Let's talk about fire

My last project has been done for a month now, I had a fantastic two-week winter break, and now my team is back hard at work in Sacramento. I apologize to my faithful readers that I'm so behind, but before I start playing catch up, I want to first talk about fire.

As of yesterday, I am certified as a Wildland Firefighter, Type 2. Never mind that this is the very bottom rung of firefighting: it's been an incredible, mind-blowing experience — and still sounds wicked cool. We spent the majority of last week in the classroom as students of fire behavior, learning about how weather, terrain and fuel types can affect the the intensity and direction of a wildfire. The eight-hour days, spent sitting in a stiff-backed chair while watching PowerPoints and comically outdated instructional videos from the 1980s, were brutal, but we had some really cool, down-to-earth instructors who kept things real with their personal anecdotes from out in the field. They were seasoned wildland firefighters who had endured some pretty hard-core scenarios, and when the textbook didn't line up with their experiences, they gave it to us straight.

After completing a gauntlet of exams, the final day of the week consisted of a field training near the Eldorado National Forest headquarters. After talking to some of my teammates, we agreed that it is a struggle to explain to people how incredibly intense and exhausting this experience was. Unfortunately, of all days, this was the one time I forgot to bring my camera along to document the insanity. All I could muster were a few crappy shots and brief videos on my cell phone.



We began the day bright and early, donning the standard brush firefighter uniforms that consist of a yellow shirt and green pants made of fire-resistant Nomex fabric, a helmet, goggles, leather gloves, and boots. I must pause here to emphasize the boots since they are a significant reason the training was such an enormous challenge. For safety reasons, the minimum height of fire boots must be eight inches of pure leather tacked on to a thick two-inch heel; I was literally traipsing through the woods in platform shoes. In addition, the insoles are hard as rock with inexplicably high arches that killed my feet. This is how I justify spending $40 for two pairs of socks at REI today—which may turn out to be my best investment of the year. We also had to carry our 45-pound packs; which contained an emergency fire shelter, a space blanket, a sack lunch, and lots and lots of drinking water; on our backs all day long. Keep this in mind as I describe the rest of the day's work.



Our training was structured as a simulation of an actual wildfire. Our team trekked from the forest service headquarters helipad down an old trail to where we would cut fire line, which is basically a three-foot wide swath of land dug down to mineral soil level. By enclosing the hot spot within this strip of dirt devoid of fuel, we help contain the fire and prevent its spread. This is the bread and butter of wildland firefighting. The fire crew lines up in standard tool order, with the cutting tools like the pulaski in front, followed by scraping tools tools like combis, Rhino hoes (more commonly and vulgarly known as Chingaderos, or "f***ing tools"), shovels, and McLeods. It was a real effort to swing those heavy tools in mind-numbing repetition, but it was also amazing to see how the line grew so quickly and efficiently with everyone working together as a team. Our firefighter trainers also showed us how to dig trenches, and we participated in communication drills of passing messages up and down the fire line. After several hours of labor, we were forced to march up the slope back to the helipad, crashing through the trees with no discernable trail to follow. This hike alone already had me gasping for air, especially after factoring in the elevation change from Sacramento.





Fortunately, we finally got a chance to catch our breath back at the helipad and enjoy the breathtaking views while we broke out our lunches.







A few minutes into the much-needed break, our trainers put on a demonstration for us with some of the equipment they use to light fires during prescribed burns. While educational in purpose, it also played like a mini pyrotechnic fireworks show featuring fusees (or flares) and drip torches. Check out the videos I shot below to witness the sheer awesomeness that comes being a wildland firefighter.





At the helipad, we also had practice deploying our emergency fire shelters, which are used for survival only in the most dire circumstances to prevent the inhalation of dangerously overheated and toxic gases and burns from radiant heat. The overwhelming odds are we will never use them (if we even see fire at all), but it's better safe than sorry. These shelters look like metallic sleeping bags, and there's a specific procedure to opening and entering them that makes them easy to secure. The first two times we practiced deploying fire shelters, it was similar in nature to this demonstration:



The last time we deployed, they sprung the exercise on us by surprise. As we were walking back to the helipad at the end of the day, people suddenly yelled at us to drop our packs and start running. In a fog of fatigue and confusion, we had to sprint up the steep trail, grab our shelters, huddle up, and deploy as sirens blared and the instructors shouted instructions. This time, it felt a lot more like the following video; though I didn't shoot it, it does accurately capture the frantic urgency of the moment.



By then, I was so tired that it felt like I was running through molasses in slow motion. I'm almost certain that if there was a real fire, I would have been incinerated and probably would have welcomed death at that point. The rest of the afternoon, we went walked miles through the dense, steep woods cutting fire line for imaginary lightning fires. Just half an hour into the work after our lunch break, my legs were literally trembling beneath me. I had to psych myself up for every step I took or I would have collapsed right then and there. I kept waiting for a second wind, but it never came. I'm proud to say my team bore the day with quiet, gritted determination, but later I learned that pretty much everyone was as equally drained as I was despite the silent and valiant shows of resilience. Even so, one of my teammates had an asthma attack from the exertion of hiking back to the helipad, and another is seriously considering quitting the fuel reduction team after the rigorous experience.

For me, however, the day was invigorating as it was enervating. I definitely have a new respect for the guys who work so tirelessly to protect the environment and homes from wildland fires. I'll admit I've decisively ruled out firefighting as a career; I'm not cut out for work like this all at the time, but I do have a tremendous pride that I am able to participate in this noble work for however brief a period and will have fun being in the great outdoors. I'm loving this opportunity to challenge myself with something so entirely new and unexpected. Next week will be chainsaw training, which won't be as taxing but will hopefully yield some good stories. Before that starts, however, I'll try to backtrack over the course of the next few days and fill you guys in on what's been happening since I've returned!