Julio translated quietly for his squad as Fast Horse spoke.
“Never mind what’s burning in the black, just put out stuff in the green. Now, I want you to all keep a watch out for...” He numbered the priorities on his hand. “Falling snags. You and your partner stay away from anything that might come down. Second, watch for a wind change. Sparks might jump the line, or -- what they’re really afraid of back there in camp -- embers could be blown from that little firestorm over there into this area. It was blowing this way earlier and got this area burnin’. If you do see a smoke, or somethin’ falls over the line, move quickly. Scratch a quick line around it if it’s more than just a spark. It’s real dry out here, and you won’t get much time to do it. You also gotta realize that that moss in them trees there can encourage a crown fire up top pretty easily. And third, watch for bucket drops. They can’t always see you in those helicopters, and that water can knock you flat on your ass. I don’ want any stupid injuries that coulda been prevented. Safety first, like we always say.”
Fast Horse noticed that many pairs of eyes were not directed at him but at the plume, still visible through the thin haze. “I guess many of you ain’t seen a firestorm before. It’s also called a convection column. One thing it’s tellin’ me is there must be a lotta dead wood on the ground down there. But you can’t predict one will happen because you never can tell if heavy fuel loading will give you one of those or not, even if it is hot and dry and the humidity’s real low. If you look close you can see that planes and helicopters won’t get too near that thing. It’ll toss ‘em around like ping pong balls in a whirlwind. That’s just a baby one, though. They can get up over fifty thousand feet sometimes. Anyway, there’ll be time to stare at that thing later. Let’s start spacing out... Squad Three, I want you to start to spread out first right where we’re at.”
Fast Horse walked with Shroeder down the track, telling each firefighter where to stop. Soon everyone was spaced out, comprising a line that wound around the bend and out of view from its front.
Frank and Scott together surveyed the burnt area in front of them. There were no snags even remotely threatening any member of Squad Three. After more than ten minutes passed, the two men took a cue from the rest and drifted towards each other, checked their immediate surroundings on the green side of the line for signs of smoke, and sat down contentedly on the soft, plush carpet of moss. With their backs against the same fallen log, they reclined to view the distant spectacle.
“Check it out, man! That must be a pretty nasty fire,” Scott marveled.
A huge air-tanker suddenly shattered the forest calm, and the two men craned their necks to catch sight of its hulking form as it screamed overhead, heading straight at the blaze.
“Fuck yeah!” Frank heard himself exclaim. He was somehow part of that machine; its power was his. As it closed in on the smoke cloud, the tanker’s size was slowly dwarfed until it resembled a toy. From it underside, liquid spilled out in a long line, sifting down to the forest floor beside one of the advancing fronts of the fire.
“Looked right on target.”
A helicopter then thumped overhead, also heading towards the plume. Dangling by a cable a hundred feet in length was a huge, dripping, barrelsized bucket. When the ship reached the valley below, it positioned itself carefully before the bottom of the bucket dropped open, releasing its wet contents on what was likely a spot fire, judging by the ship’s distance from the main plume. Minutes later, the helicopter returned in the direction it had come, the empty bucket drifting lightly beneath it. Then another helicopter quickly appeared from a different direction and hovered over a small column of smoke snaking up from below, several hundred feet downhill from the crew. Many in the Willamette crew stood up to see the ship delicately lower itself over the hot spot and release its load, which spread out before smashing onto its target area. As the ship disappeared, so too did any signs of smoke from the spot.
As most of the crew sat down again, the first helicopter reappeared overhead, returning to the area where it had dumped its previous load. Evidently it had found a source of water nearby, likely a pond, judging from the brown color of the water.
The feeling of security was shattered when the top of a burning tree cracked and broke free. The severed section landed with a fiery crash, lying partially across the line and jutting into the green next to the firefighters. Instantly, in the brushy, mossy area around the flaming trunk, there sprouted an anxious army of fresh yellow flames. The five lounging men of Squad Two sprang to their feet, seized their tools, and scampered over to the spot as several bushes, already dried out from the fire’s heat earlier in the day, began to burn in unison. Randy issued commands largely anticipated by the men. Two firefighters quickly stepped next to the flaming log, into which they sunk the axe ends of their Pulaskis before dragging it across the line to the black. Then four firefighters stepped up to the flames and divided into two pairs. Each pair worked across from the other while scraping a halffoot wide dirt line from the cat track so as to encircle the flames. The men worked fast and efficiently, wasting no swings of the Pulaski or scrapes of the shovel; like welloiled gears in a machine, each man’s actions meshed almost perfectly with those of his partners.
Randy, meanwhile, hurled shovelfuls of dirt from the cat track into the air, which landed with a thud on the flaming ground. He periodically scanned the surroundings to make sure that nothing would be left burning outside the area after it was encircled.
Within seconds, the two pairs had tied their lines together and joined Randy in throwing dirt on the last of the flames. After a few minutes of dirt throwing and stomping, the flames disappeared. The only task that remained was to mop up the embers and smoldering moss.
Frank marveled at the efficiency of the men’s work. A disaster had been completely averted in minutes. “Fuck yeah!” he again heard himself exclaim, quietly. As the five men congratulated themselves in a raucous, physical display, Frank took off his gloves and applauded.
As the hours passed, it seemed to the crew an increasingly remote possibility that the wind would shift and blow embers from the firestorm over their area. Scott settled down for a nap to Frank’s left. Alaska, seated further away, was transfixed by a small pocket of fire nearby, while Paul and Derrick talked quietly.
Frank stared absently at Alice’s figure as she walked toward a collection of bushes, trying to discern the curves and proportions so well hidden beneath her loose clothing. He soon felt devious in doing so, and forced his lingering eyes to move away. He thought about the women he had seen in fire camps in the past, almost cowering under the scrutinizing, lustful gazes of men, rarely looking up to meet his eyes in passing. But another type was also somewhat common in the camps: those that conspicuously displayed their lack of consideration as to what any men might be thinking or where they might be looking. Such women could intimidate any man simply by not acknowledging them. He had heard that in the early days of women joining the fire crews, they had even showered with the men, given no other option.
Alice finished her business in the bushes and looked at Frank. “Hey there,” she said.
“Hey, Alice.” Frank’s voice sounded unusually highpitched and he inwardly cursed himself. He was pleased but a little nervous to see that he hadn’t scared Alice off, and that she was seating herself beside him, against the same log.
“Hey Frank, um... sorry ‘bout all that earlier. I just kinda lose my shit sometimes.”
“That’s okay, don’t worry about it.”
“You ever seen something like that before?” Alice asked, waving her finger at the firestorm, anxious to change the subject.
“Naw, not really. Never this close. ‘Course, I haven’t fought too many fires.” Frank had shrunk from the idea that he could impress Alice easily. He didn’t feel he was interesting enough without some sort of ruse, however, and found nothing more to say.
They both stared in
to the distance, watching the two helicopters hover near the plume, both enjoying the sense of being on the front lines of a battle. “I’d sure like to do that job,” Frank said, leisurely pointing to a helicopter that appeared to dump its wet load into the center of the hot, billowing plume.
“I bet you would,” Alice said, and shot Frank a sly glance.
Frank stared blankly at the helicopters, trying to picture the men who flew them. There flashed in his mind images of burly fighter pilots flying important missions and performing courageous feats in the heat of battle. They held the controls firmly in their strong hands as they stared into the bowels of the fire without flinching. “I bet those pilots are pretty tough,” he said.
Alice didn’t respond. Quickly filling her head were images of pot-bellied men, wallowing in their inflated views of themselves. Their jokes would sear her ears. They were likely to see only that which the thick protoplasm surrounding their limited intellects allowed past, she pointedly mused. She tried to shake this vision but couldn’t, and convinced herself that experience was an effective teacher.
Alice gazed beyond the gently sloping hills at the plume. It took on more depth and character as she stared, and she soon saw it as a small, partially concealed center of seething red, framed in wispy brown and fringed in round billowing white, the outer edge looking like delicate lace against the blue sky. She encouraged her eyes to wander further over the cloud, and recognized smooth shapes within that were constantly folding, rolling, and sliding over one another. That can’t be bad, she said to herself, and resented the sudden appearance of a helicopter which sloppily dumped its wet load without warning, the water again appearing to land in the center of the hot fire.
“So, where are you from, Alice?”
Alice exited her fantasies reluctantly to give Frank the attention he seemed to require. She turned and took note of the genuineness in Frank’s expression, and the softness of his blue eyes. She decided that she might actually enjoy sharing some of her life history with this man. Would he use it against her? Some things were safe to tell him, anyway.
“I’m from central Oregon.”
“So why did you come up to Portland?”
“My mother lives there.”
“So you lived on a ranch or something before?”
“Yep, sure did. Lucky guess. Cows mostly... and horses and all that other shit.”
Frank knew almost nothing about what it was like to live on a ranch, and was intensely curious. “So, did everyone in your family work on the ranch?”
“Yeah, my two brothers and me. But my mother, she didn’t like it much there, and didn’t pitch in very often.”
“Why?”
Alice looked closely at Frank, who had given her his full attention and appeared to be waiting anxiously for any information she would volunteer. She decided to provide him with a lengthy answer to his question. “My father and mother met at Oregon State University. They came from different worlds, you could say. My mother’s family was from Portland. Her father was a rich businessman and raised his daughter in what little high society they think they have there in Portland. The old money was really mostly just timber money. You probably know all that, though. Anyway, she pissed ‘em off pretty good and married a rancher. My father, he wasn’t poor; he was expected to continue running the family ranch and was at OSU to learn some new techniques. Well, they met there and fell in love, and my mother thought she could handle it down there on the ranch. I guess she imagined a high-society ranching culture or something. Well, I don’t care how much money you got, all ranchers are from the same stock.” Alice paused to ensure the last comment was duly received. She was proud that ranchers didn’t act with the pretentiousness of city people.
“Yeah? Then what happened?”
“Well... I grew up pretty much like my brothers, working the ranch, harvesting alfalfa for the cows, fixing fences, whatever. My father treated me exactly the same as he treated my brothers, and I’ll never forget what he did for me by doing that. At first, my mother didn’t seem to care much. She always tried to tell me what to do, but it wasn’t until I got to adolescence that she began to tell me to act like a lady and started worrying. I guess she was scared that I’d never be any different than my brothers, which was fine with me if you left out some of their obnoxious sides. My mother and father fought constantly about it. My father always had that... you know, farmer’s patience. And my mother, she was incredibly strongwilled and shorttempered. Anyway, part of what she wanted was for me to learn about the outside world and not be stuck on a ranch, which I still thank her for to this day.” Alice again paused.
“I can imagine her feeling that way.”
“Yeah... Well, anyway, when I was in high school I was dating this guy from a ranch close by. I only dated him ‘cause that was the thing to do. I’d had bad experiences with guys and I really wasn’t all that interested. He seemed to think I was the one. Hell, I was the almost the only one nearby. My mother, of course, got scared... and some of her fears were probably understandable. It is a hard place for an independent girl to grow up into an independent woman. I see that now... Then, of course, I didn’t. So the boyfriend was the final push that got my mother to pull me out of there and replant me in Portland. The only problem was, I didn’t want to be there. I guess when I look back on it, I admire her strength to leave her husband and sons like that. She always says she might go back to live there again someday, so I guess she did it for me. She still goes back every summer. My father couldn’t find a new wife if he tried anyway... God, I’m rambling.”
“No, no...” Frank shook his head. “Go on.”
“So, me, I didn’t want to leave what I knew. I missed everything - the freedom to not care how you looked, being able to go fishing with my brothers, all that stuff that I was used to. I went back every summer, and my mother, she had to pry me away when it was time for school again. There, I really didn’t fit in at all for long time.”
“So now you like Portland?”
“Yeah. It’s still too big for me, and everything that’s fun to do costs money so you gotta work more, I guess. I actually like Greenville a lot. You’ve been there, haven’t you?”
“No, I haven’t.”
“That’s a great place. Kinda tucked away in a valley. A lot of progressive people there. That’s where I went to college.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yeah, I love Greenville. People still have that rural attitude and they help each other out... at least they will until the Californians totally take over with their money and shitty attitudes.”
“Yeah, like Portland.”
“But I think Greenville’s still cool. It’s got a lot of progressive ideas. A lot of flakes too, though.”
“Sounds like the university I go to,” Frank added.
“You graduated yet?”
“No, but if we fight enough fires I can. Can’t get a job in that city.”
“I’ve heard that.”
Alice accepted Frank’s warm smile, and happily offered another one of her own. A pause developed in the conversation. Frank was nervous sitting next to Alice, but he allowed himself to be thrilled for a moment that he would not just be talking to her in the days to come, as now seemed probable, but would be eating, sleeping, and working near her for the entire fire. So many firefighters would love to change positions with him right now. But Frank knew he had to let go of any feelings that were developing, or he would run the risk of becoming miserable with jealousy, or overcome with desire for her attention, or perhaps overpowered somehow in a place where it did well to hold on to your deliberateness.
He convinced himself that she thought very little of him, while to him, just being involved in a conversation with her felt like a tight embrace. He would be very lucky just to forge a friendship with her, he decided. He tried to further convince himself that she was the only woman around, so it w
as inevitable that he should feel as he did. It had been a long time since he had spent any significant amount of time around an eligible female. He remembered the last woman he had been attracted to; he had finally asked her to study with him at a café, but when the subjects of discussion had shifted away from classwork, painful awkward silences had strangled them both. Frank concluded that he shouldn’t become attached to Alice; nor could he hope to interest her in himself. He expected many to try to gain her favor with ulterior motives in mind, and was repulsed by the idea of being in that league. He looked at Alice again and felt himself shrink; she seemed so impressive, so captivating.
“So, what did you study?” Frank asked.
“Well, I started out studying English, but it was too static for me. On campus, I was surrounded by people who were so politically aware. It was so interesting. People where I’m from don’t usually think in such... universal ways. I found the feminist perspectives particularly interesting.” She grinned squinteyed at Frank, who tried to smile knowingly back. “So then I had a political science course that turned me on, and that became my major.”
“Sounds good.”
“So where are you from, Frank?” Alice had decided that it was Frank’s turn to divulge something about himself. She remembered how her grandfather, with a twinkle in his eye, used to tell her, ‘Alice, you know you’ve got a hearing impediment? Yeah, the only thing you hear is what’s coming out of your mouth.’
“I’m from Portland, the hellhole you hate so much.” Frank said, and smiled at her. “We moved there when I was young.”
“From...?” Alice could tell Frank was like so many other men who didn’t volunteer information easily. She would have to work a little to extract it, but she didn’t mind, she was enjoying the conversation.
“From California, actually.”
Alice covered her open mouth with her hand and then smiled. “I’m so sorry. . . that you’re from there.”
When a Fire Burns Hot Page 14
