Joe Mountain

"I need to use your phone to call 911!"

As I heard the screen door slam behind me, I stopped my homemade apple pie purchase to look over my left shoulder for the origin of excitable commanding words.  The young counter clerk broke away from our conversation and handed the young man the cordless house phone.  As he initiated the conversation with the EMS dispatcher, the clerk and I completed our transaction as we overtly eavesdropped on the on-going dialogue.

Elderly man. Unresponsive. 2-miles off the highway on a trail. Nurse on-scene.

Then came the mandatory, but useless questions.  Address (in the forest); phone number where you can be reached (there's no cell service out here); and so on...

I made my way to the truck and asked Kristy if her paramedic skills were ready to come out of retirement.  After giving her the paucity of info I overheard inside, she merely replied, "Let's go."  When the young man exited the store, I informed him of Kristy's skill-set and told him we'd follow him to the scene.  He said "Okay" and we were off.  While Kristy was going through her mental checklist of what we had available in the truck for an emergency scenario, I was intently focused on trying to keep pace with the lead vehicle.  He was hauling ass!!!  I was thankful for slower moving traffic on the mountain road, as it kept me from driving 80 MPH to keep up.  We reached the Forest Service Road in about 10 minutes ( previously it was a 20-30 min drive) where the young man gave us further directions; he would wait at the main highway to direct the EMS responders.

Up the wash-board gravel road 2.2 miles and over the one-lane wooden bridge, we found the campsite just as the young man had described.  We pulled in to where an older man "Bill" and an elderly woman were standing in the shade of a lone lodgepole pine.  We exited Hank, informed them that EMS was en route, and Kristy began her situational assessment dialogue.  The elderly lady identified herself as Laura, the wife of the victim—Joe.  Bill informed us that his wife—a retired nurse was up on the nearby ridge with Joe.  Kristy asked if he was conscious, to which Laura replied, "No.  Joe's gone."

Born on the last day of 1932 in Buffalo, Wyoming; Joe was raised by a first-generation immigrant "mountain man" whose roots were firmly planted in the Pyrenees Mountains along the France-Spain border.  Joe's impressionable years occurred in the shadows of The Big Horn, where he began his lineage love for mountain life.  After reaching adulthood, he began his career with the Wyoming Highway Patrol.  He found the love of his life in his hometown of Buffalo, and soon thereafter made her his wife.  Children and countless trips to enjoy nature at higher elevations followed.  He experienced the joy of raising five children, and the heartbreak of burying two; recently commenting to Laura that he didn't want to bury any more of his children.  He had even mentioned to Laura over the past few days that he was ready to go home.  She told us she thought he was talking about Buffalo.

Earlier that morning, Joe and Laura took a walk to a nearby overlook behind their campsite.  After spending some time taking in the inspirational views, they returned to their camper and had an unremarkable lunch--their last meal together.  After lunch, Laura said she wanted to take a short nap.  Joe encouraged her to do so, stating that he wanted to take in the ridge-top view and capture some photos one more time.  He walked to the top, removed his shirt to let the sun warm his well-worn chassis, and sat on a nearby log.

When Laura awoke from her nap, Joe had not yet returned.  She thought he had tarried a bit much, but gave him a little more time before finally grabbing her hiking stick to go check on him.  When she reached the top of the plateau, she saw her husband of 58-years lying on the ground with his feet resting across the log he had been sitting on.  Joe had indeed gone home.

She carefully navigated her 82 year old body down the narrow, rocky path to the forest service road where she flagged-down a young man and his family from Gillette, who were camping nearby.  I would meet him later while making an apple pie transaction.  The next people to be flagged were Bill and his wife Sara.  With her nursing background, she summited the ridge and stayed with Joe until addition help arrived.  An array of emergency responders began to descend upon the camp shortly after our arrival. Johnson County Sheriff arrived first, with Forest Service Rangers and Buffalo EMS only a few minutes behind.

Bill and Kristy led the sherriff up to Joe's final resting place where Sara sat and watched over him.  Sara was relieved to have help, and get a reprieve from her vigil.  As the sheriff spoke to Sara, Kristy relayed how she marveled at the beautiful place Joe had chosen to perch.  The sunbeams pierced the forest canopy and bathed the log that would be his final resting place; a warm glow exuding peacefulness across the ridge.

Knowing how far each of these agencies travelled, and their arrival time since the 911 call was made, their trip up the mountain had to be a harrowing one.  As the other agencies arrived and exited their vehicles with great expediency, their sense of disappointment and sadness was visibly seen when they were informed that this was not a rescue, but a recovery.  Buffalo is a small, close-knit community.  Joe was no stranger to most of the responders.

The assembled responders made their way to Joe.  When they arrived at the ridge-line, they had a moment of quiet reverence as they stood on the stage where the final act of Joe's long life played out.  It was bittersweet, with the solemness of a passing soul blending with the inspirational surroundings that Joe had chosen as his last mortal view.  After performing agency-specific procedures, they respectfully covered him and carried him down from the ridge.  Unable to use a gurney, the 6-man team slowly made their way down the steep and rocky decline, reminiscent of a military casion team; while the pines and aspen stood at attention as Joe made his final descent from his beloved mountains.

Laura and their three dachshunds were at the camper.  She had a network of friends and family in Buffalo, but the non-existence of cellular service prevented her from engaging.  Vision problems rendered her incapable of driving, much less pulling a camper down the series of 8% grades.  With the EMS crew ready to take Joe to Buffalo, I offered to drive Laura and their camper into town.  Kristy and the boys would follow us.  After hitching up their camper, Laura and her hounds climbed into the Ford F-150 and we began our descent.  The truck didn't have an exhaust brake, so I drove slower than the posted speed-limit to reduce brake temperatures.  Although the trip was lengthy, she spent the time telling me about the life of her soul-mate; which I've tried to capture in this writing.

Just outside Buffalo she was able to make contact with long-time family friends.  They insisted she stay with them, so I drove the truck and camper to their ranchette.   Being part of the closing chapter of Joe and Laura's outdoor history was not lost on Kristy or myself.  With the truck and camper parked, and Laura physically in the presence of her network of friends and family, we departed.  She had a tough road ahead, but she was with Her People.  They would care for her.

Joe was born in the mountains; spent his youth in the mountains; got a job in the mountains; got married in the mountains; raised a family in the mountains; vacationed in the mountains; retired in the mountains; and died in the mountains.  His headstone my reflect a different surname, but we feel he lived a long and prosperous life as Joe Mountain.

wWw