P-SAR On The Peaks

P stands for "preventative."

This past weekend, following a series of storms that dropped 92 inches (yes, you saw that correctly: that's nearly eight feet) of new snow on the San Francisco Peaks, a teammate and I took one of the P-SAR shifts at the top of the Agassiz chairlift (11,500 feet) at Snowbowl.

The backcountry was officially closed due to the extreme avalanche danger, so we were supposed to—try to—stop anyone from going out of bounds, or, if they insisted, to check to see that they had working avalanche beacons and survival gear.

If they got into trouble out there, they'd be on their own, not to mention risk criminal prosecution and a heavy fine for disregarding the official closure.

Luckily, we didn't have to try to stop anyone because no one tried to go beyond the boundary rope... at least, not where we were hanging out by the ski patrol shack. That common exit point was piled high with snow, with the sign pictured above blocking the way.

While people were apparently heeding the warning signs at the base of the ski area as well as the one where we were stationed, a few skiers and snowboarders did ask us questions, including when the backcountry would be opened. We couldn't really answer that, but we advised people to keep a lookout for a press release or word from Arizona Snowbowl on their website. (See the "News & Events" links on the homepage.) They could also call the Peaks Ranger District at (928) 526-0866 for information.

We did overhear talk amongst Snowbowl management and the Forest Service ranger on duty there as they were reviewing information from an aerial survey of the avalanche conditions and work being done on the ground, and we know they'll open the backcountry as soon as they deem conditions "reasonably safe."

Anyhow...

It was beautiful up there, even with the wind chill added to the 6-degree temp when we first arrived at the top of the lift line. It sure was nice to have the warm ski patrol shack to retreat into when we could no longer feel our noses or toes.

Here are a few more photos from the top...

      

 

What Were They Thinking?

Okay. I'm usually not critical of the people rescued by our SAR team... at least not publicly. I mean, we all make mistakes. And even the most prepared, experienced outdoors-people get into bad situations, either by a bit of poor luck or a momentary lapse in judgment. But COME ON, folks. Trying to climb the highest peak in Arizona (12,633 feet to be exact) during one of the worst blizzards in Flagstaff history—really?

I wasn't involved with this particular mission, but here's the article from today's issue of the Arizona Daily Sun: Trio Rescued Off Humphreys

Kudos, though, to our SAR coordinator for his handling of the situation. Having the Snowbowl grooming machines line up and shine their lights toward the area was another great idea! And that helped keep team members safer, too.

Also, thanks to those from Coconino SAR who went out on the mountain on a night like that. It was bad enough on Wednesday night and early Thursday morning when I was up there, but I don't think it was AS bad as Thursday night.

Out-Of-Bounders Beware

It's nearly two a.m., and I'm now back at Incident Command, inside the Agassiz Lodge at Snowbowl, warming up and resting a bit before going back out to continue searching.

The blizzard really has intensified. It's blowing and snowing something fierce out there, and I'm thinking about my teammates who are still on the mountain. Three of them just went up the chair lift in whiteout conditions, to search First Gully from the top down. They'll be starting at 11,500 feet.

This isn't looking good. The subject--a 19 year-old male from the Phoenix area--was last seen around 3:00 in the afternoon, when he and his friends ducked under the ropes marking the boundary of the ski area so they could snowboard on fresh powder. This young man is not an experienced backcountry hiker, skier or snowboarder, and he's not carrying any survival gear or an avalanche beacon.

Our team was called out at 5:30pm, after the subject's friends reported him missing. At the time and for several hours into the search, there was no precipitation. But the news media has been warning of this series of major winter storms--combining within several days' time to be a "top-three weather event" for the area--for at least a week. And, sure enough, it started right on schedule around 11pm.

Conditions quickly deteriorated as some of our field teams snowshoed while others did containment on Snowbowl Road and on a Forest Service road in the snowcat. We're also assisted tonight by Snowbowl personnel, who were a huge help in getting the chairlift up and running to bring teams up the mountain.

I guess I'll do what a few of my teammates are doing and find a spot on the floor to try to sleep until we get our next assignment.

*******

Later...

I was just awakened by our team captain as he burst into the room and loudly announced, "We got him!"

It took me a moment to shake off the sleep and realize what he meant.

"He's alive, Code 4," Andy said. "He walked into our containment team in the snowcat."

Amazing! And, wow, that really highlights the fact that containment on a search is so important. Earlier in the mission, after the snowcat team had driven out and back on Friedline Prairie Road, doing sound sweeps as they slowly went along, searching for tracks, they'd called in to Incident Command to say they'd completed their assignment—negative contact. Then they were told to do it again. And again. And thank goodness they did, because it was that containment that led the missing party to them when he saw the lights from the snowcat and then followed its track.

******

The missing snowboarder was located at approximately 2 a.m., about 11 hours after he'd separated from his friends. He was transported by ambulance to Flagstaff Medical Center for evaluation.

Meanwhile, several of our team members were still on the mountain in increasingly difficult conditions, slowly making their way to pickup points along Snowbowl Rd. Once everyone was safely at the vehicles, we carefully drove back to town on snow-packed, slippery streets. I made it home at 7:00.

Read:  Rescuers Find Lost Snowboarder; Missing Man Located from the Arizona Daily Sun.

******

A Note To Those Considering Out-of-Bounds Skiing and Snowboarding

Be aware that a free backcountry permit is required during the winter for the Kachina Peaks Wilderness. So, if you're planning to do any recreating in this area or want to go out of bounds from the Arizona Snowbowl to do some snowboarding or skiing, be sure to contact the Peaks Ranger District at (928) 526-0866 before doing so.

Permits can also be obtained at the Arizona Snowbowl at the Agassiz Lodge ticket window on Saturdays, Sundays, and holidays between 9:00 and 11:00 a.m.

[[UPDATE: Sometime after I originally wrote this post, the winter backcountry permit requirement was discontinued. See what's taken its place on the Coconino National Forest website.]]

Also, anyone venturing into the backcountry should have with them a pack with survival gear, including but not limited to light sources, fire-starting supplies, extra layers of clothing, an emergency bivy, food and water, a fully charged cellphone (but don't rely on there being a signal), and in the winter, an avalanche beacon.

Over The Edge: Technical Rescue Simulations

Most of us didn't know this would be a simulation instead of just a regular training session—not until we got to the site and were suddenly given a briefing and our initial assignments. But as flustered as I was at first, I'm glad we did this and hope we'll do more mock technical rescues in the near future. Putting skills together under pressure—and, simulated or not, I definitely felt the pressure—is a good way to test yourself and the team, to really see where improvement and more practice is needed.

So, there were two victims over the edge following a car crash (drunk driving, I heard). This was considered "steep-angle" terrain, not low-angle and not high-angle (a cliff) either. The footing was precarious, with loose rocks all over—a significant hazard for both rescuers and victims below—which is why one of the victims got up and moved when I started coming down with the first litter, dislodging rocks as I went. Definitely something I need to pay more attention to and not descend directly above anyone. BIG note made to self on that one!

Matter of fact, my notes to self during yesterday's exercise (well, exercises, because we did more than one) could have filled several notebook pages if I'd written them all down. They included things like, "Practice, practice, practice your knots, Deb," and "When on a steep-angle raise, attach a prusik from my harness to either the main line or belay line and another from my harness to the litter, then lean back. Let the haulers do the work and don't try to lift the litter." Boy, did I learn that second thing the hard way!

Here are some photos from the day's first exercise:

As part of the hasty team, Sueanne (in black) prepares to rappel down to one of the two patients to asses his condition. Meanwhile, another member of the hasty team (not in the picture) rappels to the second patient...

Robert sets up a wrap three/pull two anchor for a raising system...

Scott works the 540 belay....

                

And in other news...

It looks like I'll be attending a seven-day Ropes That Rescue Mountain Rescue Workshop in Sedona in February. I definitely need to have my knots down pat by then!

Snow Play SAR Style

It was kind of funny. There we are, riding around (and around and around) on snowmobiles and in the snowcat and the vehicle with the Mattracks, while families with children are sledding and building snowmen and igloos in our midst. Besides "Don't break anything," the big rule of the day was "Don't squash any kids." I'm happy to report we didn't do either one.

But there were no families with kids around when we first got to our training area on Saturday, just some campers who'd spent the night near the cellphone tower. Our rather large group of SAR folks, Forest Service personnel, and deputies interrupted their morning solitude when we arrived our contingent of cars, trucks, and "snow play equipment" and proceeded to divide ourselves into groups for the various stations. In addition to the snow machines, we also had a snowshoeing and winter gear review station.

It was a fun day. I enjoyed seeing my teammates after quite a long stretch without any missions. I also learned some new things. And I got past—though not over—my fear of loading and unloading the snowcat from its trailer. (Thanks for not letting me back out, Sergeant D.) Darn, I wish I had pictures of how the snowcat trailer works, but I forgot my camera that day.

Suffice it to say,when I climbed into the driver's seat, my experienced teammate on the passenger side yelled, "Hey, anybody know if the airbags are workin' in this thing?" (No, there ARE no air bags in a snowcat.) But I think I did a pretty okay job of it. After all, I didn't dump the beast off the side of the trailer. I trusted my teammates—the one in the vehicle with me and the one out front—to guide me through it. And I managed to pull it off with only one "duh" moment. ("Why isn't this thing moving forward? I asked. And my teammate replied, "Because you have to put your foot on the gas." Yeah... I knew that. I was just nervous, you see.)

Trust, though... that's something we talked about briefly on the drive back to the SAR building. It's a really good feeling to have people around who you know you can rely on, who have your best interest and safety at heart and care about what happens to you. To me, it doesn't matter that I see most of these folks just during SAR missions, trainings, and meetings; I still trust them with my life — like when I rappel over the edge during tech training. If a teammate I trust has safety-checked everything, I feel as secure as possible (which will never be completely secure) and know that things will be okay.

A SAR-Related Trip To Nepal

Now that I'm sure about my upcoming adventure, I thought I'd share it with you.

Several weeks ago, the founder of Nepal's only search and rescue team, Dutchman Ingo Schnabel, contacted me to see if I'd be interested in writing a book about them. This would mean spending three months with him and the rest of the Himalaya Rescue Dog Squad Nepal (HRDSN) this summer. At first, I was hesitant... for a few hours. Then I woke up in the middle of the night and thought, hmm, why not! So that's what I'll be doing from April through July.

Twenty years ago this past October, Ingo followed through on his dream of starting a SAR team in Nepal. Ingo explains how this came about in a post on Nepal Friends in Times of Need. He wrote:

"I was sitting in Maastricht in the Netherlands in front of the television, a beer in one hand and potato chips in the other. I was just 41 years old and had traveled half the world. I was a researcher in Africa, a dog trainer (Imperial Iranian Air Force) and Biology teacher in Tehran, then called the Empire of Iran, where Shah-Han-Shah Reza Pahlevi, the powerful Emperor, crumbled at that time and I had to leave.

"Back in the Netherlands, I tried my best to settle down, and I got fat and lazy. Then suddenly, in front of that TV, I saw a program about the misery after the earthquake in Darjeeling and Dharan in 1988. I remembered that I had promised to my Tibetan friend Lobsang that I would come to India and Nepal and start a dog breeding center for earthquake relief. I jumped up, switched off the TV, and selected six dogs from different local breeding centers and started fundraising and their training in Maastricht at the motorcycle road race trajectory in the forest. A year later, on October 8, 1989, I arrived with these dogs in Nepal and have never left the country since."

During those 20 years in Nepal, Ingo and the team have started hospitals in remote areas of the country and even a special school that doesn't adhere to Nepal's caste system. They respond to natural disasters, such as earthquakes, landslides and flashfloods, mass casualty and medical situations, and to reports of missing and injured trekkers. The more I learn about Ingo and the HRDSN, the more fascinated and excited I am about the trip. I only hope I can do their story justice. I'll write the book when I return to Arizona.

In the meantime, I'll be writing about it here occasionally before I go and will include updates while I'm in the country.

So, have any of you ever been there? Not me!

A Christmas Without SAR

Since the round-the-clock SAR missions involving dozens of stranded hunters a few weeks ago, there hasn't been a peep from SAR central. Which drives home the fact that search and rescue really has become a big part of my life. When we go through a quiet stretch, I sure notice the difference. Too much time on my hands. (Isn't that a song?)

I also realize how often I've not done things—not gone to the movies, not gone out of town for a weekend—so I wouldn't chance missing a SAR call. And that's just plain silly. So, one of my own New Year's resolutions is to go about my life and not worry about when there might be a call-out. I do love to participate, but that definitely shouldn't get in the way of doing other things... right? But I'll still continue to keep all of my gear in my car, just in case.

Anyhow, during this lull, I've read another SAR-related book, though this one is very much from a victim's perspective and doesn't involve a lot of search and rescue action. Angels in the Wilderness: The True Story of One Woman's Survival Against All Odds is a gripping firsthand account about being severely injured deep in the backcountry, while no one knows where the injured solo hiker is and won't miss her for days to come.

This hiker was Amy Racina, who fell 60 feet in a remote part of King's Canyon National Park, breaking both legs. Battling pain, fear, and exhaustion, she survived for four days, pulling herself inch-by-inch along a ravine until her calls were heard by a man who was partially deaf.

One of the most riveting aspects of the story, in my opinion, was the fact that one difference amongst a number of events that led to her rescue could very well have cost Amy her life. I mean, what if the hiking party who found her had canceled their trip for some reason or chosen another route? Or left even one day later? What if Amy hadn't been calling for help at the time the hikers happened to pass by above her—hikers she couldn't see or hear from the ravine? What if she hadn't dragged herself up the ravine but had stayed where she'd fallen? The hikers would probably never have heard her. Amy questions those and other circumstances that fell into place to ultimately save her life at close to the last minute.

I really found this book interesting and inspiring, which is why I read from sundown to sunup until I'd turned the last page.
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If you want to read my opinion of other SAR-related and wilderness survival books, I review each one I read here: Wilderness Survival and Rescue Reading.

A Day At Home? We'll See!

It's 10 a.m. on Sunday, and I'm warm and toasty with my warm and toasty dog, a mug of hot cocoa, and fleece from head to toe as I watch the snow fall outside the large window opposite my chair. I just heard my husband drive by in the plow, which he operates for his employer (and our home), Lowell Observatory, up here on Mars Hill at the edge of Observatory Mesa. I must say, it's nice to be in here and not out there right now.

On Friday at this time, I was en route to the Upper Basin area near Grand Canyon to help retrieve a stranded snowmobile. That is, a snowmobile belonging to our team that had broken down in the field late one night during a mission. So, three teammates and I were asked to go back and rescue it.

There's Todd, steering the machine as we tow it out behind the vehicle with the Mattrax. I'm afraid he got dumped off several times along the way.

We were also asked to check on a hunting camp while we were out there, to make sure the occupant had made it out safely. And, yep, the camp was deserted except for the snowed-in RV trailer.

We returned to Flagstaff the same evening.

On Saturday at this time, I was on a snowmobile myself, back in that same Upper Basin I've become familiar with after three recent missions in the area. This time, we were looking for a group of overdue woodcutters. I hadn't driven a snowmobile since January, and I was a bit rusty.

If you've been reading my blog for a while, you know I'm not too great with machinery to begin with. I do think my skills are improving (a little), but I did dump the snowmobile (and myself) yesterday when I hit a deep tire rut and didn't give the heavy thing enough gas to get myself (and the machine) out of it before the machine (and I) tipped over. Other than some snow down my shirt, though, and somehow a little down my ski pants (Ooh, cold!), I was all in one piece and so was the snowmobile, which my teammate and I righted back onto its skis.

Further on in our search, we had to dig him out once and me out twice while maneuvering through deep, untouched snow. With me, it was again a matter of not giving the snowmobile enough juice during turns, so I got bogged down in drifts. After more than 20 miles on the thing, though, I was starting to get better at handling the snowmobile and was learning to speed up rather than give in to my tendency to let off the throttle in tricky spots.

Oh, and about the woodcutters: A couple of our teammates found them, camped not far off a main, paved road, perfectly fine and not lost or stranded at all. Just another one of those cases of family miscommunication (or lack thereof).

So, we all made our way back to Incident Command, loaded up, and returned to Flagstaff, with just enough time to go home and clean up before our team's annual holiday party.

One of our teammates did have to miss the party, though, because he and one of the SAR coordinators, a deputy, had to go back to that very same area to rescue another stranded camper. If this past week has been any indication of the winter to come, we're going to be one very busy team!

Stranded

Okay, now I don't feel so bad about missing Monday night's mission during the blizzard. I just finished 24 hours of SAR time in two days.

First, about that stranded family with the small kids: I heard from a couple of teammates that the subjectswere located at around 4:00 on Tuesday morning in good condition. Eight members of our team had driven five hours in extremely poor conditions and were close to the search area when the family was found by another agency with a snowcat. So, our team turned around, stopped for breakfast, and made it back to Flagstaff at 11 a.m. What a night!

On Tuesday, when I finished digging out my mom after digging out myself—digging out our driveways and my vehicle, I mean—I fished my cellphone out of my pocket three layers down and saw that I had a message. It was SAR. I contacted our coordinator to see if they'd left yet, and he said to come on down.

Seven hours later, we were back at the SAR building after rescuing two stranded elk hunters who were stuck several snow-covered miles down a Forest Service road. Their vehicles and those belonging to dozens of other hunters may very well have to wait till spring to be back on pavement again.

But the rescues weren't over on Tuesday night. In fact, they're still ongoing today, Thursday, and may continue into the weekend, with SAR crews, Forest Service and DPS personnel, and other agencies using snowcats, snowmobiles, vehicles with Mattrax, and helicopters to carry out the rescues.

What I'm wondering is, aside from all of those who've been able to call for help with their cellphones, how many others are stuck in forests around the county who've not been able to contact anyone? I know helicopters have been launched to search from above, and snowmobile and snowcat crews are searching as they make runs to extract known subjects. I hope folks have left detailed itineraries with family or friends at home, in case they aren't accounted for and we need to go looking for them.

Here's an article from the Arizona Daily Sun, detailing some of the rescues. They mention the number 30, but I was told there are many more than that: Stranded Hunters Holding Out 

Snowed In

I don't like not responding to a SAR call. It bothers me, and I feel like I should be out there helping instead of staying comfortable at home. Maybe that's silly—we all can't be available all the time. And this time, I was stuck on Observatory Mesa with almost two feet of snow on and around my car, on the roads, and on the big, twisty hill that leads down into town, which hadn't been plowed for hours (See Flagtaff neighborhoods snowed in).

It was somewhere around 11 p.m. and still snowing and blowing with a vengeance, with ice and pine boughs clattering against our bedroom window when the phone rang. I knew it was SAR before I even looked at the phone.

And I wanted to go, but I knew I couldn't get the car out and down the hill anytime soon. So, I called the SAR coordinator on duty and told him I could snowshoe into town if someone could pick me up. Heck, I could snowshoe all the way to the SAR building, but that would take a while. He told me he'd call me back in 20 minutes if he needed me.

So, I turned on the light and read for a while, waiting. I could be dressed and snowshoeing in about five minutes if he called. But the phone didn't ring a second time.

The call-out message said a family with three very young children was "stuck in a snowbank somewhere" on the Mogollon Rim. That would be about an hour-and-a-half drive in good weather. I'd heard on the scanner that part of Lake Mary Road was closed due to snow drifts, so a drive to the rim right now would also include a detour around Mormon Lake. In those conditions, towing the snowcat and snowmobiles could easily take hours.

I thought about my teammates—whoever was out there—throughout the night, wondering how it was going. I thought about the stranded family, too. Sometimes, the Mogollon Rim gets more snow than we do here in Flagstaff, and we were pushing past two feet by the middle of the night.

So I don't know what happened last night or if the team is even back yet. If I hear anything or read something in the paper, I'll let you know. In the meantime, it's back outside to continue digging out, so I can be ready for the next call.

Communication Is Key

Why does it often seem like family members don't communicate as well as strangers do?

I don't mean to sound cranky. Besides, I enjoy SAR missions and the company of my teammates. But looking for those who aren't lost and who don't even know they're missing can get to be a drag. Not that we have any way of knowing that until the person is found, of course.

And not that I blame the parents for worrying and calling 9-1-1 when they realized their grown daughter hadn't returned to their family campsite. She had left on Tuesday morning in her truck with the big horse trailer, two horses, and one dog. Early Wednesday morning, her parents discovered she hadn't returned. So of course they were concerned.

But apparently there had either been a miscommunication or, more likely, a lack of it, because the subject was found in good condition, oblivious to the fact that anyone was looking for her. That is, until the DPS helicopter landed nearby after spotting the truck and trailer from the air and soon made contact with her. Then those of us searching Forest Service roads heard the confirmation and "Code 4" over the radio and began making our way back to Incident Command. But I guess the never-lost lady decided to continue with what she'd been doing rather than return to the family's campsite to see her folks, who were very grateful for our efforts, we were told.

The team rendezvoused at our staging area, debriefed, and then drove the hour and a half back to Flagstaff, refueled the vehicles, put all of the equipment away, and went home following that seven-hour mission.

And that's about all there is to say about that one. 

Wilderness First Responder

I was nearing the end of my one-year grace period for getting my Wilderness First Responder (WFR) recertification. If I didn't recertify in time, I'd have to take the full 80-hour course all over again (for a third time) to get that WFR card, so I signed up for a two-day Wilderness First Aid (WFA) class, held this past weekend at the law enforcement complex here in Flagstaff. The WFA class can be used in place of the standard three-day WFR recert course, with a written test and practical exam tacked onto the normal WFA curriculum.

So, what is all this WFR and WFA stuff, you ask, and does a volunteer have to be certified in one or the other to participate with search and rescue?

As for the second question, no. At least not here in Coconino County. SAR volunteers are not required to have medical training—though many do, including some EMTs, paramedics, and nurses on the team—and we're limited to Basic Life Support (BLS) as far as the medical care we can give in the backcountry, along with some splinting. But I'm sure this varies among SAR teams.

In my case, I haven't had the opportunity to use much of what I've learned in WFR courses "for real" in the field. Yet. But I feel better having the training in case I ever do need to make use of it, either in SAR or as a recreational hiker if I come across someone who's injured or ill in the backcountry. And, by "backcountry" I mean more than one hour from definitive medical care. That's the line used to differentiate between wilderness and urban medicine. With the number of SAR missions I go on and the amount of hiking I do on my own, chances are that, sooner or later, I'll have to put that WFR training to use.

Even if you're already an EMT, paramedic, nurse, or doctor, if all of your training is in urban medical care, I think some wilderness medical training would be great to have if you ever work or travel in the backcountry. This is because the backcountry environment means extended contact with a patient, whose condition and needs may change over time. It also means less-than-ideal conditions, like heat and cold, rain and wind, altitude and darkness, all of which can lead to increased stress on you, the rescuer. Improvisation is another thing that also goes hand-in-hand with wilderness medicine, when we often have only the gear on our backs and maybe a patient's gear to use to treat and splint.

A great book that really drives home the conditions faced by wilderness medical providers is Mountain Rescue Doctor: Wilderness Medicine in the Extremes of Nature by Christopher Van Tilberg, a member of Oregon's Crag Rats SAR team. You can read my review of the book in Wilderness Survival and Rescue Reading.

As far as wilderness medicine classes, here are general course descriptions:

Wilderness First Aid is a fast-paced, 16- to 24-hour class given over two or three days, covering a wide range of wilderness medicine topics for people who travel and work in the outdoors. Half the class time is spent completing practical skills, case studies, and scenarios, so students aren't just sitting and listening to an instructor the whole time but are instead putting their new skills to use constantly.

The next step up from WFA is the 40-hour Wilderness Advanced First Aid, a five-day class focusing on stabilization, treatment, and evacuation guidelines of patients in backcountry environments. There's more emphasis on long-term patient care and specific injury evaluation than in the WFA class.

The Wilderness First Responder course is an 80-hour curriculum designed to provide students with "the tools to make critical medical and evacuation decisions in remote locations"(NOLS). Like WFA, WFR students are constantly practicing their skills by participating in scenarios and case studies. Adult & Child CPR is also included in this course.

And then there's Wilderness EMT certification (W-EMT), the highest level of wilderness medicine training available. This is a 180-hour, month-long class that combines wilderness medicine with urban medical care practices, including time at a hospital and in an ambulance.

I took my first WFR class in 1996 with SOLO and my second 80-hour course as well as recert through the Wilderness Medicine Institute, a branch of the National Outdoor Leadership School.

Trusting My Gear and My Teammates

Have I mentioned that I'm a bit afraid of heights? Well, make that afraid of "exposure" more like. Either way, being suspended 100 feet above the ground between two sides of a canyon isn't exactly within my comfort zone. 

But that's where I found myself on Saturday, with some of my technical rescue teammates on one side of the canyon at Paradise Forks, lowering me, and the others on the opposite side, raising. There was a main line and a belay line on either side, with me somewhere in the middle, hanging while attached to all four ropes.

I could have said no. More than one of my teammates said, "Deb, if you don't feel comfortable with this, no problem. You don't have to do it."  I may have hesitated at that suggestion for a split second, but I said, "No, I'm fine with it."

I tried my best to look and sound at ease. Besides, it's better I do it—go over the edge—as much as possible, to get more comfortable with the skills and with the feeling of trusting my life to gear and teammates.

And I couldn't be safer than with SAR. We do things carefully, with redundancy and with safety checks. As I was tying into the main and belay lines, a teammate was watching closely. Then I was checked over by three other experienced people—everything from my seat and chest harnesses to my caribiners and knots. The safety officer for the exercise also checked all anchors and main line and belay setups. Then, when all team members were ready, I walked off the edge. Wheeee!

Truth be told, it was actually quite fun. A teammate later told me I had a bit of a "newborn giraffe" look when I was temporarily set down on a pinnacle around mid-canyon, but I soon got my feet under me and stood up on my own. Then I was once again lifted and brought the rest of the way across the canyon. It turned out to be a very smooth ride.

One very useful, real-world example of how this maneuver would come in handy would be if, say, a victim were stranded on some sort of pinnacle like the one where I was briefly set down or on the top of a vehicle trapped in swiftwater. A rescuer could be lowered and suspended to a point somewhere between two stable sides, to where the victim is located, do a pick-off or package a patient in a litter, and then be raised along with that victim to either side.

This Saturday's tech team practice also included working with a guiding line, used to keep rescuer and rescue-ee away from rock walls and obstacles, making the lower and raise easier on both. I thought these setups were pretty fascinating, and I was excited to be part of them and to find that I could actually be useful. By George, I'm learnin' me stuff!

I've honestly been nervous that I wouldn't remember some of the basics when we'd move on to more advanced skills, even though I've been practicing those basics on the side. But I now realize that the basics come into play all the time. They're a foundation for the more advanced skills, so I get to use them even as we advance to more complex maneuvers. I find this all pretty exciting, though I still not have the nerves. And maybe that's a good thing. Getting too comfortable can lead to errors, so I've heard and read.

Other than training, we've also had a couple of call-outs. One ended quickly when a teammate who responded directly to the last known point (LKP) because he lives nearby, found the subject soon after he started searching. Not a happy ending, I'm afraid.

Then, last night, our team was called to assist Navajo PD in locating an overdue hunter on the reservation. The man was found... well, he found us... and was just fine. In fact, he was wondering who we were all looking for. Just a case of miscommunication with the reporting party, so it seems.

Oh, and finally (for now), on a recreational note: I recently went on a great hiking and car-camping trip to northern Arizona and southern Utah in the Paria-Vermillion Cliffs Wilderness Area, where I visited a place called White Pocket and the now internationally known Wave. Here's one of the many photos I took of the Wave before my camera went kaput (again):

If you want to see more of my pics and read an article I wrote about the hike, see Hiking The Wave In Coyote Buttes.

Now off to replenish the snack supply in my 24-hour pack before our next call-out.

A Trail Lost

There one minute (sort of) and gone the next. It happens a lot.

The guidebook they were using has only hand-drawn, cartoony maps that sure don't lend themselves to good navigation. It's a popular guidebook by a well-known local hiker and mountain biker, but all it's really useful for is deciding where to hike. From there, a topo map along with a Flagstaff or Sedona trails map is what you need.

The Harding Trail, which is the hike our subjects had chosen for the day that turned into a long night, is very difficult to follow on the rim, with sporadic and confusing cairns and what I'm told is barely visible, if not altogether invisible, trail in some places.

Despite the less-than-adequate guidebook amp, the two lost ladies were better prepared than some. They had water and snacks. They had a light source (although I think they had just one between the two of them). They had the means to start a campfire and the ability to make and receive phone calls with their charged-up cellphone. They also stayed put until we found them. Then we put out their campfire with our extra water, gave the chilly hikers extra layers of clothing from our warm-up bag, and walked them back to the SAR vehicles. From there, they were given a ride back to the campground below in Oak Creek Canyon, where they had left their vehicle.

And what a great turnout we had for the team. I didn't actually count, but we had at least 16 people show up for this Monday-night search. We had two teams of two on ATVs, driving Forest Service roads and rough two-tracks. We had teams in SUVs, also searching roads (the lost hikers had reported they were on a road, though it turned out to be a no-longer-used, barely-discernible road), and four of us were designated as a hiking team.

After we four hikers also searched by vehicle for a while, we parked the truck and headed cross-country toward the trail, which runs along the rim of Oak Creek Canyon, calling and blowing our whistles as we went. Just as we thought we heard a distant shout, DPS Ranger (the helicopter) showed up, spotted the subjects' campfire, and briefly hovered above them.

We searchers headed in the general direction the helicopter had hovered, less than a half-mile from our location. As we continued to hike, I entered into my GPS the coordinates Ranger had given to Incident Command and confirmed our distance and direction to the subjects, whose responses to our calls were growing louder. Within minutes, we arrived to find two relieved ladies in good shape, standing close to their warming fire.

I was home at 1:30 a.m.

Now it's off for a few days to the Escalante area in Utah to do some hiking. Hopefully, my SAR friend and I will get one of the daily permits to hike The Wave. I've heard it's awesome.

Daylight Makes All The Difference

In the dark, someone who's 150 feet away may as well be 150 miles away if you don't choose a path to their exact location or come close enough and happen to shine your light in the right direction. That is, if that someone can't respond.

It's hard not to beat yourself up over it—to keep rehashing it in your mind. Or, I should say, in my mind.  I thought about suggesting to my teammate (my husband in this case) that he and I circle through the woods around the ATV while we were waiting for our third field team member to join us. Why didn't I? Because I thought that had already been done? Maybe.

But even if we had circled around the ATV, there still was no guarantee we would have seen him. We wouldn't have gone very far in, only far enough to try cutting for sign. So we probably wouldn't have walked right to that spot. And even 10 feet away, in the lights of our headlamps, it was difficult to make out shapes on that dark, moonless night. Was that a stump or a log? A bush or a big rock? A man? So many dark shapes could have been a man. 

We did search for tracks while we waited, and there were many of them on the dirt road around the ATV. We looked at the deputies' boots and ruled out those two sets of prints. There was a third set of prints that were different. Maybe, we thought. But then we looked at a family member's shoes. The third set of tracks were his. We looked up and down the road, which had been driven heavily since the ATV was found. We saw no other footprints or partials there, so we looked at the ground on either side of the road near the quad. It's really difficult to find tracks on pine needles. Is that animal or human? Is that even a depression at all? There are so many deer and elk in those woods.

Then our third teammate arrived and we began our assignment.

 Many of us had been so close that night, and then we searched so miles. I didn't think our subject would walk all that far, though, given what we'd been told about him.

But you just can't know for sure. If he were conscious and anywhere near the quad (the last known point, or LKP), he'd have seen the campfire and the lights of our vehicles. Or he'd have heard us calling or even just talking. In fact, the air was so clear, cold, and still that night, field teams could hear each other's voices—a conversation, not a shout—a half-mile away. And we did shout and blow our whistles, too, as we searched. After the helicopter passed over, we shouted some more. And we looked. We shined our lights this way and that and walked closer to any "suspicious" shapes. There were many.

You want to believe the person you're searching for can hear you if you get close enough. You want to believe they can respond, but you look as hard as you can in case they can't. We covered a lot of ground that night—just not the right piece of ground.

At about 4 a.m., we returned to our SAR vehicles, near the LKP, to rest for a little while. At first light, we'd resume the search.

But we didn't have to. As soon as the sun came up, one of our team members, standing near where where the ATV's driver had left the machine, looked into the woods and saw "something that didn't look right." He walked into the trees, closer to that something, and saw it was indeed a man.

At least he'd died doing something he loved, people said. And he'd gotten his buck, which lay no more than 10 feet in front of where the man who was hunting it took his own last step.

One hundred fifty feet away might as well have been 150 miles that dark night, because he couldn't respond.

To this man's family and friends, my sincere condolences. I'm sorry this search didn't have a happy ending.

Congratulations Are in Order

Recently, at both the Arizona State Search & Rescue Conference and last night's Coconino County Board of Supervisors meeting here in Flagstaff, our coordinator, Sergeant Aaron Dick, and long-time volunteer Dennis Gill were both honored for their excellent work with the team. Aaron was awarded Arizona SAR Coordinator of the Year, and Dennis, who's been with the team for 25 years, was given the award for Arizona SAR Volunteer of the Year.

That's Aaron on the left, behind the lady in purple, and Dennis on the right.

Many of our team members showed up to support Aaron and Dennis, wearing our uniform shirts. Half the room was a sea of yellow.

And there's Beverly, sneaking in behind the Board of Supervisors to take pictures as Sheriff Bill Pribil presents Aaron with his plaque.

I know the whole team was proud of our leader and of Dennis's many years of volunteer service. They're both so great at what they do and totally deserve the recognition. Congratulations, guys!

And as far as recent call-outs go...

On Monday morning, the team began a search in the area of Sycamore Canyon for two overdue hikers, who'd intended to go for a day hike on Saturday. The team had fanned out to first search for their Jeep because the reporting party, the wife of one of the hikers, was unsure of their exact destination.

Our plan was that, once the subjects' vehicle was located, that team would begin a hasty search on foot. But the two subjects were able to make a cellphone call to the reporting party before we found their Jeep. They emerged uninjured from the canyon a short time later, having been lost for 48 hours without cell service. See: Overdue Hikers Emerge Unscathed.

This morning, there was a call regarding two overdue hunters, but they too showed up as SAR was en route.

Basic SAR Academy: The Final Exam

Twenty-four new members have now been added to our general SAR team following yesterday's final exam, a mock search and rescue in the Walnut Canyon area near Flagstaff. 

The call-out came at about 10:30 a.m. on Saturday, when students, experienced team leaders, and other current members responded to the SAR building, as they would for a real call-out.

Once everyone was assembled and the gear loaded, our captain, Howard (pictured here), made sure everyone was accounted for. We were then briefed by our coordinator and divided into field teams before heading to the staging area.

Our coordinator, who would be acting as IC (incident command) along with our captain, had no idea where the two lost subjects were located. Only the subjects, who were also volunteers from our team, and one other member knew their location. 

When we arrived at the staging area at the subjects' PLS (point last seen), we team leaders were given our assignments and then relayed that information to the rest of our field team. Team leaders were all experienced SAR members whose job it was to answer students' questions and make suggestions to "keep the ball in play." But it was up to the new folks to work together and figure things out while navigating and using the radio to communicate with IC and with other teams.

In this photo, my team hikes part of the Arizona Trail, calling the subjects' names, blowing whistles, and interviewing passing hikers, horseback riders, and mountain bikers. They also looked for boot tracks going off the main trail.

Eventually, another field team located the reporting party—one of the two missing hikers—who'd left his injured companion and climbed up out of the canyon to get a cellphone signal to call for help. Since the initial call, his cellphone battery had died, preventing any further communication. And he'd been lost, he said, at the time he called.

This one subject, while still confused about where he was, was able to give some details that helped the team locate the second subject at the bottom of the canyon. A (real) witness description from a child hiking with her parents also helped the team find the injured hiker.

Once the second subject was located, other field teams converged at that location, including the evac team with the litter and other medical equipment.

Then, the new members splinted the patient's (fake) broken ankle and were shown how to package her in the litter. Everyone had a chance to help carry the patient out.

Kay was such a good sport! She and Jerry, the other lost subject, had to sit around a long time before they were found. At least it was a warmer-than-usual fall day.

Despite some confusion with radio communication, which is to be expected with so many field teams and new members, things went really well.

I wish we always had this many people to carry a litter!

We finished up the mission and were back at the SAR building around 6:30 p.m.

Later that night, there was a real call-out at 8:00. That one, for an injured hiker on Mt. Agassiz, was canceled after about five minutes, when the hiker made it to the parking lot and refused further assistance.

There was another call at 4:00 this morning. That call was also canceled, but not before about 15 volunteers, both new and not, responded to the SAR building and loaded gear.

Hopefully, the turnout will continue to be that good.

Are They Really Missing?

That's the question I couldn't help but wonder about all day. I tried not to think about it, though, and to focus instead on what we were doing: searching. But the information we had was sketchy, and the circumstances were such that the two people we were looking for could have been anywhere.

That's what it's like with search and rescue sometimes. There's not always a call for help from a lost subject on a cellphone. There's not always an empty vehicle sitting at a trailhead.  Sometimes, a person is reported overdue and their exact destination is unknown. So, our SAR leaders go with the information they do have, and we volunteers get our assignments and search the most likely areas. Sometimes, those search areas can be very large and change as more information becomes available.

In this case, we were looking for a couple in their 70s, one of whom uses oxygen, who'd apparently gone to cut firewood but hadn't returned home the night before, so said a concerned neighbor. And being a concerned neighbor is a good thing, I'd say. Many times, concern for someone else's well-being or their home saves the day, so it's better to be safe than sorry and report those concerns. Imagine not doing so and then regretting it when things turn out badly.

So, it didn't bother me when, after hours of driving around in the Polaris Ranger, following vehicle tracks here, there, and anywhere they went within our large search area, and my teammates doing the same on ATVs and the DPS helicopter searching from above, we found out that the couple was just fine and had never been missing at all. They'd simply been... well, somewhere else.

Okay, so maybe I rolled my eyes and laughed a little at the situation as I tried to dust myself and my backpack off and pick the dirt out of my teeth. But I was happy that things had ended well. I was also relieved that some of the other scenarios that had been passing through my brain all day had not come true.

Besides, I learned some new tracking skills while we were out there. My teammate who was with me on the Polaris was with the Border Patrol for 27 years, so this experienced tracker could tell the type of vehicle at a glance, the direction of travel, and the age of the tracks by just by touching his finger to the dirt and by the color. He patiently took the time to show me what he was doing. So, thank you, Steve, for teaching me some new stuff!

Tracks! I See Tracks!

Okay, I didn't exactly shout about it. But I was pretty excited that my two little eyeballs, with the help of dust-covered glasses, a $5 flashlight, and another tracking class this past weekend, were able to pick out a partial print amongst pine needles on the dirt two-track. Yippee! (I didn't shout that either.)

It had to be them: the family of five we were looking for last night. I mean, how many other people would have been wandering around on those backwoods roads? As my teammate and I continued to follow the prints and impressions, we could see they were on top of all the tire tracks, and they were definitely fresh. So we'd track for a bit, then walk back and retrieve our ATVs and move them up, then return to tracking. Finally, we heard a faint response to my teammate's shout—a chorus of voices somewhere off in the trees.

This was one of those times when a short walk—20 minutes had been the plan, they later told us—turned into a long, chilly night. I'm sure it must have been an added frustration for the family, knowing there were flashlights and warm clothing back in their vehicle as they wandered around in the dark, trying to find their way out. They did have a cellphone, though, and luckily had reception too, so they were able to call for assistance.

So, this is yet another instance that makes me NOT feel silly about carrying my 24-hour pack with me all the time, even when I walk my dog in the woods I know so well around our house, and recommending that others do the same. A 24-hour pack doesn't have to weigh very much—mine is often around 12 pounds, including at least two liters of water—but it can literally save your life. Or at least make life more tolerable while you wait for help.

Okay, I'll stop preaching... so I can start complaining. Have I mentioned lately that I really dislike ATVs? I'm talking about driving them. I swear, they make me more nervous than rappelling off an 80-foot cliff (which makes me pretty darn nervous). Not only do I end up eating a lot of dirt and wearing a layer of dust because I'm always behind a teammate's quad because I'm such a slow driver, but I always feel like I'm going to tip over whenever the road is anything but flat. Those deeply rutted, rocky two-tracks really challenge my limited ATV skills, and I'm much too chicken to load or unload a quad from the trailer. Besides, I think being nervous can lead to problems when it comes to those heavy beasts, so better I don't try. That's how I see it. 

I'm always a little bummed when I get assigned to an ATV rather than to hike. For some reason, though, the UTV—the Polaris Ranger side-by-side—doesn't bother me. At least, not where I've driven it so far, which includes up and down the switchbacks at the Snowbowl ski area.

Anyhow, I'm off to the monthly technical rescue team meeting tonight. These meetings are followed by a day-long field training on the weekend. I'm not sure what we'll be learning and practicing this time, but I thought I heard something about passing knots in raising and lowering systems. We shall see...

SAR City

I'm back. And, hopefully, I'm now a better tracker after an another 16 hours of instruction, this time at the SAR City conference in Barstow, California, where there were more than 50 classes offered on a wide range of topics and skills. This annual conference is organized and hosted by the all-volunteer Barstow Desert Rescue Squad in San Bernadino County.

I thought the three-day event was well worth the trip, and as always, I really enjoyed meeting people from other teams, especially the folks from Dolores, Colorado, K9 Search & Rescue, who came over to introduce themselves soon after I arrived as I sat alone by my tent. So, thank you Shawn, Chuck, Randy, Vicki #1, Vicki #2, and Kimberly (and Jack!) for hanging out with me over the weekend. It was great to meet you and learn about your team. And it was nice meeting you too, Orange County guys. That's a spiffy Hummer you've got there.

As for that tracking class—which was excellent in many ways, and the lead instructor, retired sergeant and SAR coordinator Darryl Heller was top-notch—it's always interesting to learn the same skills from different people. I pick up new techniques and "tricks" and get at least a somewhat different perspective, which I think is really valuable. 

That said, it's a challenge not to say "yes, but.." when an instructor tells you that what you learned from someone else is wrong ("No, you never do that" was the reply to a question I asked about a method of measuring stride that I'd been taught at the Heber, Arizona conference), or if that instructor has a very different way of doing something than you're used to.

Not that I'm the greatest tracker after just two years in SAR and five tracking classes, but it can also be difficult to swallow your pride when someone talks to you like you have no experience at all. In my case, during one of the field sessions, I was used as an example of what NOT to do, even though it's something my own team does when tracking, and I've learned it from others as well. I must admit, that really bugged me... even after the field instructor came up to me after class to say it had been he who'd encouraged the other students in my group to do something that obliterated part of the track and that I hadn't actually done anything wrong. Well, phooey, I wish the other students knew that.

Other than that, though... I thought the class was great and would highly recommend it to anyone in SAR. And while that class took up the entire conference, I heard lots of good things about many of the other classes, too, some of which lasted an hour or two or four and others that spanned the whole weekend.

If you'd like to read more about the conference and see my photos—I wish I'd taken more, but I was usually too busy with the class or yacking to remember to take pictures—I did a write-up about it here: SAR City: A Search and Rescue Conference in Barstow, California.

A Search and Rescue Weekend

When I walked in the door early Sunday morning, my husband told me I smelled like smoke, but my nose didn't agree. Maybe I just got used to it overnight, as I sat at the road block for about 12 hours, the wind gusting, rocking the vehicle and several times toppling the barricades.

Search and rescue had been called upon on Saturday to staff the road blocks in Williams, Arizona, to keep folks out of an area of town that SAR had helped evacuate the night before when a prescribed burn got out of hand and became a wildfire. As of today (Monday), that fire still threatens homes.

See: Williams Still in Danger from the Arizona Daily Sun.

In the photo above, taken late afternoon on Saturday, you can see the smoke ahead-left, as my teammates and I approach Williams, where we relieved the crew that had been there overnight.

On Sunday morning, after our group returned from Williams, I had just enough time to grab a shower, change clothes, and go to the tracking class for the Basic SAR Academy. I probably could have skipped the morning classroom session and just gone to the field exercise later, when I was scheduled as an assistant instructor, but I wasn't all that tired (yet) so I decided to sit in on the classroom part, too.

Here, the whole group is briefed before the field session....

Then I took my group of three new trackers to their first print. They documented it as they'd been taught and then got started following the track.

It rained off and on, and the wind continued to gust, making the tracking extra challenging. Despite losing the track now and then, however, the group managed to pick it up again and follow it to the end.

Nice job, guys!

So, Saturday was the GPS class beginning at 8 a.m. in the classroom, and then we went out to practice in the forest in the afternoon. Below, academy members and my co-instructor (front) were entering the next waypoint into their GPSes, which they then had to convert from latitude-longitude to UTM, and plot the coordinate on their maps before navigating to that point...

It was at that time, around 3 p.m. Saturday, when there was a call-out for a lost 15-year-old, so I left my group with the other instructor and quickly hiked back to the road, where another teammate scooped me up and we headed to the SAR building.

That mission was quickly concluded when some tracks were discovered and then the DPS helicopter spotted the girl, and we returned to the SAR building just before 5:00. Ten minutes later, I was off to Williams. So it had been all day Saturday in GPS class, then to the mission for the lost girl, then to Williams for the overnight road block, then to the tracking class on Sunday. And today, Monday, is a continuing evidence search. Whew! But I did get a good night's sleep last night, so I'm ready to search.

Oh, and I practiced rappelling last week, too, with a couple of my tech rescue teammates. As usual, I was nervous going over the edge the first time through, but when I hiked back up and went for a second and third descent, my nerves calmed (also as usual). We were using a conditional self-belay on a second line, which meant I didn't have a free hand to brace myself against the rock, like I usually had before. So, that was a little different for me.

Here, you can see the brake rack in my right hand, while I tend the Prusik with my left. It was about a 30-foot cliff. Maybe not a lot... but enough.

 

Random Stuff: Some SAR, Some Sorta

So, we haven't had what I'd consider a major SAR mission in a little while (though we've had some calls that were canceled before we got to the scene), but the team has been busy, especially with the annual Basic SAR Academy going on. It's a pretty large class—around 30 students this year—so quite a few of us existing members have been helping to teach.

Today was compass day, with the morning in the classroom and the afternoon in the field, where students plotted coordinates, obtained bearings and distances, and then navigated to a number of points using their compasses and by pacing and comparing the terrain to their topo maps.

I think most of the class is getting the hang of these navigation skills. They've already been through the personal safety and map classes. Next up is basic GPS and then tracking, followed by ATV training and, finally, a day-long field exercise: a mock search and rescue mission. Once all of that is complete, the new recruits will be added to the call-out list and able to respond to the real thing.

And what else can I share?

Well, this past Wednesday morning, a friend of mine on the team called around 11:00 and asked, "Are you on your way?"

"Huh?" I said. "On my way to what?"

"The call-out," she replied. "For the lost hiker off 180."

I didn't get any call. No phone call, no email. Strange.

So I hung up, dialed the SAR line and said, "This is Deb. I did not get a call, and I did not get an email, but I happened to get a call from Liz about the mission, and I am responding." Then I quickly changed from my PJs (it had been a lazy morning) into my SAR stuff and was out the door and at the building in about 15 minutes. I pulled up at the same moment as Liz. Strange, I thought, no one else was there yet, and it had taken her at least half an hour to drive across town.

That's when Liz double-checked the text message and realized the date of the call had been September 19th. But her phone had just rung. Odd. So we were four days too late. (That mission, by the way, happened while we were at the SAR conference in Heber. Apparently, it wasn't a big deal. I heard the subject was lost along a Forest Service road but easily found by my teammates who responded.) So I called the SAR line back and said something like, "Uh... this is Deb again. Cancel that last message. There was a little goof with the text."

Well, at least it had gotten me out of my pajamas.

Oh—and I have no idea why I'm sharing this, but—about that Grand Canyon search earlier this month, I think I mentioned that I was a wee bit nervous along parts of the Tonto Trail where there was significant exposure to a very long way down. Well, to be honest, instead of "wee bit nervous," make that (insert expletive) scared! I mean, the trail was about a foot wide for long stretches with no way to put any distance between myself and the sheer drop. No vegetation or rocks as visual barriers, either. And the trail was that hard-pack stuff with loose gravel on top—you know, the kind of surface where you'll be walking along and suddenly, without warning, your foot will slip out from under you, and the other foot and then the rest of you will immediately follow? Yeah, that kind of stuff.

So, I have to admit that I rather feebly called out to my search-mate who was ahead of me. He kindly retraced his steps to where I was frozen and let me walk right behind him with one hand on his pack as I stared at his feet. We took not much more than baby steps for what seemed like a really long way. Meanwhile, he played memory games with me to try to take my mind off of... well, death. My wonderful partner promised he wouldn't tell anyone and even said, "Hey, I'll tell you something embarrassing about me so you'll know I won't tell anybody about this." Ah well, I still won't tell his story... partly because I can't remember it!

The funny thing is, I was concentrating so hard on the memory game in order to keep going and get past that scary stuff that I remember it weeks later. It was the "I'm going camping" game. See, the first person says, "I'm going camping, and I'm going to take a..." then names something beginning with the letter A. Then the next person says, "I'm going camping, and I'm going to take..." and then repeats the A thing and adds a B thing. Then the first person says the "I'm going camping" part, repeats the A thing and B thing and adds a C thing. And so on and so forth. Got that?

Well, I was so focused on that game, I still remember, "I'm going camping, and I'm going to take an alligator, a beach ball, a cat, a dog, an emu, a feather, Goofy, a helicopter, an igloo, a jelly bean, a kaleidoscope, a lounge chair, and a mudslide." That particular (expletive) scary section ended before we got to the N thing. But I'll probably remember that A-M list a year from now, too.

About a half-hour later at the start of the next scary stretch, we played a different game. But I'll spare you all of that information.

So why am I bothering to tell you this? Well, for one, I also wanted to share what a nice thing my search-mate said to me later that day—one of the nicest things anyone other than my husband has said to me in a long time. It went something like this: "I'm really impressed with you, Deb. You're terrified about something, and yet you do it anyway. That takes real guts."

I mean, how cool is that? Here I was, a new tech team member, an experienced long-distance backpacker, and active SAR volunteer with lots of mission hours under my belt now, and I was scared out of my noggin on parts of that trail. I felt ridiculous. And yet, my teammate (also a Grand Canyon ranger) turned it into a compliment. So, T.B., if you're reading this... THANK YOU! I'll never forget that, either.