Volume 27, Number 2 - Wilderness Medical Society

Nature, however, is a cruel prankster.
Just when you think that you have mastered the art of wilderness
medicine, a feral squirrel is flung into a roaring campfire by a visiting
clan of German climbers who have spent the good part of a day devising
a rodent-sized trebuchet. The squirrel, now engulfed in a healthy
flame, leaps from the fire (which burns as bright as a small star from
the magnesium Volkswagen cylinder head which was thrown in on a
double-dog-dare) and rockets itself into the nearest open tent. Strangely
enough, there is alcohol inside the tent, along with a pair of climbers
about to toast their victorious ascent of More Monkey than Funky. Patron
Silver, it turns out, is just as flammable as a Wal-Mart tent or unwashed
dreadlocks. Instantly the tent burns away, temporarily eclipsing the
campfire quasar, and leaving two stunned climbing bums spanking
embers and charcoal from their heads, screaming and dancing as if they
were on a talent show, and yielding a pair of top quality burn patients.
The collective of equally intoxicated bystanders act quickly by beating
out the insidious hair fire with a lawn chair – wrestling style – and drops
one of them into the dirt, unconscious.
Burn patient, closed head injury, suspect cervical injury, scalp wound,
airway potential, intoxication, distracting injuries, remote location –
now this wilderness medicine!
And there you stand, beer in hand, with thoughts of CT orders, fluid
resuscitation, transfer paperwork, and the life-saving tetanus status
flowing through your brain like a mudslide. You process the spontaneous
event quickly; there is duct tape in the glove box, a film can of outdated
Vicodin in your pack, a wrinkled Sam Splint harvested from a fractured
snowboarder under your seat, a few potentially clean shirts padding your
camera, a partially smashed pill which looks like it might be Zofran, and
26 potentially lethal assistants. It’s not quite enough to build a functional
helicopter, but it might be just enough to get the writhing squirrel-attack
victims to a local hospital.
Love your craft. Learn as much as you can. Become a member of the
WMS and plan some trips around the conferences. Seek out the lecturers
who have gray hair or no hair at all, for they will be the ones with divine
wisdom. The wisdom that can only be achieved through years of travel;
of mistakes, both grand and slight; of learning and teaching the work
that he or she has authored, and expanding the works of others; of doing
a thing wrong, and a few right; impassioned practitioners exploiting the
mileage God has given to few humans.
Lastly, ingest the wisdom and art of improvisation, cultivate the ability
to see beauty in the face of adversity - and most of all, appreciate the
flashpoint of premium tequila.
Rob Hart, RN, CEN, FAWM, works at a Level II trauma center in Boise, Idaho. When
he is not at work in the trenches, he operates his fine art photography business (hartimages.
com) and coordinates climbing and trekking adventures.
WILDERNESS MEDICINE // Spring 2010
17