Cossatot River Search
Jan. '98

January in Arkansas can be a mixture of seasons. Warm and wet, or cold and dry. This year had brought  warm and wet training sessions. The last week had been day after day of hard rains.

We had worked the weekend in the warehouse at Champs Sports. At least it was a dry place to set up the mock problems. When the call came that evening from our friends at Four States SAR, we found it very wet indeed.

Most of the streams had swollen beyond their banks. The Cossatot is a class 6 canoe river, with many dangerous sets of rapids, and even though we were south of the main recreation area, it was still a river on which to be careful. When the call came in from DeQueen, I worried about the search conditions. It was due to rain again that day. But searches come no matter what the weather, and we were ready to go find our missing lady.

It had started out as a party. Friends and drinks out in the back country. An argument had ensued and soon the Lady and two men had driven off to cool tempers. The house had been many miles from paved roads, and soon they pulled off in a gravel fishing spot to take  "relief" break for all three.

When the men returned to the car, the Lady didn't come back. Soon they began to worry, and searched and yelled for her. Last anyone had seen, she had been walking off towards the bridge. Gathering flashlights and calling, they ran up and down the road. Nothing. No answer, and dark and wet as could be. Empty echoes and roaring water.

Can you bring the dogs??

The next morning early, we headed out for a four hour drive. We tried to beat the traffic, but seemed to find every accident. The rain fell lightly. Wet drizzle and slick roads kept us at a slower than normal drive. The country roads were far harder to drive than the interstate. We had to watch for turns and stops. Most of us had never been on this set of roads before.

Talking about the coming search, a movement caught the edge of my vision and I began to brake. The big black dog charged out of the ditch of tall weeds into my path. I slammed the brakes on, but as the Van started to slide into the opposite ditch, I let up to protect the two other passengers and all 5 dogs. There was no way to avoid the dog. I hit him.

I couldn't believe this was happening. Dogs are so very special to us, and this large half lab, half hound was never going to get up again. All of us were safe, and although shaken, were thankful to be alive. I looked up and down the road, but could see no houses. It had been a close call in control on that two lane wet road. I turned to check out the van. Oh My...how can a dog do so much damage? The light was smashed, bumper bent under, and fender rippled. But there just wasn't time to worry right now. I had a search waiting.

All of us were a bit quieter after that. Each knew I was upset at being responsible for the dog. We talked quietly about people who let their dogs run lose. It helped to just talk. We are well versed in critical debriefing. They are wonderful partners. Soon I was back on an even level and speeding on to the site of the search. But I was worried about my van and the drive home that night.

We followed the Sheriff's car out of town and down a logging road. Not many houses out this way. He had commented on my Van's damage and promised to have someone there to replace the light before I left. Right now I was hurrying to keep his truck in sight. I surely didn't want to get lost out here in the woods without a map. There are deep wooded areas of Arkansas that are as natural as the day the first explorer had walked through in search of riches. We were indeed driving through one.

As we arrived at the river, I was taken at how small the river was at this point. Just 30 feet wide, but running at full flood force beneath the one lane bridge. The rapids below the bridge, tumbled and tossed down about 20 feet into a wider, quiet, and deep channel. There was a second set about 200 feet down river with overhanging rock ledges. The rocks, ragged and steep, made the river bend to the right into the next set of rapids. It was a mean looking river. A very dangerous one too. Our staging area was on the west bank of the river. A pull out where the friends had stopped that fateful night. A small fire glowed in a barrel with many of the searchers gathered round. We stopped to listen, ask questions and get warm.

No, they were not sure if she had really fallen into the river. Could have wondered off in the woods and lost her way. Or walked on down the road in the dark, and got turned around. We would have to let the dogs search both banks and down the road in both directions to eliminate that possibility. But first I had to check out the river's flow.

Marty and I walked out on the bridge. What had she been thinking in such a dark remote spot? I found a soda bottle, half filled it with water and recapped it. I dropped it into the fast flowing current. It bobbed and sank and resurfaced in the main current. Swamped in the rapids, it popped up in the lower quiet of the channel. If she had fallen in here, she was down stream.

Next bottle I dropped over by the east end of the bridge. This too, bobbed and pitched and was sucked into the whirlpool just below the rapids. It remained within the circle. I would have to check that site very carefully. It was going to be rather dangerous. Even with a life vest it would suck and hold a person unlucky enough to fall into it power.

Now to figure a plan for the search. What do you have in boats?? Motors will not work as it is jagged rocks and fast pulling currents. They explained they had two teams and long ropes. They would pull us back and forth across the water. A courageous Game and Fish Ranger would ride with me to "paddle" where necessary to keep the boat in line with the current. It would be a rough ride.

We went to unload and walk the dogs. Reactions are the same everywhere. People back up from the mild mannered Dobie. Laugh at the small dancing Schips, black eyes snapping with humor. And want to cuddle ole Rufus, the cockapoo. Pete the Vizulsa was Mr. Wiggles as usual. Young and happy, he loved to search.

I sent Sharon to the east bank to search the water edges and woods bordering the river. Marty went to the west bank and would try to work her dog along the densely wooded banks. None of us would have it easy. I would take the first dangerous ride in the boat.

Sharon set off with Bubba and Pete, stopping to look over the edge of the bridge. The water pushed and foamed over the rocks below. The current was so fast.  She would have to be careful to keep Bubba from jumping in to check scent.

I put on my life vest and snapped up Wooly's, too. A small dog caught in this current would be long gone downstream if he slipped off the boat deck. As we stepped into the boat, the two men on the east shore took up the slack and steadied us.  Soon they pulled us gently off the banks and into the current. I have to say the rush gave my heart a jolt, not all of it excitement.

Wooly first checked out the deck and seats, glanced into the river and went to work. His small nose stretched into the raging current and he moved over to the right side of the boat. Slowly we made our way across the main current and he suddenly shifted to the left. Nose going every inch of the way. We had scent, but very weak. I looked to see his head was lifted...testing the wind. The breeze came from the south, behind us.

Back and forth we checked. Each pass taking us into the next level of the rapids. Edging around the sucking whirlpool, my heart racing. Nose to the water, up into the breeze we worked down through the quiet deep channel. Sometimes we hit rocks and the boat bumped and twisted, but our shoreline muscle was strong and steady. I began to relax and trust the anchors.

I had moved about 95 feet into the quiet deep flow when Wooly had his first close to the surface hit. It was against the east bank. The current cut into the bank making a deep recess under the root system. This is where the test soda bottle had floated. It might be we had located the lady. I continued all the way to the top of the next set of rapids. The pull of the water made it impossible to keep a straight line of grid searching. Wooly had started to hit harder as we rounded the over hanging rock ledges. It was an upwell of scent. It confirmed she was indeed in the water.

I looked back over my shoulder at the next set of rapids. I sure hoped the guys on shore didn't get tired. A backwards trip down this set was not my idea of a joy ride. At about 50 feet of rocks and fast surging river, it was NOT a place for a flat bottom Jon boat!! I told my boat handler it was time to go back up stream and let the tuggers get a break. His smile said it all. It was only an hour, but felt like three. They let the boat swing into the west shoreline.

As I made my way into the west shore, I heard Sharon shout at Bubba. He was working close to the shore where Wooly had just hit. I worried as he made his way down the wet and slippery rock ledges. But he simply barked at the edge. Scent. Bubba confirmed Wooly's alert. But doing it made me fearful of him going down the rapids.

We all pulled our dogs to confer. No one had anything in the surrounding woods. Bubba's alert on the bank and Wooly's were all we had so far. It was Sharon's turn in the boat. As she loaded, I walked to the east bank to recheck Wooly's area with Fox from the shoreline.

I watched the fresh team pull Sharon back and forth. They had a nice pattern going as Bubba's bark rang off the surrounding hillsides. East side let the rope slide and the boat swung down stream to the opposite shore. Then the second set of human on the west side did the same. The boat travels with the currents left to right to left again. Lifting his head, Bubba was testing the air more than the water. Was she just on the banks somewhere? I moved off with my air scenter to see. As Sharon recovered my tracks on the water, so I did hers on land. Blind checks.

Fox worked down along the edge. Touching the water just off the rock ledges. Bubba's bark made him check closer. After all, Bubba said it was right here. Better look, because Bubba is never wrong. Fox struggled with the steep jagged rocks, but pushed on to the very edge of the ledges. His foot touched the water, and he looked back for me. Here Mom...right here.

Sharon had Bubba close to the east shore. He wanted out of that boat. I let him up on to the bank with me, and before we could stop him, what I feared most happened. He was running south, diving off the rocks into the fast flowing water below. Sharon had almost reached the shore and called him to her...I was trying to work my way to the mouth of the rapids to see if I could help. His strong Dobie heart moved him away from the rock ledges and across the current to the gravel bar on the west bank. There he again waded into the water to paw and dig, barking. I could breathe again. He was safe and at work. But for that few dangerous minutes, my heart had stopped beating. He may not be mine but I loved this red Dobie.

Slowly, weak in the knees, I made the half mile trip back along the water edge to base camp. It was time for a break. Fox was still working all the way back. He stuck his nose into a few holes, and I realized the water had undercut the banks and he was checking for a trapped victim. I walked on tree roots and leaves, so I moved a few feet further from the edge. Better to be safe. Fox was light enough to travel on the fragile undercut banks.

Marty had been watching from the shore. She had covered the west shore and a mile in both direction of the dirt road with no sign of any human scent. Rufus was a wet, happy, but very tired dog. Now we were sure that she was in the river. I drew a map for the sheriff's searchers, and crated up my dogs. Where had the day gone. It was getting dark and I still had to fix the light on my truck. It was time to pull our dogs and head back.

The deputy took us to a parts store, and the nice salesperson came out to tape and replace the light in the frame. It was a quick fix, but at least I had lights to drive with in a wet and moonless night. The country roads were as dark as my Schips. And we all felt the strain of the 9 hours of searching a dangerous area. While the dogs slept, we debriefed and exchanged thoughts.

It was home and rest for the next day. They would again call us after the divers had checked all the alert areas. This time we had a nice spring like day. Sun to warm us and let scent rise. Larry and Ralph would go this time. He was newly water certified. And because my van was in the shop, I road with Sharon in her Suburban along with Larry, and all five dogs.

SECOND DAY
The search site was very different this time. A camp had been set up just west of the river. Campers, horse trailers, mules and chow wagons. Cars and 4 wheelers everywhere. The search was a big one now. Nothing moved on the water. It waited, slower and gentler in the warm sunshine. They had dropped the water levels by closing the dams.

We started the search south of the second set of rapids. The divers had not found anything in the upper deep pools. Our boat was resting on the bank just south of the rapids, in the largest of the bottom pools. It had a small motor. Larry with Ralph worked the west shoreline. Fox and I would rework the eastside, extending the search southward.

Sharon and Bubba would work the next level pool. We spread out. Fox ran into the water on the gravel bar. It was fully exposed now with the dropped water level. He waded out till the current sucked against his feet. Backed off and moved up stream again, and walked out and pawed the water. It was the same spot Bubba had jumped in the first day of search. The nose to the water, paws digging said she was still right here in the ledges.

Ralph, another red Dobie, romped and plowed up the water...deeper than Fox, he too was giving a clear indication of human scent in this location. I watch as the current was still swift, but not as dangerous if they got pulled into the rapids. Both dogs moved back and forth along the gravel, trying to reach out to the ledges. It was now only 15 feet across at the closest point. As I finished the shoreline search, I went off to find a diver. 

The Diver was a nice guy we had met and worked with before. He told me the conditions had been horrible, with snags and currents to pin a diver against the wall. He said there had been a place up under the ledge where he was sure he had felt her, but the pressure on him was too great and he had to back out so he didn't become entangled too. The water had been pretty clear and he was sure she was in the deep undertow of that ledge, pinned by the pressure of the currents. If indeed that were true, it would explain the dogs' interest and alert on the gravel bar just across the river from her. I noted if she began to float, she would first tumble through the rapids into the large pool just below the rapids. Right where our boat was sitting.

We continued to search the banks, river and woods. Horses, mules, 4 wheelers, and men came and went around us. Combing the surrounding area thoroughly just to make sure she was not laying out on land. Each time we passed the river next to the ledges, we could see the dogs change of behavior. All the rest was busy work while we awaited the diver working the pools. Good divers, they moved back and forth in the clear water. Nothing. Each time they surfaced, we waited. She was not where they could see her. Now under the ledges was dark and dangerous. They couldn't go there or see a hand in front of their faces. She could still be pinned.

I took Wooly down in the second pool. Motor chugging, we worked with him sitting still and watching. Nothing. No movement from him at all. East bank, west bank. I asked my boat handler to return to the base of the rapids. And not only did Wooly reach out for the water, but turned to dig at my arm. The scent was flowing down with the water. And my boat handler started UP the rapids with Wooly standing in the point of that boat. We're Crazy, all of us, passed through my mind. I quickly began to look for dangerous rocks. I could see so clearly into the deep pools. I steered our course around the worst of the boat sinkers. I could see no body trapped anywhere in the rapids.

Again we had a full alert at the same upwell of water. This time much harder. And the diver watched from shore. She was there Wooly said. Right there. We came to shore to rest. I was glad my turn in the boat was over. Motor or not, it was very dangerous work.

Supper was served off the chow wagon. The Red Cross and local churches fed us well. Even the dogs shared our meal. We talked to others who gave reports of miles of horse trails covered, and banks UP river. A canoe was tied up along the bridge's north shore where someone had checked the upper river in case she had walked up stream and fallen in. So far nothing but the ledges. I knew we had good divers, but they must have missed.

We loaded up the dogs. Larry, Sharon and I had all worked from early morning till sundown this late winter evening. Again we came away with no find. Just a "hot zone" to have them recheck and a long drive home with heavy hearts. We wanted so much to find her. With the dogs asleep, we too fell silent.

THREE DAYS LATER
The call came. She had been found. . They had believed us enough to set up a light bar in the water below the rapids. In the big pool where our boat had been tied. Hummm, I think I had said that was where she'd go to the divers just a few days ago. The sheriff's office secretary laughs and tells us well done. It was their first time working with dogs, and the officials wanted us to know they were impressed. They would certainly call us back should they have a need, the voice quietly assures us. Thanks so very much for the work you and the dogs have done for us.

And we close up another search. This one at least has a known ending. Some do not. Some are never found. But again we know we have given closure. Something to bury and mourn. A place to heal. And of course we know she is safe and rests in peace. That is what we take away. Peace. It makes every training minute worth the effort.

Good dogs.

Good Schips.

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