We join the Wasatch Mountain Club and share our recreation for many reasons: friendship, introductions to new places, safety. While we generally focus on the happier aspects of our trips, having well-prepared companions who can work together is perhaps the most valuable benefit of the Club. When a crisis strikes, there is no substitute for teamwork.

It was a beautiful day and we made it to the first cliffband without any trouble. We found a small chimney to get most of us through, while others found alternate routes. We then proceeded up and across a boulder field to the ridge line. The ridge provided fairly easy access to the last knob of the peak. We thought this was going to be our final challenge of the day, and it did take a false start before finding a route that most of us were comfortable with. But soon, all who wished to summit were lunching at the top and admiring the starkness of the land above treeline. We also had a bird's eye view of the Mill Hollow Fire southeast of Kamas, especially the long plume of smoke that stretched for 20 miles.

The 1st half of the trip down was uneventful, but as usually happens on such a large hike, we ended up hiking in several smaller groups. When we got back to the main boulder field, 5 of us were together, with another 5 a quarter of a mile behind us. I happened to be in front, but since we were crossing a boulder field, each of us was picking his own route. Unfortunately, Jan Brain picked a route that was more
dangerous than he realized.

I heard a very loud rockslide behind me and turned to see something I hope I never see again: a friend cartwheeling down a 40 degree slope. The sight was so shocking, that it took half a moment to register as real. But then I knew without thinking that I was closest to him and that the priority was to simply get down there, wherever that ended up being. I was far enough ahead that I could descend fairly quickly without dropping additional rocks onto him. The next shock was a pleasant one: he had come to a stop in a seated position, was alert, and had his hand compressing the only wound that had occurred. "Jan, are you OK?"
"Yes, but my head hurts and my neck doesn't move very well. I think I can make it down." At that point, I think I was more disoriented than he was, because a person surviving that serious a fall should be far more badly injured. His scalp wound was still bleeding profusely, but they tend to do that, and nothing else was out of place. Nonetheless, I wasn’t going to let him move, and took a position just below him so I could ensure he wouldn’t slide any farther. Carol Masheter and Don Martin arrived quickly, took an inventory of first aid gear, applied a kerchief as a compress, and then we waited for Cheryl to arrive.

If you do get into a situation like this, it's nice to have a medical professional along, and very comforting if she's an EMT. Cheryl did her evaluation, and the essence of the conversation was, "I hear a crunching sound when I turn my neck this way." "So don't do that, sit still, we're calling LifeFlight". Although I did have a cell phone, I didn't know if we could get a signal so far from any town, nor if the batteries were strong enough to last an entire phone call (NB: check every week!), nor if it is true that even non-registered phones can call 911. So while I went about answering these questions, Cheryl briefed Steve Carr and Don on exactly what to tell the 911 operator. That trip proved unnecessary, but we were glad that we had enough personnel to have been able to safely send 2 people back to the parking lot to begin the rescue. We were able to reach 911, give them detailed descriptions of Jan's condition and our location (turns out that they do load the chopper differently depending on the medical needs), and then proceeded to stabilize Jan further.

Everyone provided additional jackets and thermal wear. Barb Hanson got a gold star for having a stiff foam pad which Cheryl recognized would make a perfect cervical collar. Jan felt instant relief from it, and we secured it around his neck with duct tape from Carol's ski pole. While we did this, the rest of the group returned to the ridge to try to find or create a landing pad for the chopper. I had been involved in another rescue several years ago and learned that pilots want an absolutely level surface to set down on. Of course, 'level' to a hiker is very different from 'level' to a pilot, so those efforts went for naught, but this is the kind of potentially useful activity that takes time and can be done while waiting for a rescue. You just don't know what is going to be necessary, and you don't have much time once they are onsite.

Then we sat back and waited. "So, Jan, what happened up there." "Well, I was walking around a boulder that was so large I assumed it wouldn't move. But it was just as loose as this gravel we keep kicking down. When I touched it, it started sliding, and I couldn't avoid sliding with it. All I could think was, 'This is not good. This is not going to have a good ending. I'm probably going to die.' Then I fell over backwards for what felt like 15' before landing on my head with a crunch. From there, it was just tumbling until I stopped right here." ‘Here’ was a fairly good place to stop, as another 30’ downslope was a cliffband that was above at least 100’ of open scree, and that much extra tumbling would have made the situation much worse.

There's nothing quite like seeing a helicopter flying in toward you, knowing that you are the reason so much effort is being made. It brings a very sobering focus to the mind. Included in that focus was the realization that our situation was not good. We were about 11,500' ASL and about 100' down from the ridge line, with wide open exposure to the west. This meant that finding us was relatively easy, with people on the ridge being obvious reference points and those of us huddled with Jan being in the open. But it also meant that all the air sweeping eastward from the large system over Utah was pushing air directly at us, then up 1500’ from the valley floor and over the ridge line. The plume from the Kamas fire was as long as ever. And a squall was dropping virga just off to our northwest. When we later asked the medic how the winds were, he tersely replied, "squirrelly".

So the pilot made a general fly-by, then circled once to fly toward us from farther south along the ridge, then circled again to see if the winds were the same on a subsequent pass. Evidently this gave them enough info to realize they had to plan carefully, so they flew down to the trailhead to prepare. Not evident was how bad they thought it was.

Carrie Clark was down in the parking lot by now. "We were just about to leave at 3:45 when a ranger strolled by and said nonchalantly, 'They're about to do a Life Flight rescue. Someone fell off Hayden Peak. Want to watch?' I almost threw up, figuring it had to one of us." When the chopper landed, everyone went over to the field to find out what they could. Carrie continues, "When the skies darkened and the lightning was threatening, just after the first reconnaisance, the pilot was white as a sheet, and kept saying 'This is bad; this is bad.' He informed us he was running out of fuel, too."

They could have waited for Search and Rescue to arrive, but realized it would be 2 hrs after that before they could get to us. So they decided they would bring a medic up to us, have him evaluate the situation, and take it from there. Up they came, making the same long approach from the south, then another, slower pass at eye level in hopes that our location would allow them to winch the medic directly to us. A good hard look proved that inadvisable, so they went up to the ridge, nose into the wind and winched the medic 15' to the relatively level ground of the ridge above us. By now, Steve and Don knew the best route from the ridge to us, and carefully walked the grey-haired gentleman down. I reached out my hand for him and said, "Good to see you." To this he replied, looking at this very tentative perch we were on, "Thanks, but I can't say I'm happy to be here."

We got him in place directly in front of Jan, he looked at the work Cheryl had done, did a quick evaluation, and said there was nothing more he needed to do except figure out how to get him off of there. Kudos to Cheryl. There were three exit possibilities, but 2 were almost impossible under the circumstances. The immediate area wasn't flat enough to lay down a Stokes litter and put Jan into it. The terrain wasn't stable enough to haul Jan up to a flat spot. Jan was already in a seated position, so the most practical choice (albeit with greatest risk of further neck injury) was to put him into a climbing harness and lift him out directly. Jan was fine with that, so we told the pilot of our plan and went to work hooking Jan up.

With four of us working, each at a different point relative to Jan, nobody had to move in order to get the job done. The medic never even removed his pack, as I could get into it easily to pull out the harness, helmet and carabiners. It all went very smoothly, and the medic clearly appreciated the help. He returned the favor by offering us his climbing rope to use while downclimbing to my pack, which had been blown 30' downslope by propwash. He asked that we please return the rope, and at this, Don spoke up to say that he worked at IHC, knew the Life Flight director and would be sure to return it. He added that he worked in the legal department and could certify that this rescue was being done by the book! We really had all the bases covered, and I think we put the medic at such ease that he forgot that it was his call to bring the chopper back up. When he did call down to ask their status, the pilot replied that he was just waiting for the word.

So one last time we waited for the helicopter to arrive, hanging out on the mountainside with our new friend. He asked Jan his age, and finding out they were about the same age, scolded him for not knowing better. A few laughs later and the helicopter was nearing the ridgeline, so I asked him if there was anything he needed to tell us before the noise level got too loud. We had heard him talk about taking them out in a chair, so we thought they might be lowering a basket of some sort and need help getting Jan into it. Once again, our friend snapped back into "task mode" and realized he needed to get us out of the way. The word 'chair' was apparently a euphemism for hanging your butt out over infinity", designed to keep a victim relaxed. The support mechanisms were simply the harnesses they were both earing, and the escape route was a secure hook at the end of a cable. No need for extra people around, so we moved off to the nearest rocky area, just out of range of the direct propwash.

So the line came down, the pilot was able to hold the chopper quite steady, and it only took a couple attempts to get the hook to the medic and have him secure the connection. Jan reports that that “Click!” was one of the highlights of the day. Pull the line taught, take on the extra weight, lift them off the ground, ease the craft slowly up and west to prevent any swinging into the ridge, and start the descent into the valley. Before they got below eye level, the pair twisted a bit on the cable, and now looking back at us, Jan waved goodbye. Cheryl caught it on film, and we all waved back.

From Cheryl’s official incident report: “The group was great...there were 7 of us there to help Jan. Everyone worked in good teamwork and all should be commended. The cell phone and the blue foam pad saved the day. Because the group was well prepared (we'd had a 10E's check earlier in the trip even :-) we had plenty of first aid supplies and warm clothing for Jan.”

Granted, Cheryl and I were at the center of it all and may be considered biased, but the medics told Jan that they had never seen such competent temporary care given to an accident victim. And that the calmness and professionalism of the entire group made the rescue much easier than it could have been.

Finally, the most touching evaluation comes from an incident that Carrie reports took place at the trailhead. “A bystander lent us his binoculars; we sat and watched the entire process for 2 hrs. The guy was so impressed with the way this was handled that he wants to join WMC now.” To me, this was the best demonstration of the power of teamwork, that a chance observer could recognize how well the group worked together. I am very proud to have been a part of it, and very happy to be a member of this Club.

Epilog: I talked with Jan 48 hrs after the accident. Nothing was broken, and he’d been released from the hospital as soon as they could sew up his wounds. He didn’t sleep at all that first night, and not much more the 2nd. Too much pain? Too much trauma? Nope, too much excitement over being alive after a life-threatening experience. Does he plan to take it easier in the future? Nope, just more carefully. In fact, he is looking forward to going back up on Hayden and walking down under his own power. As he said to the hospital staff that night, “Of course I’m going to work tomorrow. Why should I waste a vacation day when I can use it to go hiking?”