An Extreme, Multi-Agency Technical Rescue

Photo courtesy of R. Marlatt

First an overview and then some personal comments about this mission, which may be one of the most technically difficult rescues our team has ever faced...

On Saturday, August 13t, 36-year-old Mike from Payson, Arizona, was canyoneering with several friends in Insomnia Canyon, a tributary of West Fork near Sedona. Mike was on the final 150 feet of a 350-foot rappel when he lost control, picking up speed, and fell about 100 feet. He struck a rock on the way down and then fell another 40 feet, ending up a total of 1,800 feet below the rim with multiple injuries. Two of his friends continued down canyon and made the long trip out to get help, while two others remained behind with Mike.

Once emergency services were notified of the accident, more than 25 rescuers from multiple agencies responded, including Coconino County Sheriff's Search and Rescue, Sedona Fire District, Flagstaff Fire Department, Guardian Medical Transport, Department of Public Safety helicopters out of Kingman and Phoenix, and Native Air.

Two of the volunteers from search and rescue had to make eight rappels and three swims to reach the patient late Saturday night and remained with him, rendering medical care while other rescuers rappelled with the Stokes litter, additional medical equipment, and gear for setting up lowering and raising systems and main and belay lines. About 2,600 feet of rope was needed.

An attempt by a DPS helicopter crew was made at first light on Sunday to short haul the patient from his original location, but the slot canyon was too tight for the aircraft. So the patient was then raised by rescuers 800 feet to a ledge where he could be accessed for the short haul, which took place at 1 p.m. at Sunday, at least 24-hours after he'd fallen. Two rescuers accompanied the patient on the raise, while two others continued down canyon with the patient's uninjured friends. They had at least a couple more rappels ahead of them and then a lengthy hike out. They were met en route by fire personnel, who'd hiked in from the Call of the Canyon trailhead to assist them with carrying gear after their exhausting time in the canyon.

After the patient was removed from the canyon and flown to a hospital in Phoenix, where he's since been upgraded from critical to serious condition, came the arduous task for the rescuers of getting themselves and their gear out of the canyon, with a 1,000-foot elevation difference between their location and the rim. This involved ascending ropes one by one, hauling up both their own body weight and heavy gear with their spent muscles.

Several rescuers were able to make the difficult climb, but given the stormy monsoon weather that was moving in, the time of day, and their extreme exhaustion, six of the remaining rescuers were short hauled to the rim by DPS. DPS also assisted with this rescue by lowering a cargo net full of fluids to the rescuers and hauling off two nets full of gear.

Rescue personnel were also assisted by volunteer members of Coconino County C.E.R.T. (Community Emergency Response Team), who drove our weary group back to Flagstaff. Their help was much needed and appreciated.

Regarding the patient...

In a comment on a Hiking Examiner article, Mike's mother writes, "He did break both his heels, and his pelvis in six places. He also fractured his spine and had internal bleeding. The internal bleeding seems to have stopped. He will need to have more surgeries and procedures and it will be at least 3 months before he is able to walk again."

And now for some personal comments...

I'm so proud to be a member of this team and so proud of my teammates, who went all out on this mission at significant personal risk. Controlled risk, yes, and with as much attention to safety as possible, but no tech rescue is without risk, of course. And this one was a doozy.

Yes, I was on this mission, and I did assist, but my role was minimal compared to my teammates. I say that because, after descending approximately 500 feet below the rim on a handline (using a Prusik), when I came to the ledge at the start of the next 500-foot rappel, I made the decision that that's where I needed to stop. It wasn't an easy decision, and I agonized about it throughout the night as each of my teammates loaded up with gear in addition to their own packs, attached their self-belays to the second rope and their rappel devices, and one-by-one descended through the thick manzanita, their headlamps soon disappearing from my view. It seemed to take a very long time until the one on rappel would announce over the radio that he was off rappel and off belay. One said this was the nastiest rappel he'd ever experienced.

A 500-foot rappel. With heavy gear. With a self-belay. Through the brush and other difficulties. Was I ready for that? What would happen if I ran into trouble partway down? On my own. I didn't really have enough rope time under my belt—not with all that gear, all that distance—I thought to myself.  And if things didn't go right, I was putting not only myself but my team and, ultimately, the man we were there to rescue at even greater risk. No, I decided, I wasn't going down any further.

So, the best I could do to help was go up and down the hand line with equipment and help with communication and whatever else might be called for up near the top.

Of course, this mission wasn't about me whatsoever, and I'm sure no one was really thinking about me but me. And I had to make a decision about my own limitations, regardless of the fact that more hands were sorely needed far below. Like I said, it was a very tough call for me. But I'll be continuing to gain experience on the rope, rappelling and ascending with my pack and extra gear, passing knots in both directions... and with someone else belaying me, at least at first. Eventually, I'll be ready.

And in the interest of not ending on a note about me, I want to reiterate what an awesome job Coconino County Sheriff's Search and Rescue technical team did, along with all other responding agencies. You saved a life in really difficult conditions. You rock!

A Vision Quest Gone Bad?

That's what the note said that 43-year-old Michael Snarski of Thornton, Colorado, had left on his dashboard—that he was not lost; he was on a vision quest. The note was dated 7/24.

Two weeks later, someone reported to the Sheriff's office that the car was still there, parked at a pull-out about 20 miles south of Williams, AZ. That's when detectives asked for our K9 team, trained in human remains (HR) detection, to come to the site and check the vehicle. They'd smelled what could have been an intermittent, faint "odor of death," they said. Our dog handler, Cindy, then contacted me and another team member, often her backers on other missions, to accompany her and her four NASAR-certified golden retrievers.

All four dogs independently alerted on the trunk, but my teammates and I didn't smell anything in the air or coming from the car. Still, each dog gave an enthusiastic, distinct alert, a couple of them becoming what I'd call frustrated at not being able to get to the source of the smell, digging at the ground by the trunk and jumping up on the vehicle with their front legs.

A deputy called his boss for permission to have the vehicle unlocked and the trunk opened. Permission was granted, and we all waited, wondering what we'd find inside.

Once the trunk was opened, however, there was no visible evidence of human decomposition and no odor—or at least none detectable by our human noses. The dogs were again brought back to the car, one by one, and each now alerted on a specific area of the trunk.

"Show me," Cindy would say when they each alerted. And each dog jumped back up and touched the same spot inside the trunk with their paws and noses. Something related to human decomposition was there, but whatever it was, we couldn't see it, and we were not allowed to touch the numerous items in the trunk to look beneath them.

Later, after the vehicle was towed and law enforcement searched it, it was discovered that the dogs had indeed found something: a spot of blood about the size of nickel on a pair of pants.

Following more investigation, an extensive area search was planned. SAR volunteers from both Coconino and Yavapai Counties were called, including K9, ground, and mounted units. I'm sure everyone was expecting this would likely be a long, tedious search through difficult terrain. Even the command trailer was being brought out to the site.

K9 units arrived at the search area at first light, to begin while the air was still cool and the light winds would still be coming up out of nearby Bear Canyon. That way, the cross-trained dogs would be able to detect human scent if the missing person were down in that canyon. The wind would (and did) soon change direction as the sun rose, so we wanted to search the rim as soon as possible.

But the search didn't last long. As Cindy and I slowly made our way along the rim with two of her dogs, picking through thick manzanita over rocks and other pinion–juniper forest debris and one lethargic snake, another K9 team discovered Michael Snarski's body not far from the road.

He was sitting on a blanket, up against a tree, with full water bottles and a couple of uneaten, by then blackened bananas at his side. Facing west toward what may have been the sinking sun on his final day, he still had his sunglasses on. This is the last view Michael would have seen but without all of the SAR vehicles. His car had been parked where ours now were:

Remember the Telephone Game?

Sometimes search and rescue is a little like that game I played at camp when I was a kid. Someone would start out with a couple of sentences and whisper them into the ear of the next kid in line. That kid would then whisper to the next and so on, until the message reached the last person and they announced the message. Then it was compared to the original message, and nearly every time, it was at least a little, if not very, different.

I don't know the chain of communication in this latest SAR case, but by the time I saw the Facebook post by a local newsperson who listens to and reports on scanner traffic, it was "MAJOR MEDICAL: 3 APS employees have fallen from a ledge while working on a power box on Mt. Elden." I began changing into my mission clothes immediately.

Soon afterward, SAR was actually called, and I headed right out. This was going to be a long, difficult mission, I thought, evacuating three injured patients off that rugged mountain. Apparently, they were not on or near a trail.

Soon, nine of our volunteers rendezvoused with Flagstaff Fire Department personnel at the base of Mt. Elden along the gas pipeline trail. Two of our members, who had responded directly to the mountain while the rest of us loaded Stokes litters and other technical rescue equipment, climbed up to the power company workers, who were visible from below. There were actually seven of them up there.

When the rest of the responding SAR members arrived on scene, we and Flag Fire were informed that everyone on the mountain was mobile and could be walked down. What had happened to the injuries I'd read about online—a leg injury, a foot injury, and one complaining of "severe chest and stomach pains?"

Apparently, there was one guy with a reoccurring bad knee that was bothering him today but no leg injury. There was no evidence of a foot injury that I was aware of, and I was told the chest and stomach pains had been cramps from dehydration, relieved by the water and Gatorade brought up to them by the first responders on scene.

Those of us preparing to climb up were asked to bring mountain rope and other gear to rig some safety handlines as a precaution during the bouldering left to be done to reach the bottom. Some of the APS workers were tired and, though they'd been rehydrated, might be at greater risk of tripping and falling on shaky legs. We also brought extra helmets and headlamps in case it got dark before everyone was down.

In the end, the mission went smoothly, and all were in good spirits and good shape. No one requested or wanted medical attention.

From what I heard, the APS workers had, earlier that morning, left a couple of their vehicles at the base of the mountain, then carpooled to the summit. They were, as one man put it, on a "reconnaissance mission" to scope out an electrical line that was going to be built (or rebuilt maybe). "It wasn't one of the smartest things we've ever done," he said.

I'm not sure what exactly happened up there, but they didn't seem prepared—physically or otherwise—for a day on the mountain. I believe several of the workers had made it down or most of the way down to their vehicles at the bottom but had then gone back up to assist the other three. If there had been any kind of fall, I didn't hear anyone mention it. Who knows? Just glad it all worked out well and with daylight to spare.

Searching for Those Who Don't Want to Be Found

I could feel the sweat dripping down my neck and back and occasionally off the tip of my nose. It was late at night, but Oak Creek Canyon was holding in the heat and monsoon season humidity. I turned off my headlamp as my partner and I stopped for a brief rest, and in the absence of a moon, couldn't see the drop-off to my right.

We each called one of the missing boys' names. As we'd expected, there was no response from the darkness.

These were not "just" missing teenagers, though—they were runaways. Earlier that day, they'd taken off from some sort of camp for troubled or in-trouble youth, scrambling up a very steep slope, toward what we didn't know. Did they?

Randy and I picked up some human tracks, off-trail, soon after we'd arrived at our assigned search area along Route 89A in Oak Creek Canyon. But we lost those tracks amongst the thick pine needles and game trails partway up the calf-burning slope. We later wondered if the boys had stopped and hidden until the coast was clear, then gone back down to the road.

Picking and slipping our way back down ourselves, I stopped frequently to pull bits of forest debris out of the palms of my hands. Mental note: Wear my work gloves when doing stuff like this.

When we got to our vehicle, we drove down the road (up and down, actually, until we found the nondescript trailhead we were looking for) and headed up the Thomas Trail to the rim, calling and searching up-slope and down with our headlamps. We needed to be sure that the boys, though they had intentionally run away, hadn't gotten themselves into a bad situation —cliffed out, for example, or injured—in the process.

Meanwhile, other ground teams were searching by ATV and UTV up on the rim. Another pair of searchers was hiking the Telephone Trail, parallel to ours, maybe a mile away. All reported negative contact.

Before Randy and I had hiked back to the bottom of the canyon, we contacted Incident Command (IC) and found out that our coordinator had gone further down 89A to assist with a multiple fatality, head-on collision near Grasshopper Point and Midgley Bridge. Earlier, he had asked us to look closely for sign (footprints or other clues) at the top of the trail, but we saw nothing of interest around Thomas Point.

About an hour later, we slipped our sweaty packs off our sweaty backs. Randy then called IC on the radio for our next assignment.

"You can return to Flagstaff," our coordinator told us. "The subjects have been located."

Back at the SAR building close to midnight, we learned that a family member had contacted law enforcement and said the boys were safe... somewhere.

*******

Earlier last week, our SAR team responded to a call to search for a missing suicidal female. We were given the description of her vehicle, and our search area was based on information from a cellphone ping from her most recent call. We were instructed to contact Incident Command if we located the woman and/or her vehicle but not to approach. She was eventually located in that vehicle, alive but in need of medical assistance.

*******

Recent SAR Stories News posts:

New Search and Rescue Reading and Ongoing Searches

Search and Rescue Reading and Writing

The Mountain Locator Unit and Other Emergency Signaling Devices

Search and Rescue Community Outreach

This past week, members of the Coconino County Sheriff's Search and Rescue team visited the kids at Pinewood Camp in Munds Park for the second time, teaching them about SAR, the ten essentials (gear), map and compass and a little alternative navigation, how to NOT get lost and what to do if they do get lost, and a bit of backcountry patient care and litter evacuation. A good time was had by team members and campers alike.

Fourteen kids participated in the program, ranging in age from seven to 14. During the initial overview of what search and rescue is all about, there were lots of questions—bear encounters was a theme that kept coming up—and requests for SAR stories from the area.

After a few stories, we divided the kids into two groups and had some fun with navigation, equipment, and hands-on simulated patient evacuation with the backboard and Stokes litter.

Here, Pete does show-and-tell with the ten essentials from his backpack...

Meanwhile, Al and Dave teach some navigation to the other half of the group....

Next, we did a bit of pretend SAR. In this photo, the injured subject has been located and packaged in the litter...

The kids help Bob, Pete, and me evacuate our patient (who was a very enthusiastic actress)...

After the groups swapped places and had a chance to do everything we'd planned, we did a little impromptu technical rescue demonstration with an imaginary cliff...

After we wrapped up and the campers left for lunch, the camp host said it had gone really well and the kids must have had a great time because they didn't even once ask about their usual snack break. We were then invited back for next summer.

One of the ongoing requirements for being a member team of the Mountain Rescue Association is doing community outreach and P-SAR, so we'll be doing more presentations and interactive programs in the future, for both children and adults.