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Reflections on a Mountain Rescue
Carol Masheter After a fine scramble up Hayden Peak (around
12,400 feet elevation), on August 19, 2001, our descent began as
usual. Wasatch Mountain Club members picked their way down the
towers to the ridge connecting Hayden and Agassiz in small groups, at
their own pace. I was still on
relatively solid rock this connecting ridge, heading for the spur many of us had hiked up from the Highline Trailhead earlier in the day. I noticed that Pete and Jan, and perhaps others, were below me. Suddenly Jan disappeared, I heard a loud crash, and saw several large rocks bouncing down the mountain. I screamed "Rock! Rock!" as loud as I could to warn people below. I had a sickening sense that at least one person had been injured by those falling rocks. The only training I have had was earning a
first aid badge as a Girl Scout 45 years ago. I was afraid that I
would find badly hurt people -- or worse -- and panic, freeze, or
faint. Yet I knew I had to face my fear and see whether I could
help.
I picked a careful route, first along the
ridge so I was no longer above where I had last seen Pete and Jan, then I
angled back toward them through the loose rock. I could see Pete and
Jan, now to my right. Jan was sitting, his back toward me and the
slope, his left hand clutching his scalp. Pete was standing in front
of Jan, facing me. To my relief, Pete appeared to be
uninjured. As I moved closer, I could see that the back of Jan's
head, neck, and the left side of his face were drenched with blood.
I greeted them, put my hand on Jan's left shoulder, and spoke as
reassuringly and calmly as possible.
Jan expressed concern about the
bleeding. I assured him that I would work on controlling the
bleeding, but I more concerned about possible head and neck
injuries. Jan said he could move his neck, which must mean it was
not broken, right? and started to demonstrate. I said, "Please,
don't do that. Being able to move does not mean nothing is
broken. I want Cheryl (Soshnik)'s professional opinion before you
move anything. While we're waiting, I'll help you with this
bleeding."
By now, Don Martin had scrambled down to
us. We all took inventory of what first aid materials we had.
Even our largest gauze squares looked inadequate, so I pressed folded one
bandana, then another next to it, on Jan's bleeding scalp. I wanted
to press hard enough
to stop the bleeding, but if his skull or neck were fractured, I did not want to press too hard. I used the bandanas and Jan's hair to form a wet bandage, which were not the perfect sterile dressing, stopped the bleeding within about 15 minutes. Jan was lucid and calm, though he talked
about being sure that his fall would kill him, of seeing his own blood
flying in all directions as he took several tumbles down the slope, of
being sure that one of the tumbling boulders would crush and kill
him. I could only imagine the strength it took for him to remain
calm during his fall, and now, sitting here, no doubt in considerable
pain.
As I worked and Jan talked, Pete and Don
handed me materials. We were able to work as a team without moving
Jan or ourselves and risking more rock fall. I asked Jan the usual
mental status questions, What is the day and date, where are you? I
avoided looking further down the slope, where more loose rock and soil, if
it slid, could dump us all over a cliff band. I wiped blood from
Jan's face and neck to be sure I was not missing additional major
bleeds. Don suggested Tylenol and water. I had a faint memory
that for head injuries medication is a bad idea, because it can interfere
with mental status assessment, increase bleeding, and/or make the injured
person drowsy when that person needs to stay conscious. I did offer
Jan water, because I was concerned about dehydration. The rest of
Jan's body appeared uninjured -- no obvious displaced fractures or major
lacerations, but I was concerned about less obvious fractures, internal
injuries, and internal bleeding, which I was not qualified to detect
safely. I decided not to tape anything to Jan's head in case Cheryl and
other medical professionals needed to examine or treat his injuries in the
field. However, no tape meant I had to hold the bandanas to keep the
strong gusts of dusty wind, with lots from blowing away my make-shift wet
bandages.
It seemed like a long time before Cheryl
arrived, but it was only about 15 minutes. I felt relieved to turn
over the decision making to her, with her extensive training and
xperience. I also was relieved that she agreed with most of my
decisions, except for giving Jan water. Pete tried calling 911 with
his cell phone, though he was doubtful that its low battery and
unregistered status would permit a connection. To our relief, he was
able to connect and report our situation and location.
Cheryl was central organizing us
further and delegating tasks while we waited for Life Flight: one group
looked for the best place for the helicopter to land on the ridge, another
group found the flattest area near Jan in case the rescue personnel needed
to work on him before flying him out. Everyone was generous in
loaning us extra clothes, when Jan began to
shiver.
Others have recounted the rest of the day's
events, so I will not repeat them. However, I must add that
everyone, including Jan, remained calm and helped in whatever ways
that they could. Each of us has rough edges, but today we worked
smoothly and efficiently as a team. So many things could have gone
wrong -- Jan's injury could have been worse, he could have been agitated
and/or uncooperative, others could have panicked and gotten hurt or lost,
Pete's cell phone might not have worked or Life Flight might not have been
able to lift
Jan out and several of us would have spent a cold, dangerous night on that unstable slope with Jan, the helicopter could have crashed, the threatening thunderstorms might have soaked and chilled. We were truly fortunate. Out of respect and gratitude to my fellow
Wasatch Mountain Club members and the Life Flight crew who risked their
lives to help us, I have committed myself to get more training in
wilderness medicine. |