Memories

The sky was a charcoal blanket littered with twinkling points of light. The puzzle shapes of tree canopies blotted out the charcoal sky in places with absolute blackness. The still night air in the forest was crisp, cold and sweet. The distant sound of traffic was the only clue that I was at my Aunt and Uncle's house in Tahoe as opposed to standing in the forest primeval. 

It all seemed strangely familiar to me, stirring some memory deep within me. Of course I am no stranger to the forested mountains and valleys around the lake. But this memory seemed more distant.

In my sleeping bag, staring up at an identical velvet sky in the Trinity Alps 14 years ago, I lay considering my career as a "Forest Ranger". I would retire within the year, but here I was camped out with a Hotshot crew, fighting a monster forest fire in the vast wilderness. I was a Division Supervisor assigned to a three mile section of fire-line, and we had been camped out ("spiked") for over a week.

As I lay there pondering, I realized that this truly was the realization of one of my long time dreams. I had been very interested and active in fighting forest fires since my first year as a seasonal worker on the Sequoia National Forest in 1976. Having worked in timber management, engineering, and as a District Ranger, rather than in Fire management it was a long and difficult path to earning the qualification of Division Supervisor. Along that path, my greatest enjoyment always came in overnight assignments out in the forest.

Me, after spending all
night on my first fire.

The crew I was working with was from the Sierra National Forest. A "Hotshot Crew". The absolute elite of the wildland fire fighting world. Some Hotshots have a reputation of treating Division Supervisors with disdain, as by and large they are much more experienced in their craft than most anybody. This crew was great to work with. After a few days we had truly bonded.

I remember the day of our first shift. We finished line construction at a point about a mile from where we had selected our campsite. It was about 6:00, time to march home. As we walked, the crew superintendent ("supe") lead the way, and I followed behind the last crewman. We were walking along the Pacific Crest Trail, and it really wasn't walking. I found myself almost jogging to keep up with the crew. It occurred to me that this was most likely a test to see what I had. I pushed my 55 year old legs as hard as I could and actually managed to stay up with everyone. Later I found out from the crew supe that I had duly impressed his guys (and a couple of girls) , so I guess I passed.

The best times were spent around the camp fire in the evenings and mornings. I got to know peoples stories, laughed together, and shared some of my story as well. They taught me some interesting tricks as well. Like how to boil water by filling a plastic water bottle and placing it into the red hot coals until the the bubbling started. I figured they were pulling my leg, so I was very skeptical...but it worked! Several folks used this method to brew the instant coffee that came in their Meals Ready to Eat (MRE's). They treated me extremely well by sharing fresh ground coffee brewed on a Jet Boil stove with me each morning. It was fabulous, as only good camp coffee can be.

Each night after eating dinner and BS'ing around the campfire, I would retire to my sleeping site at the foot of a huge Red Fir, take off my boots, rub Asper Cream into my aching feet, and snuggle down into my bag. I would gaze up at a charcoal sky, through the darkened tree canopies at the twinkling stars and think about how lucky I was to be there.

After nine days, the powers that be in fire camp decided that I needed to come back to camp to get "refreshed". I wasn't happy about trading the campfire, fresh clear mornings, and cold crisp, silent nights for the crowds, floodlights and constantly running generators of fire camp. A shower is worth only so much.

Me, after flying back to
camp from my 
assignment in the
wilderness.

I hiked up the ridge to a helispot, and was picked up for transport back to base. As I debarked from the chopper, I realized how dirty, grimy and grizzly I was. It actually felt kind of cool. I wore my filthy fire clothes, and grizzled grey beard with pride as I walked to my vehicle for the ride back to the camp proper. As I walked I thought back to my very first fire assignment, a lightning fire, somewhere on the Sequoia National Forest. I'd come a long way!

That's All!