Five Days of Disaster
By Mark Lane
My outdoor trips are great. Well, usually they are great. I’ve climbed the wrong summit; suffered an unplanned bivy; survived rain, snow, whiteout and lightning. But these are mere trifles - seeds to grow tall tales for the campfire or pub - compared to my last club trip. Heinous, frightening, epic: these words don’t begin to describe it. Blood, pain, and disease are more appropriate. Five days of unrelenting disaster that changed me forever. Let me tell you about it.
The first day, all 17 participants met at the Canmore Clubhouse. I could write a whole story about their personalities, but will let you meet them through our adventure. Our leaders were John Peachell and his wife, Shelley Secord. I had heard John was a cardiac surgeon, but he looked like a climber to me, deriving his energy from a continuous intake of caffeinated beverage. Shelley, on the other hand, appeared to have an abundance of natural energy. Although she let John lead, she was quick to jump in if he strayed too far from the path. With John’s leadership and Shelley’s shepherding we set out on our journey. The day was uneventful and we arrived at our destination on schedule, with plenty of time for dinner and relaxation before bed. So far, so good.
On the second day we started early and all was going well until the people at the front of the group came to an abrupt stop. “Hey, check out this dummy sleeping on the trail!” someone called. “Maybe he’s not sleeping,” Mike responded as he knelt next to him, “Dude, are you okay?” Getting no response, Mike bent low over the victim. After ten seconds he exclaimed loudly, “Hey, this guy isn’t breathing!” Kazue sprang into action. She slipped a medical barrier mask over the victim’s nose and mouth, and gave him a couple of measured breaths. Mike, wasting no time, had already moved on to a pulse check. “His heart has stopped,” he announced, and immediately started cardio pulmonary resuscitation. John encouraged a steady rhythm and efficient transitions between Mike’s chest compressions and Kazue’s rescue breaths. Rod, our technical guru, pulled a portable radio from his pack and sent out a call for help. Several minutes later the drama came to a close as a bright red rescue helicopter thundered to a landing in a cloud of dust and debris. The rescuers, looking smart in their orange jumpsuits, casually stepped out and took charge. We helped load the victim into the rescue basket and soon were watching the helicopter sink from sight down the valley, heading toward Banff.
The victim’s hiking day was over, but ours was still young. After a leisurely lunch we hit the trail with gusto. Maybe too much gusto. As we were powering up a hill Jason suddenly clutched his chest and sat down, breathing heavily. Ray stepped forward and carefully questioned him about his medical history. It turned out that Jason had had an angioplasty several years earlier and was taking nitroglycerin. Unfortunately, he had made the mistake of leaving his medication in his car. Again Rod’s radio crackled to life and again the red rescue helicopter with the sharply dressed rescuers came and went, this time whisking Jason to civilization. After the helicopter had disappeared, the group agreed that we had had enough excitement for one day, and settled down for the night.
Day three dawned cold and dreary, reflecting the mood of the group. Despite our unease, the morning passed uneventfully and we were beginning to think the worst was over. Then Mike, turning to talk to the person behind him, tripped, tumbled over a small cliff, and crashed into a grove of trees. Francis immediately ensured everyone else was safe, then climbed down to Mike and methodically checked him from head to toe. Despite the distraction of Mike’s incessant complaining about pain in his leg and numbness in his toes, Francis completed his exam, diagnosing a broken femur. He enlisted Laurie’s help to treat it while he went on to monitor and record Mike’s vital signs. Laurie deftly fashioned a splint from several trekking poles and an avalanche shovel and soon had Mike immobilized from toe to shoulder. This time the rescue professionals were overheard muttering something about poor group management before they loaded Mike into the helicopter and thundered down the valley.
A sense of impending doom settled over the group as John got us moving. Although he insisted we were doing well, the feeling permeated the group, with, it turns out, good reason. Shortly after moving out, Jodi vomited twice in rapid succession and sat down heavily, hugging her abdomen. Dan stepped up and quickly checked her out. “I think she’s got a ruptured appendix,” he said, to which John replied, “So, what’s your plan?” “Evacuate!” everybody cried, but evacuation wasn’t in the cards this time. Rod’s radio didn’t have the correct repeater frequencies, so we set about protecting Jodi from the elements and treating for shock, hoping she would survive the night.
Day four arrived abruptly with the scream of the rescue helicopter’s turbine engine. Rod had figured out the radio during the night and put in a rescue call for Jodi. Robert, succumbing to the temptation of a rapid exit, announced that he had had enough and was leaving with Jodi. “I’ve got to look after my dog,” he said weakly as he shook hands all around and jumped into the helicopter. The rest of us determined to stay the course, come hell, high water, or some, as yet, unimaginable accident. Peter seemed close to the edge of insanity, hiking not only with a full pack, but carrying in his arms a tarp, sleeping bag, foam pad, first aid kit and hockey stick, “Just in case someone breaks something.” Maybe he was insane, or perhaps prescient. In any case, he was better prepared than I. Moments after the helicopter left, I tripped on a protruding root and pitched down a steep scree slope. Something snapped sharply and an exquisite pain flooded my ankle. As I lay screaming in the dirt, Julius calmly sat down and began writing in his book while Kristin and Carsten roughly poked and prodded my body, relaying their findings to him. When Kristin calmly commented, “Cool. His tibia and fibula are BOTH sticking through his skin,” I freaked out, “I’m in serious pain here and you guys are writing a novel!? Fix my ankle!”
“Helicopter’s here,” Rod said, and shortly afterwards I was airborne, swapping climbing stories and trying to barter for morphine from the rescue technicians. My trip was definitely over, but the others were still out there. Paranoia reigned the rest of the day. What terrible surprises were yet to be revealed?
It wasn’t long until they found out. That afternoon, as Shelley led the group over a small rise in the trail Kazue called out, “It’s John, he’s bleeding all over the place!” Sure enough, John lay shivering on the ground, babbling about a bear and bleeding from the chest, forearm, head, and throat. Carsten immediately took charge, and the group, now accustomed to working together, quickly and efficiently identified and assessed John’s multiple injuries: bleeding from the right side of the chest, sucking chest wound on the left side, open fracture of the right radial and ulnar bones, lacerations to the top of the head and left side of the throat, broken left ankle, and pending shock. The ground was soon littered with the paraphernalia of the rescue – backpacks, first aid kits, splinting material, tarps, sleeping bags and foam pads – as everyone tackled the job of keeping John alive, stable, and comfortable until advanced medical care became available. This time the group was close enough to the highway that the professionals came by ambulance, giving the red helicopter with its orange-suited rescuers a much needed break.
Later that afternoon, Shelley played a video she had made of John’s rescue. Despite the stress of the day everyone was in good spirits, laughing and joking as they analyzed their performance.
Day five arrived with a general feeling of anxiety mixed with excitement, with many reporting nightmares or insomnia. How bad could the final day be? Really bad. Despite the relative safety of the hospital, I broke both forearms and was impaled by broken glass. Everyone else had at least one serious and a couple of minor injuries each, except for Shelley, who was unhurt. Come to think of it, Shelley was the only one who wasn’t injured on the entire trip. Mere coincidence? Hmm.
That afternoon, we regrouped at our destination with surprisingly high spirits. As we made our goodbyes before leaving for home, many said that the trip had been their absolute best. Some even promised to return in September for John and Shelley’s next five day trip.
My mother told me a million times not to exaggerate, and I sometimes heed her advice, although clearly not in this case. None of the injuries mentioned in this article were real; they were simulations designed to reinforce theory and build practical skills in a realistic outdoor environment. We were on a 40 hour Advanced Wilderness First Aid course run for the Alpine Club by Wilderness Medical Consultants of Golden, B.C., John and Shelley’s company (www.WildernessMedicalConsultants.ca). The course took place April, 2009 at the Club’s Canmore clubhouse, which proved an ideal venue, providing classroom space, nearby outdoor terrain suitable for scenarios, and accommodation for those needing it.
John and Shelley make an excellent team, with an efficient, clear and practical style. Their knowledge and experience in the medical and climbing environments, combined with their passion for teaching, prove an unbeatable combination. I highly recommend the course for anyone going into the backcountry, especially those leading groups or undertaking multi-day trips.
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