The crew had worked this corridor before. Same transmission line, same general terrain, same type of work. They'd been out here three times in the last two months. The lead lineman knew the access road, knew where to stage the equipment, knew the job.

What he didn't know was that the ground at the base of the structure had shifted after a week of heavy rain. The approach that worked in January was a different situation in March. Soft shoulders. Standing water where there hadn't been any. The access road that brought them in had a section that looked fine from the truck but wasn't going to hold weight on the way out.

The tailboard that morning was short. "We've done this job. You all know the drill." A few nods. Gloves on. Work started.

Nobody talked about the conditions. Nobody asked how help would get to them if something went wrong on that structure. Nobody walked the egress route. Nobody asked whether the access road they came in on was still the access road they were counting on to get out.

Three hours into the job, a crew member went down with a medical emergency at the base of the structure. The lead called it in. And then he stood there while the dispatcher asked him questions he didn't have answers to.

What's your exact location? How do we get to you? Is the access road clear for an ambulance?

He knew the job. He didn't know the answers to those questions. Not for that site, that morning, with those conditions.

The crew member survived. But the fifteen minutes it took to work through those questions while someone was on the ground, that's the part nobody forgot.

The tailboard covered the work. It didn't cover what to do when the work went wrong. Those are two different conversations, and only one of them happened that morning. The crew assumed familiarity with the job meant readiness for the site. It didn't. Conditions had changed and nobody looked.

Every pre-job brief has two jobs. Cover the work, and cover the emergency. Before the first task starts, your crew needs to know exactly how help gets to them and exactly how they get out. Those answers are site-specific. They change every time the site changes. Verify them every time.

A foreman told me after a training session: "We always do the tailboard. We just never talk about the emergency part because nobody wants to think about it."

That's the gap. The reluctance to plan for the emergency is exactly why crews get caught flat-footed when one happens. Thinking about it before it occurs isn't pessimism. It's the job.

The crews that handle emergencies well aren't lucky. They're practiced. There's a difference.

ESCAPE is a framework for emergency action planning. It doesn't replace your pre-job brief. It completes it. No two sites are the same, which means no two emergency action plans are the same. You verify every element before the work starts, every time.

Here's what to work through at your next tailboard:

E, Exercise. When did your crew last practice the emergency plan? Not talk about it. Practice it. The first time you run an emergency response cannot be the actual emergency. Drill it. Run it like it's real. Because someday it will be.

S, Site Conditions. What about this specific site could slow down or complicate a rescue? Soft ground, steep terrain, confined spaces, overhead hazards, water. Name them out loud. What you don't name before the job starts will show up in the middle of it.

C, Communication. How are you communicating if something goes wrong? Who are you calling? Does every person on that crew know the answer to both questions before the work starts? Cell service isn't guaranteed. Have a backup. Name it.

A, Access. How did you get to this site? Drive in, hike in, helicopter? Because how you got in determines how help gets to you. If the access road that brought you in is compromised, what's the alternative? Know it before you need it.

P, Position. Where exactly are you? Can you describe your location clearly enough that someone who has never been there can find you fast? Coordinates help. Landmarks help. A vague answer during an emergency costs time nobody has.

E, Egress. How are you getting out? Is the exit route clear right now, this morning, with current conditions? Does it account for what could go wrong? Walk it before the work starts.

Run this at every tailboard. Ask each element as a question, not a statement. Questions get real answers. Statements get nods.

Field Leaders. You set the tone for what gets covered in the tailboard. If you move through it fast, your crew reads that as permission to not take it seriously. Slow down on the emergency action piece. Ask the ESCAPE questions out loud. Show them that this part of the brief matters as much as the work plan does.

Supervisors. When's the last time you sat in on a tailboard and listened, not to check a box, but to hear what's actually being said? The gap between what your crews are trained to cover and what they actually cover in the field is where the risk lives. Go find out what that gap looks like on your sites.

Executives. Culture around emergency planning gets set at the top. If your organization treats emergency action planning as a compliance requirement rather than a genuine practice, that's what shows up in the field. Invest in drills. Make ESCAPE a standard. The crews doing the most dangerous work deserve a plan that's been practiced, not just printed.

At tomorrow's pre-job brief, after you've covered the work, ask your crew two questions and wait for real answers.

"If something goes wrong out here, how does help get to us?" And "How are we getting out?"

If the answers aren't clear, specific, and site-verified, you're not ready to start. Take the five minutes. Every time.

Want to build a culture where every worker goes home safe?
Let's talk. Reply to this email, or visit www.leadingsafelineworkers.com to book a keynote, training, or consultation. Because safety isn't a program. It's a leadership decision.

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Until next time,

Lito Wilkins