In Search of the Missing Read online

  Training with the Kerry Mountain Rescue Team was both a challenge and an honour, especially for us amateurs. (The team was formed in 1966 following the death of two mountain climbers in the south-west. Since then, it has been on constant call-out to rescue climbers and walkers in distress.) With the Kerry Mountain Rescue Team, we were trained in and tested on all aspects of mountain rescue, including stretcher carrying over rough ground, stretcher lowering off cliffs, abseiling, mountain-rescue first aid, night navigation, and jumaring (rope climbing). We practised being lowered off and raised onto the mountain with the dogs secured to us with special harnesses. Medics, stretcher bearers and the Air Corps trained with us. Realistic scenarios were set up. Once the live body was located, the rest of the team swung swiftly into action.

  After several months of training, the Kerry Mountain Rescue Team began to call Don and me to real-life searches. Even though our dogs were not yet certified search dogs, the team leader gave permission for the dogs to accompany us on searches. This gave us valuable experience. From then on, getting a phone call at 2 a.m. became very exciting as it signalled a call-out, or ‘shout’ as it’s known. Once the shout came, I’d jump out of bed, grab my gear, get my dog and meet Don somewhere convenient, from where we’d drive to the rescue base. Many times, false alarms occurred, and call-outs were subsequently cancelled. But that was well before the arrival of mobile phones, which meant that if we had already set out we had to travel all the way to the rescue base before learning of the cancellation. Often, I returned home after a false alarm and headed straight for work with little or no sleep.

  We took part in the search for an English climber whose car had been found abandoned in a car park near the Hag’s Glen after he failed to return from a climb on the Macgillycuddy Reeks. Having completed an investigation, the gardaí decided to conduct a search. As Dex and Rizzo were not certified, search teams from Northern Ireland, England and Wales were called, and, being members of the local rescue team, Don and I were asked to act as guides for these handlers. The handler I was guiding around the mountain was older than me but, boy, was he fit. Just walking and talking to him throughout the search made me realise that these men and women were on a very different level to us. At first, it may not have been noticeable, but it soon became clear that their hill fitness and dog-handling skills were outstanding. I learned so much during that particular search simply by talking to them and observing their actions. Unfortunately, the search teams failed to find the missing man, and eventually the search was called off.

  Six months later, Don and I were in final preparations be-fore heading to Cumbria in England to have our dogs assessed as mission-ready search dogs. We had arranged to train in the Hag’s Glen with members of the Killarney Mountain Rescue Team and some volunteers from our families. At this stage, after almost two years of continual training, search dogs should be capable of ranging up to a half-mile from their handlers. They should be trusted to continue searching on their own and to return occasionally to within earshot or sight of the handlers. To determine if a dog has reached this level of training, engaging an observer who will use both binoculars and a two-way radio is essential. While the dog and handler work on one side of a valley, the observer stays on the opposite hill and watches the dog closely, especially when the dog is out of sight of the handler. The observer keeps the handler informed on what the dog is doing. For example, is the dog chasing sheep? Is the dog continuing to work? Everything must be reported as it happens. If the dog continues to work when out of sight, the handler can develop confidence in the dog. This is important, as one of the biggest problems in search-dog training is handler confidence. The handlers must always ask, Do I trust the dogs to do the job for which they have been trained?

  On that particular training day, Don was searching underneath Carrauntoohil on very dangerous ground. A number of bodies were in position around the cliff’s face, including Don’s brother Tom, who was close to the bottom of the hill. I was acting as an observer, and positioned myself on the hill opposite. An hour or so into the search, Tom made radio contact. He had found a backpack under a ledge near his hiding place. I told him to leave it for a while. Soon after, he contacted me again to say he had noticed a watch in a stream just beneath him; it was still functioning and showing the right time. He thought the backpack and watch might have been lying there for some time. Straight away, I contacted Con Moriarty, leader of the Kerry Mountain Rescue Team. Con was acting as one of the bodies for the day. He suggested we carry on and complete our training session first.

  After several hours, we finished our training. Everyone gathered where Tom had found the backpack and watch. The group included the renowned Pat Falvey, a fellow club member. From where we stood, the cliff face above was to the right of the Devil’s Ladder and, in places, rising vertically to the summit of Carrauntoohil. Con and Pat climbed directly up from where the backpack was lying. After only a few hundred feet, they came upon a body. Con made contact on the radio to tell us, and several of us climbed up to the location, where we saw the intact skeleton of a person. A camera and a pair of binoculars hung around the neck of the skeleton. His hat was still on his head and his feet were covered with his shoes. Con contacted the gardaí, and between them they concluded that these were the remains of the missing Englishman whom we had failed to locate six months previously. After Con had taken some photographs for the coroner, we all said some prayers before placing the remains in a bivvy bag. As the area was hazardous, we had to rope the remains down the cliff and take turns in carrying the deceased out of the Hag’s Glen. We walked in silence back to our vehicles at Lisleibane, where a hearse with a coffin met us. While everyone was very sad at finding the body, we felt that it might, at least, offer a degree of closure to his family.

  As I had never before seen the remains of a human on a hill, the experience was a revelation to me. It made me realise the importance of what we were doing. With or without dogs, search-and-rescue work is not a game. People’s lives and their families can be affected by our actions. I reminded myself that this could have been someone I knew or even a family member. From that moment on, I became more determined than ever to succeed in getting my dog certified.

  In the early days of training with Neil, I had become his worst nightmare, mainly because of my previous experience of training dogs for obedience, or schutzhund. While I’d listen attentively to Neil’s advice at training sessions in the Wicklow Mountains or Mourne Mountains, later, at home, I’d decide that I knew better, and would revert to my old methods of training. As a result, it took me much longer than necessary to train my first search dog. I have since become convinced that the person who learns quickest is the person who has absolutely no knowledge of dog training, provided, of course, that the commitment to learn is strong. The saying that ‘a little knowledge is a dangerous thing’ is very true. First and foremost, I was a dog handler, and I viewed search-dog training as just another aspect of my career in dogs. In Britain, the opposite was true of those involved in search and rescue. Above all else, British search-dog handlers were mountaineers, and they took up search-dog handling as another aid to rescue training. As they were very experienced in mountaineering, navigation and first aid, they were extremely valuable as members of their local rescue teams. I was doing things the opposite way around.

  Every sixth Friday, Don and I left Cork at 6 p.m. with the dogs to begin a three-hour drive to Laragh, County Wicklow, for SARDA training weekends with Neil. Most of the other dog handlers would have arrived before us, along with some members of the local mountain-rescue teams, who would have offered to act as bodies for the weekend. Having settled ourselves into the hut, which was a hostel run by the Dublin and Wicklow mountain-rescue teams, we’d start up a sing-song, with both Neil and myself on guitar. Neil had a huge collection of funny songs, with songs sung by Burl Ives among his favourites. All our dogs were outside in their owners’ vans, which would be their sleeping quarters for the weekend.

  In the morni
ng, Neil was always first to rise. Having tended to his dog, he’d put on a big fry-up of rashers and sausages. After breakfast, in his role as training officer, he’d take his first group of bodies to the hill and place them in position for the more advanced dogs. The rest of us would follow an hour later. Regardless of weather, training always went ahead. Fair-weather sailors were not welcome on dog-training weekends. In advance, training areas would have been set up by Neil to correspond with the number of dog teams taking part and the number of bodies available. Areas varied in size, from fifteen-minute areas to three-hour areas. Each area lay within certain boundaries, such as skyline, gullies and pathways. Once the handler understood the area and informed Neil on how it was proposed to cover it, the simulated search got underway.

  For the hill search, handlers had to be fully clothed in orange, red or yellow, as these bright colours stand out from the surroundings. They had to carry full backpacks, as they would on a real search. This meant that they had to bring a Carry Mat (a foam mattress), warm gear, rain gear, spare gear, a map, compass, head torch, spare batteries, whistle, food and liquids for two days, and a bivvy bag (an orange, plastic survival bag, similar to a mini tent and six feet in length). Often, people packed two bivvy bags as they could be laid in the form of a cross to attract attention. Dry clothes at base were also essential.

  Throughout the search, the training officer and handler kept in constant communication through two-way radios. Neil never lost his cool with any of the handlers, and always remained extremely calm. On completion of the search, the handler returned to base, where a debriefing took place. The handler explained in detail how the search was conducted and why certain actions were carried out while on the hill, allowing for the lay of the land, wind direction and the dog’s attitude. Generally, depending on the handler’s account, Neil would then make a few suggestions as to how the search might have been conducted more efficiently.

  After a short rest, the handler and dog were given a second area to search, and were expected to implement Neil’s recommendations. Usually, two or three dog teams worked different areas at the same time. This made Neil’s job very difficult as he had to try to watch each team as it worked through an area while writing notes for each debriefing. While the area searches were in progress, other potential handlers observed in the hope of improving their own knowledge and skills of search-dog handling. During the two days, if there was time, these beginners were usually given some training with the more experienced handlers.

  As is traditional in search-dog training, walk-out time was 3 p.m. This meant that the bodies left their hiding places and returned to base regardless of whether or not they were found. At this point, a further and more detailed debriefing took place back at the hostel. This session included not only Neil and the handlers but also the bodies, who had to describe how each dog reacted on the find, or if they came close to finding the body. They also had to give an account of the subsequent interaction between the dog and handler on completion of the search sequence. Handlers took notes as they needed to show improvement the following day. A training log was kept by each handler, which was signed by the training officer after each training weekend.

  Sunday’s session was important as it was used mainly to correct any niggling training problems that might have surfaced on the Saturday. Training finished at 3 p.m., when Don and I would head back to Cork, usually getting home around 8 p.m. On Monday nights, still feeling invigorated after the weekend, I was eager to begin again the home routine of training and to rectify any errors made in Wicklow.

  November 1989 came round. Don and I had a pre-assessment in the Wicklow Hills under a very experienced search-dog assessor from the Lakes Mountain Rescue Team in Cumbria. In previous years, we had both attended an English mountain-rescue-dog assessment as observers. We knew well what to expect. Unfortunately, the pre-assessment went badly. Doubt was cast on my own and on Dex’s ability to pass a search-dog assessment. Thankfully – after some discussion and argument – Neil, who as training officer had complete control, decided to let me go. As the assessment was still a few months away, I felt confident that I had enough time to correct my mistakes. For Don and me, this was our final run-in. During the following months, we trained and exercised non-stop with the dogs to the exclusion of all else. At this stage, Dex was almost four years old and Rizzo was five. We estimated that we had spent at least fifteen hundred hours training and that the training of each dog had cost £20,000.

  As we were the first handlers and dogs from the Republic of Ireland to apply for qualification, we received much publicity from the local media. Because of the media hype, I was fortunate enough to receive a very generous donation of £400. However, when I brought the cheque to work with the intention of cashing it, midway through the morning I discovered it was missing. Minutes later, a clerk at my local bank in the South Mall phoned. She said a man claiming to be me was standing at her counter and trying to cash my cheque. When she had asked him why the cheque had been issued to him, he gave her the full background to the forthcoming trip for assessment, which of course was common knowledge because of the media coverage. By now, she had phoned the gardaí and the man was still waiting for the cash. I rushed off to the bank. A garda had just arrived before me. He tapped the man on the shoulder and asked, ‘Are you Mick McCarthy?’ When the man replied that he was, the garda said, ‘Well, that’s funny, because the real Mick McCarthy is standing right behind you.’ It transpired that a customer at my place of work had stolen the cheque, and that the man at the bank had bought it from the thief for £40.

  In April 1990, after all the hype and drama, Don, Dex, Rizzo and I were ready to set off for Ennerdale in Cumbria for our first official assessment. Tim Murphy accompanied us from Kerry, together with Don’s brother Tom, both of whom had been roped in to act as bodies. Regardless of all the good wishes we received, Don and I were very aware that some among the doggy community here doubted our ability to succeed. They had made it quite clear that they thought we were doomed to failure and that our aspirations were unrealistic. We were also conscious of the fact that German shepherds were not at all popular in England as search-and-rescue dogs. Only one thing was certain – we had a lot to prove.

  Cumbria

  After a seven-hour drive from Holyhead, we finally arrived at Ennerdale in Cumbria and made our way to High Gillerthwaite Farm, which was situated several miles in along a forest track. We were met by two of the assessors who would carry out the assessments on the nearby mountains. When we opened the door of the dog trailer, one of the assessors immediately said, ‘Oh, bloody mutton eaters!’ The other made a comment about the fun they usually have when ‘Alsatians’ get in amongst the sheep. At this stage, my blood was boiling. I was on the verge of closing up the dog trailer, turning round and heading straight back home, but I did not. They continued to try to get the wind up us by saying that there was only one German shepherd working in England as a mountain-rescue dog, mainly because handlers had found it extremely difficult to livestock-proof a German shepherd. In our experience, Don and I had found otherwise. We never had any difficulty in teaching our dogs to ignore farm livestock. In our initial training, the only problems we had were not with our dogs at all but with our own lack of knowledge and experience in training dogs for the intricacies of searching. Of course, as I have already mentioned, mountain-rescue-dog handlers in other countries are primarily mountaineers, not doggy people. As members of mountain-rescue teams, they take up dog handling as a means to an end: namely, the quick and efficient searching of a mountain to locate a missing person. Generally, when choosing a puppy to train as a search dog, foreign handlers look for a breed that is socially acceptable to farmers and the public, one easy to train and which does not carry the ‘bad dog’ tag of ‘Alsatian’. All the negative talk about German shepherds got Don and me off to a bad start, but it also made us more determined than ever to prove that our dogs were not sheep chasers.

  During the night, thanks to the constant s
noring of one of my travelling companions – who shall remain nameless – I got little sleep. The following morning, I woke with a splitting headache, rose at 6 a.m. to have breakfast, and went for a walk with the dogs in the hope that the country air might clear my head. At 7 a.m., when I came back to the farmyard, I found that some of the assessors had already left for the mountains with their bodies. Among those bodies were our own helpers, Tim and Tom.

  Detective Sergeant Dave Riley arrived to give the briefing on what was expected of us during the first days of searches. At 8 a.m. Don and I set out for a ninety-minute guided walk up very steep, wooded mountainside to our search areas. Each of us was given a search area on opposite sides of a valley. I was the first lamb to the slaughter, and my area – Area 1 – was carefully pointed out to me. It looked huge. Starting on the right-hand boundary, it continued up a snow-covered gully to a col, which from where I stood appeared to be miles away in the distance. At an angle from the col, the top boundary led to the left, down underneath almost vertical crags. Then, after about five hundred yards, it went back up to the skyline and along the top for about half a mile. The remnants of a stone wall formed the left-hand boundary, which led from the valley floor right up almost to the skyline, and was only visible from base by using binoculars. A stream marked the bottom boundary, flowing just underneath us at base and going right down the valley floor. On the opposite side, Don’s area looked equally large and even more treacherous. Being located on the shaded side of the valley, it contained much more snow and ice.