So without further ado...
I'm sitting in the ticket shack on the top of the mountain. The ticket shack is the most boring part of the job (I'd actually rather clean the bathroom down by the water). We usually sell out all of our tours by 11:00 and then we're stuck in there doing menial tasks -- and there is much to do to prepare for the next day -- until the rest of the
crew gets back up from Cleetwood Cove around 6:30.
So I'm making out tickets for the next day when I get a call on the radio: "Tickets, this is Cleetwood. Respond to this as soon as you can." I jumped up -- EXCITEMENT! -- and respond with my heartiest "This is Tickets. Go ahead." My coworker Steph down below says, "Are you available to assist in a carry-out? A gal down here cut her leg. The litter crew is on its way, but we need another body." It takes six people to operate the litter -- or gurney -- and they only had four rangers. "Yes," I said. "I'll lock up the shack and be down in 15."
As I'm getting all the padlocks ready and making a sign -- and obviously looking very dire -- tourists are asking me "Why is Crater Lake so blue?" and "How did you get the boats down there?" and all around standing in my way as I try to lock up the ticket shack. A woman asks for water and I say I'm in a hurry. She gives me a really pathetic whine and bitches that she just hiked that Cleetwood Trail and now she has to die of thirst. So I throw her a fucking bottle of
water.
On my way down Cleetwood Trail, I feel super cool. I'm hustling with a radio in my hand and shouting, "Excuse me, folks! Excuse me!" One tourist must've recognized the look on my face because he shouts to a family farther down, "Out of his way! He's responding to a medical!"
Somewhere down the trail, I realize my shoe is coming off. When I bend down to tie it, I notice there is no shoe lace to tie; it frayed so much that it fell off. So now I'm hobbling down the trail, trying to keep it on. Even if I get to the bottom, I'm useless: Without a shoe, what can I do? I get to Cleetwood Cove and search for some rope in the shack down there. Nothing. I find a mini-bungee cord hanging on the wall. Perfect! I guide it through some holes and wrap it around my ankle. It actually works better than a shoelace; I'm thinking of getting one for the other shoe.
One of the captains hands me a Vitamin Water and tells me to head over to the bathrooms where everyone is gathered. I hobble the 50 yards to the bathrooms and there is a 24-year-old girl laying on the bench, surrounded by rangers. The EMT is asking her a bunch of questions. Apparently, she was climbing out of the water and slipped on a rock. She sliced her knee open when she fell and will need stitches. When I arrive, we move her onto the litter. I am volunteered to be at the head of the litter because I'm tall and her head needs to be elevated. I agree to it, but, once we start moving, I make it about 20 yards and give up. I tell them I can't be at the front and a law enforcement ranger agrees to switch with me. We switch out provided I wear this 100-lb. backpack full of oxygen tanks. At this point, I rather be leading again; I have flashbacks of Divine Child.
Going up the trail is pretty fun, though. It usually takes me about 20 min. to get back up, but here, it takes us an hour. The crew and the girl are cracking jokes. Given that the mood is so light, I allow myself to notice how very pretty this young lady is -- and subsequently feel like a total pig. (Ironically enough, when I sold her her ticket hours prior, I thought, "Damn, I'd like to see you again real soon!") Of course she's married, though. Aww bugger; that would be a great pick up line -- something about literally needing to be picked up, ha ha ha.
We get to the top where an ambulance is waiting. I laugh to myself when the EMT says she feels like she will vomit because that trail is so rough. (Haha, I do it everyday, you weakling! Once, I did it twice!) One of the rangers asks me to write down my full name and I imagine when he writes up his report later, a paragraph will read, "Handsome Xanterra dockhand Peter Jurich heroically flew down Cleetwood Trail in record time to assist in our very serious situation -- and with one shoelace at that! We could not have done this without him."
After that, the ambulance took off and I was left again to minding the ticket shack, despite having two hours less to do all the shit I needed to do. I ended up getting it all done before 6:30 and the crew was up the trail by6:45. We were late for dinner, but the cook kept the cafeteria open for us, so we cleaned up while he made our burgers. The day had actually been a very pleasant change of pace.
crew gets back up from Cleetwood Cove around 6:30.
So I'm making out tickets for the next day when I get a call on the radio: "Tickets, this is Cleetwood. Respond to this as soon as you can." I jumped up -- EXCITEMENT! -- and respond with my heartiest "This is Tickets. Go ahead." My coworker Steph down below says, "Are you available to assist in a carry-out? A gal down here cut her leg. The litter crew is on its way, but we need another body." It takes six people to operate the litter -- or gurney -- and they only had four rangers. "Yes," I said. "I'll lock up the shack and be down in 15."
As I'm getting all the padlocks ready and making a sign -- and obviously looking very dire -- tourists are asking me "Why is Crater Lake so blue?" and "How did you get the boats down there?" and all around standing in my way as I try to lock up the ticket shack. A woman asks for water and I say I'm in a hurry. She gives me a really pathetic whine and bitches that she just hiked that Cleetwood Trail and now she has to die of thirst. So I throw her a fucking bottle of
water.
On my way down Cleetwood Trail, I feel super cool. I'm hustling with a radio in my hand and shouting, "Excuse me, folks! Excuse me!" One tourist must've recognized the look on my face because he shouts to a family farther down, "Out of his way! He's responding to a medical!"
Somewhere down the trail, I realize my shoe is coming off. When I bend down to tie it, I notice there is no shoe lace to tie; it frayed so much that it fell off. So now I'm hobbling down the trail, trying to keep it on. Even if I get to the bottom, I'm useless: Without a shoe, what can I do? I get to Cleetwood Cove and search for some rope in the shack down there. Nothing. I find a mini-bungee cord hanging on the wall. Perfect! I guide it through some holes and wrap it around my ankle. It actually works better than a shoelace; I'm thinking of getting one for the other shoe.
One of the captains hands me a Vitamin Water and tells me to head over to the bathrooms where everyone is gathered. I hobble the 50 yards to the bathrooms and there is a 24-year-old girl laying on the bench, surrounded by rangers. The EMT is asking her a bunch of questions. Apparently, she was climbing out of the water and slipped on a rock. She sliced her knee open when she fell and will need stitches. When I arrive, we move her onto the litter. I am volunteered to be at the head of the litter because I'm tall and her head needs to be elevated. I agree to it, but, once we start moving, I make it about 20 yards and give up. I tell them I can't be at the front and a law enforcement ranger agrees to switch with me. We switch out provided I wear this 100-lb. backpack full of oxygen tanks. At this point, I rather be leading again; I have flashbacks of Divine Child.
Going up the trail is pretty fun, though. It usually takes me about 20 min. to get back up, but here, it takes us an hour. The crew and the girl are cracking jokes. Given that the mood is so light, I allow myself to notice how very pretty this young lady is -- and subsequently feel like a total pig. (Ironically enough, when I sold her her ticket hours prior, I thought, "Damn, I'd like to see you again real soon!") Of course she's married, though. Aww bugger; that would be a great pick up line -- something about literally needing to be picked up, ha ha ha.
We get to the top where an ambulance is waiting. I laugh to myself when the EMT says she feels like she will vomit because that trail is so rough. (Haha, I do it everyday, you weakling! Once, I did it twice!) One of the rangers asks me to write down my full name and I imagine when he writes up his report later, a paragraph will read, "Handsome Xanterra dockhand Peter Jurich heroically flew down Cleetwood Trail in record time to assist in our very serious situation -- and with one shoelace at that! We could not have done this without him."
After that, the ambulance took off and I was left again to minding the ticket shack, despite having two hours less to do all the shit I needed to do. I ended up getting it all done before 6:30 and the crew was up the trail by6:45. We were late for dinner, but the cook kept the cafeteria open for us, so we cleaned up while he made our burgers. The day had actually been a very pleasant change of pace.
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