By Jameson Fox, Douglas County Search and Rescue
It was a dark and stormy night…
Okay, just kidding. It was a warm and peaceful Saturday evening. My phone beeped at 6:49 pm: “RESCUE – Colorado Trail.” Someone had given an SOS via Apple watch saying he was stuck in deep snow and having difficulty getting out. Communication with him was spotty, but we learned that he had some food and water. We had just finished dinner, so the kids promised to be good for scriptures and I got my gear on, turned on my radio, put the pilot in “sport” mode (a rare treat that I save for such occasions) and headed out.
We were originally told to meet at the Waterton Canyon trailhead just west of Chatfield Lake, but while enroute there was some debate about what the best approach to the SOS location would be. We ended up splitting our forces in three places: Waterton Canyon coming from the north, another team coming from Highway 67 in the south, and a drone team up near the archery range. I got to Waterton Canyon at about 7:15 pm and headed up to the trailhead with teammates Will and Michelle in her 4Runner.
A sheriff’s deputy was at the trailhead and he warned us of snow and ice on the trail, so we put on micro spikes. I chugged a bottle of water and we headed out with full packs and snowshoes strapped on the back. Will took team lead; he has the most medical experience. Michelle was on communications and I was given the job of navigating, so I opened the CalTopo app and started recording tracks. I plugged my phone into the portable charger my mom gave me for traveling because the app sucks battery quickly, especially in cold weather.
The first half mile was deceptively easy, with slushy snow but no ice, and warm temperatures. As the crow flies, it looked like we were only two and a half miles from his SOS ping, so I was optimistic that we would get there fast but warned my teammates that the topo lines showed quite a bit of elevation gain, loss, and gain again. That turned out to be an understatement. It was actually closer to four miles.
The first mile and a half was very difficult, with several downed trees from the recent storm, some serious elevation gain, and steep switchbacks for the last half mile. At 8:45 pm, we crested to a point called “Lenny’s Bench,” where a big wooden bench with a plaque commemorates a kid named Lenny who used to love hiking there before he died young from illness. Weather was still above freezing and we were in short sleeves. We headed down the back side of that ridge and quickly lost the elevation we had just gained.
Jim and Danil caught up to us about a half mile later; they had set out about 30 minutes after us but were traveling lighter. Base command instructed us to go on together.
We learned that the team coming from the south was not even able to get to the trailhead because the road was so deep in snow; one of their truck’s chains snapped and they decided it was safer on foot. They didn’t take snowmobiles because they would not be useful once they made it to the trailhead anyway. Since it was over eight miles to the SOS ping from their location, we were effectively the only team within reaching distance that night.
As we got to the ravine between two mountain ridges, stream crossings became frequent; one was pretty dicey and had us hopping between rocks. We started climbing the next ridge, again with steep switchbacks and this time with more substantial snow. The scattered bits of pine branches on the snow looked like spiders in the full moonlight. We heard our drone flying above us a few times, but the pilot was unable to get eyes on the subject, perhaps because the snow on the dense trees masked the subject’s infrared signature.
When we were about a mile from the SOS ping, we started calling out the subject’s name, with no response. About a half mile from the ping, the snow was over knee deep, even waist deep in places. There was only one set of tracks ahead of us, which we assumed to be our subject’s.
About 100 yards from his ping we finally got an answer in the form of a whistle. That was a happy moment! We whistled to him a few times on approach, and his response was always delayed by a few seconds. Michelle suspected hypothermia.
Finally, around 10:45 pm, we found him sitting by the trail surrounded by deep snow. He was huddled up to keep warm and had removed his wet tennis shoes and socks (yes, tennis shoes, not hiking boots) and wrapped his feet in a shirt to avoid frostbite. My heels had been bothering me and I was tired from the tough slog up there, but the minute we got to him the adrenaline started flowing and my discomfort faded into the background.
Will took point on medical and asked for my sleeping pad, extra ski coat, hand warmers, and high-tech microfiber sleeping bag liner to warm him up. He had run out of food and water at that point, so we gave him some of ours and Jim gave him new socks to change into. The patient evaluation revealed moderate hypothermia and a twisted hip, but no frostbite.
After getting warmed up and resupplied, the subject, Jerry (name changed) said he was willing to try to walk out with us. He said his hip was sore but not serious. I put on my coat and got some food and drink myself, packed everything up, and we headed back down the mountain, slowly. I gave Jerry my extra headlamp. Will and Danil supported Jerry while Jim, Michelle and I walked ahead to clear the path for him, which was easier said than done given the depth of the snow and the fact that the temperature had fallen below freezing. Everything that had been slush was now crusty snow or ice.
We left around 11:10 pm. After a long, slow hike with many stops and many opportunities to contemplate how a second, lesser-known version of mirage happens when moonlight looks like snow on the forest floor, we finally made it back to Lenny’s bench at 1:29 am. Jerry was in bad shape for the last half mile, complaining about his hip and nausea, and he just gave out at Lenny’s bench. We had him lie down on my pad on the eponymous bench and wrapped him in our coats and blankets again.
SAR normally can’t administer medication, so Will called for EMTs to bring up pain meds and Zofran for nausea, and a “bash” (gear) team to bring up the litter, litter wheel, hypo wrap (a chemically heated body wrap for hypothermia patients) and related gear to get Jerry off the mountain. We only had one or two people capable of carrying gear at base command at the time, so Will sent Jim and Danil down to help with the gear. Those guys are troopers—I knew I had energy to get Jerry down off the mountain, but psychologically I’m not sure I would have been able to turn around and hike back up and then back down again. But they did!
Michelle was on comms and Danil had been working on getting a fire started despite the wet kindling, so after gathering some wood I pulled out the big guns—vaseline-soaked cotton balls and EZfire. That stuff can literally burn floating in water. Pretty soon the fire was too big and we had to tone it down. Jerry was well enough to lie with his back propped against the bench and warm himself by the fire. We got him more to drink and hunkered down for help. I cut my thumb sometime during the fire prep. We told dad jokes to pass the time and keep Jerry alert.
At around 3:00 am, the EMTs radioed to say they would send the meds up with the bash team and authorized Will to administer them. Will is a physician’s assistant by profession, so he was masterful at treating Jerry, both in terms of knowledge/skill and bedside manner.
At around 4:00 am, the bash team arrived. We counted their headlamps one by one as they appeared out of the dark forest—seven of them! Besides Jim and Danil, there was Eric, Darren, Caitlin, Pam and Jessie. Man, that is like getting an extra present on Christmas when you think you’ve already opened them all!
Pam brought extra water for me, since I had either drunk all of mine or given it to Jerry. We loaded Jerry into the litter and wrapped him in the hypo wrap, snug as a bug in a warm rug. A 260-pound bug.
We put out the fire, wrapped up all our gear, tied Jerry down tight, put a helmet on his head, placed the litter on the wheel, and started the slow, arduous descent. Think of riding a unicycle down an icy mountain in the dark, with downed trees and steep drop-offs along the way. Michelle, Danil and Caitlin carried extra gear. Jessie and Eric took the front and back of the litter. Jim and I were on either side. Will carried the anchor rope, tied to the litter in case things went downhill too fast. Pam and Darren went ahead with saws to cut the downed trees.
Slowly but surely, we made our way down the mountain. It was quite the feeling being on the slope-side of the litter and knowing it was my job to stop something like 350 pounds from tilting off the edge. This requires quite trust in the other folks holding the litter. A few times I had to peel off to avoid running smack into a tree or walking off into thin air. Darren and Pam did a great job with their saws, and we only had to go over a log two or three times.
Finally, tired and sore, we reached the bottom around 5:30 a.m. We untied Jerry from his bonds and got him into Jim’s pickup, which he had driven as far up the trail as he could. We piled into the back and drove to the trailhead, where we met with an ambulance.
Jerry was too tired and nauseous to drive home, but his hip was not life threatening, so he refused ambulance service to the hospital and Will drove him home. I got back to my car right around 5:45 am. A forestry truck was coming in just as we pulled out and the driver must have been surprised to see an entire convoy, including an ambulance, heading out just as they were starting work.
I got home around at 6:15 am and promptly fell asleep on the living room floor without changing or even taking off my boots.