In Praise of Search and Rescue

The stretch of Trail from Stehekin to Stevens Pass is considered one of the most difficult of the entire PCT and definitely the most difficult in Washington. It is 110 miles of deep wilderness with no roads and no way to exit the wilderness. The stretch comes early in the southbound journey and was understandably intimidating to all of us. I planned to do it in seven days and six nights. There was still snow clinging to the high mountain passes, which was melting fast due to the early season heat wave we were experiencing. Views were magnificent, the trail lifted me up to the highest highs only to plummet me once again to the bottom of a river valley choked with vegetation thick enough to completely obscure the trail. This was the section that also contained the highest count of downfall trees on a huge ridge climb so that not only where we climbing steeply uphill, but at frequent intervals climbing over downed old growth size Douglas fir and spruce logs.

On day 11  I made it up to Fire Creek Pass which still holds the record for my most beautiful campsite on the PCT. It was a high pass with views of the north and central cascades, looking south toward the Alpine Lakes area. The light was ethereal and beautiful, the flowers were bodacious and brave and the birds were filling the breeze with their music. I woke early, enjoyed my morning coffee and oatmeal and headed out alone. I was just realizing that I was halfway through this intimidating section, 55 miles of the 110 miles , the deepest I could possibly get into the wilderness and away from any roads. I was loving it! 

Fairly soon, I saw a hiker sitting in the trail. I thought she must be having breakfast, but as I got closer, I saw that her left shoe was off and her foot was elevated on her backpack. This had clearly been an accident. She had slipped on some mud and tumbled down the steep slope and then spent 45 minutes climbing her way back up to the trail alone where she had been resting for 20 minutes or so before I came upon her. The foot and ankle were badly swollen already and she was holding her satellite emergency device in her hand, wondering if it was time to press the SOS button. We had never met so I introduced myself as Susan and she said “Oh, I’ve heard of you“. She was not in shock and was tolerating the pain amazingly well, but with a little experimentation it was clear she could not put any weight on this ankle and there was no way for her to walk out  of the wilderness. I agreed with her that this is the time for the SOS button, this is why we carry these devices although we never expect to actually need them. It felt pretty momentous to watch her press that button and hold it down for 30 seconds to activate the emergency response. To our mutual relief there was an answer within five minutes. “What is the nature of your emergency?” A few text exchanges later, the device announced that a helicopter would arrive at 10:30 AM and there would be no charge! 

This seemed unbelievable. I thought to myself that I would believe it when I saw it as I let go of my aspirations to hike any particular distance that day and committed myself to stay with the injured hiker until she was safely packaged up and airlifted out. It was already at least 8 AM, and we were deep in the wilderness, tucked on a steep hillside trail of a remote valley. The injured hiker and I talked about what happened to her, but in the end what was most helpful to her was to talk about things that distracted her from her situation and her pain. We were killing time. At 10:29 we heard the unmistakable sound of the chopper. A helicopter at close range has a primal impact on the nervous system. I could feel tears welling up, tears of relief and gratitude and amazement. They located us fairly quickly with large circles around the canyon and then hovered over the flattest spot long enough to drop down two rescuers. I hiked down to meet these amazing professionals who efficiently followed me up to my new friend and short-lived trail companion and begin assessing her. They had materials to splint her ankle and in not long at all they tucked a rescue blanket around her back, secured it with the largest carabiner I’ve ever seen, and the helicopter lifted into position to drop a line. One of the rescuers had already hiked back to the helicopter with her backpack while the other stayed with her to hook her up to the rescue line. Once secured, hand signals were made and up she went. My role in all this was more maternal and medical, more friend than professional , and in the chaos of the wind from the chopper blades and trying not to have my glasses blown off my face, I managed to fail to film her actually getting lifted off the ground into the helicopter (Sorry!!!) Once she was safely aboard, the line came down again, lifted the remaining rescuer off the ground and away they went headed for a hospital. 

Those of us left on the ground, two additional hikers had come by this time and lingered to watch the rescue, were filled with adrenaline and a sickening kind of dread. The mix of emotions as we hiked away was complex. I had job envy of these skilled search and rescue EMTs. (Is it too late for me to become a search and rescue wilderness EMT?) What an amazing event. Sadness for our hiker-friend whose PCT was over all too soon. We all know how long it takes to get ready to hike the PCT and how many things we have had to give up or leave behind. But also there was such relief that actually it was clear that she would be OK. Whatever the actual diagnosis of the ankle, she would recover from this injury, thank goodness for that. I hiked with speed and power that afternoon, working off the adrenaline in my own system, but by the end of that day, I was completely spent physically and emotionally. 

We found out later that this young hiker had a fracture of both the tibia and fibula and would require surgery. “There, but for the grace of God, go I” echoed in my mind. This accident could have happened to anyone, a slightly mistaken foot placement and the trail gives away. Everything can change in an instant.

My admiration and gratitude for the highly skilled professionals and volunteers of Snohomish County search and rescue cannot be overstated, nor can the importance of carrying an emergency satellite device. Thanks to Garmin and all the invisible cogs in the wheel that made this rescue possible.