If slipping in a wet rock during a bushwalk and breaking a leg isn’t enough of a personal shock to your comfort zone, waiting over 3 hours for assistance certainly is.
This story begins near Blackheath in the Blue Mountains, the location of beautiful and challenging bushwalks, cottage industries and philosophy forums.
On Saturday night Frances and I attended a philosophy forum on the subject of morality. The forum discussion was lively, and there was some debate on the ability of someone to make a moral decision based on an understanding of the possible outcomes of the decision. The question posed by an ex-politician of the impact of political decisions on outcomes for the community showed a lack of understanding of the morality of politics (there isn’t any) where decision-making is not based on morality but compromise and survival. The decision on whether or not to enter politics is the only moral one. Abandon all virtues those who enter here!
The Greek philosophers (especially Plato & Aristotle) asked what traits or virtues of character make one a good or moral person? What is the trait of good character, manifested in habitual action (you practice it all the time), that it is good for a person to have? In other words, virtues are needed for human beings to conduct their lives well. The virtues were seen as a mean between two extremes, the difference between an excess and a defect with respect to a particular action or emotion. These were justice, courage, wisdom, excellence, temperance, generosity, modesty and righteous indignation. For example; courage lies between cowardice and foolhardiness with respect to the emotion of fear.
The subsequent dinner that night and breakfast the following morning was spent enjoyably on eating, drinking and the social dynamic involved in sharing ideas and stories with complete strangers. Some of whom may become friends, and others with whom just the meeting is experience enough.
Frances and I, with a new acquaintance, Mark, decided to go on a short bushwalk after breakfast. It was to be a short 15-30 minute walk (on the path from Neat’s Glen to Evans Lookout) but turned into a much longer exploration of not only the environment, but also of each other.
…the initial path is quite steep so we’re both taking our steps and framing our questions and discussion carefully … progressively, we begin to talk freely and easily, expanding on our understanding of each other …
Everything was fantastic – the scenery, conversation, interaction and the physical challenge. Until about two and a half hours into what we realised had become a three-hour walk , when the slipping, falling, breaking, hurting incident occurred.
… I feel my foot slip and then there’s a loud crack …I can’t move my foot which is bent at a sharp angle… it hurts, lots…
My mind was assaulted with competing thoughts. There were the basics of how bad was the injury (compared to how it felt), how to get help, how to get out or how long before help arrived. Beyond that however there were also the more interesting questions. How will we deal with this emotionally, socially? For how long? How will this test us? What virtues will be displayed or lack of virtue be exposed? Will we still be friends? ? What is my and the others’ responsibilities. Who can be blamed? I mused that as a society we’ve become disinclined to accept any responsibility for our own actions. It’s interesting that as we’ve moved towards no-fault divorces and motor accidents in law, we’ve moved away from accepting our own contribution to accidents of a public nature.
… some friendly bushwalkers help Frances and Mark carry me to a flattish rock near the creek and prop the broken leg against a structure of stones and rotten timber … they offer to call for assistance from the top of the valley, at least a 30 minute climb away…
Our original estimates were that it would be at least two hours before professional help arrived. Of course, we were too deep in the valley to use mobile phones, were grossly unprepared for an event of this type and quite shocked at the simplicity of finding ourselves in this situation.
… I was becoming cold and uncomfortable... as long as I didn’t move, the pain in my leg remained a dull ache… how long can I sit in this position? …
We kept each other’s spirits up through cheerful banter and observations about how lucky we were that it wasn’t worse. That is, much colder, later in the day, severe bleeding or before modern rescue systems.
… every 10-15 minutes bushwalkers pass by and offer assistance, bandages, pain-killers, sandwiches, water, hot soup, warm clothing, moral support … we are all buoyed by their generosity and goodwill …
We tried to remember the virtues described by the Greek philosophers without success – courage, generosity, honesty – no, honesty is a recent manifestation. I mused on how comfort and wealth, or lack of it, occupied the minds of the early philosophers, but was less prominent in those of the later ones. It was a challenge to mentally remove ourselves from the immediate situation.
… I can feel my leg throbbing, and I think I can feel the blood running through my body, the pulse of each beat and the ripples as it dies away…. must be my imagination…
We assured ourselves that we were warm enough and that we’d be OK. I insisted to my friends that they go for a walk to warm up as they were starting to shiver. I also needed a break from being good-humoured and resilient. They reluctantly headed off and I let my body emotionally slump. I was overcome with a realisation of the situation and started to cry. They returned within a few minutes and there was a tangible lift in our spirits and resolve after that emotional circuit-breaker.
Eventually, emergency services professionals arrived by foot. They quickly and calmly took control and evaluated the situation. They inserted an intra-venous ampoule in my wrist and injected sufficient morphine to dull the pain. They then proceeded to encase my broken leg in a cardboard splint saying that it might hurt a bit.
…HURT A BIT, I can’t believe it, the pain is excruciating … they inject more morphine and try again … it feels just as bad the second time but I don’t have the heart/energy to resist and they manage to stabilise the leg and move me onto a thin mattress and wrap me in a sleeping bag…
The rescue options were either a 3-hour trip by stretcher back up the valley, or being airlifted by helicopter. The medical crew decided that it would not be possible to carry me out within the daylight left in the day, so they chose airlift. About 15 minutes later the helicopter appeared above the narrow valley with a roar of engines and wind. Two figures in helmets and jumpsuits with an unimaginable number of zippers and bulging pockets drifted down on a cable. They conferred with the terrestrial emergency workers and prepared to hook me up for the ascent.
…these boys love it, they’re having their own adventure …their speech is packed with jargon and professional seriousness … one has a velcro patch with the word ‘DOCTOR’ on his chest…
Once prepared, the helicopter was called back into position above the narrow valley. Small branches and leaves were blown down towards us as we waited expectantly below. They ran through their airlift drill and described what I had to do, what it would feel like and the importance of not throwing up during the ascent. It felt like ages for us to be all hooked up, we were bent into unnatural, uncomfortable positions and waited for the lift to begin.
… I can feel the weight of my body losing touch with the ground as the cable begins winching me up … I can’t believe it’s happening … I’m absolutely scared, clutching onto the support harness … one of the tangle of straps pulls the ampoule from my wrist … I can only watch passively as blood starts to trickle down my arm…
Finally we arrive at the top and the last stage, entry into the helicopter, began. I was shocked at how small it was. There were seats for the pilot and co-pilot (not on board), 2 crew and a doctor. The remaining space was a flat floor large enough for a person lying down. That was it!
… how are Frances and Mark? … I hope they make it back to Blackheath safely … I think of everything they must do now to tie up the loose ends in Blackheath before they make their way back to Sydney…
About 30 mins later we were descending on to the helipad at Prince of Wales Hospital. The staff apologised that there was no mattress on the trolley. Compared to where I’d been, shoehorned into the floor of the helicopter, it looked like luxury and I couldn’t wait to be lying on it. I was pulled through the back doors of the helicopter that opened below the tail section (I can only imagine what the flight-crew call them) and was wheeled into the hospital. Later, I receive a call that Frances and Mark were safe, having a meal with Lis and Ian, some of our new friends in Blackheath, and would return to Sydney in the evening.
… I try to get comfortable and think about the incredible last few hours, the unselfish and caring support of my friends, and the new friends gained in the process…
Resting in hospital, three and a half hours after the incident, my mind drifted back to those classic virtues. I speculated on how many of them had been displayed by my friends and total strangers throughout the day, and how fortunate I was to have been there to experience them.
Video of the rescue
(audio is mainly helicopter noise and running water)
(audio is mainly helicopter noise and running water)
Background:
This story is the outcome of an experience in 2002 when bushwalking with Frances and Mark near Blackheath where I broke my leg and had to be airlifted out by helicopter. Mark and Frances then had to walk more than 30 minutes to climb out of the valley.