Story Market Day
- Thread starter ComCamGuy
- Start date
ComCamGuy
Remote Paramedical pain in the ass
Garret was in San Diego for his mom's surgery, so I don't see an appearance any time soon
ComCamGuy
Remote Paramedical pain in the ass
Doug couldn’t sleep much. After falling asleep initially, he was back awake at three. After tossing and turning a bit, he gave in and got up. A quick scrub down while his water heated, and a thermos of coffee and he was ready to start the day’s activities.
A quick once over of his equipment loadout was first. His normal Search and Rescue pack and med kit were already in the back of the truck. This was a look and see not a rescue. He had enough stuff in his truck to do light level rescue and accomplish most of the common medical elements he normally ran into.
As he thought about his med kit and anticipated medical issues, he remembered he had to recertify in the spring. Emergency Medical Technicians of all levels had to periodically recertify they had maintained their skills and were still currently able to perform their tasks at the level required. Backcountry (LE) Rangers were required to maintain at least an EMT level. Doug’s was higher. His two other permanent Backcountry partners were Wilderness Advanced EMTs and Doug was a Wilderness Paramedic. Not that he did that much Paramedic stuff. The main thing the Paramedic gave him was the ability to administer advanced pain medication in addition to intravenous fluids like his partners. He wasn’t dragging a cardiac monitor around or administering long term care. As they all joked, he was a ‘paper’ Paramedic with some good drugs.
The “Wilderness” in front of their certifications meant they had been trained in more medical issues to be able to treat as they are evacuating someone form the middle of nowhere. What it amounted to was better training in environmental emergencies and fracture stabilization plus a lot of hyper and hypothermia focus. They knew a ton of ways to make stretchers and traction splints from backpack parts and tree limbs.
Doug dreaded recerting every time. He had to spend weeks studying to get smart enough to survive the classes he had to take. He felt especially dumb after his last refresher class. He took it with that superspook group Garen worked for.
Garen and his wife were nice people, but they were squirrely as all get out. Garen and John (Garen’s boss) would bring a group into the forest for a variety of training events and he would work with them on land nav. It paid stupid level of money for basically the same teaching he would give to any other group. When Garen wanted easier routes to get to the training areas they were using, he showed him some of the old decommissioned logging and mine access roads. After that, he started hanging out with him and his wife in the park some. They started to do more driving and even gave him a couple turns driving their souped up buggies. He knew they lived up off the northwest corner of the Forest and he showed them some routes to get there so they didn’t need to go all the way south to come north.
Garen was teaching the refresher. There were many things they went over that were beyond his scope of practice. They taught things he knew he would never get authorized to do. His boss would lose his mind if he put a Foley Catheter in someone. His medical director would just flat out drop dead if he started suturing wounds in the field .Field cricothyrotomy? Holy cow! After seeing the curriculum for the two week refresher class, he had to ask Garen if he was in the right class.
Garen told him yes, he was in the right class, but it was geared a little more towards the Remote Paramedic rather than the Wilderness Paramedic. Doug was confused and had to ask the difference. Garen had a very simple and succinct answer.
“A Wilderness Paramedic can keep you alive while they evacuate you from the backcountry. A Remote Paramedic can medically treat you whether you are evacuating or not. Think medical support rather than medical emergency.”
Keeping certified as a Wilderness Paramedic was enough of a hassle, Doug couldn’t imagine all the extra hoops Garen must have to do. Better him than me was Doug’s general thought.
Doug made sure he had his general minimum hiking gear in case he had to go looking for the four sets of campers. A chest pouch and hydration carrier was his normal for this and the only thing he normally carried into the cabin at night. A few more energy bars and a top off on the water bladder was all it needed.
He spent about ten minutes in the vehicle shed unloading the excess supplies he had brought up from main camp. This would give him more space for the campers gear if he had to drive them in from the backcountry.
His first stop this morning would be the landing zone cabin. It was the farthest location. Everything else would be on the way back. If he hurried, he could raid the fridge there for breakfast.
A quick once over of his equipment loadout was first. His normal Search and Rescue pack and med kit were already in the back of the truck. This was a look and see not a rescue. He had enough stuff in his truck to do light level rescue and accomplish most of the common medical elements he normally ran into.
As he thought about his med kit and anticipated medical issues, he remembered he had to recertify in the spring. Emergency Medical Technicians of all levels had to periodically recertify they had maintained their skills and were still currently able to perform their tasks at the level required. Backcountry (LE) Rangers were required to maintain at least an EMT level. Doug’s was higher. His two other permanent Backcountry partners were Wilderness Advanced EMTs and Doug was a Wilderness Paramedic. Not that he did that much Paramedic stuff. The main thing the Paramedic gave him was the ability to administer advanced pain medication in addition to intravenous fluids like his partners. He wasn’t dragging a cardiac monitor around or administering long term care. As they all joked, he was a ‘paper’ Paramedic with some good drugs.
The “Wilderness” in front of their certifications meant they had been trained in more medical issues to be able to treat as they are evacuating someone form the middle of nowhere. What it amounted to was better training in environmental emergencies and fracture stabilization plus a lot of hyper and hypothermia focus. They knew a ton of ways to make stretchers and traction splints from backpack parts and tree limbs.
Doug dreaded recerting every time. He had to spend weeks studying to get smart enough to survive the classes he had to take. He felt especially dumb after his last refresher class. He took it with that superspook group Garen worked for.
Garen and his wife were nice people, but they were squirrely as all get out. Garen and John (Garen’s boss) would bring a group into the forest for a variety of training events and he would work with them on land nav. It paid stupid level of money for basically the same teaching he would give to any other group. When Garen wanted easier routes to get to the training areas they were using, he showed him some of the old decommissioned logging and mine access roads. After that, he started hanging out with him and his wife in the park some. They started to do more driving and even gave him a couple turns driving their souped up buggies. He knew they lived up off the northwest corner of the Forest and he showed them some routes to get there so they didn’t need to go all the way south to come north.
Garen was teaching the refresher. There were many things they went over that were beyond his scope of practice. They taught things he knew he would never get authorized to do. His boss would lose his mind if he put a Foley Catheter in someone. His medical director would just flat out drop dead if he started suturing wounds in the field .Field cricothyrotomy? Holy cow! After seeing the curriculum for the two week refresher class, he had to ask Garen if he was in the right class.
Garen told him yes, he was in the right class, but it was geared a little more towards the Remote Paramedic rather than the Wilderness Paramedic. Doug was confused and had to ask the difference. Garen had a very simple and succinct answer.
“A Wilderness Paramedic can keep you alive while they evacuate you from the backcountry. A Remote Paramedic can medically treat you whether you are evacuating or not. Think medical support rather than medical emergency.”
Keeping certified as a Wilderness Paramedic was enough of a hassle, Doug couldn’t imagine all the extra hoops Garen must have to do. Better him than me was Doug’s general thought.
Doug made sure he had his general minimum hiking gear in case he had to go looking for the four sets of campers. A chest pouch and hydration carrier was his normal for this and the only thing he normally carried into the cabin at night. A few more energy bars and a top off on the water bladder was all it needed.
He spent about ten minutes in the vehicle shed unloading the excess supplies he had brought up from main camp. This would give him more space for the campers gear if he had to drive them in from the backcountry.
His first stop this morning would be the landing zone cabin. It was the farthest location. Everything else would be on the way back. If he hurried, he could raid the fridge there for breakfast.
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Lone_Hawk
Resident Spook
I knew there was something itching from earlier in the story. But keep in mind that part 2 starts at the very beginning of this event, but I too hope that we will have Angelique's father and grandfather show up later.
Thank you CCG for the new chapter!!
sssarawolf
Has No Life - Lives on TB
Thank you. 
ComCamGuy
Remote Paramedical pain in the ass
On his way out to his first location, Doug decided to swing by another spot near his route. There was a patchwork of old homesteads and mine sites still in the forest. Most had reverted to federal control, but a few still remained the possession of the families that predated the park.
One of these was a small cabin next to a stream up a small side canyon along the route to the landing zone cabin. He wasn’t sure if Zed would be there, but he felt he had to check.
The homestead people didn’t have to check in through the front office to go to their property. It was a holdover rule for these few places. The homesteads couldn’t be sold, only passed down within the family. Soon, Zed’s would revert to the parks control. His son wanted nothing to do with it, Zed was getting older and his wife died in the spring. Zed’s wife Marta was a good friend of his mother’s and Doug knew they would soon be sharing coffee and bread like the old days soon, if not already.
Doug’s father told him last night he thought his mother was very close to passing now. She was drugged enough to be comfortable, but her body was well on the way to shutting down. She had fought cancer back three times in the past twenty-five years, but she didn’t have enough fight for this last time. She was home in hospice care, his father doing what he could and spending as much time as possible with her here at the end. That was one of the ‘crowbars’ he had used with his ex-wife to get Angelique out here to help her grandfather.
All of this, this early in the morning, blurred his eyes with tears. He sat in his truck for a few minutes at the turnoff until he could see well enough again to make out the narrow double track path at the turn. As he crept up the lane, barely wide enough for his full size truck, he could smell wood smoke. This prompted him to keep going up the trail.
The canyon widened out a bit after a tight spot and a turn. Sitting halfway up a rock shelf was a small log cabin. A small structure itself, what looked like a tiny clone sat next to it, with smoke rolling out a small chimney. A white battered late sixties or early seventies Toyota station wagon sat near the cabin. On the porch in rocking chairs sat two men.
One he recognized as Zed, but the other one wasn’t as familiar. It took a few moments to place him. Finally when he stood up to greet him with Zed, he could see it was Mr Barnhart. Mr Barnhart used to work at the park doing communications and mechanical repair back when Doug’s father was still one of the senior Rangers.
“Morning Zed, Morning Mr Barnhart,” Doug called as he got out of the truck.
Zed was the first to speak of the two older men.
“Hey, kid! What brings you up this way? I thought this was Helga the one legged pirate’s territory?”
Between the laughter of Doug and Mr Barnhart, Doug was able to spit out a few words.
“Zed, that’s not nice. Tracy is good people and you know it! You two pick on each other so much, you would think this was elementary school.”
“I know, Doug, but with her last name almost fifteen letters long after hyphenating, and barely a consonant among it, I told her she needed a more Germanic first name. Where’s she slacking off this week?”
“She tweaked her knee again. I think it’s bad enough this time and so much cartilage is gone, I think they will have to finally replace it. How are you doing Mr Barnhart? I wish you were still on the payroll here. That newfangled radio rig I told you they contracted out and had built to replace the ‘antiquated’ system you had? Well it’s in half a dozen pieces and crushed when the quake toppled the tower.”
Mr Barnhart was just shaking his head. “I told them, again and again, stick with the three small towers and the bone simple repeaters and all would be fine. The new guy wanted to consolidate stuff so he didn’t have to go too many places and be able to control it all from his computer at the main station. That’s what happens when you have a computer guy trying to be the radio guy instead of hiring a radio guy and an IT guy.”
Zed started speaking again before Barnhart got too far down his radio tangent.
“So you out doing her rounds as well as your own?”
“Actually, I’m out checking all the stations and the roads. Garret is down in San Diego. His mother is having surgery, and between that and some excess leave he had to burn, he wasn’t supposed to be back to the park for a couple weeks. With the quake yesterday, the boss has me checking things and looking for a couple groups of hikers still registered for the backcountry.”
Mr Barnhart chimed in. “With the earthquake and tsunami all down the coast, he will be lucky to ever make it back here period. Everything is trashed all up and down the coast. Baja Mexico to the Canadian border got flattened and flooded.”
Doug turned to him. “Wow, how did you find this out?”
“Son, I did communications for Uncle Sam long before I did it for the Park Service. With the right stuff, you can hear things and get signals from all over, even use the moon to bounce signals. I got friends who I have been talking to. The coast is hammered.”
Doug was silent for a few, then Zed stared talking. “Yeah, we were just discussing this up on the porch when you drove up. Care to join us for breakfast?”
“I don’t know, I still have the other two stations to check and the campers to find.”
“Tell you what, Doug. You come on up and have some breakfast. Jess and I” he nodded to Mr Barnhart, “we can go over and check the other two stations for you, close them up for the winter and bring the stuff back here for safe keeping while you go find the campers. Besides, you still need to tell me what that cantankerous old ruskie father of yours has been up to these days.”
Doug thought about it for a moment or two, then figured he would be stupid to turn down the help.
“Sure, sounds good.”
One of these was a small cabin next to a stream up a small side canyon along the route to the landing zone cabin. He wasn’t sure if Zed would be there, but he felt he had to check.
The homestead people didn’t have to check in through the front office to go to their property. It was a holdover rule for these few places. The homesteads couldn’t be sold, only passed down within the family. Soon, Zed’s would revert to the parks control. His son wanted nothing to do with it, Zed was getting older and his wife died in the spring. Zed’s wife Marta was a good friend of his mother’s and Doug knew they would soon be sharing coffee and bread like the old days soon, if not already.
Doug’s father told him last night he thought his mother was very close to passing now. She was drugged enough to be comfortable, but her body was well on the way to shutting down. She had fought cancer back three times in the past twenty-five years, but she didn’t have enough fight for this last time. She was home in hospice care, his father doing what he could and spending as much time as possible with her here at the end. That was one of the ‘crowbars’ he had used with his ex-wife to get Angelique out here to help her grandfather.
All of this, this early in the morning, blurred his eyes with tears. He sat in his truck for a few minutes at the turnoff until he could see well enough again to make out the narrow double track path at the turn. As he crept up the lane, barely wide enough for his full size truck, he could smell wood smoke. This prompted him to keep going up the trail.
The canyon widened out a bit after a tight spot and a turn. Sitting halfway up a rock shelf was a small log cabin. A small structure itself, what looked like a tiny clone sat next to it, with smoke rolling out a small chimney. A white battered late sixties or early seventies Toyota station wagon sat near the cabin. On the porch in rocking chairs sat two men.
One he recognized as Zed, but the other one wasn’t as familiar. It took a few moments to place him. Finally when he stood up to greet him with Zed, he could see it was Mr Barnhart. Mr Barnhart used to work at the park doing communications and mechanical repair back when Doug’s father was still one of the senior Rangers.
“Morning Zed, Morning Mr Barnhart,” Doug called as he got out of the truck.
Zed was the first to speak of the two older men.
“Hey, kid! What brings you up this way? I thought this was Helga the one legged pirate’s territory?”
Between the laughter of Doug and Mr Barnhart, Doug was able to spit out a few words.
“Zed, that’s not nice. Tracy is good people and you know it! You two pick on each other so much, you would think this was elementary school.”
“I know, Doug, but with her last name almost fifteen letters long after hyphenating, and barely a consonant among it, I told her she needed a more Germanic first name. Where’s she slacking off this week?”
“She tweaked her knee again. I think it’s bad enough this time and so much cartilage is gone, I think they will have to finally replace it. How are you doing Mr Barnhart? I wish you were still on the payroll here. That newfangled radio rig I told you they contracted out and had built to replace the ‘antiquated’ system you had? Well it’s in half a dozen pieces and crushed when the quake toppled the tower.”
Mr Barnhart was just shaking his head. “I told them, again and again, stick with the three small towers and the bone simple repeaters and all would be fine. The new guy wanted to consolidate stuff so he didn’t have to go too many places and be able to control it all from his computer at the main station. That’s what happens when you have a computer guy trying to be the radio guy instead of hiring a radio guy and an IT guy.”
Zed started speaking again before Barnhart got too far down his radio tangent.
“So you out doing her rounds as well as your own?”
“Actually, I’m out checking all the stations and the roads. Garret is down in San Diego. His mother is having surgery, and between that and some excess leave he had to burn, he wasn’t supposed to be back to the park for a couple weeks. With the quake yesterday, the boss has me checking things and looking for a couple groups of hikers still registered for the backcountry.”
Mr Barnhart chimed in. “With the earthquake and tsunami all down the coast, he will be lucky to ever make it back here period. Everything is trashed all up and down the coast. Baja Mexico to the Canadian border got flattened and flooded.”
Doug turned to him. “Wow, how did you find this out?”
“Son, I did communications for Uncle Sam long before I did it for the Park Service. With the right stuff, you can hear things and get signals from all over, even use the moon to bounce signals. I got friends who I have been talking to. The coast is hammered.”
Doug was silent for a few, then Zed stared talking. “Yeah, we were just discussing this up on the porch when you drove up. Care to join us for breakfast?”
“I don’t know, I still have the other two stations to check and the campers to find.”
“Tell you what, Doug. You come on up and have some breakfast. Jess and I” he nodded to Mr Barnhart, “we can go over and check the other two stations for you, close them up for the winter and bring the stuff back here for safe keeping while you go find the campers. Besides, you still need to tell me what that cantankerous old ruskie father of yours has been up to these days.”
Doug thought about it for a moment or two, then figured he would be stupid to turn down the help.
“Sure, sounds good.”
sssarawolf
Has No Life - Lives on TB
Thank you.
Texican
Live Free & Die Free.... God Freedom Country....
How are you doing Mr Barnhart? I wish you were still on the payroll here. That newfangled radio rig I told you they contracted out and had built to replace the ‘antiquated’ system you had? Well it’s in half a dozen pieces and crushed when the quake toppled the tower.”
If the old equipment is still there, Barnhart can make it work with a little power.
Thanks CCG for the chapter.
Texican....
If the old equipment is still there, Barnhart can make it work with a little power.
Thanks CCG for the chapter.
Texican....
Old Gray Mare
TB Fanatic
The thought of climbing towers would not bring a warm fuzzy to my heart.
Lone_Hawk
Resident Spook
Exactly, loved climbing towers when I was young and stupid! I have discovered that I'm mortal...
Thank you CCG!!
ComCamGuy
Remote Paramedical pain in the ass
The three sat around the old scared table, the aroma of food heavy in the air. It was a simple meal; fresh bread with honey, fresh trout and some fried potatoes. The coffee was strong and dark as the bottom of a mine shaft.
The conversation around the table was mostly bringing each other up to date on family happenings. Zed told Doug about mixing Marta’s ashes into the concrete he used for a little pad under her favorite tree. He put a small table and a chair on it. This was where he normally had his morning coffee when he didn’t have visitors. It looked out down the canyon and the couple of bee hives still there. It was from these that the honey on the table came from.
They talked about Doug’s mom, and how in some ways it was a strange kind of relief that the end was so near for her. Zed told Doug he understood. He had watched Marta as her health failed and knew the relief when he knew her suffering was over. He also knew the horrible guilt he had to fight through for feeling that relief at someone he had loved for over forty years’ death. Zed knew Doug knew this logically, but knowing and surviving the emotional toll was two separate things.
Doug steered the conversation over to cheerier subjects he hoped.
“Mr Barnhart, what brought you down to these parts again? Isn’t your place forty or fifty miles north of the park?”
“Yeah, it’s a far piece but Zed’s been working on my little get-a-bout for me. He built it and is the only one who understands what he built. He ‘Johnny Cashed’ that thing together out of at least four different brands and seven different models of vehicles, but it’s a bulletproof little tank. We have it out back under the pole shed.”
Doug could believe it. It was a strange little beast. It was a little Suzuki Samurai, with some sort of little diesel engine and a bunch of other modifications and parts swapped to make it better at this and that. He couldn’t follow what all they had done when it was first explained to him, and he knew he wouldn’t if they explained it again.
“So how did you get down here?”
“Rode the fat bike. That thing will get me about anywhere I need. As long as I keep the speed down, it’s not too cold. The woods are nice this time of year.”
Doug couldn’t help but laugh. He had seen Mr Barnhart ride that thing all over the park to check repeaters, go make repairs in the remote cabins, and generally futz around the park on business. The thing looked funny. It was like somebody cut a four-wheeler in half. Back when ATVs only had three wheels, a couple of companies made some motorcycles that used the big fat ATV tires for a few of years. Mr Barnhart’s was red and white, with a big aftermarket fuel tank and a cargo rack. Doug had a hard time imagining Mr Barnhart riding fifty miles as the crow flies through the woods. Then again, if the things his father told him about Mr Barnhart were even half true, he shouldn’t be surprised.
“Gentlemen, I would love to sit here all day and shoot the shit, but Even with you guys checking the other stations, I have campers to find. If you guys clear out the perishable and lock things up, I’ll swing by later and check in with you. It probably won’t be until tomorrow or the next day, though.”
Zed and Mr Barnhart walked Doug out to see him off. As Doug turned the truck around, his eyes came across the tree and the table under it. He hoped his father could come to peace with things half as well as Zed appeared to with his wife’s death. Only time will tell.
The conversation around the table was mostly bringing each other up to date on family happenings. Zed told Doug about mixing Marta’s ashes into the concrete he used for a little pad under her favorite tree. He put a small table and a chair on it. This was where he normally had his morning coffee when he didn’t have visitors. It looked out down the canyon and the couple of bee hives still there. It was from these that the honey on the table came from.
They talked about Doug’s mom, and how in some ways it was a strange kind of relief that the end was so near for her. Zed told Doug he understood. He had watched Marta as her health failed and knew the relief when he knew her suffering was over. He also knew the horrible guilt he had to fight through for feeling that relief at someone he had loved for over forty years’ death. Zed knew Doug knew this logically, but knowing and surviving the emotional toll was two separate things.
Doug steered the conversation over to cheerier subjects he hoped.
“Mr Barnhart, what brought you down to these parts again? Isn’t your place forty or fifty miles north of the park?”
“Yeah, it’s a far piece but Zed’s been working on my little get-a-bout for me. He built it and is the only one who understands what he built. He ‘Johnny Cashed’ that thing together out of at least four different brands and seven different models of vehicles, but it’s a bulletproof little tank. We have it out back under the pole shed.”
Doug could believe it. It was a strange little beast. It was a little Suzuki Samurai, with some sort of little diesel engine and a bunch of other modifications and parts swapped to make it better at this and that. He couldn’t follow what all they had done when it was first explained to him, and he knew he wouldn’t if they explained it again.
“So how did you get down here?”
“Rode the fat bike. That thing will get me about anywhere I need. As long as I keep the speed down, it’s not too cold. The woods are nice this time of year.”
Doug couldn’t help but laugh. He had seen Mr Barnhart ride that thing all over the park to check repeaters, go make repairs in the remote cabins, and generally futz around the park on business. The thing looked funny. It was like somebody cut a four-wheeler in half. Back when ATVs only had three wheels, a couple of companies made some motorcycles that used the big fat ATV tires for a few of years. Mr Barnhart’s was red and white, with a big aftermarket fuel tank and a cargo rack. Doug had a hard time imagining Mr Barnhart riding fifty miles as the crow flies through the woods. Then again, if the things his father told him about Mr Barnhart were even half true, he shouldn’t be surprised.
“Gentlemen, I would love to sit here all day and shoot the shit, but Even with you guys checking the other stations, I have campers to find. If you guys clear out the perishable and lock things up, I’ll swing by later and check in with you. It probably won’t be until tomorrow or the next day, though.”
Zed and Mr Barnhart walked Doug out to see him off. As Doug turned the truck around, his eyes came across the tree and the table under it. He hoped his father could come to peace with things half as well as Zed appeared to with his wife’s death. Only time will tell.
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sssarawolf
Has No Life - Lives on TB
Many thanks.
ComCamGuy
Remote Paramedical pain in the ass
Zed and Jess watched Doug drive out of sight. Neither spoke for a few moments. Both just sipped their coffee, deep in their own thoughts.
“Alright, Zed. We got some work to do. That kid is going to need some help out here. Is that enough of a good reason for you?”
“What are you on about now, Jess?” Zed looked down at his cup rather than his friend.
“You know damn well what I’m talking about. You came up here to die. I been coming up here with this and that project for the last six months to keep giving you a thing to work on so you can start moving forward in life. You been hovering for too long.”
“You’re a bastard, you know that, right?”
“Yeah, Zed, I am. But I keep my promises. Marta made me promise to keep you going, take you out to fish and to hunt, to keep seeing things and doing things when she was gone. She didn’t want you to just lay down and die.”
“I don’t know what to do. It feels like my life ended when she left. I’m just floating aimlessly.”
“And MINE died over Lockerbie all these years ago, Zed. What was it you told me then? Do you remember?”
“That was different…it was….”
“Bullshit! You told me ‘Live for the living, don’t die for the dead’. At twentyish, it sounded pretty philosophical, but I really understand the thought better now. I told you last night, if you die of natural causes up here, I will bury you with her, but if you self-select, I’m dumping your body in the septic tank. You forced me to get off my ass and not self-destruct way back then. I promised Marta I wouldn’t let you do it now. She loved you more than life itself. You had thirty good years together, focus on that, not that she had to leave before you. You will see her soon enough in the grand scheme of things. This is your opportunity to get some new stories to tell her when you join her in heaven. God knows she had heard all your old ones enough. Don’t make her mad at you first thing when she sees you again. Worse, don’t make her mad at me for letting you do it!”
Zed was quiet for a few as he stared in the distance at the tree and chair on the hill.
“Ok, Jess. It sounds like you think we will be doing more than turning off refrigerators and closing storm shutters. What’s your plan?”
“Well, from what Doug was saying, the guy at the cabin by the clearing knew he was leaving, so probably cleaned up and shut stuff down already . That means there shouldn’t be much to carry. I can go there on the bike. Besides, five flights of stairs up into the tower would play hell on my knees. She probably left more to be brought back. Both those things mean you should go there with the wagon. What do you think?”
“Lazy bastard. Yeah, I’ll go square away the tower. We should both be able to get back by lunch time. Any idea what you want for lunch?”
“You cooked last night and this morning. I’ll cook up some venison steaks and eggs and some hash browns. Good stick to your ribs stuff.”
“Sure. First one back needs to reload the smoker.”
“Something else, Zed. I got a feeling things are going to get kinda nuts for a bit. I’d make sure you are armed running around here for awhile.”
“You really think so?”
“Yeah. Bad feeling just poking at the back of my head. You still got some around here, right? I know you sold off a bunch of stuff when you sold the house.”
“I still have a few. You got what you need?”
Jess pulled back the edge of his coat to reveal an old school 1911 in a holster on his hip.
“If it was good enough for my Great Grandfather chasing Dillinger, I figure it’s good enough for me. Besides I have my carbine on the bike as well. If I need more than that, we got problems.”
“I wasn’t even thinking long guns. I still have the 30-30 in the car. Anything else, I would have to go dig through boxes for them. Do you think I need to?” A note of concern tinged Zed’s voice.
“I don’t think so. It’s probably me just being me. We should be fine. Just keep an eye out for anything suspicious in addition to looking for earthquake caused stuff.”
“Well, get your shit Jess. We better get there and get back. I hope the kid finds the campers.”
“This is Doug. Nobody but Bigfoot wins at hide and seek with that guy. When he swings back by, remind me to have him tell the story about the French film crew that got themselves lost looking for Bigfoot.”
The two old friends walked into the house to prepare for their errands.
“Alright, Zed. We got some work to do. That kid is going to need some help out here. Is that enough of a good reason for you?”
“What are you on about now, Jess?” Zed looked down at his cup rather than his friend.
“You know damn well what I’m talking about. You came up here to die. I been coming up here with this and that project for the last six months to keep giving you a thing to work on so you can start moving forward in life. You been hovering for too long.”
“You’re a bastard, you know that, right?”
“Yeah, Zed, I am. But I keep my promises. Marta made me promise to keep you going, take you out to fish and to hunt, to keep seeing things and doing things when she was gone. She didn’t want you to just lay down and die.”
“I don’t know what to do. It feels like my life ended when she left. I’m just floating aimlessly.”
“And MINE died over Lockerbie all these years ago, Zed. What was it you told me then? Do you remember?”
“That was different…it was….”
“Bullshit! You told me ‘Live for the living, don’t die for the dead’. At twentyish, it sounded pretty philosophical, but I really understand the thought better now. I told you last night, if you die of natural causes up here, I will bury you with her, but if you self-select, I’m dumping your body in the septic tank. You forced me to get off my ass and not self-destruct way back then. I promised Marta I wouldn’t let you do it now. She loved you more than life itself. You had thirty good years together, focus on that, not that she had to leave before you. You will see her soon enough in the grand scheme of things. This is your opportunity to get some new stories to tell her when you join her in heaven. God knows she had heard all your old ones enough. Don’t make her mad at you first thing when she sees you again. Worse, don’t make her mad at me for letting you do it!”
Zed was quiet for a few as he stared in the distance at the tree and chair on the hill.
“Ok, Jess. It sounds like you think we will be doing more than turning off refrigerators and closing storm shutters. What’s your plan?”
“Well, from what Doug was saying, the guy at the cabin by the clearing knew he was leaving, so probably cleaned up and shut stuff down already . That means there shouldn’t be much to carry. I can go there on the bike. Besides, five flights of stairs up into the tower would play hell on my knees. She probably left more to be brought back. Both those things mean you should go there with the wagon. What do you think?”
“Lazy bastard. Yeah, I’ll go square away the tower. We should both be able to get back by lunch time. Any idea what you want for lunch?”
“You cooked last night and this morning. I’ll cook up some venison steaks and eggs and some hash browns. Good stick to your ribs stuff.”
“Sure. First one back needs to reload the smoker.”
“Something else, Zed. I got a feeling things are going to get kinda nuts for a bit. I’d make sure you are armed running around here for awhile.”
“You really think so?”
“Yeah. Bad feeling just poking at the back of my head. You still got some around here, right? I know you sold off a bunch of stuff when you sold the house.”
“I still have a few. You got what you need?”
Jess pulled back the edge of his coat to reveal an old school 1911 in a holster on his hip.
“If it was good enough for my Great Grandfather chasing Dillinger, I figure it’s good enough for me. Besides I have my carbine on the bike as well. If I need more than that, we got problems.”
“I wasn’t even thinking long guns. I still have the 30-30 in the car. Anything else, I would have to go dig through boxes for them. Do you think I need to?” A note of concern tinged Zed’s voice.
“I don’t think so. It’s probably me just being me. We should be fine. Just keep an eye out for anything suspicious in addition to looking for earthquake caused stuff.”
“Well, get your shit Jess. We better get there and get back. I hope the kid finds the campers.”
“This is Doug. Nobody but Bigfoot wins at hide and seek with that guy. When he swings back by, remind me to have him tell the story about the French film crew that got themselves lost looking for Bigfoot.”
The two old friends walked into the house to prepare for their errands.
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sssarawolf
Has No Life - Lives on TB
Thank you
ComCamGuy
Remote Paramedical pain in the ass
Doug found the first set of hikers’ car in the lot for the trailhead leading to the area they were supposed to be in. In some ways, he thought this was amazing. Most of the time, people end up in the wrong lot, or have left and not checked out. This late in the season, people in the backcountry were the exception, not the rule. He was more impressed when he checked the windshield and found a route and itinerary listing who, where they were going and for how long. Holy cow! Somebody actually paid attention to the instructions and recommendations.
Doug did a quick check of his gear. He put his chest rig/hydration pack combo on. This covered his food/water/shelter/navigation items plus some other things. Next was his MARCH belt. Dang. He had finally started calling it that in his head. It took what? Almost two years. It was a concept from that refresher class with Garen, modified for his own job.
The MARCH belt is a set up designed to carry the immediate supplies needed to treat life threats medically. The example Garen showed was designed for combat and combat wounds. Dedicated pouches were set up to carry tourniquets and hemostatic dressings to stop bleeding. Another pouch had a variety of supplies for treating airway related problems with tools such as chest seals, nasopharyngeal airways, needle decompression needles, cricothyrotomy kits and such. Another one had bandaging and wrapping stuff like ACE bandages and battle dressings. A separate pouch was for IV access kits and drugs.
With all of this on a broad, strong belt around the waist, the medic can just spin or slide the belt around their torso to move the needed pouch to the front, enabling them to work directly out of it for the needed intervention. This also meant in combat, they could treat life threats without pulling an aid bag off of their back every time they needed to treat a casualty. He could hear Garen’s voice as he repeated over and over ‘when and where you open the main medical bag designates to the non-medics where you are setting up shop and they will bring the casualties there, whether you wanted them to or not’.
Doug saw how this also applied to backcountry and rescue environments. It isn’t always the most conducive to pulling out the medical gear on a slippery mud and leaf covered hillside in the dark, or on a cliff, or a swollen stream. This germinated in the back of his head for quite a bit. He started figuring how he could adapt it.
He settled on an older style climbing harness to build on. It was the type with detachable leg loops. The belt itself was more than wide enough and strong enough to hold pouches. It would also still have the gear loops hanging below the bottom edge of the pockets for climbing gear. If he ended up needing to harness up, he just had to add leg loops and he was good. No shifting all the gear around every time he had to switch over, belay someone, and so forth.
With the belt picked out, now he had to decide how much of what he was putting in it. The medical loadout Garen demonstrated for combat wasn’t the right answer. Combat was high percentage of penetrating injury, whereas backwoods was more blunt injury. He spent a week of his spare time combing through several years of patient care reports in the park to get the best picture of the high percentage of treatments needed and performed. This helped guide the types and quantities of supplies in his pouches. He still organized them the same, bleeding, airway, bandaging and drugs/IV.
In addition to the medical pouches, he added a couple more things. A separate pouch held what was normally sold as a firefighter escape kit. This was a small emergency rappel kit of high tensile strength narrow cord and an appropriately sized rappel device. In the top of this pouch he added the leg loops for his harness. This would let him repel down and stabilize someone while the rest of the rescuers assembled the other gear and manpower necessary to retrieve a victim.
The other necessity was the law enforcement equipment. He had a holster, spare magazines, hand cuffs and a flashlight. These were placed between the pouches and the belt. This both protected them from weather and made them less obvious to most campers when they interacted with him.
Doug shrugged on his gear, put on his unofficial, unauthorized old school wool jacket and topped it off with the issue Stetson. Now to find the first two hikers.
Doug did a quick check of his gear. He put his chest rig/hydration pack combo on. This covered his food/water/shelter/navigation items plus some other things. Next was his MARCH belt. Dang. He had finally started calling it that in his head. It took what? Almost two years. It was a concept from that refresher class with Garen, modified for his own job.
The MARCH belt is a set up designed to carry the immediate supplies needed to treat life threats medically. The example Garen showed was designed for combat and combat wounds. Dedicated pouches were set up to carry tourniquets and hemostatic dressings to stop bleeding. Another pouch had a variety of supplies for treating airway related problems with tools such as chest seals, nasopharyngeal airways, needle decompression needles, cricothyrotomy kits and such. Another one had bandaging and wrapping stuff like ACE bandages and battle dressings. A separate pouch was for IV access kits and drugs.
With all of this on a broad, strong belt around the waist, the medic can just spin or slide the belt around their torso to move the needed pouch to the front, enabling them to work directly out of it for the needed intervention. This also meant in combat, they could treat life threats without pulling an aid bag off of their back every time they needed to treat a casualty. He could hear Garen’s voice as he repeated over and over ‘when and where you open the main medical bag designates to the non-medics where you are setting up shop and they will bring the casualties there, whether you wanted them to or not’.
Doug saw how this also applied to backcountry and rescue environments. It isn’t always the most conducive to pulling out the medical gear on a slippery mud and leaf covered hillside in the dark, or on a cliff, or a swollen stream. This germinated in the back of his head for quite a bit. He started figuring how he could adapt it.
He settled on an older style climbing harness to build on. It was the type with detachable leg loops. The belt itself was more than wide enough and strong enough to hold pouches. It would also still have the gear loops hanging below the bottom edge of the pockets for climbing gear. If he ended up needing to harness up, he just had to add leg loops and he was good. No shifting all the gear around every time he had to switch over, belay someone, and so forth.
With the belt picked out, now he had to decide how much of what he was putting in it. The medical loadout Garen demonstrated for combat wasn’t the right answer. Combat was high percentage of penetrating injury, whereas backwoods was more blunt injury. He spent a week of his spare time combing through several years of patient care reports in the park to get the best picture of the high percentage of treatments needed and performed. This helped guide the types and quantities of supplies in his pouches. He still organized them the same, bleeding, airway, bandaging and drugs/IV.
In addition to the medical pouches, he added a couple more things. A separate pouch held what was normally sold as a firefighter escape kit. This was a small emergency rappel kit of high tensile strength narrow cord and an appropriately sized rappel device. In the top of this pouch he added the leg loops for his harness. This would let him repel down and stabilize someone while the rest of the rescuers assembled the other gear and manpower necessary to retrieve a victim.
The other necessity was the law enforcement equipment. He had a holster, spare magazines, hand cuffs and a flashlight. These were placed between the pouches and the belt. This both protected them from weather and made them less obvious to most campers when they interacted with him.
Doug shrugged on his gear, put on his unofficial, unauthorized old school wool jacket and topped it off with the issue Stetson. Now to find the first two hikers.
ComCamGuy
Remote Paramedical pain in the ass
She is. She spent yesterday afternoon sanding the side art on a pinball cabinet. She wore herself out doing it, but she is trying to be up and around some more.
ComCamGuy
Remote Paramedical pain in the ass
This part of the park was Tracy’s area. He didn’t know it as well as his own sector, but he had spent enough time here that no part was really foreign to him. It didn’t take too long for Doug to start seeing things that, if this were his sector, he didn’t like. Tracy probably hadn’t been out this way as often, with her knee. Some of the switchbacks along the ravine were quite narrow and the footing was uneven. He could see Tracy skipping it this late in the year. That would also explain some of the other trail maintenance elements and trash.
Doug was making good time. This was the part of the job he loved; a good hike to check on people. He really didn’t enjoy the negative aspects of being a wilderness cop. He would rather help people and take care of the land. The times he had to fill in working the front part of the park were their own sort of agony for him. A couple miles in, he had to pull himself back to the here and now.
He found the couple sitting outside their tent alongside the trail. The tent wasn’t set up in an actual campsite. That was the first clue something wasn’t right. The second clue was the elevated naked foot of the guy.
“Morning, folks! I see you might be having a bit of a problem. What’s going on?”
The woman spoke, while the man just shook his head.
“Stumblefoot here managed to blow out his ankle a couple miles up the trail yesterday. We were able to make it this far back towards the car. We were hoping to make it the rest of the way today, but its slow going. He” she points a thumb at her companion” can only hop so far and I haven’t been able to find a branch the right size or shape to make him a crutch.”
Doug looks over at the guy. He is red from embarrassment.
“Yeah, damn thing hurts too much to walk on, and the trail is too gravely to hop much without going down again. I’m too tall to lean on her much to help. Do you have a way we can get back down to the car?”
Doug looked from him to her and back again. He was at least a foot taller than her. He knew a couple ways to get him out of there, but first he had to look at the ankle.
“I think I have a trick or two up my sleeve to get you guys out of back here. First, let me take a look at how bad your leg is busted up.” Doug pulled a pair of exam gloves out of one pouch and donning them as he made his way forward. He moved and flexed the ankle for a few minutes, first one way, then over the other way. In the end, it felt like it was just a bad sprain.
“I can work this so we can walk out of here. First, why don’t you,” he pointed at the woman “take down the camp? I will help get you guys out of here.” Doug turns back to the man. “First we are going to wrap it, then I will make a weight-bearing splint that you can walk on.” Doug took out a roll of athletic tape and wrapped the ankle from mid foot all the way up to a third of the way up the lower leg. Doug had them wait there for a few moments while he collected the second half of his plan.
Doug collected several small sticks about the size of his thumb. Two of these he placed alongside the man’s leg. These started about six inches below the base of the man’s foot and extended all the way up to just below the knee, sandwiching the ankle in between. He used some more athletic tape to secure them in place. This was reinforced with a pair of Velcro straps normally used for sleeping bags.
He explained what he was doing and why all through the process. Once he was done, they helped him stand on his good foot. Next was the test. The sticks will transfer the pressure past the ankle, on up to the leg. This way, the ankle was not being required to bear any weight.
The two were amazed at something so simple working so well. They went back and forth with each other in a round of ‘why didn’t you think of this?’ and ‘we should have thought of this.’
Doug just reassured them it was his years of experience and advanced training, out of the Boy Scout handbook. They loaded up their stuff and Doug helped them walk back down to the parking area. One set of campers down, and several hours elapsed, only three more groups to go.
Doug was making good time. This was the part of the job he loved; a good hike to check on people. He really didn’t enjoy the negative aspects of being a wilderness cop. He would rather help people and take care of the land. The times he had to fill in working the front part of the park were their own sort of agony for him. A couple miles in, he had to pull himself back to the here and now.
He found the couple sitting outside their tent alongside the trail. The tent wasn’t set up in an actual campsite. That was the first clue something wasn’t right. The second clue was the elevated naked foot of the guy.
“Morning, folks! I see you might be having a bit of a problem. What’s going on?”
The woman spoke, while the man just shook his head.
“Stumblefoot here managed to blow out his ankle a couple miles up the trail yesterday. We were able to make it this far back towards the car. We were hoping to make it the rest of the way today, but its slow going. He” she points a thumb at her companion” can only hop so far and I haven’t been able to find a branch the right size or shape to make him a crutch.”
Doug looks over at the guy. He is red from embarrassment.
“Yeah, damn thing hurts too much to walk on, and the trail is too gravely to hop much without going down again. I’m too tall to lean on her much to help. Do you have a way we can get back down to the car?”
Doug looked from him to her and back again. He was at least a foot taller than her. He knew a couple ways to get him out of there, but first he had to look at the ankle.
“I think I have a trick or two up my sleeve to get you guys out of back here. First, let me take a look at how bad your leg is busted up.” Doug pulled a pair of exam gloves out of one pouch and donning them as he made his way forward. He moved and flexed the ankle for a few minutes, first one way, then over the other way. In the end, it felt like it was just a bad sprain.
“I can work this so we can walk out of here. First, why don’t you,” he pointed at the woman “take down the camp? I will help get you guys out of here.” Doug turns back to the man. “First we are going to wrap it, then I will make a weight-bearing splint that you can walk on.” Doug took out a roll of athletic tape and wrapped the ankle from mid foot all the way up to a third of the way up the lower leg. Doug had them wait there for a few moments while he collected the second half of his plan.
Doug collected several small sticks about the size of his thumb. Two of these he placed alongside the man’s leg. These started about six inches below the base of the man’s foot and extended all the way up to just below the knee, sandwiching the ankle in between. He used some more athletic tape to secure them in place. This was reinforced with a pair of Velcro straps normally used for sleeping bags.
He explained what he was doing and why all through the process. Once he was done, they helped him stand on his good foot. Next was the test. The sticks will transfer the pressure past the ankle, on up to the leg. This way, the ankle was not being required to bear any weight.
The two were amazed at something so simple working so well. They went back and forth with each other in a round of ‘why didn’t you think of this?’ and ‘we should have thought of this.’
Doug just reassured them it was his years of experience and advanced training, out of the Boy Scout handbook. They loaded up their stuff and Doug helped them walk back down to the parking area. One set of campers down, and several hours elapsed, only three more groups to go.
sssarawolf
Has No Life - Lives on TB
Thank you Having a very late lunch, we are canning up the fruit out of the frezzer.