Standing on the perimeter of the heliport, that fire in Alaska seemed to Barnes further back than the six years that had passed.
Barnes introduced Chandler to Max, and the three men leaned against a truck to talk. Max carried a growth of beard a few days old. The sides of his face were stained from dirt and from where the sweat had run rivulets through the dirt to expose a sun-reddened skin. His hands were cracked and dirty and scarred, and he coughed when he spoke.
Max said, “It was too dark for me to fly down for the morning briefing, so I didn’t hear what all was said. You guys can fill me in on all that. I’ll tell you about the fire before we jump on the ship and take a look-see at what we got up there.” He pointed over his shoulder at the hill where their fire burned.
Barnes followed Max’s fingertip and looked at the fire burning indolently, looking more lethargic than threatening. He could see no flames but a soft, light-gray swirl of smoke. The fire looked from the base of the mountain as though it was already kicked. He liked that. He wanted the fire for Chandler to work out and for himself to regain some of what he felt he had lost over the course of the season.
Barnes and Max leaned against the truck’s quarter panel. Chandler stepped away from the truck to face them. Max propped his foot on the running board like a cowboy hefting his boot on the bottom rail. Chandler explained the basics from the briefing. Since the camp was working on a complex of fires, nothing had been said specifically about their fire, mostly general information about the weather followed by even more general discussions on topography and safety and the desire of the incident commander to have all fires contained by ten o’clock the next morning. The fire they were assigned to had been named the Tempest Ridge Fire, a forty-acre blaze within the much larger Craig Complex of eight fires burning in the area.
Chandler handed Max a copy of the day’s briefing report. He read out loud while Max and Barnes read along: “Light winds out of the southwest at fifteen to twenty-five, shifting to northwest and increasing to thirty with passing cold front about fifteen-hundred. Diminishing cloud cover in the morning, skies will be clear in the afternoon. Chance of rain: ten percent. High temps: 87 to 95. Low Rh: ten to twelve percent.”
“Looks like a hot one. Did they call it a red flag?” Max asked.
“No,” Chandler answered. He looked to Barnes, who nodded in agreement.
Barnes added, “They didn’t say anything specific about fuels either, just that most of the fires in the complex are burning in piñon-juniper and brush and Gamble oak.”
“Yes,” Max said. “That’s what we got, too. A lot of that oak. What did you say? Gambles oak?”
“Gamble oak.”
“When we’re in the air, we’ll take a look at it but you won’t see much. It’s just barely burning up there, not much really. We got a line down one side and across the ridgetop to connect the two helispots. I think we can dick this puppy in a day or two. If they aren’t giving us a red flag warning, then they must not be too concerned with that passing cold front this afternoon. Just a light wind with reduced temps.”
They talked a little more about the fire season, a general banter to loosen themselves to each other. They compared overtime hours and where they had been and when the last time was that they had slept in a real bed or drank a slow beer. They talked of how they might spend the winter.
Barnes asked Max about his family.
“My daughter, Joanie, she turns seven in a couple of days.” He looked at his watch. “Two days from today. We’ll be off this smoke-job by then but I won’t be home. Hopefully I’ll be back to Junction by then so’s I can call her.”
Barnes nodded in agreement.
“You married yet, Barnes?”
“No.”
Chandler added before Barnes could continue, “He’s married to his job.”
“God, a lifer.”
“Aren’t we all?”
They walked together to the heliport. Max told a helitack person that they were ready to board their helicopter for a recon flight. The Jet Ranger lifted slowly from the grass field, hovered a moment before dipping into its turn, and rose quickly above the ground to circle the fire.
Max rode in the right front seat next to the pilot, with Barnes and Chandler in the rear. They all wore headsets with microphones and talked within the helicopter’s metronomic whop. From the air, the fire appeared even lazier than from the camp as it grazed around the ridgeside, consuming little and with what it did consume taking its time. Barnes surveyed the forty acres within the fire’s perimeter looking for signals, looking for the bells that should sound an alarm.
They flew in slack circles, talking mostly in crisp, short sentences about the fireline, the fuels, the topography, the expected weather, and what Max and the other jumpers had seen the previous day and night. Max told Barnes and Chandler that very little had happened on the fire. A few fire brands had risen into fire devils, circling and dancing like small, burning dust twisters. “No big thing,” Max said. “A couple of quick runs up the west side with flame lengths of fifty feet or more, but that was all well within the perimeter. Nothing spectacular.”
“Not much,” Max continued. “You can see our line down that west flank from the helispot toward that diamond-shaped area.”
“What’s in that diamond?” Barnes asked.
“Mostly rock. It’ll serve as our safety zone.”
Max paused then added with a smile, “Ain’t no-thing.”
“If you tie into that diamond, you may have it,” Barnes said.
“We got it dicked,” Max answered, nodding agreement.
“Looks steep,” said Chandler.
“It is. Near the top of the ridge it gets to about fifty percent, so we have to be careful of rolling rocks going down that line and while we’re mopping up.”
“And that’s where you want us? Along that west flank?” asked Chandler.
“Chandler, you’ll come down with me along that line. We’ll strengthen it and then just below the diamond, we’ll come across on the south side there. Your squadie Barnes,” he paused a moment to let everyone smile, then continued, “they’ll improve the line across the ridgetop between the helispots, from two to one and burn out the top. By tonight we should have a good line around three sides of this puppy and finish her off during the night.”
They finished one flight through the canyon and turned to begin another.
Barnes asked, “Can we get a little lower? I’d like to take a look at that diamond area.”
The helicopter dropped a little and slowed some so that they could study the ridge.
“It doesn’t look all that safe,” Barnes said.
“It’s good,” Max said. “We can cut it back a little if you want. But we should be well past that spot and hooking the south side before that cold front hits us. And when we get down there, we’ll have the burn and all those grassy areas for safety zones.”
They returned to the base heliport. After leaving the Jet Ranger, they stood again near the trucks they had first talked by. Chandler walked off to find Hunter and brief the crew while Max and Barnes waited near the helitack tent. Barnes marked on his map the locations of helispots and the diamond area and drew lines where the firelines would be and marked the general boundaries of the fire.
“That is steep,” Barnes exhaled as he studied the contour lines of his map.
“Yes, it is,” Max answered.
“And that diamond area didn’t look all that secure.”
“What’s the point, Barnes?”
“I’m not so sure about that line on the west side.”
Max exhaled loudly. “I was on that line all yesterday afternoon and it’s good. We haven’t quite got down to that diamond area, but—”
“Wait a minute. You haven’t been there yet?”
“No, we—”
“Wait. Have you scouted it?”
“We are now. I have a man scouting the line now.”
“So you don’t know how good a saf
ety zone it is?”
“It’s good, Barnes. That fuel looks just like alder. Jesus Christ. Listen, if your crew can dig any line at all, we’ll have this fire lined quick as shit.”
“Look at where the hell your line is.”
“I was there. I know the line.”
“You’re digging downhill with a fire burning below you and your best safety zone you don’t even know if it’s a safety zone at all.”
“It’s good, Barnes. If it isn’t, we’ll have a meeting on the hill and decide a new plan.”
“I don’t know.”
“What? What in hell don’t you know? I’m the IC on this fire, Barnes, but if you want to pull your crew out, all right. That’s your choice. Do it now, but don’t start pussying on me.”
“Just listen, Max.”
Max kicked the ground. “Man, I don’t need this shit. I’ll find a crew that’ll do what I ask. Take yours back to camp and babysit them.”
“Problem?” Chandler asked. He and Hunter stood a couple of feet away from Max and Barnes. A swirl of dust tossed up from a departing helicopter briefly encircled them and they squinted to see through the haze.
The rest of the crew sat or stood another twenty yards back watching the two men. Barnes did not realize until then how close he and Max stood, that the toes of their White’s boots almost touched.
“Barnes wants to sit out this fire,” Max said.
“What?”
Barnes explained to Chandler his misgivings about the fire plan. Max stood with his arms crossed, looking at his boots and shaking his head. He walked a couple of strides away, turned, and walked back. His jawline tightened as Barnes talked.
Chandler looked from man to man, gauging not just his desire but also his loyalty.
“I had a good look from the helicopter. I think it’s okay,” Chandler said. “You gave me the fire. I’m making the decision that I’d make if I were alone.”
Barnes rubbed his eyes. He felt trapped and tired. “Listen to me,” he said. He looked first at Max and then at Chandler. “The fuel type is Gamble oak, not alder, and it can burn hot and fast and can sustain runs without having a ground fire to support it, so the possibility of reburn is high with this fuel. Second, the slope is steep, too steep maybe and you’re building the line downhill toward an active fire.”
“But you saw it,” Chandler interrupted. “It’s hardly burning at all.”
“Right,” Max agreed.
Barnes held up his hand. “That’s right now. But look at the weather. It’s been hot and dry for weeks. The fuel, just look around here, the live fuel is bone dry and will dry even more as the day passes.” For emphasis, he picked up a small pine stick and snapped it between his fingers. “And then you have a cold front coming in this afternoon.”
“But no red flag,” said Chandler.
“Right. If there were much danger from that front, they would have issued a red flag warning,” Max said.
“You’ll still have the wind change.”
“Hell, you always got wind changes.” Max turned away again and took two steps before returning to where Barnes stood. He faced Barnes square. “Just tell me what in hell you’re going to do. If you don’t want up there, then stay here. If you don’t want your crew up there, then walk them back to their sleeping bags. I’ll find a crew that will do the job. We aren’t pushing the envelope that hard here, Barnes.”
Chandler said, “You gave me the crew for this fire, Barnes. You shouldn’t have done that if you don’t trust me to make the right decision.”
Barnes looked down at the ground. The grass near his feet had begun to die from a lack of moisture and the presence of people walking across it all day long.
“I’m not taking this back from you,” he said to Chandler. “I . . . It’s your crew and your call.”
Barnes did not see Chandler’s smile nor the smile that flattened across Max’s face. He looked at Hunter, who nodded in agreement to him. He did not, however, feel good about his decision to let Chandler make the call. He did not know whether he would have kept the crew from this plan of attack or if he was just playing the mother hen or if he was just tired.
Chandler said, “Good. We’ll be going in three loads. The first load from my squad will go up with Max and me. The second load, with the rest of my people and Horndyke, Hassler, and Warner from Hunter’s squad, will follow us.” He pointed at Barnes and Hunter, “You two can take the last trip up with the rest of Hunter’s squad and secure the line across the ridgetop. Barnes, you should find a place along the ridge for lookout. If anything changes, you tell us and we’ll book out of there.”
“The ridge should make a good lookout,” Max added.
“Okay,” Barnes said. He squinted into the emerging sun, watching it rise into its warmth.
“You don’t have to play this conservative for my sake,” Chandler said.
“I’m not,” Barnes said.
Max nodded and walked away with Chandler toward a waiting helicopter, a Bell 212 large enough to carry Max and the Red Feather crew’s first load of firefighters, their tools, and extra food and water. The helicopter would ferry the two squads to the fire in three trips, then wait in support to shuttle more equipment or firefighters if needed or to sling a load of bladder bags filled with water or to hook on its two-hundred-gallon water bucket for water drops.
White stood at the end of Chandler’s squad as they waited, collars up and shirt sleeves rolled down, to board the helicopter. Barnes and Hunter stood a few feet away.
“You worried?” Hunter asked.
Barnes nodded.
“About Chandler? He’s a good man.”
“No, not about Chandler.”
“That jumper then?”
“No. A bit. Max tends to overestimate himself and underestimate the fire.”
“You think that’s what he’s doing here?”
“I don’t know. I’m probably overreacting. He’s a damn good firefighter, but sometimes he thinks he can bull a fire.”
“I wouldn’t worry much. We’ll be up there soon and can take a good look from the ridge. If it’s not good, we’ll just back off and figure out something that’s better.” Hunter checked his watch, then shaded his eyes to look at the fire. “It’s only six in the a.m. That puppy ain’t even woken up yet. Either we’ll kick the shit out of it before noon or we’ll find a better plan.”
“I know. I don’t want Chandler thinking that I don’t trust him.”
“He’ll do fine.”
“We going to be here a few minutes?” White asked.
“Why?” Hunter answered.
White, who had placed his gear at the end of the crew’s line, looked up from where he sat. “No reason. Just deciding whether I should open a book or not.”
“No. You’ll be on your way as soon as that 212 powers up and helitack calls us over. Fifteen-twenty minutes tops.”
White retrieved a water bottle from his waist belt, stood, and opened the bottle for a drink.
Warner, standing in front of White, leaned his head against Freeze’s shoulder. “Just wake me when it’s all over,” he said.
Freeze elbowed Warner in the stomach, knocking him into White and causing White to drop his open water bottle. The water drained and spread into the dry sand, staining it the color of wet cement.
White bent to retrieve the bottle and kicked dirt across the spilled water.
The scent of whiskey brushed past Barnes and Hunter.
“Let me have a drink,” Hunter said. He took a few quick steps toward White.
“Sorry, Hunter, I got a cold.”
“I don’t care if you got AIDS. Let me have a drink.”
White looked from Hunter to Barnes. His face drained of color as he handed the plastic bottle to Hunter.
Hunter sniffed it and touched it to his lips. “Let me taste your other bottles,” he said as he handed the bottle to Barnes, who took it and smelled.
“Damnit,” Barnes said.
“What
now?” asked Max from the front of the line.
“Nothing that concerns you, Max. Chandler, you better get back here.”
Chandler walked back and watched Hunter open and smell from the second, third, and fourth water bottles. He handed each to Chandler, who in turn handed the bottles to Barnes. None of them said anything. They did not look at each other nor down the line of men and women waiting to board the helicopter.
Barnes turned. “Come with me, Whitey. . . . And bring your line gear.” He walked away from the crew followed by Hunter and Chandler. White picked up his line gear, slipping his arms inside the shoulder straps of his pack but leaving his waist belt uncoupled and dangling at his hips.
Twenty feet from the crew, they stopped.
“You stupid bastard,” Barnes said. His face flushed, and he could feel his eyes harden. His entire body tensing, he drew in a rigid breath to calm himself before speaking. “I know this shows a problem we have to deal with, but right now all I can think of is how damn stupid you are.”
“Barnes, I—”
“Shut up.” His voice sounded high and thin, almost a whine. He clenched his fists and exhaled all the stale air from his lungs in order to regain himself.
White continued, “It’s not what you think. I don’t need this. I can take it or leave it.”
“The leaving it I’m not concerned with. It’s the taking that’s got me upset.” His voice felt more in control even though he felt that the morning was gradually slipping from his grasp.
“I’ll just fill new water bottles.”
“No. I’m not taking any chances with an alcoholic on the line. Stay in camp and we’ll deal with this when we come off shift.”
“I’m not an alcoholic.”
“Stay in camp,” he repeated, this time more slowly as though he were speaking another language.
White stood facing Barnes. He said nothing and stared into Barnes’s impassive face, catching the flashing glints of anger crossing through Barnes’s eyes. His shoulders drooped from the weight of his line gear. He walked off toward the waking commotion of the fire camp.
After the Fire Page 12
