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.

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.

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.

The Pack Test

 Well, it's been a month since our last call-out. That feels like a very long time compared to what I've experienced since I first joined the team a year and a half ago. It has been nice, though, to sleep through the night for so many nights in a row.

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.

As you can see, our test is going to be the "arduous" one, so says the document. And now that I've done a time trial at the local university track, I'm sure of that description. I did complete the 12 laps in 43 minutes, 40 seconds... but that was carrying just 11 lbs. And, boy, were my hips sore when I finished, from all that silly race-walking.

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.