|
  |
Hikers separated, one stranded
By Jim
Fairchild
"Aced
again!"
"Snicker, snicker."
More about the above later.
Chris and
Holly were hikers. They climbed a along way up
the south ridge of Tahquitz Canyon, to an
elevation of over 2,800 feet which is
considerable considering the elevation, 450 feet,
of Palm Springs, where they started. According to
Chris, after they started down, he and Holly took
slightly different routes, resulting in his
seeing her on a sub-ridge before he descended
back to the origin of their hike. Holly did not
show up, so Chris reported her missing and the
Palm Springs Mounted Police, a local search
group, responded.
The Mounties
hiked up a ways, shouted and got Holly's calls in
return, but were unable to pinpoint the location,
and were recalled to base by their department.
The best description they could give us regarding
the area from which the calls emanated was
"on a ledge on the south wall of the
canyon." We too, would have some problems
later pinpointing the location.
Chris said
they separated about 2 p.m. he returned to town
about 5 p.m., the Mounties were called and hiked
during the early part of the evening, and we
(RMRU) were called about 11:30 p.m. The writer
had just finished printing pictures of the recent
search and body recovery of a young man who did
not survive a 400 foot slide down an icy slope
near the tramway, had only fifty minutes before
crawled into bed, and Al's phone call
precipitated a quick drive to the road-head near
Ann & Chester Dolley's home at the west edge
of Palm Springs near the mouth of Tahquitz
Canyon.
We had slim
manpower, meaning that we could field two teams,
Bernie McIlvoy with Cameron Robbins to ascend the
south ridge of Tahquitz Canyon, the writer with
Craig Britton and new member Bill Blaschko, M.D.,
to ascend the canyon bottom itself, going around
he first falls and onto the infamous 'belly-roll'
trail.
The three of
us lumbered across the desert toward the canyon's
mouth in high spirits, confident of victory
(finding Holly, taking care of her, and getting
her out of the hostile, threatening, frightening,
very dark environment). The reader please refer
back to the opening words of this narrative.
A half-mile up
we crossed the creek, with only one wet foot, and
proceeded along the many branched trail toward
the lower falls. Bernie & Cam were now on the
ridge and would occasionally flash their
super-powerful light down on us. The noise of the
tumbling stream blocked any calls Holly may have
made as she watched our progress from the other
side of the canyon, two thousand vertical feet
above and a half-mile south. Of course, we did
not know until after returning to base that she
had a ring-side seat and view of our struggles
upward. After some false trails we got above the
falls and headed into the narrowing Canyon along
the belly-roll trail. One false step along it and
we'd plunge 200 feet and more to join the ranks
of certain unfortunate predecessors. Most of the
way up the trail we stopped for a break and
waited to hear when Bernie and Cam were the same
lateral distance along, but a 1,000 feet above.
Our powerful lights verified this, and we
continued. At the belly-roll, a series of
parallel upthrusting ledges with a cramping
overhang above and open space below, we skittered
across. Shortly we fumbled over a steep, slabby
descent to almost meet the stream, below the
second falls.
Bernie radioed
he had response to his yells, very faint
westward, up the mountain. We turned south and up
to climb the headwall and reach that
aforementioned 2800' level. It was steep and
treacherous. I kept hearing weak calls, but
finally believed it was the Tahquitz Maidens
tormenting me with their plaintive, compelling
voices. Higher and higher, then Craig, now 200
feet below me, called. 'What,' Holly answered.
Of course, by
now the greatest search vehicle known was on
hand, Mike Donovan flying one of Don Landells'
jet rangers. Kevin Walker and Rick Pohlers were
aboard with the loud-hailer, an electrically
impelled voice-magnifying device. I asked them to
fly the huge, high canyon wall across from us,
where beautiful sunshine illuminated the rocks
and shrubs. They did some zig-zags, not quite as
high as where the 'what' seemed to originate.
Kevin and Rick were put out on the pinnacled
ridge above the steepest, narrowest part of the
canyon to call. They were answered, it sounded to
us, on the ridge top now that it came from below
them. They called again, this time they nailed
her down as being north of them (away from the
canyon) at the same elevation. Search is over.
Mike flew back, spotted her, picked up the
victorious orange-parkaed RMRU men, and Holly was
soon aboard, being flown back to civilization,
where she was looking down on most of the night
and this early morning.
'Aced again.'
Bernie and Cam
were 699' below us, and were picked up first,
then we three were plucked from our roost.
Back at base I
walked up to Kevin and said, 'Aced again!' He
answered, 'Snicker, snicker.' just kidding, but
it's a terribly frequent format: some of the
troopies struggle and sweat all night, locate the
subject, then the fellows at base climb into the
helicopter (strenuous move). Fly up, and away,
and grab the subject from under our runny noses.
So what? That's our job, we love it, and we are
forever grateful that Holly and so many others
are alive because the Lord grants us the strength
and skill to accomplish such things.
|
  |