The search for Chase Martens: A first-hand account from the fields

Hey there, time traveller!
This article was published 24/03/2016 (3787 days ago), so information in it may no longer be current.

Chase Martens’ mother, Destiny Turner, kindly agreed to allow a Brandon Sun reporter to take part in the search for her missing two-year-old boy. This is what it was like to be a volunteer on the desperate, yet painfully slow, search for a lost little boy.

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NORTH OF AUSTIN — lt’s about 40 hours since two-year-old Chase Martens disappeared.

At his family home north of Austin, his mother’s red eyes tell of the strain she’s under.

She says her thoughts are now turning from the possibility that her son wandered and got lost, to the possibility he was abducted.

“There’s still no sign there, we think somebody has him,” Turner said. “There’s no footprints, there’s no boot, there’s no hat. He’s gone without a trace.”

Perhaps, she hopes, the fact her boy can’t be found outside means that he’s at least somewhere safe from the elements.

Outside the house, about 100 people are gathered, ready to join teams to search area fields and brush as the search area expands.

Hot coffee and warm scrambled egg sandwiches are offered as fuel for the task ahead.

The RCMP Underwater Recovery Team arrives in a truck, a reminder of the creek nearby that’s dotted with ice and open spots. Although its banks, lined with brush and deadfall, would seem impassible to a young child.

Deadfall lays in the meandering river itself, which is also marked with ice packs.

Volunteers gather in a semi circle around Operations Section Leader, Dave Parker, and all eyes are intently on him as he delivers instructions.

“We’re going to be sending large groups out to do some searching in some of the further away areas,” Parker says.

The area around the home has been searched heavily so it’s being expanded to open terrain. Buses and emergency trucks stand nearby to carry the searchers to surrounding farm fields.

Parker warns of potentially rough terrain — watch for holes, tangle hazards, wet ground.

Some spots are hilly and bushy. Those who aren’t wearing footwear and clothing for the conditions will be given tasks closer to home, or given flatter terrain to search.

After signing up at the “accountability trailer” where I’m given a lanyard and numbered tag — I’m number “219” — I join a team of 40 people who are headed out to search a nearby farmer’s field.

Volunteers will spread out, evenly spaced, in long lines and do a “grid search” so nothing gets missed.

Parker says searchers will be looking for any clue — footprints, clothing or anything that looks like it doesn’t belong there.

The sadness of the situation sinks in as Parker describes little Chase — two years old, about 30 pounds; that he was wearing blue mittens, a red hat and a sweater.

He sounds so small, and even smaller when you look out upon the fields and trees that surround his home.

As we wait to board the bus to take us to a nearby field, a grey-haired man shakes hands with a younger man from the Cascade Hutterite Colony.

“How’s it going?” the older man asks.

“Doing my part, doing what I can,” the Hutterite man replies.

We’re taken to a field about a mile west of Chase’s home. We line up at the edge of the field with our backs to the road and a watery ditch.

It’s a mixed group that has come together for this common cause. To my right are Old Order Mennonites, and to my left an aboriginal man and two aboriginal women.

Looking ahead, the job seems daunting.

A line of trees and brush, then a field dotted with knots of stubby grass, then at least a mile of muddy fields, with a distant line of trees on the horizon.

How will we find a little boy in all of that?

A member of Winnipeg Search and Rescue reminds us that every detail matters — if we drop anything and it gets found, other searchers will be back to scour the area and waste their time.

“If you wipe your nose, you put it in your pocket, not on the ground.”

We stretch out in our line, a few arm lengths apart, and, eyes down, a whistle sounds to signal us to begin our slow march.

As we cross the first field of long and tangled brown grass I wonder what it is we are looking for and what we might find. A boot? A mitten? A cold and scared boy? A body? No, NOT a body! I refuse to believe that.

We march on. Over a low wire fence and into the next field with rows of mud mixed with straw.

Here and there, we come across boot prints in the mud, too big to be Chase’s. Prints from searchers who previously combed part of the field.

It seems hopeless to find a boy’s footprint in the mud and straw.

A search leader from Winnipeg SAR walks the line, offering guidance on what to look for.

A boy’s footprints are going to be difficult, if not impossible, to spot.

Here, the soil is not so wet. The SAR member lifts his foot and places it on the ground, and it barely makes a print.

“I’m 180 pounds and there’s a little bit of a mark there,” he says. “So unless he’s doing a spin or kicking his toes you’re probably not going to notice a whole lot.”

As we walk slowly on I have the urge to run, run ahead to the next set of trees — perhaps Chase is there, waiting. But no, the search must be slow and thorough — foot by painful foot.

At times, watching the ground pass beneath my feet is hypnotic. What am I looking for? Then I remember that photo that’s on every news website — the one of that little boy — and I refocus.

Every once in a while, a search leader yells “Stop!” A volunteer or firefighters or search and rescue members huddles around a spot in the mud.

Then the search moves on — “OK, let’s go!”

I hoped that by joining the search I could help find answers.

Without being able to see what may have been found, without hearing them discuss what they’re looking at, I note an irony — by being part of the search, I may be the last to know if something is found.

We march on. We pass large frozen puddles, the odd patch of snow and some searchers walk the grassy perimeter of a slough.

The volunteers are largely quiet, a quiet highlighted by the regular crack of straw crushed under their feet.

We reach the edge of the field, shift to the west, turn around and head back across the field.

One woman from Portage la Prairie voices what seems to be a growing concern among searchers —although there’s nothing to indicate it’s the case, they wonder whether Chase was abducted.

Then there’s word over the radio that one farmer isn’t happy with searchers on his field.

One young man says he just doesn’t get the farmer’s attitude: “Your neighbour’s kid is missing!”

As our hunt draws to an unsuccessful close, he seems resolved. He notes it’s a holiday weekend. There’s plenty of time to search if need be.

Another young man, maybe in his early 20s, vows that he’ll return on the weekend.

Back at the house, volunteers hand out a lunch of food items donated by concerned citizens— muffins, cookies, pop, water, soup.

Once refreshed, volunteers will head out again. And the search for Chase continues.

ihitchen@brandonsun.com