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.