Applying concepts: A real-life example of a SAR incident in the Narrows of Zion National Park8/14/2025  In this second installment of our 3-part series exploring Search and Rescue, I’ll tell the story of a complex SAR incident in the Narrows of Zion National Park. Using what you’ve learned in part one "Foundations: What is Search & Rescue?" see if you can tease out the different stages of a SAR response throughout this story. Furthermore, consider what could have made this response go more smoothly, better mitigate risk, or require fewer resources. Then, we’ll “debrief” the callout in the final part of the series: “Lessons learned: Reflecting on the Narrows incident,” and discuss some strategies that could have improved the response.
I spent the summer of 2022 working in Zion National Park as an EMT on the park’s ambulance and on their search and rescue (SAR) team. The EMS/SAR staff for the park was small and scrappy; we had two full-time EMTs (including myself) and two full-time Paramedics, a handful of park law enforcement officers with EMT and AEMT certs, and a bunch of excited SAR volunteers from other park departments and local guide companies to help with transports. It’s an ideal place to learn by getting thrown into the action, and I loved it. It’s also a place where, given our limited resources and complex terrain, we had to get creative, try out new strategies, and continually reflect and learn from each call to make the next one better. Let’s start at the beginning of the incident: the call. Our dispatcher received word that someone was hurt in the Narrows, “about a mile or two up from the main trailhead” around 4pm in the afternoon. The Narrows is an incredibly popular, aptly named section of the Virgin River canyon where day hikers walk up the river bed between stunning, sheer walls of sandstone only as wide as the water. Most of the hike is in ankle to knee deep water, more like walking up a babbling stream than what we imagine as a rushing river, but there are some sections with swift currents and surprisingly deep pools that require careful route-finding. Some folks choose to hike the entirety of the Narrows “top-down,” starting at a trailhead outside of the park and hiking a total of 14 miles in the river to the main trailhead in the park, which can be done as an overnight trip or a single, long day hike. The injured party apparently was attempting the latter, before injuring their lower leg, according to the reporting party. Unfortunately, the report came from a passerby, and they had no other information about the patient, who they were with, or what resources the injured person had at their disposal. Furthermore, there is no cell service in the Narrows, and even satellite devices sometimes struggle to get messages out from the depths of the canyon; our dispatch was unable to get any further reports or information about the patient. At Zion, one of the law enforcement park rangers always took the role of Incident Commander (IC) - usually it was whomever was on duty and available at or near the dispatch center when a call came in. For the Narrows incident, the IC decided to send five rescuers as the hasty team: two medical rescuers (myself and a paramedic), one park ranger to serve as team leader, and two additional SAR volunteers solely for carrying gear. Since the initial report was unclear, IC cautioned us to prepare for a long, and possibly overnight, rescue and to pack accordingly. Packing for calls like this is difficult: Would we be out for a few hours, or well into the following day? What items were going to be essential, and where could we cut down? Our basic first aid kit was essential, of course. We also chose to pack an IV kit, a bag of fluids, and IV pain meds in the event of a severe injury paired with a long evacuation. We packed light on bulky splinting materials, only carrying a few SAM splints and mentally preparing to improvise from there if necessary. The rest of our packs were stuffed with overnight gear, both for ourselves and for the patient and possible companions. This included sleeping bags and pads, as well as additional dry layers since we’d be walking mostly in the river in the Narrows. Then there was food and water to haul, and we’d need enough for the five of us, plus the patient and companions, to get through the night and into the following day if necessary. In the backcountry, when supplies are carried on backs and patients may be miles from vehicle access, these decisions can be critical. We want to carry just the right amount – too much and the team will be bogged down and inefficient; too little and we might be missing essential gear that could greatly improve patient, and team, outcomes. Once we cleared the first hurdle and our team was assembled and packed about two hours later, we headed up the Narrows as the day waned. We moved against the flow of traffic as most people were hiking out, downriver, for the day. Our patient had been on a through-hike of the Narrows, starting 14 miles up the canyon at a trailhead outside the park, and planned to exit at the main Narrows trailhead within the park. We hoped the report was true and she was only a couple miles out from the trailhead, but we all knew we might end up walking in the dark. Once night falls, the somewhat whimsical river walking becomes difficult to navigate, and requires good knowledge of the canyon, knowing where to avoid the deepest pockets and swiftest currents. It was an arduous and complex way to travel with heavy packs and methodically searching each bank of the river so we didn’t miss the patient. Sure enough, the miles began to tick by with no sign of the injured party, the sun sank behind the cavernous walls, and we picked our way up the canyon in deep darkness. As we walked, it was a constant negotiation between making forward progress and managing our team’s risk. At some points, people had to scout ahead for obstacles like log jams or rocks to find clear ways around them in the dark. At others, we had to pass packs through tight squeezes past boulders, or spot each other through deep pools. And at each of these stages, we also had to consider: keep going, or pull back and reassess? Is the risk still acceptable for the mission at hand? Finally, at about midnight, we found our patient. She was situated on a gravel bar at the confluence of the Virgin River and Deep Creek. We were perfectly in the middle: seven miles from the trailhead we came in from and also seven miles from the trailhead at the top of the Narrows. She had one companion, uninjured but unprepared to spend a night out, who had managed to build a small fire. Some other hikers had left them with a few jackets. The night was cool, and their hiking clothes (and ours) were wet from walking in the river. The patient’s ankle was obviously deformed and very swollen. They both were hungry, thirsty, and getting cold. The paramedic, Tim, and I quickly got to work assessing the patient, taking vitals, and asking questions about medical history. We started working to get them both warm, dry, fed, and hydrated. It was clear we’d need to improvise a splint for the ankle using the SAM splints we had packed. It was also clear the patient was in a lot of pain. Tim decided he’d like to start IV pain meds - Fentanyl - to ease her pain levels so she could hopefully sleep. Starting IV pain meds in the backcountry on a gravel bar is tricky: you have to be exceedingly careful to keep everything clean. You also need to monitor the patient carefully, especially with opiates, because they can suppress respiratory drive if the dose is too high. We were the sole medical care for this patient until she reached a hospital, which likely wouldn’t be until the next day at this rate, so we were in it for the long haul. Tim and I set up a sleep shift schedule, one hour on, one hour off, so we could try to rest while also keeping an eye on the patient’s pain and vitals through the night. Meanwhile, our team lead, Erin, was in contact with IC, notifying them of our location and the patient’s condition. We had already discussed as a team that evacuating at night would be too risky both for us and the patient, so Erin notified IC that we wanted to hunker down for the night and wait for IC to organize an evacuation in the morning. The options for evacuation were either a seven-mile litter float back down the Narrows, in which we strap the patient into a litter, which we rig onto a small raft, that we then walk down the river by hand; or a possible helicopter hoist, if the canyon walls proved to be wide enough at our location. The litter float was a common evacuation procedure in the Narrows for shorter distances, but a seven-mile float would likely take a team of at least 15 additional rescuers, probably more, and it risked taking so long that we could get benighted again the following night, which would render the rest of the float to be quite dangerous. The helicopter wasn’t an easy shot either though, since the canyon walls were so narrow that we weren’t sure if a helicopter could even access the patient. Our IC decided to begin mobilizing both in the morning, and organized a helicopter recon flight as well as a team to start packing for a possible float out. While we waited for evacuation the next morning, our task was to move the patient to the widest, most accessible spot on the sand bar for a possible helicopter hoist. We had sleeping bags and pads as well as a few hiking poles, so we improvised a stretcher. All five of us had to help move the patient onto the stretcher, and then carry her down the gravel bar. We only had to carry her 100 yards or so, but it’s amazing how tricky that can be over uneven terrain! Eventually, the helicopter flew by and the pilot decided they would attempt a hoist. The helicopter hovered, rotors spinning only a couple yards away from the canyon walls, as we all watched in total awe. Cool as cucumbers, they dropped one of their crew members down to start rigging the patient. For the patient, the story was nearly over. The helicopter was not medically equipped, but they quickly flew her to an ambulance rendezvous where she was then transported to the nearest hospital. She was admitted for ankle surgery within hours. But for us, we had a long day ahead. We were still seven miles from any trailhead, with loads of gear to haul and the clock ticking for when we’d run out of food or water. Time to move! We decided it would be easier walking, less hazardous, and faster, to continue upstream where the river was shallower and slower-moving rather than return the way we came. Finally, after about three more hours of river trudging, we reached the trailhead, tired but accomplished. Fellow team members picked us up, with a pile of burritos at the ready, and hauled us back to headquarters for clean up and debrief. This story is an example of how a real-life SAR incident unfurled. Referring back to the first installment in the series, “Foundations: What is Search and Rescue?” see if you can identify all the parts of the incident following the P-LAST acronym. Which parts seemed the most challenging during the story? Which parts were the simplest? Furthermore, consider what information, planning, or actions might have improved the response. In the final installment of this mini SAR series, “Lessons learned: Reflecting on the Narrows incident” we’ll debrief the story and discuss what would make a smoother response for next time. If you have insight to share from your own experiences working with a SAR team, leave us a comment, we’d love to hear from you! About the author: Zoey is a licensed provider for WMTC and owner of Headwind Backcountry Medicine, LLC. She’s spent many seasons exploring outdoor education, recreation, and wilderness medicine from a variety of angles, and she’s excited to share pieces of her experiences here with you. Thanks for reading!
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The world of Search and Rescue (SAR) is often intertwined with wilderness medicine. In our wilderness medicine courses, we talk about SAR teams as a resource for evacuating a patient, so it’s important to understand the principles of SAR operations so we can communicate with and utilize them effectively should we need their assistance. As a trip leader and wilderness medicine provider, you also may find yourself in charge of an impromptu search or rescue for a lost student, client, or even someone from a less experienced group, in which case it can be very helpful to have an operational framework to reference as the scenario unfolds. In this three-part series, we’ll discuss the parts of a SAR response in the first article, “Foundations: What is Search and Rescue?” to provide a framework for executing any type of search and rescue, big or small. In the second article, “Applying concepts: A real-life example of a SAR incident in the Narrows,” we’ll go on a deep dive into a real story from my time working on an ambulance and SAR team in Zion National Park, where you’ll be able to apply the framework from article one to gain a better understanding of how and why the incident unfolded the way it did. Finally, the third article, “Lessons learned: Reflecting on the Narrows incident,” will debrief the story from article two, demonstrating the importance of debriefing incidents to find ways to continually improve search and rescue responses. By the end of the series, you’ll hopefully come away with an understanding of search and rescue processes and how they can be applied across a spectrum of situations, and how you as a wilderness medicine provider might fit into the SAR picture, whether you’re on a SAR team, requesting help from SAR while caring for a patient, or finding yourself leading an impromptu SAR mission.
Many years ago, I remember participating on a spring break backpacking trip with my college outdoor program. I was a first-year student and couldn’t get enough of these types of trips – I really wanted to be a trip leader and went on as many outings as I could cram into my busy college schedule. This particular trip was a five-day backpack through desert canyons outside of Hanksville, Utah. On the first day, as we packed up and prepared for the trip, the leaders reviewed some key safety policies – basic hygiene, traveling as a group, the planned route, and what to do if you become lost. That last point, which we discussed at the outset of every trip I had been on with the outdoor program, always struck me as a little funny, because weren’t we going to stick together the whole time? And weren’t we going to be on a pretty obvious trail, or walking through a confining desert canyon with no other paths? How could we become lost? The chances seemed infinitesimally slim, but nonetheless, I noted that the leaders advised that a lost person should stay put and make themselves obvious to help the group locate them. But the thoughts of getting lost soon drifted from my brain as we strode into a wash that afternoon, replaced by sunshine, red rocks, and a thin layer of desert sand crusting everything I owned. A few days into the trip, we stopped at a pothole holding good, clear water, so we dropped our packs, filled bottles, snacked and basked in the spring sunshine like lizards. After 20 minutes or so, the leaders urged us to get going again so we could make it to camp in the daylight. We were slow to leave our sunny watering hole, peeling ourselves off the warm sandstone sunbathing beds and putting on our crunchy desert shoes. As we waddled away under the weight of our packs, someone asked at the back of the line, “Where’s Amy?” Heads snapped up and eyeballs scanned. Where was Amy? And when had I last seen her? I suddenly took note of the twisting, rocky desert terrain and realized the canyon had split just behind us, where another fork joined. I wracked my brain…I know I saw Amy while we filled water, but did I notice her packing up? Had she slipped off to check something out or go pee around the corner? Amy was, at that moment, lost. The leaders quickly reacted to the erupting confusion and concern. They interviewed the group and determined that Amy had been with us at the watering hole, and that she must have gotten separated just as we were packing up and heading out, only about five minutes ago. No one had seen which direction she had gone, but the canyon walls were pretty steep, so she likely was somewhere nearby in the canyon or the other fork. They split us up into three groups - one would stay put to scan around the immediate area and make sure Amy didn’t accidentally pass us heading down the main canyon farther; one would go back to the watering hole and scan around there; the third would check out the other fork where it joined the main canyon. We would take no more than 15 minutes on this initial search before meeting back at the starting point – if we hadn’t found her by then, we’d need to come up with another plan and alert more resources. I was struck by how suddenly these events unfolded. In the course of just a few minutes, we went from an intact group to searching for a lost member. So THIS is how people get lost! Only a few minutes into our search plan, however, the two groups that searched up-canyon returned successful, Amy walking along with them. She’d gone off to change into shorts around the corner from the watering hole, got caught up checking out some cool rocks, and was surprised to see that the group had left upon return. The search teams found Amy at the confluence of the alternate fork and the main canyon, considering which way the group would have gone. After some collective sighs of relief, nervous giggles (“That could’ve been way worse!”), and a debrief of the situation from the leaders, our group, intact once again, happily carried on towards camp. For the rest of the trip, we stuck together like glue. This experience on the desert backpacking trip was a small, impromptu SAR incident — it took only a handful of minutes, and required no more resources than what our group already had, namely people, to be successful. But the process of the incident unfolded like any SAR incident would. The trip leaders functioned as the de facto incident command team (in formal settings, there is usually a single Incident Commander, or IC, assisted by a variety of section leaders such as Safety, Operations, Logistics, etc). Whether they knew it at the time or not, the leaders organized our response along the lines of a common SAR framework, referred to as P-LAST: Plan, Locate, Access, Stabilize, Transport. Each of these represents a distinct phase of a SAR incident, and when executed in order, results in an organized and efficient approach to finding and assisting a subject. The trip leaders’ first step was to make a Plan. This was composed of pulling together information, like where and when the lost person was last seen. If we hadn’t already spent days together, they might have also needed to gain more insight into Amy’s personality and psyche: Does she typically like to explore on her own? What are her interests? Has she done this before? How has she been feeling today? What are her skills and what resources does she have with her? Additionally, they needed to come up with a strategy for searching within the highest probability areas with the resources available, and quickly, to increase the chances of success before Amy had time to get even farther away from the group. Part of this strategy included identifying natural guardrails and funnels - in this case the canyon walls - that might hem the subject in. In other settings, natural features that can act as guardrails include large bodies of water, rivers, and cliffs. Terrain features that act as funnels are easy to travel along, like trails, roads, canyons, and ridgelines. Once the plan was made, the search, or Locate, phase began. Our small groups, which were functioning like hasty teams (small, self-sufficient teams that can quickly search high-probability areas), began searching in assigned zones based on where Amy was mostly likely to be found – near the point last seen (PLS) and at the potentially confusing junction where the canyon forked. The trip leaders thoughtfully left one group in place, stationed where we realized Amy was missing, to make sure she didn’t accidentally leave the search area; in SAR terminology, this is referred to as containment. Other tools that SAR teams use to locate subjects include tracking dogs, aircraft, GPS data, and even fine-toothed grid searching on foot. Luckily, our search teams were quickly successful. In any search, there is always some urgency in locating the subject quickly, because the less time they have to move away from the point last seen, the more easily they will be found. Amy had mere minutes to get separated, which meant the search area was small and likelihood was high that we’d find her. If she’d had hours, the search area would have expanded considerably. This is why it is usually easier to find a lost person if they stay put, and why our trip leaders encouraged us to do so while making our location as obvious as possible (you could shout or blow a whistle, use visual cues like smoke, bright colors, or reflectors, etc.) should we become lost during the trip. After the subject is located, they must be Accessed. In Amy’s case, there were no barriers to access – she was just standing in the canyon junction, and the searchers walked right up. But what if Amy had explored a little farther afield, and scrambled up a short but steep rock band and couldn’t figure out how to down climb it? Then we would have had a high angle rock access problem, and we might have needed to spot someone to climb up to Amy, or find an alternate route to reach her. Access problems usually intensify with water, snow, ice, rock or steep terrain. For example, rescuers may have to rappel down or climb up rock walls, ski down a snowy slope or avalanche debris, or navigate glaciers and crevasses. The Access phase may also involve rescuing the subject from immediate hazards, such as pulling someone to shore from swift water or removing them from unstable terrain like avalanches or rock slides. In a SAR incident where the subject is injured or sick, the next phase would be to Stabilize them by providing medical care and readying them for Transport. On the desert backpacking trip, there was no need for stabilization, because Amy was perfectly healthy, just a little lost. In other cases, the stabilization phase may involve treating immediate life threats, doing patient assessments, filling out a SOAP note, and devising a treatment and transport plan. Amy also didn’t need any transport assistance, so the transport phase of our mini-SAR was merely the process of walking her back to the designated meeting point, where we joyfully concluded the incident and carried on with our backpacking trip. If someone can’t transport themselves and needs to be evacuated (as is common for sick and injured patients), then the SAR team creates a transport plan based on the terrain and patient condition. This could include using vehicles like helicopters, UTVs, or boats to evacuate the subject. Or it could mean carrying them out in a litter (sturdy, human-shaped wire basket) on foot, hoisting them up or down steep terrain, or assisting them in other ways. Many SAR teams have specialized tools and equipment for dealing with transporting subjects in their unique service areas, and they spend a lot of time training on how to manage complex transports in their most challenging terrain. A SAR incident is only complete once the incident has been debriefed and all of the teams and gear required are returned and restored to their prepared state (rested, cleaned, organized, re-stocked, and ready to deploy). On our backpacking trip, the resources required were so minimal (just us humans looking for Amy for a couple minutes) that our group was ready to carry on with the trip after re-grouping at our designated meetup spot. The leaders debriefed the incident and reiterated the importance of letting people know when and where we’re going if we leave the group, and to remain stationary if we realize we’re lost. With that, we slung our heavy packs back on, and waddled down the canyon towards camp. That evening, under clear starry skies and gathered around a glowing headlamp-nalgene lantern, we reflected on our feelings from the day and what we learned. For my part, I thought about my new understanding of just how easy it can be to become lost, despite my disbelief at the beginning of the trip. I also marveled at the calmness of the leaders as they led us through the situation with Amy earlier in the day, and wondered if I’d have the skills to someday manage a group under stress so tactfully. I had no idea then that I’d go on to work professionally as a ski patroller, SAR team member, outdoor leader, and wilderness medicine instructor, and that this early experience would one day become a simple illustration of the phases of a search and rescue response. From this story, we can see how even the simplest incidents can follow the P-LAST framework, though some of the phases may be quite abbreviated in the absence of technical terrain or a sick or injured patient. Regardless of scale, following the stages of P-LAST helps organize resources and streamline a SAR response. To explore this process further, we’ll be going on a deep dive with the story of a professional SAR incident in the Narrows of Zion National Park in our next article, “Applying concepts: a real-life example of a SAR incident in the Narrows”. As you read this next story, you’ll now be able to identify the different parts of the SAR process, and perhaps reflect on what you might do if you were part of a SAR response. It’s an exciting story, involving an unreliable point last seen, navigating challenging terrain at night, a helicopter in a tight spot, and more. Stay tuned! If you have insight to share from your own experiences working with a SAR team, leave us a comment, we’d love to hear from you! About the author: Zoey is a licensed provider for WMTC and owner of Headwind Backcountry Medicine, LLC. She’s spent many seasons exploring outdoor education, recreation, and wilderness medicine from a variety of angles, and she’s excited to share pieces of her experiences here with you. Thanks for reading! |
