Helicopter rescues hiker

Alan Muskett

Editor’s note: Alan Muskett worked as a doctor in Billings for more than 20 years. While there, he wrote a column on the medical industry. Muskett now works as the Swan Valley Emergency Services Medical Director. The patient mentioned in this story was okay.

The Bell 429 jet helicopter descended on the grass surface of the Condon International Airport (CIA) like a great green/blue/titanium raptor, one that had plucked an injured hiker from treacherous terrain of the high Mission Mountains. Awaiting the arrival of the patient was the Condon Quick Response Unit (QRU), the Sheriff, and the Seeley Lake Search and Rescue crew, who were poised to scoot up the 8 mile trail in the dusk if needed.

Over my surgical career I did over 20,000 operations, including 2,000 open heart procedures, but compared to these guys I felt like my skills were a few punches short.

Two Bear Air, a private rescue service funded entirely by philanthropist Michael Goguen, responded. The crew reported that they were unable to land, so they lowered a crew member on a cable, bundled the patient on a stretcher basket, and reeled them up into the belly of the great bird.

We assessed the patient on the ground and found them stable, so we transferred them to our ambulance for a rendezvous with the Bigfork Emergency Medical Service. As we prepared to leave, the 429 (base price $6.4 million without seat warmers) whopped the evening air while the grass waved farewell. Like a spectral spaceship, the rescue craft faded into the forest evening.

Gwen Feese, one of my EMT mentors, informed me that given our stable patient, it was time for me to drive. An ambulance is a box on wheels and will not be confused with a Lamborghini. I drove at a grandmotherly pace and could feel the vehicles behind us pondering whether it was cool to pass.

We met the Bigfork crew at the aptly named Cilly Creek Road, where two solicitous young EMTs assumed care. They didn’t comment on the fact that I had blown right by them, and they graciously backed up to meet us.

On the way back to the station, cruising down the beautiful Swan highway in the gloaming, I felt a surge of privilege. Tonight I worked with a group—air medics, pilots, search and rescue, the sheriff, my Condon QRU homies-- who cared nothing for red or blue or anything but an incredibly singular focus on serving someone whom they’d never met and would likely never see again. Volunteers, mostly, who thought nothing of putting their necks on the line on a Sunday night.

Small town fire and rescue is not remunerative, certainly, but a servant never has to wonder if their life has meaning. To relieve the suffering of another is the most meaningful thing we will ever do, whether it is plucking someone from the highest mountain, listening to the unburdening of a heavy heart, or holding a trembling hand.

I had hoped to avoid backing the ambulance into the station, but Feese said that now, as an EMT, I had new skills to learn. One step at a time.