Diesel And Dust
(With apologies to Midnight Oil for "borrowing" an appropriate title.)
Towards the end of May I had the opportunity to once again visit an old friend in the Santa Ana Mountains. I had some company this time, in the form of an engineer from the company. Brigid wanted to go along as, in her words, she "remembers stuff much better when I've been able to see and touch it." <thinks> Referring, of course, to the communications systems we were climbing to work on. Anyway... she is heavily involved in emergency management, and is trying to broaden her knowledge base regards radio communications systems. What better way to learn, and who better to learn from, than by accompanying the old coyote on one of his runs?
So we met early one morning at the plant in Yorba Linda, threw her gear into the cab of my trusty five-ton pal, and ventured forth. It would prove to be an interesting day.
Please note that all images, text, and coding on these page are copyright © Paul J. Lorona, 2007.
Permission to use must be obtained in writing prior to use.
All photos taken with a Canon EOS 20D by Paul J. Lorona unless otherwise noted.
The lead sled in front of Building Four at Santiago Peak. A careful eye will note the speck of orange in the bed of the truck, which is actually yours truly heading for the building behind the truck. To the left my fellow communications technician can be seen looking for something in his service vehicle, a K3500 Chevy pickup with a utility body. Image by Brigid.
The trip up was uneventful. As our trusty steed grumbled and growled along Indian Truck Trail, the turbo-charged diesel never got warm, but the transmission and transfer case had their work cut out for them. Climbing up Indian Canyon from the east side of our destination, the air became sweet and cool. Once above the inversion layer visibility was excellent, and we crested the ridge at Main Divide Road to look down on the stratus covering Orange County. The upper end of Holy Jim Canyon was surprisingly green and verdant, given the ongoing drought we've been experiencing. Currently the city of Santa Ana, the closest monitoring station to Santiago Peak, is less than 13% year-to-date for average rainfall totals with 1.14 inches recorded since 1 January. That's not a lot of precipitation, even for us. Normal YTD figures should be around 9 inches.
So there was a lot of dust and loose material in the trails, which we kicked up as we went along. The trail to Santiago is not long, but for a truck like ours, heavily loaded, it took a while as it is somewhat steep and narrow. And of course there were a few switchbacks (three, I think) that would be (and were) easily negotiated by a standard pickup truck, that we had to back and cut at to get around. Brigid is fairly new to back country mountain four-wheeling, and was quite taken by it all. Old hat to me, I still had fun wrestling the wheel and discoursing at length about the mountains and their history as we went along.
My friend Larry preceded us up the mountain. He arrived about fifteen minutes ahead of us, even after stopping a couple of times on the way up to allow us to catch up. <grins> I wonder if we were slow because of the vehicle / terrain combination, or because we were too busy enjoying the scenery.
I was there to install some filters on our dispatch radio, and Larry was continuing his fun with the microwave link between Santiago and Johnstone. So while we set about our tasks Brigid took my camera and went for a short stroll on the peak.
There is a helipad at the far south end of the complex of sites at Santiago Peak. Here we look north from that location. Less than half of the towers on the peak are visible in this image, certainly less than a quarter of the actual buildings. Our tower is actually lost in the background clutter on the left. Image by Brigid.
Flowers aren't my thing. I know what's pretty, but couldn't tell you what kind of flowers these are if my life depended on it. Taken from the south end of the peak, the view looks south by southeast. Main Divide Road traverses the crest of the Santa Ana Mountains in the distance, heading south towards the Ortega Highway. Image by Brigid.
Larry and I doing our thing. The filters I'm installing are the reflective, gold-colored panels with the red caps on the right side. One for transmit, one for receive. Later we would rearrange some stuff in this rack and drop the RF power amplifier (the thing the telephone is sitting on) a couple of inches, accidentally disconnecting the AC feed to it. This would cause some moments of consternation on the way off the mountain. Image by Brigid.
Brigid needed proof of her presence for her boss. She worded it a bit more politely, saying her boss wanted a picture of the facility so he could see what it was all about, but I know obfuscation when I hear it. She took quite a few pictures of the work in progress there, but just before we left she handed me my camera and asked for a couple of images of her with the facility.
I finished my work before Larry was ready to throw up his paws in disgust over the microwave issues, so we left the peak ahead of him. His base of operations is much closer to the mountains than mine, and Brigid is another hour and then some past my base of operations. So around 1400 we fired up the lead sled and began to make our way back to civilization, leaving Larry to finish his work in relative peace.
About half way down the mountain Larry called me on the radio using talk-around to ask me why I wasn't replying to his calls on the dispatch radio. "'Cause I didn't hear the calls," I tell him. We stopped in the middle of the trail, just below the junction of Main Divide Road and Indian Truck Trail, and began fussing with the radios. About the time I was beginning to become annoyed about the prospect of having to return to the peak, Larry discovered the AC line had been disconnected at the RF power amplifier. The cable was still in position, but had backed out of the jack in the amplifier just enough to disable it.
Sighing in relief, we continued down the mountain, chatting on the dispatch radio as we went to insure that it was, indeed, working. I wouldn't have minded returning to the peak at all, but being late back to civilization posed some logistical issues for Brigid and I, mostly me. So while I would have relished being on the peak a bit longer, I was content to continue into the haze and smog below.
Again, I couldn't tell you what kind of flowers these are. They're quite pretty though, tiny little things growing on the side of the road. As busy as that trail is, I'd have thought that the dust and exhaust fumes would have prevented anything like this from growing, but that just demonstrates my lack of understanding about things that grow. These little flowers are about the size of a dime and were almost within arm's reach of the cab window.
And we would have made it back to Yorba Linda with plenty of time to spare but for an individual who was in much too much of a hurry.
About two miles in from the paved road there is a retreat of some sort. This is where the trail leaves it's vertical component as you're heading off the mountain to become relatively level, and the trail becomes a road. I was about a hundred feet above the driveway of this place when I slowed the lead sled to less than walking pace to shift out of four-wheel low. I had just jammed the selector into four-high and was in the process of looking up when I heard Brigid mutter something to the effect of "damn." A burgundy-colored little SUV was zipping by us doing at least thirty miles per hour, less than ten feet the other side of our windshield.
I didn't say anything out loud, but immediately thought "We'll see that guy again soon."
And we did.
Even though Indian Truck Trail is a fairly level road at this point, it's still a dirt road, and still has some sharp and blind corners. Judging from the skid marks in the dust and loose dirt of the roadway, our SUV owner took this corner much too fast and simply lost control.
About half a mile above the pavement we encountered the red SUV on it's side. There wasn't enough trail to get by on, so we stopped above the wreck. We bailed out of the lead sled to see if anybody survived.
Imagine our surprise when we found the driver and his wife up and walking around. We also found the driver of this pickup hale and hearty, although a bit shaken. While Brigid (who possesses some EMT skills and may be a certified EMT, for all I know) saw to the occupants, I made contact with 911 and then went back to my truck to radio Larry about the situation. As soon as I had apprised him of the situation I backed my truck up around the bend to a relatively straight stretch of road, set out some cones, and got the strobes and arrow-board lit up.
Apparently it worked like this. The white pickup, belonging to an electrical utility, was uphill with it's lone occupant when the downhill SUV came skidding and rolling around the blind corner right in front of him. There were no skid marks behind the pickup. He apparently had no time to react and was probably going quite slow when he was hit. Had he not been there, the SUV would have certainly rolled, at least on it's roof if not completely over.
When we rolled up the driver of the SUV was already out and wandering around, apparently the sole occupant. He appeared to be uninjured.
The driver's door of the pickup was jammed. After reporting the situation to his own dispatcher by cellphone, the operator climbed over his equipment in the cab (including a mounted laptop and some metering equipment) to exit out the right side door. He was shaken up a bit, but quickly recovered his wits. While checking on him we discovered another occupant of the SUV.
The passenger of the SUV, a female in her fifties (I'm guessing), had climbed out of the wreckage and was complaining about chest pain. She looked and (according to Brigid) felt clammy to the touch. Brigid cared for her as best we could, offering her water and trying to get her comfortably seated in the shade.
Presently the CDF showed up. (This is Riverside County, which contracts CDF for fire suppression and emergency medical services.) By this time the driver of the SUV, presumably the husband, had begun lecturing his presumed wife about how she felt, telling her she didn't need any help, that she was fine. When the ambulance showed up with the CDF crew, the pair sure enough refused medical attention. Following this, and before CHP showed up, the husband further instructed his wife to claim that she had been driving! Brigid clearly heard this conversation taking place.
I hiked down to the paved road (about half a mile) to help guide the responders in. I could hear sirens in the distance, and the 911 dispatcher had called me back to ask for further location info. It seemed that, due to new housing construction in the vicinity of the trail head, the responders were having trouble locating us. While I was down there waiting for them to come into view Larry showed up at the scene and parked behind our truck, around the bend above the wreck site.
Image by Brigid.
The CHP responded a motor officer. Now they carry a lot of gear on their motorcycles, but chains and tow straps aren't counted amongst the stuff they normally have with them. And sure enough, this guy didn't. But he did have a blocked road, and wanted in the worst way to be back on his bike on the Interstate, so commissioned us to help right the wreckage and clear the roadway. As our company trucks were the only vehicles uphill of the accident, we were the only ones in position to do this. Of course we agreed. Time was ticking away, and my logistical situation was already unsalvageable.
So after taking his reports, during which the female occupant did indeed claim to be driving, the CHP officer helped us get set up for a snatch. We rolled the lead sled down to the SUV and hooked up.
This picture is a bit dark, as the camera metered on the cab of the truck, but it does show the SUV rolling back upright as we back slowly away from it. I am at the wheel, CHP is spotting at the door, and one of the CDF crew is in the distance. We are all mindful of what chains do when they break under tension, so all personnel kept a healthy distance. Image by Brigid.
Believe it or not, the SUV was drivable.
Larry and I cleaning up after a successful pull. The sun is still high in the sky, but shadows have already moved across the road from terrain and scrub high on the side of the roadway. It is now about 1615. Image by Brigid.
The couple drove away in their now-mangled SUV. The driver of the pickup, now accompanied by a field supervisor, rolled his truck to the shoulder. They would wait for the wrecker to come get the pickup, and then return to their operations center in the supervisor's truck. CHP and CDF thanked us, took a statement from Brigid, and bid us a safe journey.
So we finally made it down to pavement about 1630, the time I had originally hoped to be comfortably back in Yorba Linda. We shifted to two-high, unlocked the hubs, and proceeded directly to Tom's Farms for a pit stop. After that we made surprisingly good time back to Yorba Linda, arriving about 1730, an hour after my van-pool's departure. A light meal (neither Brigid nor I had eaten since early that morning) and we said our goodbyes, she heading for the Valley and me grabbing a sedan for the trip home.
Once again the Santa Anas had treated me like an old friend. But I saw a different side of them through the eyes of the couple in the SUV. They saw the mountains as something to be feared and despised, viewed them as treacherous, tricky, and unpredictable. My mountains are none of those things. Like any friend, if you take the time to understand their ways and treat them with respect, they will bring you hours of joy and companionship.
There's a lesson in that. I doubt the couple in the SUV learned it, though.