A Search with a Tragic Ending

On Monday evening, August 2, Emmett Trapp's mom awoke from a nap and discovered her two-year-old son, one of her four children, was missing from their home in Dewey, Arizona. After family and neighbors searched the area without luck, they called 9-1-1.

Yavapai County Sheriff's deputies arrived within 10 minutes, and the search quickly expanded to include law enforcement personnel, search and rescue teams from multiple counties, and other citizen volunteers. As of dawn on Wednesday morning, Emmett still had not been found.

Searchers from multiple agencies and counties at base, getting ready to deploy

Our SAR team from Coconino County was called to assist beginning on Wednesday. Two of my teammates and I and three golden retriever area search dogs arrived at Incident Command before 6 a.m. More of our teammates would join the search later that morning, but the three of us wanted to get started with the dogs as early as possible since they work better in the cooler air. When they get too hot, the dogs breathe more through their mouths so their noses can't work as effectively.

Cindy gets her boys ready to go

After checking in at base, we received our assignment and went directly to our search segment. Cindy, our SAR dog handler, determined the direction of the barely detectable breeze with her little bottle of powder, positioned us accordingly for the dogs, then worked with her canine partners while also searching the thick brush herself. Her cross-trained dogs would alert her if they detected human scent, living or not.

The dogs are already working as we head to our assigned segment.

My other partner and I flanked Cindy on either side and slightly behind her, taking care of the navigation and doing our parts in the grid search. We pushed through the tangled mass of cat claw, which grabbed at our clothing and skin, trying our best to stay in formation despite the terrain. A small child could easily crawl under the bushes and be very hard to see.

After we'd covered more than half of our assigned area, another field team of 14 searcher moved into that same segment behind us, walking a grid perpendicular to ours.

View of base from our first assigned search segment on the hill

The media hang out on the periphery of the search area

 

 

 

Eventually, Incident Command gave the three of us a new assignment—to work together as a K-9 team and two human man-trackers—when another field team located what looked like part of a small footprint. So we relocated to the site of that partial print and began to work the track.

We were reassigned again when another field team located fresher footprints, also small and clearly barefoot as Emmett had been reported to be and even further from the Trapps' home than we were. So, we got in our truck and took off to jump ahead of those tracks, which were headed in the direction of the highway. Our assignment was to determine if the tracks crossed beneath the highway, through the culverts. If not, we were told to work in the opposite direction of the team following the track, so we'd be going toward them. Emmett would hopefully be somewhere in the middle.

But the  search came to an end just as we arrived at our new area. Sure enough, Emmett had been between us and the team on the track, who located him. Sadly, little Emmett had not survived.

Back Home And Back To SAR

I hadn't planned to respond to any SAR calls for at least a week after coming home from Nepal. I figured I'd take a little break after being on the other side of the planet for a few months, spend some time catching up on my to-do list, reorganize my SAR pack, and generally just chill out.

But I couldn't resist. A couple of days after I got back, when there was a second call-out within a half hour for more volunteers to assist Yavapai County Search and Rescue with a search for a missing two-year-old, I dialed the SAR line after listening to the message and left one of my own. "This is Deb, number 6-2-0. I'm responding."

The call was for the following morning, to meet at the SAR building at 6 a.m. Soon after getting there, I was headed south to Beaver Creek Campground near Sedona with a teammate from general SAR along with a member of the mounted unit and his horse. Coconino County SAR had been assisting with this search for the previous two days, also.

When we got to the staging area and signed in, the three of us were given our assignment: a rather large, rugged area, thick with cat claw and cactus. One boundary of our search area was the creek that runs alongside the campground from which little Sylar Newton had gone missing in the middle of the night a few days earlier.

We searched as thoroughly as we could all day, doing our best to stay hydrated and focused as we dripped with sweat in the intense heat and humidity. We called in anything we found that we thought had any possibility of being important to the mission, giving a description and coordinates to Incident Command. A deputy came out to inspect and collect some of the items we located.

At the end of day four of the search, Syler was still missing. And he's still missing today, the end of day seven.

While this search was going on, members of our team were also helping in neighborhoods east of Flagstaff impacted by flash flooding. These floods are the result of charred soil on the peaks from the huge Schultz wildfire earlier this summer, unable to absorb all of the monsoon rain. That fire was started by an abandoned campfire and burned more than 15,000 acres. The resulting floods have caused extensive property damage to area residents and one death, when a 12-year-old girl was swept away.

On Thursday and Friday, I responded to more calls for SAR assistance in the flood areas, but my contribution (going door-to-door passing out flood advisory information) was minimal compared to the days of neighbors helping neighbors and other Flagstaff residents volunteering to fill and stack sandbags, shovel mud, and anything else they can do help those in need, including some whose homes appear to be a complete loss.

Related article: Rain Outlook Bad For Schultz Flood Area

Nepal Update: Back to Kathmandu

It was time to return to Kathmandu before heading back to the US and my home in Flagstaff. I was very ready to go.

But the planes from Pokhara to Kathmandu weren't flying, grounded by heavy rain and low cloud cover, making it dangerous to fly over the mountains. So onto plan B; I hired a driver. I could have taken a tourist bus for less money, but I opted for the more comfortable, faster car.

But it makes no difference what kind of vehicle you're in when the one narrow road to Kathmandu is blocked by a landslide. Things had been going along smoothly and surprisingly quick until everything suddenly came to a stop.

My driver, who spoke little English, and I and hundreds—maybe thousands—of our closest friends sat, stood, paced, and sweated on the road for hours. (Stupid me, Miss Preparedness, neglected to bring any food, but thankfully I'd remembered bottled water.) We finally moved. A few feet. And then we sat, stood, paced, and sweated for more long hours. At one point, mud started to slide not far behind where our car was stuck in the long line of vehicles, but luckily that slide didn't turn into anything major.

I started to wonder if we might spend the night, even days, stranded on that road. But just when I thought I might lose my marbles in the midst of all those laid-back Nepalis who didn't seem to care about our predicament, things began to move. We crept along for a couple of hours until we passed the major slide, the road still covered with a foot of mud, and then picked up speed, passing trucks and buses on sharp curves just in the nick of time, time and time again.

About 12 hours after I'd left Pokhara, I made it back to Kathmandu in one piece and famished. After dumping my stuff at the hotel at Boudha Stupa, I made a beeline for Saturday's Cafe. It felt good to be on my own—anonymous—for a change. I was ready for some quiet time in the crazy city, just me, myself, and I, and a lot of people-watching as I began to process all that happened in the past two and a half months.

Nepal is a fascinating place filled with fascinating people and cultures, and I've had an amazing experience, but I'm more than ready to be home with friends and my own search and rescue teammates. It will take a while to organize all of my notes, recorded interviews, thoughts, and experiences and begin to write what turned out to be much more of story than I'd anticipated when I first left on this trip.

Nepal: Recent Photos

Corn harvesting time

Bringing home the evening meal

Paddy planting

Waiting for customers at Lake Side

Gathering water cress

Will and I go for a paddle

Just me

Nepal Update: The Water Buffalo Days of Summer

Namaste!

And aside from "meeto," which means "tasty," and "ali, ali," meaning "a little bit" (as in, food, because I don't want to be given more than I can eat), that's still the only Nepali I know. I ask how to say something, repeat it (badly) several times to the delight of those listening, and then promptly forget what I've learned. I guess I just don't have a very good ear for language.

Anyhow, on my morning run today, I was surprised to round the bend on my usual route and find that a stone building that had been intact, roughly speaking, just yesterday had partially collapsed. Here's a photo of what it looked like before:

Obviously, it hadn't been in the best condition and appears to have been previously repaired. I'm wondering, then, if a rather far-off, magnitude 5.1 earthquake on the Nepal-India border yesterday was enough to bring the weakest part of this building down.

And here's another recent photo. I took this from the taxi as I was leaving Lakeside after an afternoon spent wandering amongst the shops and along the shore of the lake and treating myself to lunch at the garden restaurant, Boomerang.

It took a few minutes to pass these... um, ladies, I believe, because every time the taxi driver shifted direction, so did they. Even he, the same driver who had been so stoic on the earlier ride out, couldn't help but crack a smile. He tried his rather obnoxious horn several times, but the girls didn't seem to bat an eyelash or flick a tail.

Aside from a random visit to town, these hot, humid days have taken on somewhat of a routine here on the edge of Pokhara. I usually start with my very early morning run (and the people along the way seem to have gotten used to seeing me out there, doing such an odd thing in my short American shorts and now say "Hello!" and "Namaste!" instead of "Whatchoo doing? Why you running? Where you going?"). Then I come back to the house and let the sweat dry while waiting for my turn in the bathroom for a cool to cold shower (which I've somewhat gotten used to). Then it's brunch a la Jit or Ingo and usually with Ingo. Then on to some reading and an attempt to catch up on email and news from around the world. In the afternoon, I often walk down a new or familiar. unpaved or paved but deeply rutted street, do some work on the book project, then more reading, and eventually dinner, which often happens after 8 p.m.

And I finally received an email from Will, my photographer friend from Flagstaff. I'd been wondering whether he was actually coming to Nepal—I'd heard very little from him since I got here. He now tells me his plane leaves the US on June 28th. So, I guess I'll be seeing him here in Pokhara sometime around July 1st. Or I would assume so. He didn't give me any further information beyond the date of his departure. But it'll be fun to have a friend from home to do some further exploring with and possibly return to Shyuali Bazaar.

Well, that really is the extent of my news from Nepal. For now. I'll leave you with another photo,  taken a few days ago on a rare summer morning when the Himalaya decided to come out of hiding. This view lasted for maybe half an hour before the mountains once again did their disappearing act:

Nepal Update

Today, a cold shower felt really good. By the time I got back from my three-hour walk, I was drenched. Sweat, not rain. But the monsoon has got to be close because I don't think the air has been quite this thick since I arrived. I've learned how to give in to the heat and humidity, though, and not try to fight it—to just let the sweat drip and ignore it—which has made it easier to tolerate.

What a great walk, though! So peaceful. I headed out the way I've been running, but I saw so much more at a slower, easier pace. All kinds of flowers. People working in their rice paddies. A bunch of chicks running down the river rock road after their mother. A baby sitting alone on a porch, petting a little goat, and an old, wrinkly man snoozing under a banana tree. The road led further away from town, but there were farmhouses most of the way. I took a load of photos. Here's just a handful:

Time, I walked with an umbrella because, cloudy or not, the sun is intense. I got fewer stares than I usually do since I looked a little more normal, I guess, carrying sun protection like the locals. But people still clearly thought it odd that I was out walking with no particular destination or purpose in the hottest part of the day. I heard, "Whatchoo doing? Where you going?" from several people sitting in the shade. "Oh, just walking" was apparently pretty funny.

So, another thing I saw on my walk today—something I see every day here, actually, since it's across from the house—is a government school. Children wear uniforms at all schools, public and private. They're made to line up and chant and perform sort of a militaristic ritual in the schoolyard every morning. High caste don't mix with low caste, and most low caste children never go to school anyway. Physical punishment in the schools, while now officially against the law on paper, is still common, I'm told, and the law is usually unenforced. I read that well over half the children in Nepal are illiterate and never get an education.

                           

I've written a little about the school Ingo founded at Shyauli Bazaar, at the rescue squad's base in the jungle. Initially, it was intended for children of the rescue workers. But then it expanded when children from area villages were brought in as well, including a higher caste (Brahmin) boy whose father had traded his son in exchange for fulfillment of a debt, and the boy worked as a slave. (I met him in Kathmandu. He's about 25 now and attends the university.) All of the children from the Riverside School have gone on to higher education, becoming doctors and nurses, teachers, accountants, artists, etc.—children who otherwise would not have had an education.

At the Riverside School, no physical punishment was allowed, and the policy was strictly enforced. The children didn't wear uniforms. There was no caste system, so the "untouchables" sat beside, played with, and roomed with the higher caste children. They were not made to stand in lines and chant. They played games and sports. Ingo says children learn better and faster when they're happy.

There aren't any students in Shyauli Bazaar now because of the war. The war is over, but it's had a lasting impact. Ingo had to hide the older students during the war because the Maoists would force them to join their army or kill them if they refused. They did kill a 14-year-old boy, the son of a man I met when we visited the compound.

I hate to end on a down note, so here's a little something to hopefully make you smile. This is a video just posted on the HRDSN YouTube channel, showing some of their SAR dogs practicing their skills....

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yixipMfB-7c

From the HRDSN YouTube page:

"These Nepalese SAR dogs and their junior handlers need sponsors for at least 1 more year of specialized training to be fully fit for all sorts of search & rescue missions. Nepal is a disaster prone country. Annually out here occur many large landslides and floods during the long rain season and thousands of remote villagers need our help.

"Nepal is also a hot spot for earthquakes and a large earthquake is already long overdue here if one studies the records of the country's earthquake history that give the clear indication that a huge one is happening at intervals of 60 to 70 years. This is due to the sub-continental Indian plate shift, gradually moving northward in the direction of the Tibetan plateau, raising the Himalayas upward and altering the landscape of Nepal in a dramatic way once in a lifetime of every Nepalese.

"What one sees in this video clip is practicing for earthquake victim search, negotiating difficult terrain and moving rubble. Its' just the beginning. More training has to be made at all sorts of locations--collapsed buildings, large landslides, etc.

"Those who want to sponsor a particular dog and its handler in this video clip please feel free to contact me for details. Youth Clubs, dog food and pet-store companies, private individuals, school classes--everyone is welcome to adopt a dog and its handler for a long-lasting relationship and many exciting pen pal exchanges, training reports etc. Transparent audit of use of the given donations will be provided regularly by us."

Kind regards,
Jit Bahadur Masrangi Magar
jitmagar34@yahoo.com

Watching Coconino County SAR From Nepal

Note: When I first wrote this post, there was a video available That video is no longer online, but this is what I wrote:

Here's a video from a recent SAR call in Flagstaff, in which Coconino County Sheriff's Search & Rescue, along with Flagstaff Fire and Guardian medics, carry out an injured hiker on Fatman's Loop.

Every time there's a call-out, I get an email, so I know what kinds of missions are happening. And later, some of my teammates fill me in on the details. They know how nosy... uh, how curious I am, even from 8,000 miles away. I also get emails about all the good trainings going on for general SAR, like advanced man-tracking and the three-day navigation boot camp, and for the technical rescue team, including mid-face patient care and mid-face litter scoops and a simulation drill of a search for a downed aircraft with injuries and evacuation. Fun stuff!

*sigh* I miss the team.