Hypothermic cross-country skier
By Henry
Negrete
The last
hurrah of the winter season came on the weekend
of the 15th and 16th of March. Like all winter
storms this one was no respecter of persons. Such
was the case of Edward Ferlise, 47 years old from
San Diego. He chose this weekend to go cross
country skiing, with nine other local Sierra Club
members, from Long Valley to Mt. San Jacinto Peak
and back to Long Valley.
The group was
skiing down from the peak and Mr. Ferlise became
separated from the others. Not anticipating this
storm (which could overwhelm even the most
experienced mountaineer if not prepared) the
group went on ahead through Round Valley and
eventually ended up back at the upper tramway
station. At 6:00 p.m. the group reported to the
State Park Ranger that Mr. Ferlise was missing.
They reported that they had last seen him at 4:30
p.m. at the saddle between San Jacinto Peak and
Jean Peak. By the time the Rangers were able to
roll, the storm had settled in and it was snowing
better than two inches an hour. The Park Rangers
sent out two hasty search parties of two and the
RMRU was contacted and put on standby status by
10:30 p.m. The Park Rangers searched without
success in near whiteout conditions.
It was
requested that RMRU join the search at first
light and the weather didn't care that we would
be out there either. The temperature was in the
teens and the wind was beginning to blow hard,
making the wind chill factor below OOF. RMRU
members on site were: Joe Erickson, Jim
Fairchild, Rob Gardner, Mark Rhoads, Bud White,
Walt Walker, and Henry Negrete.
None of us
were looking forward to pitching ourselves into
the wiles of winter, but the thought of someone
caught out there unprepared for the worst, gives
those of us who are trained and equipped the
willingness to go and do our best.
We deployed in three groups of two
into the field with our operations leader manning
radio at base. Our objective was to search the
areas north and east of the point last seen (PLS)
and converge with the Park units searching south
and west.
The weather
was not letting up and we were soon plagued with
other problems. Two of our team members were
succumbing to illnesses they were battling prior
to the mission, so they were re-assigned to
limited duties along the eastern perimeter. (I
tip my hat to those guys who go out and give a
hand when no one expects them to). This left us
with only two teams to penetrate deeper toward
the PLS. Shortly after this incident one of the
Park teams was sending broken transmissions (a
sign of radio failure for the close proximity we
were in) but his radio lasted just long enough to
announce he had found Mr. Ferlise and that his
general location was Tamarack Valley.
We were
instructed by our Operations Leader, Walt Walker,
to proceed toward Round Valley to meet Senior
Park Ranger Bob Foster and assist with a litter.
We met up with
the Ranger enroute and he advised us that he had
another detail bringing in the litter, so we
could head in to assist with Mr. Ferlise. As we
hastened our pace toward Tamarack it seemed like
it would take forever, the snow was now over two
feet deep, wet and heavy. (No fun even in
snowshoes, if you know what I mean).
The Ranger was
still unable to make radio contact to zero in on
them, so we had to resort to shouting, and soon
we heard the shrill of an emergency whistle. As
we moved in we could see that Mr. Ferlise was
clown, though still conscious. He was dangerously
deep into first stage hypothermia.
Dressed only
in a light ski jacket, light Gore-Tex pants, and
cross country ski boots, he had virtually no
protection from this kind of storm.
We
administered warm soup to start warming him from
the inside and all the dry clothing we had on
board to his outside to try and stabilize him.
We considered
setting up camp to administer further hypothermic
aid, but opted to package him up in the litter
and move to the Round Valley Rangers hut which
was about a half mile away. And a long half mile
it was. One would think that pulling a fiberglass
litter in the snow would go easy. Under these
snow conditions nothing was further from the
truth.
The hut was a welcome sight and it
felt darn good to have a break from the foul
weather. As we rested, refueled our bodies, and
reassessed Mr. Ferlise's condition, we also hoped
and prayed for a break in the weather so that we
could evacuate Mr. Ferlise by helicopter.
We kept in
constant radio contact with base operations as to
the weather conditions for a clearing, and
meanwhile arrangements were being made to bring
in the team's Cascade toboggan which is specially
made for snow evacuation.
Well, like I
said in the beginning: "The weather is no
respecter of persons." After waiting it out
for one and a half hours we had no choice but to
resume on foot.
After about
another two hours of slogging through the deep
snow we met up with the toboggan team. Mr.
Ferlise was transferred into the toboggan, litter
and all, reassessed, and we were off with renewed
vitality.
The going got
a little more intense as we maneuvered along the
tight trails which ran along the steep drainages,
but once again the training in subject care and
methodical planning paid off.
Everyone got a
good workout and never suffered a dull moment.
All were relieved at the sight of the tram
station, none more than Mr. Ferlise.
Back at the
tram as we wound down this mission we all learned
that Mr. Ferlise was a novelist. The first
thought that came to me was, how lucky for him to
be able to write about being literally snatched
from the grips of death.
I hope all
others we eventually will go in after will be so
fortunate.
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