The Rescue

NOT DIRECTIONS TO CPR!

The Rescue

After 3 hours on the road, I was probably a bit dazed. Not to mention, there weren’t any traffic lights or intersections on the open road. I guess I can’t blame Zak for getting nervous.

“What are you DOING?!? Either stop or GO MAN! GO! DRIVE!”

“What? Oh, CRAP!” As I find the accelerator, and weave past the oncoming car, I realize that in front of a city bus, in the middle of a 4 lane intersection is definitively NOT the time to hesitate. I also realize I don’t like being told how to drive “Man, there were feet to spare. I don’t want to wreck my ride either Bro!” That’s how I defend my ego against bad driving. At least from having to admit it.

Living in the mountains, it seems counterintuitive that we’d be travelling toward a city for our climb. I suppose people in the city appreciate natural beauty too, and you can’t relocate nature’s wonders! Now that we’re in the neighborhood, it’s time to find a place to rest our heads. Evening is near, and hunger has a way of making a guy grumpy.

“Let’s check out this one.” Zak says, as he points to a frontage road that veers off into dirt. I agree. Anything will be better than another few minutes in the car. “With that kind of driving, I’m not sure I feel safe climbing with you!” Zak tells me. I know it’s his past fears. He told me about an accident he had been in.

He was in the back of a 15 passenger van in college. The mountaineers club was going on a ski trip. They were in Vermont, during a snowstorm. He told the driver they were going too fast. “We’re going to crash!” he had said. “Slow down, we can’t stay on the road at this speed!” he begged. He could barely get the words out before he felt himself pressed against the end of the van. They were spinning around, off the road and came to rest in a ditch. He said they were lucky. They rested at the top of the slope, instead of rolling down into the river below.

It’s hard to trust humans. You can never really know what they’re up to you know. Motivations are personal. Almost secrets to some people. Humans would be much easier to deal with if they could simply dispense with those messy issues of emotion. Somewhere down that rabbit hole one can remove the humanity from humans. After that we’re left with something less than animal. More like the stone we’ve set out to climb. I accept his humanity, I try to grant his emotions understanding.

Desert Flowers

As we pull up to a place we deem suitable to crash for the night, I ask. “So, are you willing to climb with me, even though I’m a crappy driver?”

“Yeah, I trust you. I’ve been in accidents before. I may have over reacted.” So we begin unloading the car. First our camping and cooking gear. Shadows are getting longer, we’re hungry and in for a long day tomorrow. After the water’s heating and we’ve laid out our sleeping bags we grab the climbing gear and the guidebook.

“How long is this thing?” I wonder, flipping through the book.

“Four pitches.”

“Cool. Single rope rappels?”

“I think so. I don’t want to have to bring two ropes.” I find the page in the guidebook, and start reading. We’ve both looked at the route before, but you have to carefully select your gear and prepare it. In the early morning cold and dark it just doesn’t get done right. Besides, we know we’re notorious for carrying more gear than we need, especially on routes we don’t know.

Hot food is ready soon, and we eat eagerly. With our gear selected, we divvy it up, and begin loading the packs. It’s going to be over an hour hike-in. At least it’s downhill. The problem with that is we get to go UP at the END of the day. With all our climbing gear in the packs, and most of our personal gear sorted we get ready for sleep. The sun is almost gone, our excitement increases with the dark.

The next morning, we wake early, with the sun. It’s chilly, but we’re ready. I like hot coffee and instant oatmeal as a quick camp meal, so I get water on right away. Thinking of that, I guzzle as much as I can stand. The water is cold from the night, and its icy sting numbs my throat. Shortly, my stove is boiling. A batch of ‘cowboy coffee’ and a bowl of oatmeal mean I’m ready to hit the road. We plan to return home tonight, after climbing. We load up our gear, and make tracks.

We pull into the park, and pay our entry fee. Quickly, we consult our map to confirm our parking and trailhead. In about 15 minutes we’re descending the winding path into the valley. The park is quiet, the trail vacant, except for us. The descent is easy. The trail is gently sloped, and has easy switchbacks. In short time we reach the floor of the valley below. We continue on the path mostly in silence.

At one point, we both distinctly notice the sound of a siren. It sounds vaguely like an ambulance. We look at each other and say “That seems strange,” but keep going down the path. The terrain is mostly flat, and the vegetation is pinyon/juniper and high desert understory. The trail winds through somewhat dense brush before the landscape opens up a bit more, and the trail begins to descend a bit further. At this point, I’m excited! This climb is a fun, easy classic and I’ve never done any of the climbing in this area.

“Did you hear that?” Zak asked me. I was a little bit ahead of him on the trail. I stop and turn back.

“Hear what?” I don’t hear anything. I become still and listen. It’s hard to distinguish what is being said, but it’s definitely a person, in distress. “Oh, I hear that….” I finally reply.

“What should we do?” Zak looks at me, questioningly. He knows I am a trained first responder.

“Check it out, I suppose. Let’s stash our gear.” We leave the trail a bit, and hastily hide our gear in a stand of dense brush. We then head up the hill. We are near one of the formations that is frequently climbed.

“What’s around here? Isn’t it all difficult?” Zak asks, referring to the harder climbing on this particular wall.

“I think so, I’m not sure which formation this is though,” As we move up the hill the voice is more clear. It’s distinctly a man yelling for help. “Helloooooooo!” We begin to yell back, so he can save some energy.

“Hello! Thank God you’re here!” Says a distressed man standing near the cliff base. We have climbed up a slope about 100’ above the trail. “She’s over here,” he says, turning, and leading us along the crag.

“Ok, well we were just hiking into our climb, and we heard you yelling,” Zak begins.

“Oh,” says the man, sounding discouraged.

“I am an EMT,” I say, sliding into response mode “what’s the problem here?” Still following him.

“My wife,” The man is short of breath and panicked, “she’s just not right…” We approach a small alcove sheltered from wind. The woman lying there is the color of ash. She is awake, and clearly feeling out of it. Her lips are pale and dry, she is breathing shallow and rapidly. I kneel down to assess her. Her skin is cold, despite the warming of the day.

“Well, she’s not looking great. Ma’am, how are you feeling?” I turn and ask. With hesitation she answers,

“Uhmm, I’m okay,” she lies. I begin to understand how we ended up here. “I’m just really tired feeling.”

“Any nausea?” I ask?

“Yes,”

“Have you vomited?”

“No,”

“Have you urinated?”

“No,”

“Have you eaten today?”

“Not, real—“

“Umm, yeah, she had breakfast. A Granola bar. Then we took the climber’s route down into the valley here…” her husband interjected. I am not sure what the ‘climber’s route’ is, but if it’s like everything else climbers do it’s steep, difficult and unmarked. When I carry 60lbs of gear over difficult terrain I burn through a box worth of granola bars. Her husband knows this.

“Okay,” I continue, soaking in the scene. “What were you climbing? Where is your gear? Have you called Search and Rescue?”

“We were climbing right over there,” He points, gesturing around the corner. “Our gear is still on the wall.” He begins walking up the crag, around the corner. About 60’ up a pair of aiders hangs, clipped to an impromptu anchor halfway through the pitch. “We were climbing and she bonked. We were able to self-rescue from the wall, but once I got her to ground she couldn’t even stay standing.” He is clearly feeling guilty and frantic. “We called Search and Rescue, they said they’d be hours out.”

We return to the patient, and try to further assess. “Well, she’s likely dehydrated, and needs calories. Do we have any Gatorade Zak?”

“I don’t, just water,” he says.

“Ok, well water is better than nothing. Ma’am, what’s your name?” A little late for introductions, but that’s what happens when your relaxation turns to work.

“Sam… Samantha,” she forces herself to answer.

“Okay Samantha, we need you to try to sip a little bit of water for us, okay? I don’t have a medical kit with me, but I can see your skin is pale, I can feel your heart rate is rapid. It sounds like you were already worked pretty hard today so just try to relax.” I give her the best medical guidance I can without having any diagnostic or treatment equipment.

“Hello?” Says a man, walking up behind all of us. “How’s it going?” As we turn, I see a man in a tan uniform, with a badge. A National Park Service Ranger; The cavalry has arrived!

“Oh, hello! Good to see you,” I turn and introduce myself “I’m John, this is Zak,” I motion to my friend, “and…” I had never gotten the man’s name.

“Charlie, I’m the one who called” said the distressed man. He stepped forward, thrusting his hand toward the ranger. I turn my attention back to Samantha. She had a bit of water, and she’s just sitting in the cold dirt. We find what we have as far as jackets and other gear to try to make her spot a little softer, or at least less uncomfortable. I turn back to Zak.

“We’ll need to set up an anchor system to help lower her down onto the trail.” The cliff band wandered along a pretty flat walkway, but the main trail lay 100’ of slope below us. I sent Zak down to fetch our personal gear, which we’re familiar with. I gave instructions to Charlie, how to take care of and monitor Samantha. She seemed to be leveling off, not getting any worse. The ranger immediately gave confidence to us, and our operation. Zak had told him I am a volunteer firefighter, and EMT. We’re both experienced climbers.

We gathered our gear, and found a safe place to build an anchor with a decent path down to the trail. Two young guys passed that were on their way to climb a route. “Excuse me,” I stopped them. “Where are you guys headed?” They answered with the same route Charlie and Sam had attempted. “Excellent, these folks had to self-rescue from the climb, and left some gear on the wall there about 70’ up.”

“Hey, we’ll get that down no problem!” They finished my thought. They could see the severity of the situation. While not willing to give up their climb, they were able to pitch in.

“This was the fifth time I had tried this climb!” Charlie was telling the guys. “She was doing great, until about 50’ in, then she just lost all her energy, and got really shaky…” Samantha did not seem to be the avid climber type. More like she was obliging her husband. Worse, it seemed he was trying to use her skinny fingers to fulfill his own need. See, in crack climbing the width of the crack, in relation to the size of the climber sets the difficulty.

This climb has multiple pitches. The first has a thin crux, meaning skinny fingers help. Higher up the climbing is more an offwidth, or wider climbing, likely suited to him. He dragged her out early, taken the most difficult route into the canyon and skipped breakfast too. Something tells me this was not her idea.

She expressed she was a novice climber, that he had been getting her into it. You could tell by looking at her, she had loved many years outdoors. There are many levels of engagement with nature. What one considers fun, another may consider desperate survival. Sometime this morning these two had crossed from one toward the other.

I am sure they talked about what they were attempting. They know each other, and speak the same language. Both believed they had a level of understanding of the other. Had she underestimated the difficulty, or been led into a dire fate as a pawn, sacrificed to achieve a goal?

These thoughts swirl, but cannot interrupt the important work at hand. The angle of the slope is gentle, and our anchor strong. The search and rescue team arrive in the area. Initially only a couple of personnel with a Stokes litter and basic med-kit. This is all we need. A group is following behind with a wheel they will use to hike Samantha to the canyon rim.

The EMT starts an IV to begin hydrating Samantha. We get a backboard and put her on it to carry her over to the litter. Once loaded the litter is secured to our lowering line. I instruct the carry team how to fasten their harnesses to the litter, and give Zak instructions how to lower us. Slowly but surely, we begin to work down the hill. We’re able to avoid most obstacles. There is one large boulder we must go straight over.

With care, and ample communication, using Charlie as a go-between once the distance grew and line of sight diminished, we made good progress. The slope began to fade, and the rope run short. We were nearing the trail, and disconnected from our line. The rest of the team arrived with the wheel.

“Thank you men for taking charge out here today.” The Ranger had turned to us, extending his hand in gratitude.

“No Problem,”

“Anytime”

“We were just doing what we would want someone to do for us!” I said, and Zak agreed. As a nature enthusiast, climber and backcountry traveler one of the biggest forms of dread is any sort of injury or hangup. That is the moment your paradise becomes a prison. We look at our watches and the sunlight. It was afternoon, and we still weren’t to the base of OUR climb.

“What do we do?” Zak asks me. I don’t have a good answer.

“I guess…” I thought a moment, “we stash our gear here in the bushes, and try again tomorrow?” Flexibility is a gift to young men in their 20s, though it is taken for granted. We gathered up our anchor gear. And packed our bags. As we were wrapping up Charlie approached us,

“Thank you, thank you, my gosh THANK you! I wouldn’t have known what to do without you! Here, take this,” he offered us the rope he brought to lead the climb. We declined, not loving the idea of used safety equipment.

“Honestly, we just hope someone would do the same for us.” He offered his phone number, and info so we could be compensated somehow. For us this was the natural choice and we’re glad we didn’t keep hiking. We went down to the trail, found a good bush and hid our gear the best we felt we needed to.

Hit the trail, back to camp and the next day was an epic day of climbing! Fortunately, I have never needed a rescue from the wilderness. Many backcountry explorers know they will need to be self-reliant, and able to self-rescue. This couple was knowledgeable, and skilled. They were able to get off the wall, to relative safety. Preparedness, communication, and knowledge (of self, each other and the tasks at hand) are the most valuable tools in any setting.

If you liked this story check out others by John Lutz: The Mountain, The Desert, The Rescue, Backpack to Pass run