My Redbull can!  It had lived through -25F in Crested Butte a month before, so whatever I was experiencing now was colder than that.  I scraped the ice off the inside of my windshield and peered out at the day.  The sun was shining and the wind had stopped.  Ahhh.

Everything had frozen: my eggs, milk, olive oil, every drop of water I had, so I grabbed a few frozen oranges, stuffed my camera in a drybag, and headed off into the desert…

Sometimes I go on surprise solo-adventures.  They help me recharge, reconnect with the universe, gain perspective on life, and I get to see a lot of crazy parts of the world I might not get to otherwise.  I like to pack for pretty much anything, warm clothes, beach clothes, a bunch of food, a ton of toys, sometimes my passport.  I’ll throw everything in the car, tell the people I love that I’m going to disappear for awhile, and start driving.

This time I left Boulder on a –F day, and headed south.  I ended up in Great Sand Dunes Natl Park,  and was a greeted by a sign “Station Closed, have a nice stay.”  Even the rangers weren’t here on this extreme day.  I had the whole place to myself.

…and so I walked into the sand dunes; a place that is particular is meditative for me.

I shared some thoughts about it when I passed through 4 years ago.

This time I let the land do its work as I began to sink deeper in.  I was immediately struck by the amazing contrasts, textures, patters, and feeling of the place.  Slowly as the day progressed new worlds unfolded, miniature-worlds of ice and sand, mega-worlds of snowcapped peaks and soaring eagles, and everything in between.  I sustained myself on oranges and coconut macaroons as my feet took my across the dunes.  I stopped to take pictures often, careful to shelter my camera from the sand, and my hands from the freezing cold.

My mind quieted, for there was nothing to focus on in the desert.  Thoughts sailed by less and less frequently, and soon I began to feel the place, to hear it, smell it, to see tiny details I had missed before.  I found a miniature Fulgurite hidden in the sandy ripples; I tracked songbirds, desert mice, and beetles, and slowly filled in the rough spots of my being.

A storm came, covering the dunes in snow; still I walked, sat, breathed.  The sun started to set, bringing with it a last brilliance and a pair of sundogs.

The place was mine, no one for many miles.

Interestingly, I felt as if I was merely topping off an already full pitcher.  Life has been amazing recently, heart-opening, full of explorations, and deepening friendships.  This time I let the visit to the dunes be some time with an old friend, sitting a talking about life together, rather than sourcing healing power out of the sand.  It was nice to catch up, sit together, and get ready for the amazing journeys to come.

If you live in Colorado and have never been, this place is a must.

Here are some photos from my time there:

The duality of my task here and my adrenaline filled body is slightly maddening.  I feel like running up a mountain or jumping out of a plane, and yet here I sit and wait, and write…

Yesterday evening about 5pm my pager went off.  “There goes your evening.” a coworker says as I run for my car.  I knew it was something big, they way you look at a sunny day in the winter and know it will be snowing in the afternoon .  Then I hear the dispatcher “possible drowning… two kids in the water… there were three… one went down… screaming for help.”

By this point I’m halfway to the station trying to stay under the speed limit.  Minutes later I’m copying down directions… dive van already gone… hooking up the boat… And off again, roll status 4… lights, sirens, air horn, heavy traffic, green lights all the way, breaks!  air horn again!  Arrival… pause… deep breath.  Firefighters everywhere, divers in the water, boats in the water, search, weeds, helecopter circling, search dog arrival, helping direct divers, talking to the sheriff, reporters, suiting up, drysuit on, in the water.  And slow…

A find… someone’s starting CPR… too late… the water is too warm… he was down too long… didn’t have a good last seen point… weeds made it hard…

…and somehow the last week of time jams itself into the last hour and a half.  My body can’t figure out how to be sad and full of adrenaline at the same time.  I go to work cleaning, putting away gear, and avoid anyone who wouldn’t understand.

Again, life speaks to me, calmly explaining how precious it is, and that it must be cherished, appriciated, loved, because one moment it will be gone, no warning, no second chance.

“I know George, I’m only going 37, but I’ll slow down a bit.” I say as I tap the breaks and hit the air horn at the same time while passing stopped a minivan oddly turned in the right lane. The street looks strangly post-apocalypic, with every car I pass stopped at some weird angle. All the lights are green as I move through town just a hair over the speed limit.

Again, adrenaline rushing, no where to go, it pools… slowely filling my senses until time inches
along… t u  r  n      l   e    f        t   .     .       .        .

Slam! back into full speed, yellow light, AIR HORN, cars pull off as I blaze through downtown, hit congested traffic. The three passangers in the back are silent as radio traffic gives us parking instructions.

Smoke billows from some roof to our right, as we pass crowds of people in various levels of dress standing in groups looking just a bit confused.

Sirens off… and a whole new adventure begins.

No one hurt, thankyou’s exchanged…

3 days later and still I’ve got some adrenaline left. 1st emergent run with me driving.

AWESOME life energy stuffing itself into my exsistance.

Where did this adrenaline come from you ask? Well I’ll tell you without too many of the gory details if I can. About 4:30 yesterday afternoon my pager went off for an injury accident. The tone went out and the dispatcher said 5 parties still stuck in the vehicle.

By this time I’m racing out the door, with an “oh shit, this is for real” look on my face. I change shoes and shirt at the stop light and try and mentally prep for what I can only guess is about to come. My “40 second stop light” has gotta be the slowest I’ve ever seen as I turn and head up the hwy towards the station, tie my boots, try not to speed and call the station to let them know I’m in route. No answer… 47th and Kings Ridge, just a block a way, and BAM train. I sit, wait, listen to the radio, and try and calm myself just a bit. A helicopter on standby and 3 ambulances in route, a van with 7 passengers is the new info. The world is CRAWLING as I inch through a space on the shoulder and turn into the station just as our heavy rescue truck takes off lights sirens blaring.

2 min later I’m announcing us in route to the dispatcher in our medium rescue truck. We fly north as I navigate and watch for unaware drivers who haven’t pulled over. An update comes in and everyone has made it out of the van except the driver. It’s a confirmed pinned party and our first unit arrives and reports that it will be a level 3 extrication (remove doors, remove roof, dash evolution, and the full works).

An hour seems to go by while we make our way through the city and toward our destination. I’ve got plenty of time to put on my bunker gear, radio harness, get my channels set, go over some things in my mind and take a deep breath. Then all my thoughts snap together as we park our truck and I step down.

Doors popped, metal bent, wood broke, bolts sheered, glass shattered, engines grumbled, radios blared, and a man screamed… The next week of life somehow managed to pack itself into a 1 hour segment of my day. We used almost every trick we learned, and some we made up on the spot. Most our tools off 4 trucks were employed in someway, as well as the 15 or so rescuers who responded in addition to the fire fighters, paramedics, police, and their respective vehicles. The driver was pinned by the dash, pedels, and seat with two compound fractured legs plenty of blood, but otherwise stable and responsive.

After hydraulic spreaders (jaws of life) cutters, rams, made enough space for the driver’s legs, I found myself inside the van holding the driver’s C-spine (head) to prevent neck injury as we slid the severed seat back and moved the patient to a backboard, and carried him out to waiting ambulance.

He survived, must have… we worked so hard to save him, he’s got to be ok. I tell myself that but really I don’t know… We took a deep breathe, cleaned the blood off our gear, repacked everything, debriefed and made our way home.

One might think that everything would appear dim in the world after bright vivid colors, emotions, energy, and memories like those, but oh the contrary. Everything is bright today. Although I’m still on high speed, I spend a moment to enjoy life, the company of those around me. Being so close to pain, death, tragedy again made me realize how special life is. STILL!

Keep your head up and smiling! If you’re ever feeling down know that there are literally hundreds of people in your city who will drop everything if you are in trouble. It still amazes me every time I show up and there are 30 or so fire fighters, law, sheriffs, paramedics, rescue specialists there trying to help in any way possible. Not to mention all the untrained bystanders who put out good thoughts and prayers to those in trouble and lend a hand if the can.

After saving a life, today, I again feel like superman, and it’s fantastic.

I hope you are all feeling safe and loved tonight.

I had my first actual BES call this morning to recover the body of a 17 year old kid who was climbing on some rocks above S. Boulder Creek last night. It was exhilarating and shocking at the same time.  At first, I was so excited to be out on a real call that nothing seamed real.  I smiled and joked with the other rescuers about life, the crazyness of the swiftwater we were about to search, the news cameras, and helicopter surveying the scene.  We were jovial, and in high spirits.

During the pre-search briefing my spirits choked a bit when I realized the kid had fallen from the very same rocks I had been climbing on 2 years ago with Sherry.  It started to hit closer still when I saw that we would be searching the exact white water section Holden and I had talked about running last Sunday in kayaks.

The search and recovery went very well.  The body was found in about a half hour 100yard or so down stream of where he had fallen.  It was lodged under a partially submerged tree in the middle of what I would easily rate as a Class V+ rapid at that water level.

Alpine Rescue rigged up a rope and cable system to get a harnessed rescuer out the center of the rapids.  Our chief ran the water operation, and I was “in charge” of water group A.  It felt great to be valued as a major part of a team after only being part of the rescue squad for a short time.  I performed well, the operation went smooth, the team worked together efficiently and safely, and felt like a success as much as a body recovery can be.

It didn’t seem real to see the shirtless dead body pushed around by the current under the strainer his head bobbing in the waves.  Or even the horrific sight of him being lifted free of the water strapped to Dave and hauled back to shore white, bruised, and waterlogged after a night spent in the river.  My emotions stayed even, I performed my tasks.  We all did.

But somehow after it all ended, after everyone got out of the river safe, the body was on his way in the ambulance, and we were cleaning and putting away gear, a dull haze seemed to settle over the day.  My desires to go climbing or kayaking flooded away in the receding waters of the recovery.  Everyone’s spirits seemed even, but low probably because of the tragedy we had just witnessed first hand.

Somehow in this new grayness that enveloped the world a bright star became visible to remind me how precious life is.  How important it was for the family to get closure on their son’s death.  How essential it is that we value each moment.  What a fragile existence we hold here in this life, and how it’s all we have, each other, each day, each smile.

This note may come across a bit grim, but from where I sit now, life looks bright.  It’s been a rough day, but really incredible and eye opening as well.

I love you, and be safe.