In the training area next to the clearing I find two pieces of carpet with straps and laces sewn to the non-carpeted side. Nearby, I also find a black, non-transparent, plastic bottle. Tim tells me these are “carpet shoes” used by the illegal aliens to hide the tracks left behind as they move across the border. Once they feel they are deep enough inside the U.S. and their tracks are well hidden, they will discard the shoes and continue on their journey northward into the States. The black bottle is made in Mexico and carried by the migrants during their trek into the desert. These bottles are popular because they do not reflect sunlight as much as the transparent bottles thus making them less detectable during movement. As our instruction continues, I find more of these carpet shoes and black bottles in the local surroundings.
At the end of the day, we head back to the camp and get the fire going again. As the fire grows and coals begin to form, we start dinner. I put a couple of cans of soup in the fire ring and wait for them to warm up. Some of the AZBR guys brought instant meals that only require hot water, while others brought marinated meats with grills and all the extras necessary for tasty food. These guys spend lots of time in the mountains. “Eventually, it’s all about being comfortable when you get to camp,” they tell me. They offer me cuts of meat as well as homemade desserts. It is quickly becoming apparent that this is a tight-knit group with a strong sense of camaraderie. We kick back and start trading stories about our respective careers and some of the things we have witnessed and experienced. The night sky is crystal clear. The planets are easily visible and shooting stars are abundant. I can see the allure in joining Foley and Arizona Border Recon.
The next morning we start training again. Moreira comes out wearing a ghillie suit. “Today, you guys are going to use what you learned to track me,” he tells us. Moreira heads out into the thick brush and disappears. The team leader establishes a plan and assigns positions for each man. I draw rear security: while patrolling I will need to check the six o’clock position regularly to prevent an attack from behind. A few minutes later, we head out.
The team tracker finds a good footprint and notes its characteristics. He relays the info to the team leader and we slowly and methodically make our way through the foliage looking for the suspect. At times, progress is slowed by bushes with sharp thorns that catch our uniforms and pull on our equipment. We have to duck and crawl to avoid tree branches and other thick vegetation. Eventually, the tracker finds a small piece of the ghillie suit worn by the suspect and we know we are on his tail. The point man finds a piece of fishing line set across two trees and notifies the team leader. We get down, and I take a sip from my Camelbak as the temperature in the vegetation starts to rise.
Then the team sees something about 35 meters ahead of us. The leader has everyone get into a column and begin honing in on the supposed position of the suspect. I head over and start scanning. The team moves closer and closer to the position.
“BANG! You’re dead.”
I turn around. Behind me, sitting on a rock, pressed up against a thick tree, is Fernando. I can see a smile behind the strands on his ghillie suit. I lay down. The team reaches the spot they thought was Fernando only to realize it was just a dark rock. One of the volunteers looks over and sees me lying on the ground. “You alright, Hansen,” they ask? “I’m f***** dead,” I reply. They try to get back in formation and regroup. But it’s too late.
“BANG! BANG! BANG! ALL OF YOU ARE DEAD!”
Fernando has won. Laughing, he tells everyone to come in and gives us a debriefing on the scenario. Fernando explained what we did right and wrong, and what was necessary for improvement. The training continued and included more iterations of searching for the suspect. The group became a more cohesive unit and during some run-throughs, we found the suspect without losing any men.
Later that night, at the campfire, Foley checks his satellite phone. He tells us some of the recently released statistics on the Border Patrol Tucson Station (covering 25 miles of border), for the past two weeks: 1,256 apprehensions, 1,289 “got aways,” 176 “TBS” (turn back souths), 656 outstanding. “There is not enough manpower to stop all the illegal crossings,” one of the AZBR members, whose career is with Border Patrol, explains while putting a dip of tobacco in his lip. Often, there will be multiple groups of 20-30 people coming across, but only four agents assigned to the shift. The agents will collectively pick a group and try to track it down before it gets too deep into the United States. The rest of the groups essentially get a free pass and may or may not be picked up at checkpoints within the U.S. or found by Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) later.
The border is long and porous. The sentiment here is that Trump’s wall will help close some of the gaps. But ultimately, more manpower is necessary. For a while we are quiet. The fire snaps and smoke twists into the air disappearing into the endless night sky. I ask Foley why he has taken it upon himself to patrol the border. Pausing for a moment, he takes a drag from his cigarette, and, with no thread of uncertainty responds, “Because I love my country.”
The following morning, I pack up my gear and head home. For Arizona Border Recon, the training will continue for a few more days. Foley invites me to the next planned operation. If I’m still in the States, I might make the drive out. Foley and his men will be there, in the Southern Arizona mountains, helping the Border Patrol by tracking and providing intelligence on the movement of illegal immigrants across the border.
I watch the men as they fade into the thick vegetation. The Arizona Border Recon mission continues, day and night, One Hill At A Time.
This article was originally published on December 22, 2020.
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