My Storm Story, Part I

On December 2nd, 2007 my partner and I were working our normal 24 hour shift at Station 2 when the worst storm in 40 years hit the Oregon coast. For a few days prior to the shift, we had been hearing cautions about the impending storm, that it would be worse than the December storm of the previous year. My wife and I had survived the previous year's storm with very few problems--in fact we'd learned quite a few things to better prepare ourselves this time around. I'd stocked up on extra candles and matches, extra blankets, and extra canned and boxed food. In retrospect through, December 2nd and 3rd were the two worst storm days that I'd ever seen.

Throughout the day on the 2nd, the winds were getting stronger and rains a little heavier. The talk among all the crews was the incoming storm and calls we could expect it to generate. At the beginning of the shift, I had set out my rain gear and cold weather gloves, I like to be prepared for the elements. As the day progressed, we experienced short, small power outages in Astoria. When these would hit, we'd often be dispatched for activated medical alarms, or difficulty breathing calls as patient's switched from their oxygen generators to portable tanks.

As the day progressed, I phoned home a few times to check on my wife and see about the plans she was making for the day. I let her know that the storm may be worse than we'd originally planned and that she should be prepared for a power outage later in the evening. My partner and I had been listening to the fire frequencies all day, keeping up with the down tree and down power line reports that were keeping the crews busy. Our company had sent a few transfers to the Portland area and had updated on the road conditions over US 26 and US 30. Overall, this seemed no different than a usual December storm. As the evening progressed though, so the winds increased. We'd made a few runs throughout the city and had been stopped by down lines and trees a few times. These were promptly secured though to keep the roads open for emergency vehicles. It wasn't until the evening, wind sustained winds reached 70-80 mpg and gusts were above 100 mph, that our night turned to hell.

We were dispatched to a traumatic back injury at a private residence just off of US 202 a few miles away from our Astoria station. Taking the left turn out the drive, we headed towards the 202 junction and came upon an unbelievable mess. Just a few hours earlier, we'd passed the junction and nothing was amiss. Now, the first half dozen utility poles leading down 202 were snapped at their base, leaning awkwardly over the road. Utility lines spaghetti \ed across the road and hung precariously low overhead. Pacific Power was on scene already, amber warning lights flashing everywhere, and we were met be a flagger. Earnestly, he told us "follow that truck exactly. He'll lead you through--but I have no idea how you'll get back!"

For the next two hundred yards, we followed the utility truck. Some utility lines we drove around, others we just drove over, and there were plenty that I was afraid we wouldn't clear under. As we approached the nearest intact utility pole, the Pacific Power truck pulled to the shoulder and let us continue to the call. During this short obstacle course, we'd received a dispatch update that Walluski Loop, the road the private residence was on, was completely blocked by trees. We made sure that fire was responding to cut us a path, and my partner and I continued.

Our ambulance, top heavy as it was, was being whipped around hard by the winds. My partner slowed to 30 just to maintain control of the vehicle. The entire highway was covered in debris from the trees around us and we knew at any time, we'd come around a corner and be stopped dead by a fallen tree. But we continued. I was constantly checking for updates from fire, but there was so much activity in the county by this time, it was hard to get through. The storm's intensity was peaking, and we were taking a call in the middle of it all.

Walluski Loop makes an east-west loop onto US 202 with a nearer and further turnoff. The address we needed to find was at the furthest end of Walluski Loop, so we passed the first turn off to continue to the second. Rounding a blind corner, we came across what we feared, a downed utility pole blocking the roadway. My partner pulled the unit up close and we radioed in the delay. We surveyed the road to see if there was a way around, but it was uphill on one side and down on the other. We turned the unit around and headed back towards the west side of Walluski Loop to take the long way around.

The turn around would easily add another 15 minutes to the response, and knowing this only put my partner and I further on edge. Turning onto Walluski Loop, we followed the country road for another two miles before coming across another road block. A large tree had fallen across the road and again, there was no way around. This time, there was no alternate route to the scene. I radiod for the nearest fire unit, which was only a few minutes behind, and asked them to pick up their response. When Walluksi fire arrived in their brush unit, I hopped out of my ambulance to talk with the crew.

Only after I was standing on that dark country road did I truly understand the danger that we were all in. Last year, I was stuck on US 26 during a winter storm that shutdown the highway and kept me on it over night. For a few short hours, high winds knocked down trees and kept me from getting home, but the storm passed quickly and I drove home in just a few hours. This night though, I was scared. In the short walk from my ambulance to the fire department's brush truck, I heard over a dozen explosions in the woods around me. These explosions were trees cracking and breaking, falling from the hurricane force winds. At any moment, I was expecting another tree to fall and hit me, my ambulance, the firemen--it didn't matter, we were all in danger.

But there was a job to do, a patient to reach. I spoke with the fireman, told them "get your chainsaw and get me through this mess!" I literally had to yell to be heard above the noise of the storm. The firemen, themselves looking nervous told me we don't have it with us. How could a fire department's brush unit not have a chainsaw?

"You have an ax, don't you?" I walked to the tree now, sizing it up, determining how long it would take to remove a section large enough to drive through. Too long. Again, we radioed the delay, this time indicating "we may not be able to make it to the patient."

A few minutes passed while we discussed options, then a plan was put in motion by the fire department. We would return to the downed utility pole we'd come across earlier, meet up with a FD pickup on the other side by foot, and continue to the patient that way. It was as good a plan as any so we turned the unit around and headed back on 202. We took it slow, we were still expecting trees to fall and block out path and even in the few short minutes since we'd last traveled in this direction, the highway looked different.

Driving over a downed guide wire, we tangled our front tire and axle and had to stop. We manuevered around debris, and drove over a few smaller trees. Eventually, we came to the utility pole again and met up with the FD truck. I had no idea how far down the patient still was or what condition he was is, so we planned for the worst. I grabbed the ALS kit and narcotics pouch from our unit. We grabbed a back board and spinal equipment just in case. We made sure the fire department had a stokes basket with blankets and tarps. Piling into the pickup, we headed towards the residence and I wondered with an amount of uncertainty, if our ambulance would still be in one piece when we returned.

The highway past the utility pole was just as bad with downed trees and debris. It was still doubtful if we could reach the patient, but worth an effort. After a mile or so we turned off of 202 onto Walluski Loop and about a mile later, pulled into the drive of the residence. A number of Walluski firemen and EMTs were here, tending to the patient and keeping us up on the storm situation. We were told the patient was inside the house, conscious and in pain.

Inside, the power was out and a window had blown out from the storm. It was cold and loud as the winds rattled the house. Our patient, a local 18 year old, was in the living room attended by a fire EMT. He was conscious and after I introduced myself, he told me his story.

The patient had been stuck on the highway by downed trees himself and decided to try logging roads to make it home. After being stopped by another tree, he had gotten out to clear it by hand. A second tree fell, hitting the patient and smashing him against his truck. A second vehicle was behind the patient and saw the tree hit. The occupants scooped up the patient and drove him to a local volunteer firefighter's house, which is where we found him.

The EMTs had him collared and supine on the floor. The patient was complaining of severe back and left leg pain, but he was conscious and alert with good vitals and skin signs. I radioed in to activate the trauma system based on his story, but really I was more concerned about just getting him back into town. The firemen quickly finished immobilizing him to the long board that we'd brought in while I set up the IV and administered some morphine.

We placed the patient into the stokes, covered him with blankets and tarps and tied them down. The patient in the stokes was loaded into the open bed of a fireman's pickup and my partner and I hopped in beside him to attend him. We kept our heads down against the wind and kept the tarp over the patient as we slowly headed back towards the ambulance. All around us, we heard the explosive cracking of trees falling in the woods and again I was left wondering if our unit would be in one piece.

We approached the downed utility pole on 202 and could see the headlights of the ambulance in the distance. The firemen pull the gurney and we load the patient to the ambulance. My partner turns the ambulance around and we put ourselves in route to the hospital. Under the lights of the ambulance, I get to work on the rest of my trauma protocols. I expose the patient and determine there's no significant injury, this I update the hospital on so they can release some of their trauma staff. I place second IV and put the patient on oxygen.

The going is slow back into town. We're still dodging debris, storm and road conditions are considerably worse. The fire department's brush unit is ahead of us, escorting us out, when we come across another down tree, at least 4 feet around and completely blocking the road. We'd only traveled a mile or two when I felt the ambulance stop and I looked up front to see the tree. A fireman flings the side door open.

"We've got a big tree down!"

Thanks, I'm thinking, I can see that.

"We're gonna try to cut through it!"

I've cleared trees with my fire department before and it's tough without heavy equipment and a crew. These were three fireman with one chainsaw. I was skeptical, but my patient needed to reach the hospital. The fireman closed the side door and a few moments later I heard a chainsaw begin digging into the tree.

The sounds of the chainsaw lasted only a few minutes before it stopped and the side door opened again. The firefighter was back and he had a worried look on his face.

"We've been ordered to stop cutting and get off the highway."

more to be posted soon...

My Storm Story, Part II