Sheriff's Deputy Tom Snyder gets a hug from grateful parent Debbie Landers after a two-day search in the Jewel Basin rescued her son and his friend. Snyder is the county's search-and-rescue coordinator who balks at attention because he believes that should be saved for rescuers. Karen Nichols/Daily Inter Lake     RELATED ARTICLES     > Search continues into second night for lost skiers Friday, Mar 18, 2005 > Teens found after two nights Lost skier, snowboarder emerge from mountains Saturday March 19, 2005 > Rescued skier returns Sunday, March 20, 2005 (Fargo Paper, The Forum)

"I suspect that's the background that makes it possible to do this job," Snyder said. "The same principles apply whether you're shooting at somebody or looking for somebody."

When Sheriff Jim Dupont appointed Snyder to be the first official coordinator of search-and-rescue operations about two years ago, it wasn't because of Snyder's outdoors skills. It was because of his organizational skills, Dupont said. Snyder would pull together Nordic Ski Patrol, Flathead Search and Rescue, North Valley Search and Rescue, Civil Air Patrol, and other organizations.

Snyder remembers how Dupont described it.

"He didn't want a guy on a snowmobile or a boat or running down the trail," Snyder said. The actual volunteers in the valley's search-and-rescue agencies are skilled at that. Dupont wanted Snyder to make sure everyone got where they were going, safely.

"My first thought was, gee, you took all the fun out of it," Snyder said.

He recently rappelled for the first time in 12 years. He gets to have a little fun, too, but training money is spent on the people who actually search and rescue. Snyder coordinates.

He does it with as much heart as anyone out in the field.

When two Midwestern boys went missing in the Jewel Basin on March 16, Snyder dug in.

It was an unusual search, covering both sides of Mount Aenaes. Because of that, and because of scanty cell-phone coverage, there was no convenient place for a base camp from which Snyder could work. Instead, he sequestered himself in a closet-sized room in the county's 911 dispatch center. He'd log a lot of hours there, spending two nights up and directing the search.

"I own this thing," he said at the outset. "I have people out there." He wasn't going home.

The first night of the search for Charlie Gruys and Jack Landers was a pretty confident night. The 19-year-old men had called 911 on a cell phone. Rescuers knew they were alive, unhurt, and somewhere in the vicinity of Mount Aenaes. Then, 20 inches of snow fell and the search for two unprepared boys got complicated. Snyder suspended the search for a few hours when conditions got too dangerous. Later, aircraft still couldn't search in the weather and Snyder relied on rescuers on snowmobiles, skies, and snowshoes.

By the second night, Snyder was guessing that stock in Folger's was rising. He was going on coffee and faith then.

He answered questions from a reporter and sheriff's deputies who were curious about the search. Nothing rattled him.

"I'm too tired to be edgy," he said.

He focused his efforts on making sure that searchers were supported. He arranged for the jail to send sandwiches and coffee. He had propane shuttled out when rescuers wound up spending the night in a Forest Service cabin at Camp Misery.

And then he focused his attention and his hope on getting a Blackhawk helicopter with night vision and infrared sensors over the mountain during a brief overnight break in the weather.

"Everybody wants to be the one to find somebody" during a search, he said. "That's not my role. I have to resist the temptation to run to the field," he said. His job is "the bigger picture."

Part of that picture is dealing with the friends and family of missing people.

They have direct access to Snyder who doesn't shunt them off to a secretary or other officer.

When one of the missing boy's fathers calls, Snyder is unfailingly polite, answering questions with "Yes, sir" and "No, sir." He's also brutally honest about how harsh the conditions are.

"They deserve the information, and I'm honest with exactly what that information is. I don't try to sugarcoat it."

The weather cleared enough at about 11 p.m. for the Blackhawk to begin a search. Snyder instructed a dispatcher to make sure the pilot and rescuers were on the same radio frequency and made sure the pilot had coordinates for the place to begin the search. Then he sat back to listen to the radios in the dispatch center.

While he waited, he talked about the search. Undersheriff Mike Meehan had flown the area in the afternoon when there was "one little pinhole" of visibility.

"Even if all they get to do is check that pinhole, I can tell the family I checked the pinhole," Snyder said.

He waited, alert, until the pilot called off the search and headed back to Helena at about 3 a.m. Snyder rubbed his eyes in frustration, but stayed at his post for another five hours, planning the next morning's search.

How painful is it to turn over a search when exhaustion finally drives a search coordinator home?

"Painful," Snyder said. "I own this," he said again.

He was asleep the next afternoon when the two boys were found. His wife took the call and let Snyder sleep for another hour before she woke him. He went to the sheriff's office where the boys, unhurt, were reunited with their parents. It's something Snyder and the rescuers rarely see: The results of a successful search in the form of life and love.

"Jack, it's very nice to see you," he told Landers and collected hugs from the grateful families.

By the time the boys and their families were settled into a hotel, and Snyder, Dupont, and Meehan finally had a chance to eat, Snyder's pager went off again. There was a missing snowmobiler and the rescue team was being called out. They were quickly canceled before the search began in earnest, however.

But before midnight, they were all at it again, when a man was reported missing at Hubbart Dam. An all-night search ensued and Snyder was grateful for that extra hour his wife let him sleep during the day.

He's grateful to her, in general.

"I'm able to do this because of her," Snyder said. "She understands what I'm doing when that pager goes off is really important to somebody," he said.

And so, when his pager sends him to the phone to call a dispatcher for information on a search, his wife, Atsuko, heads to the kitchen to prepare coffee and food for him for whatever lies ahead.

That's the lifestyle for dedicated search-and-rescue members, Snyder said. They train after work and on the weekends, and searches happen any time and can take days.

As it turned out, the search for the Hubbart Dam man was over after dawn the next day. The missing man wasn't near the dam. He was at Lake Kookanusa, Snyder grumbled.

He admits that rescuers get frustrated by the decisions people make.

"You can't help but think, why didn't you check the weather report? Why don't you have a space blanket, matches, a knife?" he said. Most importantly, why not tell someone where you're going? Montana natives are the worst offenders at that, Snyder said.

Victims are the third priority for searchers, who are taught to first look after themselves, then their teammates, then the lost person.

"That said, they all go as if it were their lost kin," Snyder said.

And when they're found, it's the greatest reward in the world.

Snyder paraphrased what President Reagan once said about Marines, because he believes it applies to the heroes in the wilds of Montana, too:

"Most people spend their lives wondering if they made a difference. Search and rescue doesn't have that problem."

Reporter Chery Sabol may be reached at 406-758-4441 or by email at csabol@dailyinterlake.com.