Thrilling Stories About Rangers
THRILLING STORIES ABOUT RANGERS
BURIED IN THE SNOW
Courage, stamina and endurance are needed to perform the duties of a Park Ranger. Man's capacity for arduous privation is taxed to the limit, and, dragged by dogged persistence, amazes one with its overwhelming magnitude. The following cold experience of Ranger Ben C. Miller, as related here, is but one of many episodes worth narration which have been the lot of these green-clad park guardians.
Ranger Miller was stationed near Essex. In February, 1933, he was caught and buried by a snowslide from which he managed to escape after being buried for twenty-five hours.
After all is said and done, I think this is one of the most thrilling experiences in which a park ranger has ever been involved and I am therefore giving some details as related by Miller.
According to Miller, he was on snowshoes working along the side of Scalplock Mountain when the snow started to slide carrying and rolling him two hundred feet down the mountain. When it stopped he was completely buried but the snow above let through enough light so that he felt that it was not very far to the surface. However, it took several minutes to get his arms loose to clear away the snow which was about a foot deep over his head. He states that he was in the snow at an angle of about forty-five degrees and of course you realize that snow, after a slide has occurred, is packed so solidly that it is almost ice. His principal difficulties were due to the pack which he had on his back and the snowshoes on his feet. The latter were twisted so that his feet were bound too tightly for any possible chance of working them loose from their fastenings. At first he struggled violently trying to get loose, but soon saw that such efforts were getting him nowhere and he therefore calmed down and started to plan his line of action. As near as he can judge the slide occurred at 10:30 a.m. on Tuesday and he did not succeed in extricating himself until about 11:30 a.m. on Wednesday. His frequent calls for help brought no response, although during the night he could distinctly hear dogs barking in or near the town of Essex, which was only about two miles away.
He was principally concerned with the difficulty of clawing away enough snow with his hand so that he could get the pack off his back. Miller estimated that it took fully twenty four hours to do this, but as soon as it was done he was able to reach a small hand ax which he always carried, and, in about one hour, hacked away enough snow so that he was able to reach his feet and cut them loose from his snowshoes. As there was about eight feet of snow on the ground it was necessary for him to return to the station by walking on the ice along the river. However, to add to his difficulties, the ice broke and he fell into the water. He managed to get out again and arrived at the station about 12:20 P.M.
In my opinion Miller's escape with his life is nothing short of a miracle, not to mention the fact that his only injuries consisted of a few minor injuries and frost bites.
ON PATROL
Elmer Ness, Park Ranger
Leaving my station which is located on Belly River in the northeastern part of Glacier Park on a patrol that would take four days, I reached a point only out about three and one-half miles from the station when I met with an accident which crippled me so that it took me the best part of three days to return home. It was on the fifteenth of November, 1933.
Starting out on a trail that would take me over Gable Pass, there was no snow until I had reached the 5,000 foot elevation. From there up to the 7,000 foot elevation close to the pass where the accident occurred, the depth of the snow increased to a foot or more of well-packed snow. Although it was the fifteenth of November and there had been considerably more snow, the warm weather had melted and settled the snow so that snowshoes were not needed. For a mile or more before reaching the pass, the trail leads over barren rock where the terrific winds which blow at this elevation drift the snow into ravines and any sheltered places in its path. Huge banks are formed that are almost as hard as the rock itself. I was wearing rubbers with crepe rubber soles which grip better on hard snow than the ordinary rubber that gets slick after being worn.
I had been climbing on a west slope all the way up and found the footing good; but up close to the pass, the trail crosses a steep ravine. In going down over the east face of this ravine, I had stepped out on snow that was glazed over with a thin coating of ice, and, before I realized its condition, lost my footing and started to slide. Seeing that I was headed for a rock which was protruding about two feet above the snow close to the bottom of the ravine, I tried to steer away from it by using my hands. I gained such tremendous speed in only a short distance that I only succeeded in turning my side to the rock instead of hitting it with both feet. My left hip and pack board hit the rock and I bounced into the air landing on the other side of the rock.
For a short time I was unable to move; but when I got over the worst shock, I tried to get up and couldn't. I realized that I was in a serious predicament. I was all of three fourths of a mile from timber. I would have to get to timber to start a fire to keep from freezing. I fired signal shots with a .38 Colt that I was carrying and then tried to crawl back up the trail, but found I could not. So I started right down the ravine by lying on my uninjured side and sliding feet first using my right elbow to push myself forward by lying flat and pulling myself, using my elbows.
My object was to get to the nearest timber to cut two sticks for crutches. I wasn't so very sure that I could use them; but if I could, I would be able to travel a little faster expending a lot less energy. When I did get down to the first trees large enough to use for crutches, I whittled down two limber pine as I had only a large jack-knife with me, finally got them cut about the right length. Working myself to a standing position with these, I found that I could travel slowly and felt greatly encouraged. I wanted to keep going as I was afraid of stiffening up so badly that I would be unable to move at all if I stopped until daylight; but it was so dark that traveling was out of the question.
Working my way down into timber and looking for a place to start a fire, I found a large alpine fir that was forked from the ground up and broken off about twenty feet from the ground. It was a slow process breaking dry branches and getting enough dry stuff piled around this tree to get it burning. It finally burned though and into the center of these dried, old, forked stubs. They both started belching sparks like a locomotive going up a steep grade. There was no danger of starting a fire under existing conditions. It was about three-thirty in the afternoon when I was injured and it was one o'clock that night when I had the fire started. It had taken me over nine hours to come three-fourths of a mile. I could see automobile lights on the Cardston-Waterton highway about twenty miles north of my position and was hoping that some one might report seeing the fire up where I was.
Starting out at daylight, making short stretches and then resting, I kept going until four o'clock in the afternoon when I began to get weak and tired out. All I had with me to eat was a bar of candy; but I really didn't feel any hunger. The total distance I had made since daylight was about a mile and a quarter. I had only about a mile and a half to the station; but I knew if I were going to make it, I would need to have all the next day to do it in. Looking around until I found a pile of windfalls that would likely burn all night, I got a fire started. By tending it once in a while, it made a fairly good fire. Resting on the snow beside it, moving closer as it died down or farther away as it blazed up, I spent the night. Of course, sleep was out of the question on either of the two nights. I tried smoking a pipe; but it made me dizzy so this consolation had to be given up.
I tried firing signal shots again the next morning but received no answer. Starting out the second morning, I decided to save my ammunition for signals in case I couldn't quite make it to the station but possible close enough for a shot to be heard although a strong wind was blowing. Luckily, I managed to hobble in about three-thirty that afternoon so changed in appearance that my wife wouldn't have known me except for my clothing.
I did not realize that I had any broken bones but only thought I was badly bruised and sprained. When I was put under an X-ray, it showed that my pelvis bone was broken in two places and that my hip socket was splintered. This all happened a year ago; but thanks to good medical care, I am again able to climb steep trails.
(Ness spent seven weeks in the hospital. He can now travel with the best of them. -Ed.)
