
I got my second chance last night, on our first call-out in about a month. My pager went off at 4 p.m., just as I was getting ready for Jazzercise class. So I quickly changed from spandex tights, a t-shirt, and aerobic sneakers into long johns, fleece, coated nylon, and hiking boots. Some of which I did at a rather long red light.
This mission involved an injured man whose exact location was not yet known. "Somewhere south of Williams" was all we heard as we loaded gear—technical, medical, general, and personal—into the SAR vehicles and ATVs onto a trailer.
We had a very good turnout for this mission, which called for technical team members as well as general SAR ground-pounders. Sometimes, or perhaps I should say often, you just don't know what a mission will turn into and what search and rescue volunteers will be called upon to do.
SAR missions are dynamic, to say the least. You think you're heading into a particular scenario, then things quickly change, sometimes drastically. We're always listening to radio traffic on our way to a staging area, and we often hear of changes as we drive. And as the situation changes and develops, so too must plans for the mission.
Yesterday, on our way to Williams, where we'd meet deputies and SAR coordinators at the courthouse for a briefing, information was sketchy. It sounded like the injured man must have made a cellphone call, but for some reason, he wasn't able to give his exact location. Apparently, he'd fallen off a ledge. We knew there were canyons in the area, where he often went to cut wood, but the man's vehicle had yet to be located and there are numerous dirt roads and two-tracks around, many of which aren't on any map.
As we waited for our briefing, deputies were speaking by cellphone with a member of the injured man's family who was out looking for his vehicle, but even she was having difficulty relaying her location. Two helicopters, one DPS and the other from a contiguous county, were in the air, but they had spotted neither the victim, the victim's vehicle, nor the family member's vehicle by the time we received our assignments and headed out to do our thing.
At that time, I was assigned to an ATV team. Our goal was to find the family member and then the victim's vehicle. From there, we would hopefully be able to track him.
As the four of us on that team drove to our assigned area, I mentally reviewed ATV driving, which I haven't done once since my training back in October, the first and only time I'd ever ridden a quad. I've been assigned to do so since then, but each time, things changed and I was reassigned, usually to go out on foot or in a vehicle. And this time was no different: Things changed.
Just before getting to the point where we'd unload the ATVs, we heard that the victim's vehicle had been spotted by the DPS helicopter, in the trees just a short distance from the road we were on. And soon thereafter, they saw the injured man in a nearby canyon. He'd managed to start a fire, which was a good sign.
So things happened quickly from there. Since the subject was on the other side of the canyon, at the bottom of which was a swiftly flowing creek swollen with snowmelt, the helicopter shuttled tech team members and rescue gear to the opposite rim. Meanwhile, I helped with the roadblock (so the helo could use the road as a landing zone) and talked to the man's worried family, who'd immediately driven to our new staging area. I felt good about the situation at that point and tried to make the family feel better, too. I was relieved to see them smile a bit.
Time went on and a sunny day turned into a clear, starry, and chilly night. I was hanging out on the road, chatting with a couple other non-tech members and assuming I would stay there until the man was carried out, when suddenly I heard our field leader say over the radio, "Send Deb." That's always kind of exciting, I must admit.
Next thing you know, I'm sitting next to the helicopter pilot, looking at all those lights and gauges and gadgets and watching the ground fall away through the glass near my feet. Two more non-tech members were also in the chopper. This was to be a difficult carry-out, and more muscle was needed.
Speaking of which, I often don't feel I'm a great help on litter evacuations, though I try my darndest to pull my weight. And now that I've assisted with several of them, I do think I've become more valuable to the team. This time, though, we had to actually carry the subject in the litter because it was too steep and rugged to use the wheel. The weight combined with the crummy footing and dense brush really challenged me, and at one point, I got stuck on a bush that wouldn't give, and I nearly fell on the poor man. Luckily, a teammate quickly responded when I started to lose my balance and said, "Somebody push me into the bushes!" So I landed in the brush instead of on the patient, which I'm sure he appreciated.
Anyhow, long story shorter, with the help of some rope and a lot of muscle, sweat, and satisfying teamwork, we got our subject back up to the landing zone, where he was whisked off to an ambulance on the other side of the canyon. Two and three at a time, SAR members, a deputy, and an EMT were then shuttled back to the road, saving us a rather long and difficult hike out.
At 2:30 a.m., my sweat dry and muscles sore and with bits and pieces of bushes tangled in my hair, I arrived home, shoved my dog to the middle of the bed where she belongs, and crawled in.
Read the news story about this mission here: Injured Chino Valley man rescued after fall near Williams.
The Pack Test
But during this quiet time, I haven't just been sitting on my butt. The opposite, in fact, in part because a not-so-little bird told me (and the rest of our general membership) that there's going to be a fitness test for those wanting to be on the technical team. That fitness test is the same as the official Wildland Fire Test: three miles in 45 minutes with a 45-pound pack. If we don't pass the first time, we'll be able to take it again (and again?) until we do.
It's not the weight that intimidates me—been there, done that, plenty of times on the Appalachian Trail and elsewhere. And it's not the time limit. I can walk pretty fast if I want to. (Apparently, we won't be allowed to jog.) But the weight and the time limit combined... that's the kicker.
While doing a little hunting around online, I came across this: Work Capacity Testing for Wildland Firefighters: Ensuring Wildland Fire Safety by the U.S. Forest Service. In the document, it states that there are three test levels:
- Walk Test: a 1-mile hike in 16 minutes
- Field Test: 2-mile hike with 25-pound pack in 30 min.
- Pack Test: 3-mile hike with 45-pound pack in 45 min.
So, I certainly have my work cut out for me. I plan to keep up the training, once a week with increasingly heavier packs, until test time on May 9. Between those workouts, regular hiking, Jazzercise three to five times per week, and an occasional snowshoe or hike at altitude on the peaks, I'll hopefully pass the test on the first try.
And even though a slightly smaller bird told me we won't be using the arduous test, I figure this training can't hurt. There are some mighty fast folks on that tech team, who I'll be wanting to keep up with... or at least keep in sight up ahead.
Shhhh.....
Just a shout out to let ya'll know I'm still here, in case you were wondering. It's just that my SAR pager hasn't made a peep in... hm, what's it been? At least a couple of weeks.
And that's a good thing. I mean, as much as I love being on the team and going on missions, I don't WISH for people to get hurt, stranded, or lost, especially in the very wintry weather we've had lately.
Not to mention that it certainly is nice to be warm and cozy inside when it's snowing like crazy and c-c-cold outside.
Anyhow, in the meantime, I've been reading away. More SAR stuff, of course, including Heart of the Storm: My Adventures as a Helicopter Rescue Pilot and Commander
by Colonel Edward Fleming. I wrote a little review on my other SAR blog, SARstoriesNews, if you're interested.Now, though, as I take a break from books about helicopters, which I seem to have developed a bit of a fascination with over the past year or so, I'm reading a piece of fiction for a change, called The Wall
by Jeff Long. It's a thriller that takes place on Yosemite's El Capitan. (I'm giving you the Amazon links, but I've found these books at our local library, so you probably can, too.)Anyhow, I'll be back to babbling about search and rescue when something babble-worthy happens.
Winter Training for Winter Searching and Rescuing
I have band-aids on six toes. I didn't realize the tops were rubbed raw until I stepped into the shower and yowee! I looked down at my feet and realized I'd left some skin somewhere.
It was snowshoeing down the mountain that did it. Today, a teammate and I enjoyed some fitness training on Mt. Agassiz at the Arizona Snowbowl for the second time this week. It's not uncommon for missions to take place on the peaks, and some extra time and effort at altitude can definitely pay off when the pager goes off. So I'm glad my teammate invited me to drag myself out of bed before dawn to huff and puff up a couple thousand feet on the hard-packed snow and ice, only to go right back down that steeply angled snow and ice. We've had two great days on the mountain in perfect weather, and I feel better prepared as a result.
Before these two climbs, I'd never really tested my MSR snowshoes on ice or very steep slopes. And now I have a better idea of what they can do. There were times today on the ascent when the angle was so steep, I had to dig in with the spikes on the toes of my snowshoes and keep my momentum going as my calves screamed, so I wouldn't end up careening down the mountain on my back.
On the descents, I followed my teammate's instructions and took small, slow steps, and, to my relief, the snowshoes did the job. I had Jell-o legs by the time we reached the lodge, but at least I stayed upright.
Also on the training front, our team had that snowmobile class I'd been waiting for. I'm still uncomfortable with loading the machines onto the trailers, afraid I'll shoot right off the back, but, otherwise, I'm now team certified to drive. (At least, I think I am.) So I bought a collapsible backcountry shovel for digging myself out whenever I get the thing stuck, which I now know firsthand isn't hard to do, even in ideal conditions.
Oh, I almost forgot...
We did have another call-out recently. It was a pretty straightforward mission involving an out-of-town family who'd gotten their vehicle stuck on a snow-covered Forest Service road and weren't quite sure of their location. Luckily, the DPS helicopter was available to do a fly-over, and they spotted the vehicle and, therefore, expedited the mission. The vacationing family was retrieved and taken to a motel for the night, to deal with their stranded vehicle the next day.
It was snowshoeing down the mountain that did it. Today, a teammate and I enjoyed some fitness training on Mt. Agassiz at the Arizona Snowbowl for the second time this week. It's not uncommon for missions to take place on the peaks, and some extra time and effort at altitude can definitely pay off when the pager goes off. So I'm glad my teammate invited me to drag myself out of bed before dawn to huff and puff up a couple thousand feet on the hard-packed snow and ice, only to go right back down that steeply angled snow and ice. We've had two great days on the mountain in perfect weather, and I feel better prepared as a result.
Before these two climbs, I'd never really tested my MSR snowshoes on ice or very steep slopes. And now I have a better idea of what they can do. There were times today on the ascent when the angle was so steep, I had to dig in with the spikes on the toes of my snowshoes and keep my momentum going as my calves screamed, so I wouldn't end up careening down the mountain on my back.
On the descents, I followed my teammate's instructions and took small, slow steps, and, to my relief, the snowshoes did the job. I had Jell-o legs by the time we reached the lodge, but at least I stayed upright.
Also on the training front, our team had that snowmobile class I'd been waiting for. I'm still uncomfortable with loading the machines onto the trailers, afraid I'll shoot right off the back, but, otherwise, I'm now team certified to drive. (At least, I think I am.) So I bought a collapsible backcountry shovel for digging myself out whenever I get the thing stuck, which I now know firsthand isn't hard to do, even in ideal conditions.
Oh, I almost forgot...
We did have another call-out recently. It was a pretty straightforward mission involving an out-of-town family who'd gotten their vehicle stuck on a snow-covered Forest Service road and weren't quite sure of their location. Luckily, the DPS helicopter was available to do a fly-over, and they spotted the vehicle and, therefore, expedited the mission. The vacationing family was retrieved and taken to a motel for the night, to deal with their stranded vehicle the next day.
Missed Missions and Being Missed
That was nice! A teammate called to check up on me because I've not been able to respond to the last two missions. You could say that's a bit unusual for me—missing two SAR missions in a row—and not something I prefer. But how cool it is to be missed.
Following the recent search for a 12-year-old girl, which thankfully ended well, my pager was silent until 7:15 on Friday morning, January 23. I knew I couldn't respond, but by habit, I had to call in anyway to hear what the call-out was for. The short message simply stated there was a possible downed aircraft.
Oh man, I thought, and I'm gonna be stuck in a hair salon? I take care of my mom, you see, and she doesn't drive. And she had scheduled her monthly hair appointment, which I had to take her to, as always. Needless to say, I fidgeted and paced for two hours, waiting for her dye-and-set to be finished, reluctantly listening to salon-style chatter, all the while knowing my teammates were "out there" somewhere. Every time the hairdresser would stop working in order to make hand gestures to help prove the point she was making, my knee would start bouncing and my foot tapping, and I could feel my blood pressure rise.
When I finally got home after dropping my mom off back at her own house, I thought about calling our SAR captain to tell him I'd be available to join the team in the field if need be, but first I went online and found two breaking news updates. When I refreshed the webpage, a third appeared. And before long, as I continued reading, my phone rang and I heard from a teammate who'd talked to another teammate who'd been on scene, and I knew I need not call.
Read all four breaking news updates from that day (in descending order) here. Two Flagstaff men died in the crash.
Only minutes after concluding the call with my teammate, I turned on the television and immediately saw news of the crash, including an interview with the deputy who was dealing with a traffic stop at the very moment the small aircraft flew right over his head and heard the impact moments later.
A couple of days later, on the snowy, windy, very cold evening of January 25, my pager went off again. Steve and I were in a restaurant at the time (that favorite sushi place of ours I mentioned in my last post), and I called in to find out what was going on. A technical rescue on Mt. Elden. I thought for a moment, knowing that non-technical team members were welcome to respond and go along in case we could be of help carrying gear or performing any other non-technical tasks that might arise.
On the other hand, Steve and I had driven to the restaurant in one vehicle (we sometimes take separate cars, just in case there's a call-out), and I'd first have to drop him off at home before responding. This would take at least 20 minutes, and then I'd have the drive across town. I didn't want to hold the team up and wasn't sure I'd actually be needed anyway... so I decided not to respond.
As Steve and I drove home after dinner, I looked over at the mountain, mostly hidden in the clouds, and shivered. I knew my teammates were probably still up there on that wet and wintry night and felt a pang of remorse at not being out there, too.
But such is life as a SAR volunteer. Sometimes you just have to pass.
Read Stranded Hikers Rescued from Elden Cliffs from the Arizona Daily Sun.
Following the recent search for a 12-year-old girl, which thankfully ended well, my pager was silent until 7:15 on Friday morning, January 23. I knew I couldn't respond, but by habit, I had to call in anyway to hear what the call-out was for. The short message simply stated there was a possible downed aircraft.
Oh man, I thought, and I'm gonna be stuck in a hair salon? I take care of my mom, you see, and she doesn't drive. And she had scheduled her monthly hair appointment, which I had to take her to, as always. Needless to say, I fidgeted and paced for two hours, waiting for her dye-and-set to be finished, reluctantly listening to salon-style chatter, all the while knowing my teammates were "out there" somewhere. Every time the hairdresser would stop working in order to make hand gestures to help prove the point she was making, my knee would start bouncing and my foot tapping, and I could feel my blood pressure rise.
When I finally got home after dropping my mom off back at her own house, I thought about calling our SAR captain to tell him I'd be available to join the team in the field if need be, but first I went online and found two breaking news updates. When I refreshed the webpage, a third appeared. And before long, as I continued reading, my phone rang and I heard from a teammate who'd talked to another teammate who'd been on scene, and I knew I need not call.
Read all four breaking news updates from that day (in descending order) here. Two Flagstaff men died in the crash.
Only minutes after concluding the call with my teammate, I turned on the television and immediately saw news of the crash, including an interview with the deputy who was dealing with a traffic stop at the very moment the small aircraft flew right over his head and heard the impact moments later.
A couple of days later, on the snowy, windy, very cold evening of January 25, my pager went off again. Steve and I were in a restaurant at the time (that favorite sushi place of ours I mentioned in my last post), and I called in to find out what was going on. A technical rescue on Mt. Elden. I thought for a moment, knowing that non-technical team members were welcome to respond and go along in case we could be of help carrying gear or performing any other non-technical tasks that might arise.
On the other hand, Steve and I had driven to the restaurant in one vehicle (we sometimes take separate cars, just in case there's a call-out), and I'd first have to drop him off at home before responding. This would take at least 20 minutes, and then I'd have the drive across town. I didn't want to hold the team up and wasn't sure I'd actually be needed anyway... so I decided not to respond.
As Steve and I drove home after dinner, I looked over at the mountain, mostly hidden in the clouds, and shivered. I knew my teammates were probably still up there on that wet and wintry night and felt a pang of remorse at not being out there, too.
But such is life as a SAR volunteer. Sometimes you just have to pass.
Read Stranded Hikers Rescued from Elden Cliffs from the Arizona Daily Sun.
A Tribute To My SAR Spouse
In this case, SAR stands for "supportive and reassuring," referring to my husband of almost 11 years. Steve has always been supportive of my endeavors and adventures, not the least of which was my six-month Appalachian Trail thru-hike.
During that time nine years ago, he took care of the farm—the critters and the property—that we were employed to live on and tend to for the absentee owners. Over the course of the 185 days I was away, I saw Steve only once. That five-hour visit took place in a dump of a trail town (which shall remain unnamed) before my husband had to drive back, to make it home in time to do the evening chores. And he never once complained during any of our phone calls or when I returned home after I'd completed my hike, about all of the extra work he'd had to shoulder in my absence.
And Steve has held true to form when it's come to me being part of search and rescue. As anyone involved with SAR knows, our pagers (or phones) can and do go off at all times of the day and night. Our gadgets have no consideration for mealtimes, holidays, great movies or dates, or a good night's sleep during a snowstorm. People sometimes—often—need help when it's not very convenient for SAR personnel or volunteers. Not to mention for their families. So I wanted to publicly thank Steve for being such a great sport, not to mention bolstering my confidence when it wavers.
I recently read a book called Mountain High, Mountain Rescue
by SAR volunteer Peggy Parr, in which she writes, "The patience of a husband or wife at home is often forgotten, yet this is a vital ingredient to the team's accomplishments in the field."
She goes on to say, "Sleeping spouses, unmoved by adrenaline, are awakened in the depth of night by a pager's piercing tone giving an emergency message ... and subjected to the noise of frantic dressing and departure. If the spouse wants the car, chauffeuring is necessary. During the day the tone shatters silence at the sermon, the movie and the restaurant. Dinners turn cold, picnics are cancelled, guests are left waiting. Bachelors should contemplate this neglect a spouse suffers.
"After a mission, the spouse is forced to listen to endless phone calls from other members, where details are dissected like a frog. Gear is spread across the floor as in a garage sale. Two-hundred-foot nylon ropes are cleaned in the washing machine, and hang for days drying in spaghetti coils from the basement ceiling.
"The spouse tolerates these annoyances with a patience worthy of sainthood. Members are aware of these qualities, for we take their spirit with us always."
How true. And Steve even gets up when those middle-of-the-night call-outs happen, to make sure I don't leave anything behind as I stumble about for my clothing and gear on the way to the door.
Just today, as Steve and I were in the middle of stuffing our faces with raw fish by candlelight at our favorite sushi restaurant, my pager went off. Immediately, I said, "Oh, it's okay, I'll skip it this time," but my husband knows me all too well. "No, no," he said, "It's totally okay. Go help."
As we've done in the past, we'd have had the rest of our dinner doggie-bagged and then driven home, where I'd drop Steve off, quickly change clothes, and head to the SAR building. But, as it turned out, that wasn't necessary this time, and we finished our dinner date. Our coordinator's message, which I listened to with a face full of maki roll, said this was a call for the technical team. If, in the spring, I qualify for that subset of our general SAR team, those kinds of calls will then include me, and more doggie-bags may be necessary.
During that time nine years ago, he took care of the farm—the critters and the property—that we were employed to live on and tend to for the absentee owners. Over the course of the 185 days I was away, I saw Steve only once. That five-hour visit took place in a dump of a trail town (which shall remain unnamed) before my husband had to drive back, to make it home in time to do the evening chores. And he never once complained during any of our phone calls or when I returned home after I'd completed my hike, about all of the extra work he'd had to shoulder in my absence.
And Steve has held true to form when it's come to me being part of search and rescue. As anyone involved with SAR knows, our pagers (or phones) can and do go off at all times of the day and night. Our gadgets have no consideration for mealtimes, holidays, great movies or dates, or a good night's sleep during a snowstorm. People sometimes—often—need help when it's not very convenient for SAR personnel or volunteers. Not to mention for their families. So I wanted to publicly thank Steve for being such a great sport, not to mention bolstering my confidence when it wavers.
I recently read a book called Mountain High, Mountain Rescue
by SAR volunteer Peggy Parr, in which she writes, "The patience of a husband or wife at home is often forgotten, yet this is a vital ingredient to the team's accomplishments in the field." She goes on to say, "Sleeping spouses, unmoved by adrenaline, are awakened in the depth of night by a pager's piercing tone giving an emergency message ... and subjected to the noise of frantic dressing and departure. If the spouse wants the car, chauffeuring is necessary. During the day the tone shatters silence at the sermon, the movie and the restaurant. Dinners turn cold, picnics are cancelled, guests are left waiting. Bachelors should contemplate this neglect a spouse suffers.
"After a mission, the spouse is forced to listen to endless phone calls from other members, where details are dissected like a frog. Gear is spread across the floor as in a garage sale. Two-hundred-foot nylon ropes are cleaned in the washing machine, and hang for days drying in spaghetti coils from the basement ceiling.
"The spouse tolerates these annoyances with a patience worthy of sainthood. Members are aware of these qualities, for we take their spirit with us always."
How true. And Steve even gets up when those middle-of-the-night call-outs happen, to make sure I don't leave anything behind as I stumble about for my clothing and gear on the way to the door.
Just today, as Steve and I were in the middle of stuffing our faces with raw fish by candlelight at our favorite sushi restaurant, my pager went off. Immediately, I said, "Oh, it's okay, I'll skip it this time," but my husband knows me all too well. "No, no," he said, "It's totally okay. Go help."
As we've done in the past, we'd have had the rest of our dinner doggie-bagged and then driven home, where I'd drop Steve off, quickly change clothes, and head to the SAR building. But, as it turned out, that wasn't necessary this time, and we finished our dinner date. Our coordinator's message, which I listened to with a face full of maki roll, said this was a call for the technical team. If, in the spring, I qualify for that subset of our general SAR team, those kinds of calls will then include me, and more doggie-bags may be necessary.
Putting SAR Skills to the Test
Tracking was something I first learned during Basic SAR Academy, and I've practiced those skills time and again during previous missions, but never before have I officially been put on a "tracking team." Not until yesterday, that is, when one of our senior members pointed to me and said, "Is your stuff ready? Good, grab your gear and head to the staging area. You guys (referring to myself and two teammates) will be the tracking team." My mind immediately went into review mode.
At about 11:00 a.m., as my teammates and I drove to Doney Park east of Flagstaff to begin the search, I mentally ran through all the tracking basics I could recall. Things like, measure the stride heel to heel or toe to toe, and mark it on my hiking pole with duct tape. Do I have duct tape on my pole? Yes, check. Measure the length of the print, the width of the ball and the heel, and make a sketch of the sole pattern. I double-checked to be sure I had flagging tape to mark tracks and other clues, and I knew I had a flexible measuring tape and a Sharpie for writing on the flagging. Somewhere in my pack. Darn, I should have re-organized my pack the day before as I'd promised myself I'd do. But I hadn't.
That's been a weak point of mine. For all the backpacking I've done and all the gear management, I've been lax when it comes to reorganizing and replenishing my 24-hour pack following each mission. So mission after mission, it's only gotten more topsy-turvy and more lacking in certain items. Like food, for one. Shame on me. This time, that meant my stomach was growling for all my teammates to hear, and I had to take off my pack and quickly sift through the contents to find the measuring tape and marker. The one time I had to ask a teammate to borrow a Sharpie, I felt like a doofus. Never again!
Anyhow, when we got to the staging area, we were very briefly briefed and shown some tracks known to be—or at least presumed to be—the missing subject's. My teammates and I did the necessary measuring and began trying to follow the girl's movements. We went back and forth, round and round. We'd pick up the track then lose it. Find it and lose it again. Seemed she'd changed directions quite a bit. And given the fact that there were many prints made by different people in the immediate vicinity and some ground that was not the easiest on which to track, the task was quite a challenge.
At the same time, I realized that over the past 16 months, I've definitely gotten better at "seeing." I was able to pick up small portions of prints and detect shine, which is basically a track left as a result of flattening, leaving no evidence other than the way the sun or artificial light reflects, or shines, on the flattened surface.
Still, after a significant amount of time had passed, we trackers hadn't gotten out of sight of the staging area. We were making wider and wider circles, though, cutting for sign and attempting to find matching prints heading away from the area, to determine a direction of travel. In the meantime, other teammates were carrying out different assignments, including driving area roads and hiking to the top of nearby hills. The team tracking dog and members of our mounted unit came out as well.
We were looking for a juvenile who'd been missing since sometime during the previous night. As of early afternoon, the air was still but chilly, and we were intent on finding the girl before sundown. We knew she wasn't dressed warmly enough.
Eventually, assignments were changed as the situation warranted, and I ended up on a team asked to drive some unpaved roads and a pipeline. As we went slowly along, periodically spinning our tires on the snow-covered cinders, I leaned out of my passenger-side window, alternating between scanning the ground for prints and the forest for any sign of movement or anything that didn't belong. As for the latter, all I saw was a very old, smashed car with remnants of two very dead pigs in it. Um... interesting. But no footprints.
Just as our team of three was about to leave the vehicle when it could go no further and head out on snowshoes, we heard a voice on the radio say, "I've got the subject." Yay! And she was basically okay. Yay again! She needed some medical attention but nothing that sounded too serious. A member of our mounted unit had made the find.
Oh, and those prints we'd been following? Well, not the right ones after all. It happens. What matters in the end is the happy ending.
And happy about a successful mission myself, I called my husband and asked him to meet me at a favorite Mexican restaurant not far from the SAR building. After a grande burrito (and a little of Steve's too), which made up my breakfast, lunch, and dinner rolled into one much-needed meal, I headed home and fixed up my backpack. Okay, now I'm ready for the next one!
At about 11:00 a.m., as my teammates and I drove to Doney Park east of Flagstaff to begin the search, I mentally ran through all the tracking basics I could recall. Things like, measure the stride heel to heel or toe to toe, and mark it on my hiking pole with duct tape. Do I have duct tape on my pole? Yes, check. Measure the length of the print, the width of the ball and the heel, and make a sketch of the sole pattern. I double-checked to be sure I had flagging tape to mark tracks and other clues, and I knew I had a flexible measuring tape and a Sharpie for writing on the flagging. Somewhere in my pack. Darn, I should have re-organized my pack the day before as I'd promised myself I'd do. But I hadn't.
That's been a weak point of mine. For all the backpacking I've done and all the gear management, I've been lax when it comes to reorganizing and replenishing my 24-hour pack following each mission. So mission after mission, it's only gotten more topsy-turvy and more lacking in certain items. Like food, for one. Shame on me. This time, that meant my stomach was growling for all my teammates to hear, and I had to take off my pack and quickly sift through the contents to find the measuring tape and marker. The one time I had to ask a teammate to borrow a Sharpie, I felt like a doofus. Never again!
Anyhow, when we got to the staging area, we were very briefly briefed and shown some tracks known to be—or at least presumed to be—the missing subject's. My teammates and I did the necessary measuring and began trying to follow the girl's movements. We went back and forth, round and round. We'd pick up the track then lose it. Find it and lose it again. Seemed she'd changed directions quite a bit. And given the fact that there were many prints made by different people in the immediate vicinity and some ground that was not the easiest on which to track, the task was quite a challenge.
At the same time, I realized that over the past 16 months, I've definitely gotten better at "seeing." I was able to pick up small portions of prints and detect shine, which is basically a track left as a result of flattening, leaving no evidence other than the way the sun or artificial light reflects, or shines, on the flattened surface.
Still, after a significant amount of time had passed, we trackers hadn't gotten out of sight of the staging area. We were making wider and wider circles, though, cutting for sign and attempting to find matching prints heading away from the area, to determine a direction of travel. In the meantime, other teammates were carrying out different assignments, including driving area roads and hiking to the top of nearby hills. The team tracking dog and members of our mounted unit came out as well.
We were looking for a juvenile who'd been missing since sometime during the previous night. As of early afternoon, the air was still but chilly, and we were intent on finding the girl before sundown. We knew she wasn't dressed warmly enough.
Eventually, assignments were changed as the situation warranted, and I ended up on a team asked to drive some unpaved roads and a pipeline. As we went slowly along, periodically spinning our tires on the snow-covered cinders, I leaned out of my passenger-side window, alternating between scanning the ground for prints and the forest for any sign of movement or anything that didn't belong. As for the latter, all I saw was a very old, smashed car with remnants of two very dead pigs in it. Um... interesting. But no footprints.
Just as our team of three was about to leave the vehicle when it could go no further and head out on snowshoes, we heard a voice on the radio say, "I've got the subject." Yay! And she was basically okay. Yay again! She needed some medical attention but nothing that sounded too serious. A member of our mounted unit had made the find.
Oh, and those prints we'd been following? Well, not the right ones after all. It happens. What matters in the end is the happy ending.
And happy about a successful mission myself, I called my husband and asked him to meet me at a favorite Mexican restaurant not far from the SAR building. After a grande burrito (and a little of Steve's too), which made up my breakfast, lunch, and dinner rolled into one much-needed meal, I headed home and fixed up my backpack. Okay, now I'm ready for the next one!
Where is Mark?
That's the question many people have been asking for the past 10 days. It's the question that's kept me up at night even when I'm exhausted from another day of searching. And I know everyone involved in the effort feels the same. We just want to find Mark, to give this story an ending.
I've started this entry over several times. While every mission I've been involved with—and there have been about 40 or so in my 16 months on the team—has been unique, this one was especially different for me. Not only did the initial facts seem to point to a fairly rapid resolution that didn't happen, but ground-pounders (rather, snow-pounders in this case) didn't find a single clue. At least, nothing that panned out. No matter how closely we looked, we didn't come up with a thing. And that feels... well, really bad.
At the same time, I was seeing Mark's family and friends, who were also searching along with SAR teams from around the state of Arizona, Forest Service personnel, K-9 teams, Civil Air Patrol, and the Department of Public Safety. But it wasn't the lack of a uniform that told me someone was a relative or friend of the missing. That was clear in their faces, even if they gave us a smile.
Over the past 10 days, five of which I was in the field in Forest
Lakes, I wanted so much to hear that familiar tone of voice that comes
over the radio when a searcher finds something. You can hear it when a
SAR member calls Incident Command, and the rest of us stop in our tracks
to listen to what will come next. That didn't happen this time.
But no ending (yet) doesn't mean there's an end to hope. If you'd read as many search and rescue stories as I have in the past year and a half, you know that just about anything can happen. So I'll be keeping Mark Irby and his family in my thoughts and waiting for the day we hear he's been found.
48 Hours and Counting
This is an ongoing mission, from which I just returned after 25 hours in the field. I arrived on Saturday, January 3, as several of my teammates were finishing up their own 20-plus-hour shifts, still with a long drive ahead of them back to Flagstaff. I'll fill you in on more of the story once the mission is concluded, hopefully with a find, but in the meantime, this is who we're looking for, reprinted from the Coconino County Sheriff's Office press release:
Missing Person
"Mark Russell Irby is described as a white man, 51 years of age, 5/10, 175 pounds, brown hair, brown eyes, and wearing prescription glasses. He was last seen wearing a denim shirt, blue jeans and 'Croc' style shoes, and riding a red Bombardier ATV with AZ license plate 36B-175. Irby is on medication for high blood pressure. There are no other known medical conditions. Irby was not dressed for the extreme weather or an extended trip away from home.
"Mr. Irby had been known to travel out of the Forest Lakes Subdivision to the west and travel trails between the subdivision and Forest Service Rd. 237. He was last seen when he left the home in the Forest Lakes area at about 10:00 AM Friday, January, 2nd.
"Anyone with information regarding the welfare or whereabouts of Mark Russell Irby is urged to call the Coconino County Sheriff's Office at (928)774-4523 or (800)338-7888."
When I left incident command today, Sunday, January 4, just after 10 a.m., there were at least 30 volunteers from three county SAR teams in the field, and another call-out has since been made for more volunteers to relieve them in the morning, to continue the search if Mr. Irby hasn't been located. I'll be rejoining the mission at 6 a.m. on Monday.
Also, a DPS helicopter has been flying, searching areas around the Forest Lakes subdivision.
It's now snowing heavily, complicating matters because any ATV tracks that may have been visible on Saturday are now much more difficult to detect. This is becoming a very frustrating mission, as search teams have checked and rechecked all logical areas and then some without locating any clues, which is unusual.
Today, Sunday, teams are literally going door to door in the subdivision, walking around each and every house. Many of them are seasonal homes. Searchers will also be checking snow and ice slides that have come off the roofs, some of which are large enough to potentially bury both a man and his quad. That is, if the quad could even have made it up to the houses. It would have been nearly impossible for the ATV to have crossed the huge berms along the sides of the roads and made it through deep snow on the unplowed driveways of unoccupied homes without getting stuck in the attempt. But there's been no sign of the red quad or the man who was driving it.
Let's hope this turns out well.
"Mark Russell Irby is described as a white man, 51 years of age, 5/10, 175 pounds, brown hair, brown eyes, and wearing prescription glasses. He was last seen wearing a denim shirt, blue jeans and 'Croc' style shoes, and riding a red Bombardier ATV with AZ license plate 36B-175. Irby is on medication for high blood pressure. There are no other known medical conditions. Irby was not dressed for the extreme weather or an extended trip away from home."Mr. Irby had been known to travel out of the Forest Lakes Subdivision to the west and travel trails between the subdivision and Forest Service Rd. 237. He was last seen when he left the home in the Forest Lakes area at about 10:00 AM Friday, January, 2nd.
"Anyone with information regarding the welfare or whereabouts of Mark Russell Irby is urged to call the Coconino County Sheriff's Office at (928)774-4523 or (800)338-7888."
When I left incident command today, Sunday, January 4, just after 10 a.m., there were at least 30 volunteers from three county SAR teams in the field, and another call-out has since been made for more volunteers to relieve them in the morning, to continue the search if Mr. Irby hasn't been located. I'll be rejoining the mission at 6 a.m. on Monday.
Also, a DPS helicopter has been flying, searching areas around the Forest Lakes subdivision.
It's now snowing heavily, complicating matters because any ATV tracks that may have been visible on Saturday are now much more difficult to detect. This is becoming a very frustrating mission, as search teams have checked and rechecked all logical areas and then some without locating any clues, which is unusual.
Today, Sunday, teams are literally going door to door in the subdivision, walking around each and every house. Many of them are seasonal homes. Searchers will also be checking snow and ice slides that have come off the roofs, some of which are large enough to potentially bury both a man and his quad. That is, if the quad could even have made it up to the houses. It would have been nearly impossible for the ATV to have crossed the huge berms along the sides of the roads and made it through deep snow on the unplowed driveways of unoccupied homes without getting stuck in the attempt. But there's been no sign of the red quad or the man who was driving it.
Let's hope this turns out well.
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