During your life there happen certain days that you will never forget. Sometimes that’s a good thing, and sometimes it’s bad, but we’ve all had them. I had one of those days while I was in a forest in Idaho. It was the sixth day of my first trip out west to fight forest fires, but that one day marked the beginning of a great many firsts.
The plan, as laid out in the morning briefing, was simple. Our crew was to secure the area, including the structures. The fire up until that point hadn’t threatened any homes yet, but now my crew was between this person’s home and livelihood and a 200 foot wall of flame. We were told that the fire had a 10% probability of coming our direction, so all we really had ahead of us was a day of clearing underbrush and watering lawns. That was the plan anyway.
I had spent most of the morning working alongside a sawyer felling small trees and larger brush. The work was hard, but it made the time go by faster and I didn’t mind the exercise. It was already 90 and would probably top at about 105 degrees. The air was dry and that proved to be both bane and boon. Five-inch trees could be dropped with two good strokes of an axe, although they would ignite explosively in the right conditions.
About 10:30 that morning, our crew boss, Steve Hoecker, came by to round a few of us up for a scouting mission. We quickly climbed a nearby hill to survey the activity and watch the fire bombers drop retardant and water on the fire just a few ridges away. The wind at this point was keeping the fire at bay and the bombers were taking every advantage of the opportunity. It made for good lunchtime entertainment. Steve lay down to take a nap while the rest of us played hearts.
All of a sudden Steve woke with a start. “Grab the stuff, we gotta go” was all he said. He took off down the hill talking into his radio. We struggled to keep up with him during our descent. When we got to the bottom he called the whole crew together. “This is going to be hairy. Heads up, and don’t be stupid. The safety zone is the down slope on the far side of the house. If it gets hot, go there, and run to the stream in the valley. If you can’t make it, get to the ditch and use your shake and bake,” he said, referring to the folded silver shelter that would be our only hope if the fire overtook us.
Steve walked with me over to my position. “It’ll hit here hard, and you have a lot of ground to cover.” He said. He looked at me hard and then went on, “When I yell to pull back, just drop the hose and run. The fire won’t be able to overtake you in the clearing, but falling debris might and it’s about a quarter mile to safety.” He smiled as he patted me on the shoulder “Don’t stop for breath and don’t go until I tell you to, OK?” Then he left.
After a short time, the fire could be seen coming over the last ridge towards us. The blaze progressed towards me like an evanescent juggernaut. Every pine it approached going off like a match in a book. An entire tree would be engulfed in seconds with flames twice as high as the trees themselves. Its progress was steady and it was almost as if it was alive. It rolled down the hill towards me, consuming tree after tree in an almost serene progression.
Presently, the fire was upon me. It was open field between the structures and me, but the waist high grass and what shrubs remained were still tantalizing fuel for the blaze. The heat was intense and my eyes watered and my lungs burned. The wind at my back was a forceful and constant gale. The flames seemed to reach up forever, a veritable waterfall of flame that flowed all the way to heaven.
I moved the hose back and forth, up and down. Flame would lick forward, to be swatted away. Flaming detritus rained down upon me. My arms burned with the effort and it was hard to maintain my footing amidst the fauna. I was soaked and covered with mud. Ash fell like driven snow and the world fell silent to the roar of flame and the hiss of steam. I had the worst of it, and if I gave now, the ranch would surely be lost.
After some time, days by my reckoning, all became quiet. Finally, the fire had died down, its fuel spent, and we had won the day. There were many pockets of flame to put down, but unlike the monolithic walls I just faced, these were almost laughable. The work proceeded until well into the evening when we were finally relieved. I looked forward to a hot meal and rest.
Back at the camp, I had a telegraph from home. It said I was going to be a father.