Dave Nuttall
ENG 1010 – 5:30pm
Reflection Paper
Phoenix Unfound
It was a crisp, February morning in 2008 and I awoke to find the flight conditions very promising. With the rest of my family still sleeping and the first rays of sunlight streaming over the Wasatch Mountains, I tossed my paraglider into the back of my 1998 Pathfinder and quickly made the twenty minute journey across the Salt Lake Valley to the south slope of the Point of the Mountain.
Known the world over for its topography and predictable air currents, pilots like myself had been coming out to “the point” for years to experience the sheer excitement of soaring above the ridges, powered solely by one of the world’s few “inland ocean” wind patterns, made possible in large part by the topography of the point itself and its orientation in relation to the Great Salt Lake. As a child, I would travel through the area when coming from my home in Montana to visit my grandparents and it was always a trip highlight for me just to see the occasional lonesome hanglider soaring back and forth above these ridges, turning and spiraling so gracefully. I later moved to the Salt Lake Valley and began noticing what I initially believed to be skydivers out at the point. Inexplicably however, they were not jumping out of planes as I would expect but rather, they were launching and landing much the same way as the hanglider would do and my curiosity was piqued! In the months that followed, I would visit the point often just to watch them, vowing to myself that I would someday learn to fly that way too.
In April of 2007, I got that chance and began training with the exuberance of a kid at Christmas time! I truly felt that I was finally living a lifelong dream. I trained every chance I could throughout the spring and summer that year, sometimes spending mornings on the south side and then watching and waiting for the afternoon winds to shift. Whenever possible, I would then sneak out of work a little early to return to the north side for some sunset soaring to round out the day. By the time I completed my training and was officially passed off by my instructor, I felt like the world had opened up for me and that I could do anything. I, a human, had learned how to soar through the skies with the birds and the feeling was amazing! Leonardo Da Vinci himself, longed for this, was forever in pursuit of this very dream, and I was living it! To attempt to describe the overwhelming joy I experienced each time I flew, to someone who has never experienced it or shared my passion for it, is akin to trying to explain those first golden moments when you are finally holding your brand new baby. Imagination is a powerful thing but will only take a person so far. Actually experiencing things of this magnitude are simply life-affirming and I was eager for each new day!
That February morning, as I made my way around to the flight park on the south side, I could see that the recent snowfall had accumulated more heavily on the road and hillside than I had expected. As the drive began to steepen and I started sliding a little, I shifted my truck into four-wheel drive, thinking that this would be enough to get me to the top. About a third of the way up, the pavement gave way to an old dirt road which then winds along the shoulder, going the rest of the way up and around to the top. I could see from the tracks in the snow left by earlier attempts that no one else had made it much further. I realized that if I was going to fly that day, I was going to have to hike and “earn” it. This was going to take some effort with all of my gear but I was no stranger to working for it and was very willing to put in the steps. I drove back down to the base, also known as the landing zone or LZ and parked with the others. Then, collecting my paragliding equipment and leaving behind any unneeded items in order to lighten my load, I began walking over to the base of the hill. Walking away from my truck, I suddenly re-thought my decision to leave my cell phone behind and went back after it. Having left the house that morning with my wife still sleeping, I figured that I should keep my phone close to me just in case she tried to call me later. I quickly grabbed it out of my console, stuffed it into the pocket of my parka and started back up the hill again. I could see my breath in the chilly morning air as I made my way up the slope. By now, the sun had begun to shine over the Wasatch mountains just enough to help me really work up a sweat as the snow crunched and gave way beneath my feet. The elevation gain is only about 300 feet from the LZ up to the launch area and once I reached the top, I was ready to settle in and enjoy the winds. Flying during the winter season is obviously colder and not for the faint of heart, but with additional clothing and preparation as well as a stronger will to endure the elements, the flights can be spectacular. I, along with only a handful of other pilots, was more than willing to do whatever it took to catch a flight that morning. After a quick, pre-flight check of my equipment including my wing, risers and harness which is the pilot’s seating system, it was finally time to get up in the air. With a mild but steady breeze coming in from south, the launch was simple and I was airborne within just a few minutes.
Soaring through the air, I was really enjoying myself and the relative calm that morning. The winds were not real strong but there was just enough lift to aid me along as I sailed back and forth along the ridgeline. I snapped a couple pictures and lazily soaked in my surroundings. I was king of the world at that moment and it felt so great! For the next thirty minutes or so, I flew the pattern, an elongated figure-eight routine used by the pilots in that area as a way of avoiding collisions while still making the best use of the winds. On one pass, I noticed two pilots preparing to take off at the eastern end of the launch, an area which also happens to be the tightest section of the flight pattern. As I approached them, it looked as if they were about to launch regardless of my proximity to them. This was concerning to me because, as a general rule of pilot etiquette, wings on the ground are expected to give right of way to wings in the air. Fortunately, I was able to pass them safely but I knew that I was going to have to turn and pass them one more time in order to clear them completely. As I came around, both pilots proceeded to launch and I knew I would end up getting too close to them if I maintained my current course. In an effort to avoid them, I turned to put in another pass and saw too late that while I had trained my attention on them in order to avoid a collision, I had given up more altitude than I realized. A split-second later, I slammed into a large sandstone slab, one of the only giant rocks left on the top of the hill. A couple of years before, most of the large boulders which were scattered across the hilltop had been pushed over the side of the embankment in an effort to make the area safer. What luck that I just found one of the only remaining ones and having done it with so much finesse too!
With the force from my initial impact shattering my femur and fracturing one vertebra in my lumbar spine, I was propelled up and over the hilltop. This same hilltop then dropped away sharply for approximately forty feet at the same angle that I was now falling. As I experienced with vivid clarity, the slow-motion phenomenon so often described by others from their own traumatic injury accidents, time became a twisted and bizarre irony for me. I was keenly aware of my body and the things that were happening to it as I was hurtling through the air, much like a ragdoll being thrown from a height. Knowing I was powerless to do anything to save myself, completely devoid of any semblance of control, I became a spectator of sorts, watching in grim anticipation as each new impact came into view. Although each millisecond seemed to click by at a painfully slow pace, in a bizarre contradiction, these same events also happened so fast that there was no time for fear, just a searing awareness that this would likely be the end for me. I remember having time to think about my kids and my wife and thinking that this just could not be the way it was supposed to end for me. My wife and I were expecting another baby girl in April and she would never get to know me. I would never get to hold her in my arms and kiss her sweet face and tiny fingers.
With another sickening thud, I was jolted back to the present as I collided with rocket-like speed into the second boulder at the bottom of the embankment. It is believed that this was the moment when both my tibial plateau and fibula were broken. Like a dervish, I whirled up and over the large rock, still wondering how this could be real. The horrifying feeling I experienced as my body was repeatedly shattered and twisted, soft tissues ripping and tearing, was at the same time, a most surreal experience. I saw level ground coming at me very fast and then suddenly I was lying there, silently in the snow, still alive, as my glider began to descend to the ground behind me. I began to feel a sense of relief, that it was over and I might actually be okay, when I realized that the wind was still catching my wing. I knew that in my very broken condition, if a gust of wind were to catch it, my wing would drag me and things may get even worse. I feverishly worked to disconnect my wing from my harness and when the last connection was finally released, I was able to breathe for a moment and assess my situation.
As I lay there in the snow, I was certain that my femur was badly broken and I also suspected a lower leg injury. However, the generalized pain throughout my entire body made it difficult to accurately determine how severe my injuries really were. The pain began to set in, it was becoming excruciating but I did my best to remain calm. After fourteen years as an emergency medical technician (EMT) and responding to trauma of all types, I knew that my problems were very serious and that there was no way I was getting out of there on my own. The outdoor temperatures were just above freezing and as I lay on the ground, I began to yell for help, hoping that someone would hear me and come to my aid. Nobody answered. Nobody came. I became terrifyingly aware that I could no longer see or hear anyone else. It was like everyone vanished. The area I had crashed into was at the far end of the flight path and anyone still flying that late in the morning would be in the pattern and making their turns well before the embankment thus being unable to see me down over the edge. A feeling of despair hit me as I realized this and I started to wonder if my sudden belief that I would be okay was nothing more than misplaced optimism. While very aware of the need to hold still as much as possible, I tried to carefully shift my position just enough to allow me a little more comfort. The pain was intensifying and I knew I needed to be cautious with any further movements. I remember thinking that it was going to feel so good as soon as the EMT’s arrived and placed a traction splint on my leg. This is when I remembered my cell phone and my decision to return to my truck for it. This buoyed my spirits again as I pulled it out of my pocket, dialed 911 and met my new best friend, Micah. We quickly covered the basic details and I settled in for what I hoped was going to be a rapid response. Unfortunately, rapid was not in the cards that day. The weather conditions hampered the response teams’ efforts considerably and the Life Flight crew lost valuable time after deciding to fly north into Davis County to install their rescue winch which in the end, was actually never needed.
Micah and I kept each other company as I waited and after nearly an hour spent curled on the frozen ground, all alone, my friend, Dale Covington of Big Sky Paragliders and one of his students who also happened to be an EMT, suddenly crested the hilltop above me yelling, “Here he is!” and were quickly followed by the first search and rescue crews. This moment was thrilling beyond description and the relief I suddenly felt was so profound! I was finally going to be rescued and it was fantastic!
They immediately began treating me for hypothermia by pulling out their EMT scissors and cutting off every stitch of warm winter clothing I wore that cold day, exposing me to the wintery elements. On a side note, I am happy to report that the Utah County Sheriff’s Office never cited me for public nudity. In all seriousness, the search and rescue crew treated me with such expert, professional care and I was so elated to have them working on me at that point that I didn’t care what they had to do. There was a moment during their assessment of my injuries, in which they called for a traction splint and then cancelled it once they found my lower leg injury. Unfortunately, a femur fracture cannot be treated with a traction splint if a lower leg injury also exists and I was again thrust into a brief despair. Then they hit me with morphine and I stopped caring about it soon after that. Shortly after the first team’s arrival on site, Life Flight came in overhead and landed. The well-trained crews all worked together to get me “packaged” for an air transport to the brand-new IMC Hospital in Murray.
As an avid lover of all things that fly, I recall thinking that flying in a Life Flight chopper was not all bad if I could at least look out the windows and enjoy the views. The morphine had really kicked in and I was feeling pretty good. However, as a packaged trauma patient, movement of any kind was near impossible and highly discouraged and I was reminded several times of this by my caring flight crew. It was all I could do to look sideways enough to just see the mountains as we flew north toward the hospital. The landing and subsequent transport from the helipad into the waiting hands of Dr. White and his skilled ER team was brisk and before I knew it, the extent of my injuries had been discovered and I was being prepped for surgery.
My x-rays had revealed not only a series of femur fractures, but also a lumbar spine fracture and lower leg fractures. Additionally, a massive hemorrhage in my upper thigh which was quickly draining my blood supply had to be corrected immediately. It was later determined that at least three units of blood had been lost inside my leg before the surgeons were able to get it stopped and this pooled blood was one of the biggest hindrances to my recovery in the coming months. Surgery lasted nearly seven hours but when I recovered, Dr. Butterfield and the surgical team had done a remarkable job of reconstructing my leg and repairing my other injuries. Remarkably, due to the advanced surgical methods used with me, just two days after my injury and with some assistance, I was able to stand upright on my reconstructed leg and I never had a cast! Unfortunately, due to my blood loss, each time I would stand during those first few days, it would result in my fainting. However, within a couple of weeks I was able to stand with a walker and even walk short distances again. During the two months that we were waiting for the compression fracture in my spine to heal, I was required to wear a two-piece torso brace. This brace had the look and feel of a turtle shell and by design, restricted all torso and chest movement while keeping my spine in proper alignment. It was intensely uncomfortable and during that time, I could not sit up, tie my own shoes and so many other things that I had taken for granted before. To adapt, I learned to use all types of devices which allowed me to reach for things and to again be able to put on my own socks and shoes. I became proficient with both a wheelchair and a walker, eventually graduating to crutches and then to a cane. Finally, after more than nine months of intensive physical therapy, I was able to walk normally on my own again and it was fantastic!
I returned to the air in mid-October and flew several more times after that in an effort to face my fears and overcome the anxiety I had developed during my ordeal. It felt so good to be back in the air and I thought to myself that I had finally returned and that I would be able to continue pursuing my passion. This was short-lived however. In an effort to ease my wife’s fears, I was flying in secret which I could not do for long before it got the better of me. She never asked me to stop flying but it was hard for her and I was brutally conscious of this. She had been there at my side the entire time and it had been an intensely difficult thing for her as well. I was not willing to lose sight of that. As time wore on and life became busier in other ways, I found myself regretfully losing touch with my dream of flying. I have not been back in the air in almost three years now. Ironically, what was once such an exquisite celebration of life for me has now become somewhat of a source of personal longing and regret. That I gave it away by allowing myself to crash that February morning, haunts me often.
Leonardo Da Vinci once stated, “For once you have tasted flight, you will forever walk the earth with your eyes turned skyward, for there you have been and there you will always long to return.”
Today the limp is rarely seen and the scars have healed rather nicely but not a day goes by without at least a brief reflection upon my fantastic, albeit, too short, experience as a pilot. Of course, I am grateful to be alive and I will always relish that fact, however, I struggle to find a lasting satisfaction in these thoughts where flying is concerned. I tell myself that someday, like the ancient Phoenix, I too will rise again and return to the sky.
For there, I have been and there I will always long to return . . .
