Distinctly Montana Magazine

D I S T I N C T L Y M O N T A N A M A G A Z I N E • W I N T E R 2 0 2 2 44 estimate to her responses, then the resulting score tells me the urgency. Does the subject have a medical history? Does he have overnight gear? Has he come back late in the past? Does he know the territory? And then the first thing we do is scramble one of our Jeeps to the trailhead to see if the sub- ject's car is even parked there. We look for cigarette butts, tire tracks, litter. One time we found no car at all, because the guy was in Salt Lake City with his girlfriend." To qualify as a rescuer, applicants must be county resi- dents, CPR-validated, and guilty of no felonies. Or not too many. There's plenty of staff turnover. "People think it'll be a romantic experience full of John Wayne heroics," Burleigh said. "But when you're standing wet and shivering on a riverbank for nine hours, poking around for a bloated corpse, the fun wears right off." Burleigh's motorized arsenal is reassuring: a Jeep Wrangler with Yeti-approved snow tires; a truck carrying an ice raft; a 4WD Knapheide ambulance that seats five rescuers plus a pa- tient strapped onto a titanium litter so light it can easily be carried on a backpack; four Yamaha snowmobiles (one with a shielded sled for the victim); four Polaris ATVs, six Zodiac rafts, and a 4WD six-wheeled command center that looks like a Compton SWAT post. It cost $160,000 and carries a further $4,000 worth of radios attached to telescoping antennae. In- side are sofas flanking a table that accommodates any of a zil- lion topo maps stored in a wine rack with no corkscrew. The cadaver dogs reportedly love the RV's sofas. "Despite all the vehicles," Burleigh told me, "I can tell you that the principal method of transportation is always…" and then he pointed at his legs. He has a blown-out knee to prove it. At headquarters, there's a small interrogation room where friends and family huddle. They're kept isolated from what might be morbid radio transmissions. Burleigh never tells them he's calling off the search. Instead, he says, "We need more information." When confirmation of a subject's death arrives, the family is usually watching TV. The sea change in S&R has been cell phones, although most don't work in the backcountry near my home. You may as well throw your phone in the river and hope Flipper finds it. • • • "We had a guy call on his cell, saying he was lost," Burleigh recalled. "We pinged his location—latitude and longitude— and talked him through orienting his compass. Then we just 'walked' him back. Our last instruction was, 'Uh, you should see your truck 'bout now,' and the guy goes, 'Oh, yeah, jeez, it's right in front of me.' " Ravalli County S&R won't respond to folks who've drained their car's battery or drowned its electrics. "We need some evidence you're in a life-threatening situ- ation," Burleigh explained, "not just a matter of convenience to be extracted. We're not mechanics. If you have food and water, you may be stuck for a couple days." Neither will they salvage your car or gear. They'll hoist you to safety, but your kayak becomes a scratching post for bobcats. Burleigh recalled a hiker who panicked after noticing that a creek he crossed was rising with speed sufficient to block retreat. "The next day, we flew the helo in," Burleigh remembered, "winched down our rescue guy, and two of the campers said, 'Hey, we're fine, don't need no help.' But the third guy was freaked and cold. So we hoisted him to the helo and flew him to the trailhead. That's when he complained we'd left behind his backpack." Burleigh said more and more campers equip themselves with GPS, emboldening them to deeper wilderness havoc. "And they always forget spare bat- teries," he added. Burleigh's most memorable rescue was on Darby's own stretch of the Bitterroot River, my favorite site for brown trout. "A canoe slammed up against a log and got stuck," he recalled. "The guy scrambled to safety, but the woman was pinned, with her head barely above water. A diver tied a rope to her—a live-bait vest [so-called because it's a line with something squirming on the end]. Meanwhile, the diver had reached the canoe and was attempting to cut it in half with a chain saw. Yeah, I know, crazy. Suddenly, the girl was pulled under, so the diver dove after her. Grabbed her and held on underwater for 50 meters, on one breath. The rescuer earned a medal of valor for that. But, I swear, I'm surprised I didn't witness four drownings." I interviewed Burleigh immediately after an early June snowstorm at our house. I told him that Julie and I were momentarily embarking on a tour in Car and Driver's rear- wheel-drive, 365-hp Genesis G90 with summer tires. Our goal was to traverse Montana's Beartooth Highway, a road that achieves 11,000 feet. Burleigh stared at me, then said, "Wow. Okay. Guess I'll see you later." I smiled. Burleigh did not. BROWN TROUT EAT OTHER BROWN TROUT. ALSO MICE. ALSO ANYTHING THAT WIGGLES, INCLUDING FISH BEING RETRIEVED BY AN ORVIS ROD. LITTLE FRESHWATER SHARKS IS WHAT THEY ARE.

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