I keep telling the kids today that, after my first winter survival, they're lucky I even go on winter survival anymore, even just to staff base camp. They always want to know why I call it "lucky", but what are ya gonna do, it's illegal to smack them.
Anyway. This would have taken place sometime in the late '70's.
In those days we met for searches and trainings at "the pumps", the Sheriff's office's gas station diagonally northeast of the Courthouse (the Statesman Journal's printing plant is there now). Meeting time was some unreasonably early hour on Saturday morning for "pack inspections", to make sure everybody had enough food, clothes and equipment.
Oops. Problems right off. Chuck decided that several of the troops didn't bring enough extra clothes. Apparently there were enough who didn't pass the inspection that it wouldn't have been worth holding the training at all if they were all left in town. What to do. Seniors started offering that they had extra stuff at home. Chuck also had some extra wool clothes at home. Some of the recruits suddenly remembered that they had more gear, they had just "forgotten" to pack it. So the upshot was that Chuck delayed departure for an hour to give everybody time to scrounge up enough gear to pass the inspection. And then we were off, an hour late.
But that luck was not to last. Just as we got into Detroit, the bus got a flat tire. One of the inside rear duals, as I remember. So there went another hour, as most of us bummed around town while Leigh Springer and a couple of the seniors changed the tire.
Then we were on the road again, now over 2 hours late. The Plan (why do we even bother with Plans?) had been for us to meet Oliver Fursman and some members of the Santiam Alpine Club at the Santiam Pass. They were supposed to give us some cross-country ski instruction and then lead us into a camp site they had picked out. Of course, by the time we finally got there, they were getting worried about whether they would have time to get us into the area and get back out before dark, so the skiing instruction consisted of about 15 minutes in the snow alongside the bus, then it was "let's get going".
Now, Chuck had repeatedly ranted at the recruits not to try to save money by buying cheap packs ("$19.95 K-Mart specials", I believe he called them), but there's always somebody . . . One young man had one of those packs, and I swear all the way in he never got more than 50 feet before falling . . . and when he did, his gear spilled all over and had to be picked up -- while balancing on skinny skis. Needless to say, the ski into the campsite was slow, at least for those of us who stayed back with this kid.
The campsite. I have honestly never been able to figure out exactly where Fursman et al took us. We went south from the highway, probably generally following the PCT. If you had skiied steadily (instead of making frequent stops), I imagine it would have been about a 30-45 minute ski trip. (Some of the seniors would later come to call the area "The Party Bowl", but I'm sure they would have convenient lapses of memory if their now-teenage kids were to ask how it got that name).
By the time the Advisors got to the area, we were 3 hours late. We met Fursman and associates hurrying out. Needless to say, we didn't have time to do much teaching or demonstrating how to build shelters -- we had to get busy and make one for ourselves. So everybody was pretty much on their own.
As we were finishing our shelter, one of the seniors came over and said, "We think Canton [name altered] has hypothermia." Chuck and I exchanged looks, which I'm sure were worth several thousand words. Chuck went to check on him. He returned a half hour later or so, and said the team had done everything right, they had him in dry clothes, in a sleeping bag, and were cooking up hot chocolate for him. We discussed options. We could call Nita, who was camping at the roadhead in the Leierer's Dodge-van-camper-conversion, and have her send Fursman and his group back in with a litter; but it was almost dark, and that would mean an hour+ ski in with the litter and then an hour+ evacuation, in the dark, in the snow. We finally decided that it was best to stay the night and evacuate in the morning.
Chuck had had some plans for the next morning -- I think he was going to do some more ski instruction or something -- but come morning he and I agreed that we should just pack up and leave. I was assigned to go out in the first group, with Canton; Chuck would stay and be the last one out.
Our group was 4: Canton, the hypothermic kid, who was doing much better after a warm, dry night and some food; Keith Collins; and Pat Bishop, whose nickname in the Post was "Radar", since he looked a little like Radar in M*A*S*H and was also the Post Secretary. I dug into my pack and got out the last of my candy to give to Canton so he'd have a little boost for the ski out. Then I looked at Keith. He was sagging on his ski poles, looking like death warmed over. Inspiration. Scowl. "What did you have for breakfast?" I asked. "Nothin'". I looked at Pat and said, "You got any candy left? I just gave all mine away." Pat dug some candy out of his pack and the four of us finally set off on what turned out to be an uneventful trip back to the highway.
But of course it doesn't end there.
Back at the pass, Nita had hot chocolate cooking. One might have thought that I deserved a break with a nice, welcoming mug of chocolate..... but no. Springer was firmly planted in Nita's van with a large mug of hot chocolate, muttering about who would be crazy enough to go camping in the winter (he never went on winter survival again). Canton, of course, had to be settled in the bus, wet clothes removed, etc.
Then I thought I might get to sit down. And just then some good citizen pulls up next to our little caravan. She had seen the Sheriff's pickup (the Air Force surplus, 4WD, crew cab Dodge pickup with stars on the doors and flashing lights on the roof). Apparently she thought we were cops or something. Did we know that there was a car wreck on the road into Hoodoo, she asked. No. Sigh. No law enforcement or ODOT or anybody in sight.
So I grabbed one of the seniors, Ben Garland, who looked fairly rested, and we drove in to check it out. Yes, there was a car in the ditch; no, the driver wasn't there; it turned out she had been taken to the lodge by a Good Samaritan. From there she had (probably) been taken to the hospital by somebody, but nobody knew that for sure, or who had taken her, or which hospital she might have been taken to.
So, a phone conversation with a State Police dispatcher, where we both exercised our grumpiness. He finally conceeded that he probably should send a trooper, but the closest one was in Eugene. So we left it at that, and headed back to the trailhead, me thinking I might, finally, get some of Nita's chocolate. On our way out, what should we find but a tow truck pulling the car out of the ditch. The driver didn't know whose car it was and didn't know who had called him. He supposed that he was going to tow the car to his shop. The best I could do was get his business card.
Back to camp. Was my hot chocolate awaiting? Oh, no. As soon as we got out of the truck, somebody said "You need to take a look at Canton."
Seems our young man, arriving back at the bus with cold feet, had decided to take his ski-shoes off, crank up the heater, and hold his feet in the nice hot air. Thus ensued my one-and-(so far)-only lifetime opportunity to treat....frostbite. That's right, his shoes had been too small (tried them on in his street socks instead of the two pair of wool socks he wore on survival), and he had had what probably was a mild case of frostbite. Unfortunately, when you take mildly frostbitten feet and warm them up too fast, you get major blisters. An inch or more in size. And I was the resident, and only, EMT, so of course everybody expected me to Do Something.
So Mr Canton's feet were bandaged. Mr Leierer came out of the woods looking like he was having the same weekend I was having. Just as we finally got everybody loaded up and ready to leave, who should show up but a befuddled looking State Trooper, who was looking for the wreck. So I explained The Rest of the Story, gave him the tow drivers' card, and wished him luck. I don't remember whether I ever got any hot chocolate.
Canton decided to drop out of search and rescue after that. Years went by.
Then some years later, a gentleman named Wayne Blank joined Post 18. Once when we were sitting around BS'ing, he asked if I remembered Matt Canton. Oh, yeah, I said. Well, he knew Matt -- went to high school with him. Whatever happened to him, I asked. Oh, he graduated from high school and enlisted in the Army.
And was stationed in Alaska.