This is an archived article that was published on sltrib.com in 2016, and information in the article may be outdated. It is provided only for personal research purposes and may not be reprinted.

Orbiting 500 feet over Salt Lake Valley in the middle of the night is like performing in a bad Broadway play. The footlights are on but most of the audience is asleep. The rest wish we would hurry up and go away.

Friday night, that's all the six-months-pregnant woman hiding in a Sandy backyard wanted. She showed up on our infrared screen as a large white blob with hands and feet.

She shouldn't have tried to outrun the cops in her car, then bail out and try to leg it. Tracking her down was all part of a multi-agency stolen-car blitz, an operation to identify and arrest the thieves driving them.

Salt Lake Tribune photographer Scott Sommerdorf had been invited to fly with the Utah Highway Patrol aero bureau. We met Department of Public Safety pilot Bret Hutchings and UHP tactical flight officer Sgt. Wyatt Weber at the airport. They showed us the helicopter in which we would be passengers for the night's operation.

The helicopter was a shiny but aging Airbus B2 AStar, nicknamed "The Squirrel." The reference to a rodent did nothing to inspire confidence in me. Neither did the news that we would be flying with the doors pulled back for better visibility.

Note: Scott was pleased. News photographers are a lot like dogs in that regard. They're happiest when allowed to stick their heads where the action is.

Before lifting off, Hutch and Weber showed us how to strap in and secure our gear. We might have to maneuver wildly during a pursuit, so everything had to be strapped in lest it fall out and hit the tail rotor.

It was a bit cramped inside the helicopter. I asked Hutch an important technical question: What would be the procedure should a sudden maneuver cause Scott or me to foul ourselves?

Pointing to my seatbelt harness, Hutch explained that I was to lift the lever and tap hard on his shoulder. He would then roll the aircraft steeply in my direction.

Me: "How will that fix the problem?"

Him: "You'll fall out and it will go away."

Since this sounded exactly like something I would say, I decided he was only partly serious. But then I overheard him whispering with Sgt. Weber on the intercom.

Weber: "You shouldn't have said that to news reporters, even as a joke."

Hutch: "Who was joking? The media reproduce like bacteria. Nobody will miss these two. Stop worrying."

That was as scary as it got. The rest was exciting. We lifted off at dusk and went hunting.

In truth, it was more like observing than hunting. The chopper did not have a single rocket or machine gun (or bathroom). It did have an amazing line of sight and technical stuff to zero in on the suspects.

The pregnant woman we helped track was a good example. She could hide from the officers on the ground, but her body-heat signature couldn't hide from the infrared camera. How could she? She was running for two.

Hutch's job was to fly the helicopter. He's been doing it for 30 years, first in the military, and then years flying for AirMed and Life Flight.

Weber's job was to work all the electronic gizmos, locate addresses, communicate with the units on the ground and peel back the night with infrared.

Friday night is a busy time for the police. The public have finished the workweek and are looking to enjoy themselves. For some, this means crime and the ensuing flight from the cops.

Vehicular pursuits are problematic in urban areas. There's always a risk that innocent bystanders will be hurt. Having eyes overhead allows the police to end a ground pursuit while still monitoring the suspect's location.

Most of the time it was busy. Arriving at an incident after getting the location from dispatch or units on the ground, Hutch would put the helicopter in a tight orbit overhead while Weber peered into the screen and passed along directions. It was all made slightly easier with help from Brigham Young.

From the air at night, Salt Lake Valley is a grid of lights. It's almost impossible to get lost. During a lull in the action, we followed Interstate 15 to Bangerter Highway, then west to 13400 South, and from there to my house to bother the neighbors.

I don't know how many suspects we helped catch. I do know that nobody got hurt and the view was spectacular. Until I had to drive home.

Robert Kirby can be reached at rkirby@sltrib.com or facebook.com/stillnotpatbagley.