The La Cueva trail head sign is direct: "Warning. People have died while climbing in these mountains."

"They ain't lying," says Jon-Claude Murphy, assistant training officer with the Organ Mountain Technical Rescue Squad. "These mountains, they're very treacherous."

But death isn't what usually happens. Usually, someone gets lost or hurt. That's where the rescue squad comes in.

The 25 volunteers weren't rescuing anyone on a recent Saturday morning, just keeping their skills fresh on what Murphy described as "our big event."

The Tyrolean rescue, so named for some of the highest mountains of the Alps, involves two lines strung from tripods across a canyon, from which rescuers can pick up someone in a litter. Murphy said luckily, the squad's never had to use the Tyrolean set-up. Heading into spring, though, it's good practice.

"It warms up, you get a lot of climbers and hikers. Usually, it's guaranteed we'll go out at least once during spring break," Murphy said.

Last year, it was three hikers in Soledad Canyon, Murphy said. In 2003, cave specialist Bob Rodgers said, the squad rescued a 15-year-old Boy Scout from a Fort Stanton cave. Once the group arrives, rescues usually

only last an hour, but that one took more than 12.

The all-volunteer squad charges nothing for its services. The state pays only for gas.

"We'll go to Colorado, we'll go to Arizona, we'll go to Texas," Rodgers said. "We have gone pretty much from one corner of the state to the next."

Private donations and team members pay for their own gear, which includes ropes at several hundred dollars.

Rodgers said most rescues are just finding someone who's lost, which can be avoided by following the obvious rules—tell someone where you're going and when you'll be back, learn to read a map, bring a cell phone and enough food, water and warm clothing to last 24 hours apply even for day hikes.

"Assume you're going to be spending the night," Murphy said. "Find a good spot and stay there."

Since the state is rated high in its search-and-rescue capabilities, Rodgers said there has been some discussion about charging. "Colorado charges, Arizona charges, Texas charges," he said. "... If we start charging, we're going to find a lot more bodies than need be."

Three weeks ago, a 25-year-old man hurt himself and needed a rescue. The team took him as far as the trail head, but he refused to get in the ambulance, because of the cost.

"Imagine that in the Gila Wilderness. Someone has a cell phone, but they don't call," Rodgers said. Lots of people get indignant about the no-charge rescues, but "they don't see it as someone who could be a member of their family."

So why does the team—a crew that includes an electrical contractor, a Qwest account executive, a New Mexico State University astronomer, a computer technician for Las Cruces Public Schools and a NASA software engineer—do what they do?

Rodgers, who helped found the team about a decade ago, jokes that it's because they're "loco." But he says it really comes down to a desire to help one's fellow man.

Novack's.