Heroic Efforts

The Emotional Culture of Search and Rescue Volunteers

Jennifer Lois

• Publisher: NYU Press
• Year: 2003
• ISBN:
  9780814765234
• Topic: Social Sciences
• Subtopic: Sociology
• Index: Social Sciences

Winner of the 2006 Outstanding Recent Contribution Award from the American Sociological Association, Sociology of Emotions Section

Many search and rescue workers voluntarily interrupt their lives when they are called upon to help strangers. They awake in the middle of the night to cover miles of terrain in search of lost hikers or leave work to search potential avalanche zones for missing skiers, snowboarders, and snowmobilers in blizzard conditions. They often put their own lives in danger to rescue stranded, hypothermic kayakers and rafters from rivers.

Drawing on six years of participant observation and in-depth interviews, Jennifer Lois examines the emotional subculture of “Peak,” a volunteer mountain-environment search and rescue team. Rescuers were not only confronted by physical dangers, but also by emotional challenges, including both keeping their own emotions in check during crisis situations, and managing the emotions of others, such as those they were rescuing. Lois examines how rescuers constructed meaning in their lives and defined themselves through their heroic work.

Heroic Efforts serves as an easy to understand sociological introduction to the ways emotions develop and connect us to our surroundings, as well as to the links between the concept of heroism and other sociological theories such as those on gender stereotypes and edgework.

1

Studying Peak Search and Rescue

Ethnography (also known as “field research” or “participant-observation”) does not conform to the tenets of the deductive scientific approach. The latter assumes that people can be studied the same way as objects, by formulating hypotheses from established theories, then gathering data that support or refute the hypotheses. This approach assumes that there is an objective reality that exists outside of human experience; that the “facts” are out there waiting to be discovered by using a controlled and standardized procedure. While this deductive model can be useful in answering certain questions, it would not have been able to answer my main questions: How do Peak’s members understand their rescue experiences, and how do these understandings affect their lives? The answers to these questions depended largely on how rescuers interpreted and made sense of their experiences as well as on how they understood reality.

People come to define reality based on their experiences in social life. They assign meaning to social processes and objects (including themselves and others) based on their experiences with them. They then act based on the meanings these processes and objects hold for them. One way to understand behavior, then, is to investigate how people assign meaning to social phenomena. This is best accomplished through ethnographic research: observing and participating in people’s lives in a natural setting, as well as talking to them in depth about their experiences.¹ The data gathered in ethnographic research take the form of field notes, in which researchers record what they see, hear, and feel, and of interviews, in which researchers ask their subjects to provide their own accounts of their experiences.

There are several advantages to ethnographic research. First, it provides a deep and intricate understanding of how and why social processes happen because it captures the nuanced meanings people give to social phenomena; it uncovers the reality they create.² The researcher can examine this reality not by imposing and defining it at the outset of the research, but by allowing it to emerge from the data. Second, although ethnographic research does not produce findings that are generalizable to other social settings, the data are not totally idiosyncratic. Ethnography allows the researcher to abstract general social principles and suggest where else they may be applicable, a quality that Glaser and Strauss (1967) termed “theoretical generalizability.”³ In this way, ethnographic research is inductive and theory generating. It produces tentative theories that may later be tested deductively to establish where, when, and how they may be counted on to explain other social phenomena.

I studied Peak Search and Rescue ethnographically because I wanted to explore specific aspects of rescuers’ lived experience: why they volunteered to risk their lives to help others, how they handled risky situations, how their rescue experiences—both good and bad—affected their sense of self, and how they interpreted the rewards of rescue work. I could answer these questions only by achieving an intimate familiarity with rescuers’ lives through participating in their world, by doing the things they did and feeling the things they felt.⁴

Getting In

I first decided to join search and rescue in the spring of 1994. I was looking for a unique social setting to enter in preparation for a sociology graduate seminar I was taking the next fall: ethnographic methods. A friend suggested that Peak Search and Rescue would be an exciting and fun setting in which to conduct participant-observation research. Naïvely, I thought the group would feel lucky to have someone like me, with my basic CPR training, volunteer to rescue people. (I later learned that there were several EMTs, paramedics, and even one doctor in the group. I also discovered that my level of medical certification did not even meet the group’s minimum requirement.) When I called Peak in late June to find out how to join, I spoke to Gary, a well-respected rescuer. He told me that the group was always looking for people, so I should come to one of the business meetings, which were held on the first and third Sundays of every month.

I told a friend of mine, Barbara, that I was planning to join Peak to study it for a sociology project. She jumped at the chance to join with me, saying that she had always been interested. I thought that sounded like fun as well as academically productive because Barbara could provide me with a perspective of everyday life to enhance my own sociological observations.⁵

In July 1994, Barbara and I attended our first business meeting in the group’s base building. Although we tried to enter unobtrusively, we felt highly conspicuous and quickly took seats in the back. Because it was a holiday weekend, there were only eight people in attendance (seven men and one woman), three of whom were on the board of directors and sat behind a table, facing the rest of the group. One member, Jim (whom I later learned was the founding, 20-year member), spent 15 minutes recounting a rock climbing rescue he had recently worked in another state. His point was that the standardization of search and rescue techniques made it easy for him to coordinate with other rescuers on the scene, and probably saved the victims’ lives. I was much more fascinated, however, with his blow-by-blow description of the rescue, which sounded exciting. It did not occur to me, however, that rescuers would need highly specialized skills.

Barbara and I remained silent throughout the meeting, until the very end when the president asked if we were new. He told us to see Meg, a 10-year rescuer, who would show us around and give us some paperwork to complete. Meg was friendly as she gave us a tour of the base building, pointing out the radio room, the rescue truck, and the upstairs loft where much of the rescue gear was stored. At one point, though, she bluntly told us not to expect the other group members to welcome us with open arms. I was thrown off kilter by her frankness. She explained that many people joined and soon quit because they did not get what they expected from the group, which was to be assigned exciting roles on missions. The established members responded to this dynamic by remaining aloof until newcomers proved some kind of commitment to the group.⁶ Meg recommended that we get involved in the weekly trainings so that we could begin what seemed to be a long, slow process of establishing trust. She gave us our paperwork and told us to hand it in at the next business meeting in two weeks. Now somewhat apprehensively, Barbara and I made plans to attend the two trainings in the interim.

When Barbara and I began to fill out the paperwork, it suddenly became very clear that we were totally unqualified, which made us even more apprehensive about going to the trainings.⁷ We were asked to rate our skill in several areas using a scale from 1 (no experience) to 10 (expert). I scanned the list: whitewater rafting/kayaking; rock climbing; summer wilderness survival; winter wilderness survival; snowmobiling; mountaineering; ice climbing; avalanche training; map and compass knowledge; medical certification; backcountry skiing; physical fitness. I rated myself a “1” in everything except physical condition, for which, after much debate, I circled “5” (fighting the urge to place myself higher, I suspected that my standards were not as high as the group’s). Barbara did the same. We started to realize where we would stand in Peak.

With much less confidence, we began to attend trainings. As it turned out, there was a group of nine newcomers who had joined several months earlier, all of whom were enthusiastic and eager to become involved with Peak (this was the largest incoming “class” of recruits in my six years). Five of these members were also very inexperienced, so although Barbara and I were still the newest and least experienced, we were not as far behind as we had anticipated. We fit in reasonably well with this group of newcomers in other ways, too. We were similar in age (most were mid-twenties), race (white), and social class (middle–upper-middle). Furthermore, there were five other women in this group of nine, which made us feel more comfortable.

In the first month, I tried to get involved in the training exercises while simultaneously trying not to overstep my bounds, which can inhibit rapport and trust. I also tried to talk to people at the trainings, which was difficult because few people ever remembered my name, although sometimes they knew it was either Jen or Barbara. Barbara’s interactional style was more effusive than my own, so I was often relieved when she developed an initial rapport with some members with whom I had more trouble.⁸ Barbara had more luck than I did with one particular member, Elena, who seemed to be the leader of this group of newcomers. She was quite resistant to my friendly overtures. Every time I tried to talk to her, she gave me a one-word response and walked away.⁹ I persisted, though, trying to engage her and other newcomers in conversation about the rescue techniques we were learning and making small talk with them during breaks. I rarely spoke to the few lead-status members who were running the trainings. For the most part they were the Ironmen: the highly experienced, risk-taking, thrill-seeking, intimidating young men. All in all, I felt awkward and out of place, common sentiments for fieldworkers entering new settings.¹⁰

After these first few encounters, I decided not to suggest that I study the group. I was taking field notes, however, in journal form so I could remember my early experiences, but I was under what Fine (1993) called “deep cover”: I did not tell the members that I was conducting research. I reasoned that this might inhibit my ability to earn their trust, which looked like it would be hard enough to gain anyway. This decision proved to be a good one methodologically, as in early August the group spent an hour of its business meeting discussing an incident that had occurred two weeks before: Kevin, who had recently taken over the post of treasurer, discovered that a three-year, highly committed member had embezzled over $20,000 of group funds and equipment.

Members were shocked at the news. They felt betrayed and exploited, and thus became even more guarded than before, often openly stating their suspicions about why people joined the group. Several popular explanations revolved around how individuals used the group for their own benefit. One was that outsiders were seeking the prestige of membership. These people were derogatorily called “rescue rangers,” a term that cast their enthusiasm as a desire for self-glorification.¹¹ It was widely believed that these glory seekers became interested through the burgeoning rescue-type television shows of the mid-1990s, such as Rescue 911 and others, which, according to members, attracted droves of people looking for a glamorous, heroic experience. Another selfish reason people joined Peak, according to the subcultural lore, was to secure good prices on expensive outdoor gear. These people knew that group members could get discounts on equipment like snowshoes and sleeping bags, so rescuers believed that these outsiders joined the group, ordered their gear, and then quit when they received their merchandise. The third unacceptable reason people might join Peak was to acquire skills. Rescuers feared that people took advantage of the trainings run by experienced rescue personnel and then quit after they learned the techniques they sought. When the embezzler was caught, one month after I joined, members closed ranks and became highly suspicious of newcomers’ motivations.

I continued my participation that summer, though I remained fairly marginalized throughout. Sometimes several members went for drinks after the trainings, but I did not feel comfortable doing so, even though one or two rescuers halfheartedly invited me a few times. I befriended a member who joined after I had, and one day she told me that Elena (who wouldn’t talk to me) had explained to her that the only way to gain acceptance in this group was to go to the social events; trainings and meetings weren’t enough (this new member, incidentally, quit several weeks later). I decided I had to step up my participation.

After one training at the end of August, I accepted the invitation to go to the bar for drinks (Barbara was out of town). By the time I got there, however, one large table was completely filled with well-established core members, as well as with some new members. A small satellite table had been started next to it, where Brooke, a young southern woman in her early twenties, sat alone. I knew that Brooke, although only a one-year member, dated Nick, a core member, but he wasn’t there so she was feeling isolated and left out. She waved to me and loudly beckoned, “I’m at the loser-table! Come sit with me at the loser-table!” How could I refuse such a complimentary invitation? Within minutes, two other new members wandered in and sat with us. I began to make the posttraining trips to the bars a habit, which proved to be an excellent setting for developing rapport and gathering data, in part because of the lubricating effect of the alcohol on members’ sociability.

During that summer, I employed various techniques to ingratiate myself with the established members as well as with the newcomers. I tried to be outgoing and entertaining, a feat I accomplished by using a great deal of lighthearted self-deprecation during social events. Self-deprecation also allowed me to project a nonthreatening persona, which I used to engage others in conversation, even if it was to make myself the butt of the joke.¹² During trainings I tried to be a bit more serious and less self-effacing, but I continued to remain subordinate, deferring to others who had more knowledge and experience than I, which was everyone. All in all, I worked hard to befriend the members by earnestly complimenting them, appearing interested by asking them about themselves, and when I thought it would be well received, gently teasing them about things they said or did.

Yet I was making slow progress. One day, however, I got a break. In late September, two and a half months after I joined, Barbara and I were at a bar with several new members and our trainer, Roy, a 15-year veteran of Peak. Barbara referred to me as a “professor” during the conversation, and this caught everyone’s attention. Several times in the past I had explained to members that I was a graduate student and a teaching assistant in sociology, but no one had seemed to care, or perhaps no one understood exactly what I was talking about. But the word “professor,” inaccurate as it was, piqued the members’ interest, so they asked (again), “Wait—what do you do?” Thankful for the opening, I carefully explained it again and tried to focus on some of the more interesting aspects of my job, like leading class discussions on social issues and doing research on social interaction. They became more interested and began asking me to give them personality profiles. I tried to explain that I was not a psychologist, but rather a sociologist, who studied interactions between people and behavior in small groups. Then they wanted me to give Peak a “group-profile” analysis. When I declined, saying that Peak was “too complex,” they persisted, saying things like, “Oh, come on, take a potshot at it.” Luckily, Elena interjected: “Hey, if you ever need a project, you can study mountain rescue! You can study this group!” Others chimed in, “Yeah! Study us!”

This was indeed a lucky break. After several months in a covert researcher role, fearing the group members would be resistant to my studying them, I now had several members begging me to do so.¹³ I decided to bounce the idea off Roy, our trainer, because of all the core, well-established members, I knew him best. It took me several weeks to approach the board of directors officially, because Roy agreed to pave the way for me by talking to some of the board members in advance. When I did approach the board, they consented after I allayed some of their concerns, and they put aside some time for me to explain the project to the entire membership at the next business meeting. The members received the idea well, making jokes during my presentation, such as if I undertook this “year-long” study, at least I would stick around for that long. Some members, like Brooke, who had invited me to sit at her loser-table, even thought it was a great idea and offered to help me any way they could.

My role in the group changed after that. Once I became an overt researcher, people began to trust me more—they talked to me more, anyway, although in the beginning the idea of “research” was foreign to them. As they realized I was not going to show up to all Peak functions wearing a white lab coat or carrying a note pad, they relaxed and eventually forgot about it, a common response to ethnographers.¹⁴ My overt researcher role also allowed me to network further, as it gave me a reason to talk to the more established, higher status members. In the interest of research, I could more comfortably engage them in conversation, and they suspected me less, presumably because my motives were clear to them. I began going to Peak’s social hours at the bars with more frequency, even when new members were not going to be there. I also received a pager and started to be called out to go on missions.

Getting Established: Acceptance Processes

In my first two years, I focused heavily on acceptance processes, a theoretical interest that arose out of my own difficulty breaking into the group, and a topic that shaped my first paper (see chapter 3). During that time, I gained a great deal of knowledge and experience through trainings and missions, and numerous times I was able to prove myself a valuable member. For example, I tried to perform at high levels and show enthusiasm for undertaking difficult tasks, like being on a team of three to carry the heavy stretcher miles up a steep hiking trail to reach an injured victim. I also, however, tried not to overestimate my abilities in these areas since I had quickly surmised that appearing unsafe was one way to lose status in the group.¹⁵

One particular mission serves as an example of the conflict I felt between wanting to prove myself in challenging situations and not wanting to fail. One winter evening in my second year, Peak was called out to search for some lost snowboarders who were last seen eight hours earlier snowshoeing up a valley carrying their boards on their backs. Jim, the mission coordinator, was putting together two teams to track the party that night, while reserving most members for a full-scale search the next day. I wanted to go on the all-night search team, s...