A horse trapped in a Utah canyon gets a big lift from The HSU

Hess, De Anne

English

WBI Studies Repository (WellBeing International)

A horse trapped in a Utah canyon gets a big lift from The HSUS 14 An almost supernatural tranquillity permeates the air as I travel the quarter-mile road lead­ing to my office at the Davis County Animal Shelter. The only remaining evidence of the ac ­tivities of the past three days is the "Police Line, Do Not Cross" pe­rimeter security ribbon tied to the trees ringing a makeshift heli­copter landing pad. AB I look up to the vast Wasatch mountain range, I picture a steep, rocky crevice, now covered with new­fullen snow. For three days, my thoughts had focused on this can­yon, where Radar, a seven-year­old quarter horse, had been stranded for two weeks. Now, he was safe in the warm, secure hos­pital stall at the Kays Creek Veterinaty Clinic across the valley. Tears began to spill down my cheeks. • • • Tuesday morning, November 6, 1990, I had received a phone call from Michelle Menzenarez, who told me about a horse trapped in a deep can ­yon on the Francis Peak, just miles above my animal shelter. Radar had fullen from a mountain trail two weeks earlier while be­ing used to pack equipment out from a mountain camping trip. The horse had fullen nearly 200 feet and settled on his'back. His owner, Jeff Bodry, had had to cut the sad ­dle to remove i t  and enable the horse to get to his feet. Free of the saddle, the horse had panicked, bolted, and disappeared from view. For more than a week, Jeff had returned to the mountain and searched for a sign·that Radar was still alive. Jeff's hopes had fad­ed as he fought the heavy winter snow Sun­day morning, November 4. Three hours after beginning his ascent into the forbi d ­ding cliffs of Francis Peak, Jeff had spotted Radar �cross a deep draw, up another can -yon, approximately a mile away. Jeff reached the horse in mid-afternoon and, finding him tangled in the oak brush, had cut him free of the halter and lead rope that had rubbed deep sores on his nose and lower jaw. The horse was obviously weak, hungty, and dehydrated; Jeff estimated he had lost about 200 pounds. Jeff had spent hours !ty­ing to get Radar to eat the dty grass he managed to gather from beneath the snow, but his condition was so poor, he would not take food or water from melted snow. Threatening wind and snow had made it dangerous for Jeff to spend much time on the mountain, and Radar had been much too weak and sore to climb the 200-yard incline to the draw that would lead them down the canyon, After securing as much grass as possible and piling it near the horse, Jeff had hiked back down and enlisted the help of a friend to retorn with vitamins, elec­trolytes, and high protein pellets, with a hope that this boost would give the horse the strength to climb out. Before theYcould return to Radar, however, heavy snow and wind had forced the two to bed down for the n ight. Huddled in frozen sleeping bags, the men had been forced next morning to turn back, suffering from hypothermia. Michelle described how Jeff had wept as he reconciled himself to the fact that prob­ably the most humane thing to do was to return to the mountain and put the horse to sleep. Jeff had approached Steve Men­zenarez, Michelle's husband, to go with him the next day and, if circumstances were no better, shoot the horse. Michelle had become convinced that the horse must have an incredible will to live. She had insisted that something else could be done and had begun calling local humane organizations for assistance. Ogden Weber Humane Society had explained the problem was outside its jurisdiction but referred her 16 me. I reassured Michelle and Jeff that, some­how, we would get Radar home again. When Michelle explained that Jeff and Steve were preparing to return to the canyon, I asked her to have them come to my office BY DE ANNE HESS HSUS NEWS • Winter 1991 HSUS NEWS • Winter 1991 Opposite: A pa ­tient Radar awaits rescue in a canyon on Utah's fi'l'ancis PealL Far left, t_tbove: The HSUS's David Wills ( center) injects Ra­dar with tranqui­lizel' in prepara­tion for the airlift, then Jar left, be­low: assists the res­cue tea111 as it  secures the · heli­copter sling prior to liftoff. Left: A tranquilized Radar 1nakes an unevent­ful flight from the Wasatch Moun­tains to the Davis County Animal Shelter in a re�cue that made the na­tional news. 15 instead to give me some time to see what I could work out. All agreed that we would meet in one hour, and I prayed that, by then, I could give them a glinuner of hope. Immediately, I called the chairman of my county commission, which is ultimately responsible fur my funding. I briefly ex­plained the situation and reassured him that, if he would let me move on this one, I would find a way to cover any cost that might be incurred. Commissioner Stevenson gave me his blessing. My next move was to locate a helicopter service, and I turned to the state Division of Wildlife Resources for some ad­vice. The previous year, I had participated in a moose-transfer operation using "chop­pers," so I knew such a thing could be done. The division referred me to a local heli­copter company and another in Provo, Utah, seventy miles away. The division also of­fered the use of its sling and a member of its crew who had experience using it. I con­tacted the local company and it verified that it could move large animals in slings. My next call was to local CBS affiliate KSL-TV. I contacted an anchorman I had worked with previously and found him to be very recep­tive. He agreed to do a story that would generate community interest and, we hoped, bring in some financing. My next call was to veterinarian Kevin Hill for advice on tran­quilizing techniques. Dr. Hill was encourag­ing and enthusiastic about doing anything he could to help. When Jeff, Michelle, and Steve arrived at the shelter, Jeff was reluctant to proceed with an air rescue. There was no way he could pay thousands of dollars for the rescue and still afford the medical rehabilitation Radar would need afterward. I reassured Jeff that, if he could afford Radar's medical care,. I would find a way to pay for the rescue. He agreed, on the condition that I allow him to hike in one more time and con­firm that the horse was still alive. Jeff, Steve, and Michelle left my office with the understanding that they would locate the horse, evaluate him, administer vitamin shots, antibiotic, and high protein food, and return word to the shelter as soon as possi­ble. At 5:00 p.m. Steve, frozen, wet, and ecstatic, burst illto my office, shouting "He's alive!" I called the chopper service and ar­ranged for an 8:30 a.m. rescue the follow­ing day. Steve and I then met with the Divi­sion of Wildlife Resources to pick up the sling and arrange for an officer to assist with the rescue. The man would assist, we were told, but he couldn't hike in-we would have to deliver him by chopper. With no funding in place and every minute in the air adding up, I knew I could not commit to a chop-16 per ride for anyone, so I thanked him for the offer, took a lesson in using the sling, and headed back to Davis County. Wednesday, November 7, 1990: at 8:30 a.m., I was greeted by Jeff, Steve, and Michelle, dressed and ready for their ascent to the 9,500-foot Francis Peak radar tower, where they would begin their two-hour de­scent to the canyon. Men who worked with Jeff had come along to deliver the crew to the mountain, and they were waiting with anticipation. KSL-TV reporter Larry Lewis arrived shortly after I did and advised me that he bad a chopper standing by to cover the entire rescue. Then the walls came crashing down at 8:45, when the chopper company advised me it would have to back out due to a previous commitment that had resurfaced. The overwhebning disappoint­ment was short lived; I remembered the sec ­ond helicopter company, and inunediately contacted it. "No problem, we can lift a horse," reassured Spike Kinghorn, chopper pilot. Spike estimated that 1.8 hours' flight time would be needed for the rescue, and, at $750 per hour, we were looking at about $1,431 just for the chopper. I swallowed hard and told him to hold a machine fot' me. The price was about three and a half times what we had estimated, due to the distance the chopper would have to travel to get there. I knew now that the funding had to be in place before the money was spent. A call to the American Humane Association in Denver found Carol Moulton, who ex­plained that AHA's emergency relief funds were earmarked for natural disaster. She recommended the Humane Society of Utah. I called Gene Baierschmidt, executive direc­tor, who said he would have to consult with his board of directors and get back to me. I scrambled to find my latest edition of the HSUS newsletter Shelter Sense. There it was, page two: HSUS Vice President, Com­panion Animals, Phyllis Wright, (202) 452-1100. I told my story and my pulse quickened as I realized that the person on the other end of the phone was interested and really listening. "I'll have someone from Mr. Hoyt's of­fice call you right back." With renewed hope, I relayed the news to the anxious bystanders. Moments later, David Wills, HSUS vice president for investigations, was on the phone. He, too, was interested in our cause, and, after much explanation, agreed to discuss our situation with John A. Hoyt, president of The HSUS, and get back to me. David assured me that he would give me an answer one way or the other within two hours. Meanwhile, I received a call from Gene Baierschmidt, who committed $500 for the rescue if we weren't successful with The HSUS. Moments later, there was another call from David Wills, requesting more information, and, again, a promise that he would get back to me with a deci­sion. Finally, after what seemed an eternity but was less than two hours after my original discussion with David, the call came that he was on his way to Washington, D.C.'s Dulles Airport and would be arriving in Salt Lake City at 8:43 p.m. to give me a hand. John Hoyt had made the commitment to fund the rescue. Cheers resounded through the animal shelter as, once again, our goal seemed in sight. David instructed me to get a supply of warm oats and more electrolytes up to the horse, replace the wet blanket Jeff had put on him the day before with a dry one, and verify that he was still alive. KSL­TV newsman Larry Lewis inunediately ar­ranged for his station's Chopper Five to fly Jeff and Steve in to deliver warm food and a dry blanket to Radar. Within an hour, vitamins, electrolytes, wann water, and a dry blanket were on their way. Our en­thusiasm skyrocketed as we began to finalize plans for the rescue, scheduled to take place at 12:00 noon the following day, exactly twenty-four hours from that moment. I met David at the Salt Lake International airport, and also met Mr. and Mrs. Hal Gardner, longtime HSUS members. (Hal is also a member ofthe board of directors of The HSUS.) Both Gardners were tremen­dously supportive of our rescue effort, and made me feel as though I was doing them the favor. From the moment David and I met at the airport, I sensed his tremendous com­mitment and dedication. His experience and expertise in the field of animal rescue was obvious as we began calculating our rescue plan step by step. David and I drove directly to meet with Dr. David Hill to discuss tran­quilizing Radar for his flight. David Wills picks up the story: I own two horses and the thought of either of them falling down a mountainside is a sickening one. Knowing there was an animal stranded in bitter conditions after surviving such a fall was adequate reason: foTThe HSUS to see if we could get the animal out-or, at least, that was my reasoning. The first stop for that night was the prac­tice of Dr. David Hill, one of two vet­erinarian brothers who had offered to help the Davis County Animal Control people. I explained my concerns. Tranquilization under these circumstances is tricky. First, determining the animal's debilitation is very subjective. Then, there is choosing the ap­propriate tranquilizer. Rompun, the drug of HSUS NEWS • Winter 1991 choice, had caused me problems in the past. A seemingly tranquilized animal had once reacted excitedly to a loud noise and.become more agitated when we tried to restrain him by hand. Proper administration of the cho­sen drug is critical, since too little leaves open the possibility of a horse bolting when the helicopter comes in low overhead, and too much could leave us with an animal that could suffocate in the sling or collapse upon landing. After listening patiently to my lay­man's recital of my fears, Dr. Hill prescribed a combination of Rompun and Torbugesic and carefully explained the proper admin­istration and the length of time the drugs would be effective. I was tired as I got to the hotel in Bountiful, Utah, but a Jot more confident we could accomplish our task. At 8:00 a.m., as I was standing at 9,000-plus feet in the freezing cold and buffeted by a gale force wind, that confidence was waning. The hike in looked ominous. The rest of the group acted as though this was another routine backpacking trip, so I kept my concerns to myself as we began the 2,000-foot ascent toward Bear Canyon and a lonely and cold horse named Radar. The scenery was breathtaking, and the wind abated as we dropped lower down the mountainside. The only real problem was not to lose your footing or get your leg hung up against a rock or branch buried beneath one foot of snow as you descended at some very steep angles. Several times during the descent we stopped to radio our progress to those back at the Davis County shelter. At 10:15 a.m., we arrived at the spot where Radar had spent the last two weeks. He was happy to see us. His entire de­meanor changed as we eased ourselves into the canyon where he was trapped. Surpris­ingly, he looked good, everything con­sidered. He'd Jost a lot of weight and he was cut and banged up a bit, but he sure could have been a Jot worse off. After resting for an hour, having some hot coffee, and letting Radar calm down from his initial excitement over our arrival, we were ready to begin. He was too nervous to be given the first dose of tranquilizer in­travenously so I administered an intramus­cular injection and waited about ten to fif­teen minutes. At 11:08 a.m., I approached Radar and gave him another injection, this time an I.V. in the jugular vein. His head drooped forward, and I said to Steve and Lou Shrope, of Davis County Animal Con ­trol, "Let's get the harness on him." The sling was one the Utah Division of WJ!dlife Resources used for moose and a lit­tle too big for a horse that had dropped as much weight as Radar had, but we impro-HSUS NEWS • Winter l 991 vised and, thanks to the quiet and patient cooperation of a very drowsy horse, at 11:15 we called for the 'copter. Spike Kinghorn knows his job. After a very high circle to get a good look at our­and particularly Radar's-position on the ground, he dropped in and lowered the cable gingerly and perfectly into my outstretched hand. I hooked it up and, after giving one last hard pull on the sling, nodded to Lou, who had the radio, and said "Toke him up." There is something about that instant when you know you are going to pull it off that is hard to describe. Elation, pride, and relief sweep through your brain as you realize how lucky you are to have a voca­tion that is also your avocation. As Radar was lifted and sped away to the waiting De Anne, Dr. Hill, and scores of others, the five of us on the ground looked at each other and knew we had done well. About an hour later, we had climbed the steep side of Bear Canyon up to a ledge where Spike would pick us up. I reflected on how to answer th.e questions inevitably HSUS/HESS Above, Radar heads toward a soft landing at the Davis County Animal Shelter after his ten-niin­ute helicopter ride out of the ntoun­tains. Below, De Anne Hess ( center) comforts a tearful Theo Bodry as the Bodrys' daughter and other shelter staff members wel­coµie Radar to solid ground. asked by someone when we landed below. Why spend this much time, effort; and money on one horse? Was it worth it? This time, I would be ready for the questions. There is something special about a society and a people that stand up for the little guy, and I've always thought that the better we treated our animal friends, the better we would tend to treat each other. Was it worth it? Well, for that answer, they would have to ask a lonely, cold, and frightened horse named Radar. • • • Editor's postscript: After a ten-minute helicopter ride, Radar was gently lowered to the ground at the Davis County Animal Shelter, where De Anne Hess, Dr. David Hill, Jef  Bodry 's wife and daughter, and the animal-control department staff were waiting. He was treated for shock and de­hydration, taken to Dr. Hill's clinic for several days, then allowed to go home. ■ De Anne Hess is director of Utah's Davis County Animal Control. 17 

Radar\u27s Wild Ride

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Radar\u27s Wild Ride

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