The Great Doe Rescue

There’s something I’ve heard people say about local television news: If it bleeds, it leads.

In the six years I’d been a helicopter pilot for News 9 in Oklahoma City, I’d learned that’s true. Every day, it seemed, we reported on some pretty tough things. Three-alarm fires. Car wrecks. Tornados that flatten houses.

We would get the best footage we could and then move on. The most I could do for the people on the ground was pray for them, and sometimes I wondered if that was enough.

Then came that day two winters ago, January 16. Temperatures dipped into the single digits and a freezing rain slicked up everything. We got a call at the helipad from the news producer.

“There’s a rollover on an icy road,” he told us. “We need some video for the four o’clock news.” I grabbed Greg Ward, my cameraman, and we lifted off. As soon as we hit the scene, I circled in close and Greg started filming. He got some good shots of the overturned car and the emergency vehicles, their red lights flashing.

“Looks like everyone’s going to be all right,” Greg said.

“Sure hope so,” I said.

Greg punched some buttons and fed the video back to the station. Another job done. The segment would air on the news and people would be reminded to be careful out on the roads in this weather. That was the great part about my job. Thank you, Lord, I prayed, for helping me to help others.

Almost as soon as we landed the producer called again. “There’s a deer stuck on the ice in the middle of Lake Thunderbird,” he said. “It’s been there six or seven hours. Rescuers are trying to coax it back to shore. Get some quick video of them at work. We want to rush it on at four.”

“Okay,” I said over the radio. I took off from the helipad and gave it all the power I could.

I’m a big animal lover. I’ve been known to stop my car to carry a turtle off the road. Once we did a story about a horse being rescued from a forest fire. That was a great story. This could be another good one, I thought as we headed to the lake.

Lake Thunderbird lies about 25 miles southeast of Oklahoma City, its jagged shoreline surrounded by woods. Summers, it’s a popular recreational area —plenty of fishing, boating and water skiing. Winters, though, it’s deserted.

I was surprised to see people and police cars lining the north side of it. The ice was muddy brown and looked treacherous. Seemed too dangerous for anybody to venture out on.

Greg peered through the video camera monitor, scanning the lake. “There it is,” he said and pointed.