It’s a warm evening in late September, one of those evenings that makes you wonder if maybe you were wrong to break out your rain shell and blundstones, maybe you’ll get one more week of summer weather after all. As the descending sun paints the sky a mouthwatering combination of cotton candy pinks, cherry reds and burnt oranges, a group of about two dozen converges on a large structure with open bay doors simply known as “The Compound.” With the sounds of amicable banter and revving ATV engines filling the gated lot, Squamish Search and Rescue officially kicks off a new training year.
The swarm of blue jackets emblazoned with silver reflective lettering proclaiming their status as Search and Rescuers is gradually making their way past various trucks, trailers, bikes and boats towards the open bay door, chatting with the kind of ease and familiarity that comes from sharing experiences that the rest of the world will never understand. These people are all clearly happy to be here, enjoying themselves and the company of the others. And yet, there is an electricity in the air, a kind of excitement, an almost nervous energy in the air; the anticipation is palpable. They’re ready.
As the crowd descends upon The Compound there are two or three members already inside, calling out instructions. A large whiteboard on wheels is in the centre of the floor and the walls are lined with shelves taller than most of the members in the building, each shelf supporting the weight of an assortment of outdoor paraphernalia that would make even the most ardent gear hound envious. The seconds tick over into a new hour; one of the managers standing by the board starts calling out a scenario. Immediately the friendly banter dissolves into the quiet, momentous hum of people on a mission. The blue mass begins to splinter. There seems to be a general trend of people heading towards a desk covered in paperwork, followed by a trip to the whiteboard. From there, some start heading towards the shelves and pulling out supplies while others seem to backtrack and head out the bay door towards the vehicles parked outside. A third, smaller contingent hangs back, hovering near the periphery, taking it all in. I will later learn that these are the first measures of familiar choreography for most of the volunteers in attendance. Those of us hanging back were obviously new volunteers and support members awaiting initiation.
In short order there are small groups of members arranged around the whiteboard. Having formed their teams, all the focus is now on two of the managers who were previously calling out instructions. They start to elaborate on the details of the simulation: a first aid call for an injured hiker on a popular and challenging Squamish hiking trail. After a minute or two the simulation is abruptly ended and the friendly buzz of conversation resumes as volunteers return gear to shelves and file upstairs to grab folding chairs.
“Consistency in our initial response as a team, the team leaders at the front explain, is one of the only variables that we can control and thus one of the single most important pieces of training we’ll do“
For tonight this would be the extent of the training simulation, but we are assured that in the coming weeks and months the simulations at the start of each training night will continue to evolve. Consistency in our initial response as a team, the team leaders at the front explain, is one of the only variables that we can control and thus one of the single most important pieces of training we’ll do. A consistent response is a fast response and it’s imperative that every member, no matter their tenure, be willing and able to execute this critical first step.
…
As the sun drops below the horizon the compound remains awash in a white halo of perimeter lighting. Inside, the group of volunteers have all taken seats in a large, multi-row semicircle around the whiteboard, now reversed to reveal a blank pane of whiteness. One of the managers (they seem to be the de facto leader tonight) stands by the board and begins to explain how a response begins in a little more depth, essentially dissecting the various components of the earlier simulation.
I take particular note of the way that the volunteers seem to be really listening to what’s being said, almost hanging on his every word. Other managers occasionally jump in and add to something that was said, offering advice or an alternate opinion and volunteers are also encouraged to ask questions or share their opinions and experiences. In a world that is so commonly dominated by doomsday discourse and pugnacious rhetoric designed to enflame rather than engage it’s a refreshing change to witness a group of people sharing a constructive and respectful discussion – there are no egos here. Everyone in this room takes this seriously, and yet no one seems to take themselves too seriously. There is plenty of laughter and camaraderie, and a general feeling that everyone here supports each other.
Early evening progresses into night and the discussion moves from responses to logistics and housekeeping items. There are updates about uniforms and gear procurement, what to expect from upcoming training nights and general information about the various projects different committees within the society are working on before the night begins to wrap up. People are once again milling about, socializing and generally having a good time as they help clean up, demonstrating once again that all of these people genuinely enjoy giving their time to be here. Volunteers share stories and laughs while all the gear is checked over and the trucks are backed inside the open bay doors, parking in the same spot where moments ago a throng of volunteers had been sitting at attention. With a soft ‘thud’ the overhead doors meet the polished concrete and signal the official end of the night’s training.
As we drive away, a convoy of white headlights follows streaks of brilliant red taillights. After the night I just witnessed it’s hard not to imagine the lights as fireworks streaming across the sky, welcoming in the new training year.