The WHOP WHOP of the helicopter blades reverberated through the craft as we banked sharply to the left in anticipation of landing. "Are you ready back there?" I heard through the headset. I gave him a thumbs-up and tightened my grip on Merak’s leash. As soon as the skids hit the ground, the door opened and Merak and I jumped to the ground. "CRAWL," I commanded as I grabbed my pack and the two of us ran to the safe zone, crouched down against the flying debris.

I had received the phone call at work that morning to respond to the east side of Glacier National Park with my search and rescue trained Belgian Tervuren, Merak. A park employee had headed out into the backcountry for a day hike the afternoon before and hadn’t shown up for work the following morning. Ground crews, who had been out all night, had found what they believed to be footsteps, ending in a hold in a very large snowfield. Our mission that day was to determine if anyone was indeed underneath the snow. "Okay, Roo. Time to go to work. Are you ready? Search small," I told him as I released him from his leash. Seconds later he was skimming the surface of the snowfield, nose to the ground, casting over every inch. I was visibly nervous every time he came to the hole, not knowing how deep and secure the snow was. A large, deep hole emptying out into a rock chute that ended at the creek beneath my feet would be his demise should he break through. I was powerless to help him and was conducting the search from the bottom of the ravine since we had not determined the safety of the snow pack for humans. Within minutes he had covered the area and came back to me, grabbing a stick along the way, his indication to me that the area was free of human scent.

I took Merak over the ridge and played with him for a few minutes, then brought him back to the snowfield for one more pass. Same results. I radioed into base and told them my feelings. "All right, we have to trust your and the dog…do you think you can cover the drainage on the way out to rule out if he slid off the cliff?" base camp asked. I assured them we could, strapped on my pack and the ground team, dog and I headed out toward civilization. Several hours later we heard over the radio that foot searchers in another part of the search area had located the ravaged remains of the park employee. Grizzly bears had been spotted in the area and the searchers were making a hasty retreat.

It had been a busy year for Merak and I, members of Flathead County Search and Rescue located in the northwest corner of Montana. Normally hunting season, between the end of October to Thanksgiving weekend is our busy time with the dogs, tracking hunters who have gotten trapped by the dark, weather, or turned around in the backcountry. However, this past year had been an exception.

I reflected back to the months during the years of 1997-98 leading us to this spring day high in the mountains in Glacier National Park. Hikers and bow hunters are usually the common missing person call-outs that we receive in September, however on this early September morning the call came for assistance in locating two drown individuals in an adjoining county. Both boys had been missing since the 4 ^th of July and neither body had come to the surface, a phenomenon that typically occurs within a week to ten days of the drowning. We arrived at the staging area where I interviewed the search leader of the county. He informed me that they had no idea where the boys were last seen on the lake but had found the jet skis that they were using on the opposite bank. I looked over the 2,000-acre lake and sighed. This was going to be a long day.

Merak was running through the water and having a grand time as we got the boat and accessories ready. As soon as I took out his search dog vest, though, he was all business and ready to go. "Ready to go to work, big guy?" I asked him as we pushed off from shore. He looked at me with confidence and pure love and I took a moment to scratch his ears and give him a well-placed kiss on the nose. "All right then, search small." He assumed his working position in the boat; front legs over the side and nose just fractions of an inch over the water’s surface as the boat handler directed our little boat from shore.

For ease and convenience, Merak is trained for search and rescue (SAR) by using four basic commands: "search small" means human scent below the surface or right on the surface as in the case of avalanche, water, disaster or article work. "Such" (the German word for Search) is what we use when tracking or trailing. "Find ‘em" is for large area work where he is looking for scent floating on the wind currents and "Naypu" (Indian for death) is for cadaver location in small areas (crime scene investigations).

To my surprise, within fifteen minutes after launching the boat from shore, Merak started lapping at the water. An indication that he was catching human scent. Shortly afterwards he gave me his sure-fire alert, digging at the bottom of the boat, whining and trying to jump overboard. "GOOD BOY!" I told him as I rubbed his head and chest. We traveled around the general area for another hour, placing markers and obtaining Global Positioning System points for another two alerts in close proximity to the first. The county searchers went out with their underwater camera, but could not see a thing in the murky water. "He would never lie to me…the bodies have to be close," I told them.

The next day we came back with another two dogs from our unit and covered the same area with the same results from the dogs. Still no sign of the bodies. The following month, still after no success in locating the bodies, we were called back in to see what the dogs would do. Although the alerts much weaker, the dogs were still interested in the same area. The county managed to bring in a Side Scan Sonar unit and the bodies were located within ten minutes, 300 feet from where Merak first alerted one month before, in over 80 feet of water.

After our various hunter calls throughout the months of October and November, we were taking a well deserved break when the pager suddenly went off one very early, crisp morning in December. Three girls at a Wilderness Treatment camp had escaped from their dorm dressed in only tennis shoes and fall coats. One of the three had gotten scared so had headed back to the camp and told the authorities about the other two. Based upon information from the third girl, we knew which direction the escapee’s intended on heading and the fact that they were planning on following the river to get to town, 30 miles away. Dressed only in tennis shoes, we were afraid that they might have slipped and fallen into the icy waters or succumbed to the twenty-degree weather during the night.

We decided to start our unit’s Border Collie around the Treatment Center to see if she could pick up the scent of the girls and in which direction they might have traveled. Merak and I would head a couple of miles down the road to a bridge to see if we could cross the girls’ track close to the river. I gave Merak an article of clothing from one of the missing girls and we started to search the banks of the river on both sides of the bridge. Nothing. So my partner and I decided to walk the road back to the Treatment Center checking out the buildings in hopes that the victims had hunkered down for the night in one of the area barns.

Reports had come back that our Border Collie was on scent and following the girls across a field and away from the center. It was still very early in the morning, and traffic was non-existent on the road where we were walking, so Merak was allowed to range off lead. About a mile from the bridge and where we left our vehicles, Merak suddenly headed up a hill adjoining the road and out of site.

"Do you think he’s on something?" asked my search partner. "No clue." I responded. I tried calling Merak back to me to no avail. Usually he has a dependable recall, something of utmost importance when working a SAR dog off lead. So up the bank we scrambled to see what he was doing. Sure enough he was standing on two sets of footprints, with a look on his face that said "Well, it’s about time!" Since the area was heavy with downfall, I allowed him to off-lead trail. He led us along the banks of the river and through heavy brush. Occasionally the sparse snow allowed us visual tracks to confirm that we were indeed heading in the right direction. After two miles of exhausting work, we radioed the base camp and gave them our direction of travel, hoping that Teri and her Border Collie could cut track ahead of us to save time and energy. Fortunately, the girls stayed close to their established travel plan and the other dog team was able to find their track and continue following it. Shortly afterwards a find was confirmed. The girls had traveled seven miles over six hours in their attempt to escape. We traveled four miles by leapfrogging the dogs and found them in three hours. It was a good lesson in teamwork.

The last part of December and January saw us on the Big Mountain Ski resort playing in the snow and polishing the dogs’ avalanche skills. One of Merak’s all-time favorite things to do is to ride the chair lift and he sits like a king on his throne; head up, full attention and like royalty. When gathering equipment to go up the hill, it he’s not on a down stay he will get on the lift by himself and travel to the top without me. Something I’m not too thrilled about.

One day in February we received a call from the regional avalanche coordinator asking us to give his group of advanced ski patrol students an avalanche dog demonstration. Definitely a feather in our cap! We decided to go with three demonstration holes and two of the ski patrol students volunteered to dig and hide in one of them. They understood the principles of digging a training hole and the safety requirements for a live person burial and set to work with vigor. Obviously I was not specific in how deep I wanted the hole, however, since it was a good seven feet deep by the time they were done. I was nervous in allowing the student to go down that deep but he was persistent on being buried in "his hole." Normally in avalanche training we bury between three to five feet deep. The dogs have no problems locating people at greater depths, but for safety we prefer not to bury people at more than that. We gave the ski patrol member two radios in case the batteries on one should fail and had his transceiver on and tested. Emergency shovelers stood by in case he decided a few minutes into it that being buried just wasn’t his idea of fun. Two other "victims" were also placed, but at much more reasonable depths. I approached the rest of the class to give them a quick lesson on avalanche dogs, how to utilize them and how they worked, all the while keeping an ear cocked to the radio. I have been a "victim" and know how lonely, quiet and claustrophobic being buried can be, especially since you usually are unable to fully stretch out. Light is little at that depth, but your sense of hearing is amplified. Even at six feet you can hear the dogs above you, however even when yelling your loudest you cannot be detected from on top.

After our initial speech it was time for Merak to do his thing. "Okay Roo…are you ready?" Merak dressed in his orange search dog vest and neon collar with bell was whining with anticipation. Avalanche work is his favorite area of searching and one he excels at. "Good boy…Search small." I watched as he started quartering his area, checking out the tree wells in his path. Within seconds he had located his first victim, the one who had been buried at three feet. "GOOD BOY! Go to work, two more…Search small." Being conditioned to work for more than one victim, he didn’t expect to receive his reward, and went immediately back to work. I saw him approach the "seven footer." Too early, I thought, it’s only been ten minutes…the scent hasn’t gotten to the top. But sure enough, just as he passed over the hole, his head turned, he thrust his nose up to his ears into the snow and snorted. Then the snow started to fly! "ALL RIGHT MY MAN!" I yelled. "One more. Search small!" And off he went, needing no more encouragement. The last victim was located shortly after and the search ball was revealed to Merak’s delight. The class was amazed and couldn’t stop talking about the demonstration that they had just witnessed. Three victims in under five minutes. Wow, dogs ARE beneficial in the avalanche scenario.

Merak is the third SAR dog that I’ve trained and the second that’s been certified operational in my sixteen years of search and rescue work. I am amazed every time I work a dog at their capacity in the field of scent work and more than humbled at the heart, willingness and devotion that they exhibit each time we ask them to do something for us. Every time we go out on a mission, our dogs put their lives on the line for their handlers, their reward nothing more than a stick, a ball or a pat on the head and praise.

When I retired my Golden Retriever, Talis, I doubted that Merak would ever begin to fill her "shoes" as a SAR dog. I was wrong and he has given back to me more than I ever would have dreamed possible. Mickey is learning the ropes and performing his SAR problems like a professional and following in the true Belgian form as far as work ethic. There will come a sad day when I have to make the decision to leave Merak home when the pager goes off. That will be the same day that Mickey will be allowed to test his wings on his first solo flight as a SAR dog. Mickey has some very big pawprints to fill, but if, like his ancestors before him and if he continues to perform in the true Belgian sense, those pawprints will be filled, and perhaps stretched a little more.