As Fiona prepares to leave BASP for pastures new, she has been going through some old ZIP drives and found some old stuff of mine. Here's a wee article she found about a rescue team training day which was followed by attending a rescue on the Cobbler for a climber with a serious head injury. Apologies if its a bit rough and naff but I was just learning to write articles.
This was my first evening at JSMTC. It's kind of freaky finding the article today as I have been drafting a future Blog post about the way I feel JSMTC is responding to my partial retirement and the actions of line management. On the day in question in 1998 my line manager was Capt. Glynn Shepard. A great bloke and one of the best line mangers I have had the privilege to work under at the centre
OVERTIME
How about a Canyoning
training practise suggested the leader (John).
O.K says the team, where? Let’s
get a chopper and fly into the gorge above the German camp Kinlochleven
at the end of April suggests the leader.
O.K we say. Two Sundays later we
have an interesting day with me a bit twitchy as I start a new job at 7.00pm
that night.
It all begins at the new
rescue centre. We meet, and as usual
plans are laid back. Rescue 137 arrives
to find a semi comatose bunch of ex hippies and thrusting youth ready for
action. Wet suits and other apparel are
donned by John who has a cunning stunt in mind.
We land amid the alder clad brush above Kinlochleven in a scene that
would do justice to the classic Vietnam
chopper book “Chickenhawk”. Paul Moores
decides to climb into the gorge and simulate a broken neck. Rudimentary belays spring up all around as a
variety of MIC’s and prawn fishermen try to assert who is best with ropes. The result was functional rather than
aesthetically pleasing, and a truce was called.
Paul is packaged ready for hauling when a shout is heard and John falls backward over a 20’ raging waterfall
and disappears off downstream. John
reappears some 30mins later wondering why nobody went to his aid as this
perhaps wasn’t a planned exit?
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| John Greive about to jump into the River Leven up at "The Worlds End" pools to add a bit of spice to the scenario |
Much hauling and cursing
sees the casualty transported to a clearing in the wood and all 15 of us pile
in for the flight back to base. Coffee
and biscuits later, the winchman runs in to find John as they “have a job” and need 2 team plus “the medic”
- me. In we pile. Ronny, Paul Moores and I. No word yet from RCCK as to where the job
is. We fly over the by now wet and gray
hills southward for 30 mins. Word is the
casualty is in a serious condition after a long fall . We fly up through the mist to the ridge which
leads over to the casualty and spot figures waving frantically. The chopper lands on and out we pile running
along the ridge and down to get to him.
We find the casualty on a
grassy ledge 80’ below where he fell. He
is very injured and needs to go to hospital quickly. He is unfortunately surrounded by doctors
and nurses from a medics hillwalking group.
Many pale anaemic doctor types looking 16 but probably 30 years begin to
be assertive in the company of us aliens from the sky. Diagnosis’s abound. It soon becomes apparent that none are as
slick as they thought, and good old fashioned naked aggression from us seems to
get things back under control. As a peacemaking
gesture the oldest looking of the bunch was given the cannula to put in. This he did with gusto, but when he seemed
perplexed as no blood came out the end it became apparent that unlike the cannula, he wasn’t the sharpest tool
in the box.
The casualty was quickly packaged and carried down a
little way till the chopper could come in and lift him. After this the helo landed again on the
ridge, and after a sprint back to get on board we were winging our way to The
General Suffering hospital in Glasgow.
After a 15min flight we
landed on what appeared like a Tesco car park miles from the A/E entrance. Winchy and I disembark with the casualty onto
the back of a flat bedded van with two gum chewing pirates dressed as nurses on
board. I am met with “ah like yer truss jimmy - musta been some
party”, referring to my state of the art Petzl guru harness. After a short journey we entered the A/E and
do our handover. The casualty has spinal
injuries as well as a pneumothorax and pelvic fractures, so all in a good bit
of teamwork between SAR crew and MRT, we
feel chuffed.
Some time later I need a pee.
Wandering around I see a doppelganger - bugger me, its Ronnie! “How’s it going Dave? I’ve been wandering around
for ages. The choppers gone to Glasgow airport with
Paul. How are we going to get back
home?” I see a clock and its
5.00pm. I start at 7.00 so it looks like
a bad start in my career as an honorary soldier. Several phone calls later the Police agree to
take us to the airport. The police duly
arrive and drive us like the clappers through Sunday football traffic to the
airport police station. Good news is
that I can phone wifey to say I may be late for tea. “Where the ****k did you say you are!” she says incredulously. Bad news is that they won’t allow us onto the
airfield to look for the chopper unless we get searched. So, off we go in our S&M kit with all the
dangly jingly bits, accompanied by sniggering from the pale anaemic wee jimmy’s
who think their smart.
We eventually get ushered to
a small departure lounge and meet up with the SAR aircrew. It seems that such is the paranoia about
terrorism that despite having a big yellow budgie with RAF on the side, and
flying suits/helmets etc, that they also had to be body searched and they are
not amused. Beep goes the body scanner
again - ****k it goes Davy. Off we go
then, eventually, and try and find what is a big ****k off helicopter in Glencoe, but which
looks like a wee budgie when we eventually find it among some 747’s. We eventually get on board and ages later get
permission to taxi out among the giants.
We take off into the gathering gloom and fly North West down Loch Lomond. After
50 mins of juddering and shivering we land back in Glencoe where a quick shave and change sees me racing off to
start my new job.
I’m in the door at JSMTC at
7.00 exactly, and sort out the
gear. First student in is most
unimpressed by the gloomy weather, and a
bit ratty. His first words to me; “fuckin ell mate - must be fookin boring
stayin in this place” - Great joy at being paid overtime in my new job, and
having had a nice wee day out, I said nothing.
David Gunn
April 1998
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| Back in the day when I could cannulate invisible veins on hypothermic patients and get some opiates onboard. Hundreds of theatre hours don't prepare you for shutdown patients who still need analgesia. |
