One year ago today, dozens of men and women rushed to help victims of what would become the deadliest mudslide in American history.
The Herald asked several survivors and their rescuers to return to the slide area for this series of portraits. For several, it was their first meeting since March 22 last year.
It’s hard being back here, thinking about that day. Everyone is still on the mend, inside and out. Although each rescuer shuns the spotlight and attention, the survivors are all eternally grateful.
Tim Ward’s voice rises from the flurry of handshakes and hugs. “All I can say is thank you.”
Tim Ward
Rescuers: Rockport volunteer firefighter Jessica Moore; Darrington volunteer and Assistant Chief Rocky Cabe; Marty Reece; Naval Air Station Whidbey helicopter pilot Lt. Cmdr. David Waner
“Last time I saw you, I was lying on my back,” said Ward to these members of a bigger, rag-tag team that dug him out from under mud, branches and pieces of his house. Standing on a hill of mud and debris that was once Ward’s front yard in the Steelhead Haven neighborhood, they started piecing together a complete story from their memories.
Waner remembers holding Ward’s hand as they arrived at the hospital. Moore remembers putting her coat over another survivor, Bobbi Aylesworth, who was found near Ward, lying end-to-end with her husband Bob, their feet touching.
“By the grace of God, I don’t know how I survived,” Ward said.
“It was a miracle,” said Reece, a neighbor who helped in several of the rescues that day.
Bob and Bobbi Aylesworth
Rescuers: Naval Air Station Whidbey firefighters Ian Walton; Kevin Paggao; Mike Wenzel
The Aylesworths wait under stormy skies to meet three men who pulled them from debris 6 feet deep. When Walton, Paggao and Wenzel arrive, they wordlessly take in the sight of the disaster area. It is their first visit since the day they helped rescue the Aylesworths.
They introduce themselves to Bob and Bobbi. There are hugs and thanks and a few tears.
They explain how they had to cut out a 4-by-4 foot section of the roof and climb down to reach the couple, who were buried in insulation. Bob jokes that he’ll never stay in bed past 10 a.m. again, to avoid being found without any clothes on.
“Hopefully we never have to meet again that way,” he says.
Bobbi wipes a tear from her eye. She points to an empty spot. That’s where she and Bob had shared a home for 37 years.
Bobbi’s parents Larry, 81, and Bonnie Gullikson, 91, lived next door. Larry was rescued, but Bonnie, who had been inside sleeping at the time, died. She was the slide’s oldest victim.
Robin Youngblood
Rescuers: Snohomish County Helicopter Rescue Team crew chief Randy Fay
The ominous scarp looms over Fay and Youngblood as they stand, arms around each other, for their photo.
They are a few hundred feet from where Fay hoisted Youngblood and her Dutch friend, Jetty Dooper, off of a floating piece of roof, into the SnoHawk10 helicopter and away to safety.
They chat a bit and update each other on their lives, post-slide. Youngblood invites Fay over to visit her new house, a quiet cabin in the woods nearby. That day a year ago cemented a lasting bond between the two.
Amanda Skorjanc and Duke Suddarth
Rescuers: Oso Fire Chief Willy Harper; Oso volunteers Mike Blankenship and Steve Jahn Jr.; and Snohomish County Helicopter Rescue Team member Ernie Zeller
Skorjanc stands up from her wheelchair, supported at the elbow by Harper and flanked by Blankenship and Jahn.
She’s been back to the slide site once or twice since March 22, and being here for the first time with these people who helped dig her out of the mud brings back a flood of emotion.
“That’s where we used to live,” she says to her son Duke, now 17 months old, as she holds him close. Harper, Blankenship and Jahn were there with local loggers from Darrington. The group used a chainsaw to clear the debris from around Skorjanc and Duke.
She’s still recovering from two broken legs, a fractured ankle, a broken arm, and a fracture near her eye. She is recently back in a wheelchair after her 10th surgery since the slide.
Blankenship puts his Oso Fire Department hat atop Duke’s head. The boy smiles and laughs.
A year ago, 5-month-old Duke was turning blue and barely clinging to life in the arms of Jahn, who held him and talked to him, trying to keep him warm and awake. Now Jahn holds the healthy, rambunctious toddler for their photo together. Duke is the disaster’s youngest survivor.
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