Fire

    It has been far too long since I have written. Not because there have been no Grand Adventures, but because there have been so many. Some large, some smaller, but no less Grand. I have hesitated to write of the most amazing adventure, though I have wanted to for weeks.  Why would I not write, spilling my excitement over the page, dripping with the sweet taste of adrenaline? Because my most epic adventure was at the cost of another's home. My first structure fire. The most exciting day of my life, but the worst day of another's life. It is a delicate subject, no doubt.
    It was Sunday, three weeks ago. I drove my pickup to Station One so I could do a long bike ride followed immediately by a run, the station being a safe place to leave my gear unattended. I cycled 34 miles, then ran 5-1/2 miles. I was cooling off inside, stretching, drinking some water, eating grapes, and talking to a brother firefighter when tones dropped. The call came in as a "smoke investigation." I didn't have my gear but was told there was loaner gear. A second tone hit, upgrading to possible grass fire. Okay, this was getting good. Out in the engine bay I tried on the loaner gear, it was huge and fit like a clown suit, Not optimal wildland gear, but better than nothing. Then one of my fellow probies showed up and let me use his bunker gear since he would be in wildland gear. Excellent! Tones dropped again! More firefighters arrived at the station but we were waiting for drivers. Finally, a Captain showed, as well as an engine driver. MY fellow probie, along with two of my favorite bros were told to hop on E405. First out of the gate, running Code Three, lights and sirens. The call was upgraded from a grass fire to a structure involved. Holy shit, this was getting good. Flying across the back roads, up into the hills, the call was pretty far out. Still a few miles away we could see the roiling smoke. Oh Holy Shit! Two of us were in bunker gear, the officer in charge turned in his seat, looked at us and said, "You are on the attack line to the structure, get packs on." My fellow probie groaned, "I hate you," since he couldn't fight a structure fire in wildland gear. The two of us assigned the attack line fist-bumped. I was excited, but not nervous or anxious. I did not get a debilitating surge of adrenaline like I had feared. We could hear the radio communications. There was one Tender on site, as well as our assistant Chief. We could hear the tension and excitement in their voices. This was no simple fire, this was going to be a hard fight.
    Nearing the call we could see glimpses of flames through the trees. We all muttered, "Holy shit," under our breath, and looked at each other with gleaming eyes. This is what we trained for. We were going in to do battle. We were the first engine on the scene. The only other vehicle on scene was the Tender, using the turret hose to keep the flames from spreading to trees. The only other crew on scene was the veteran that had brought the tender, and the assistant chief who was Incident Command, dealing with the nightmarish logistics of two fully engulfed structures, surrounded by trees, at the bottom of a long, narrow road, with other homes close enough that if the fire were to get away from us we could lose more structures.
   We jumped out, stretched a line and began to put the wet stuff on the red stuff, just as we were taught. There was no thought of entry, the home was already a total loss. At this point it was a matter of keeping it from spreading as we waited for more engines and manpower. We were so focused on our assigned task that I barely noticed when the others began arriving. We just kept putting wet stuff on the red stuff, though it felt like we were pissing on a bonfire. The heat was astonishing. The flames were high and glorious, terrible and beautiful. I have no idea how long we held our position before a relief team took over and sent us to rehab to cool down and get water. That was when I could see just how extensive an operation we had going. The driveway and property were too confined to allow more than a handful of rigs, as it were, if the fire got out of control we were at risk of possible entrapment. But we weren't worried, the crew was working the scene with amazing skill.
    We did have water problems. The closest hydrant was miles away. Ops set up a Tender operation to shuttle water to a location at the top of the road, and had lay down 1000 feet of supply line to reach our rigs. It was an amazing endeavor.
    My partner and I went back in three more times, until muscle fatigue got the better of us. But by then the fire was nearly out, and definitely in control. It was only later that we found out just how close this came to being a potentially devastating wildfire. Our wildland crews worked their asses off putting out the fires that had spread through the grass and underbrush. Spot fires had popped up 200 feet from the structure, and we were at the head of a canyon that could have funneled a blaze right up into the forest.
    We were lucky on so many levels: The wind was in our favor; the surrounding area was not as dry as it would be in a month; there were no unpleasant surprises like exploding propane tanks.
    But on several counts, I can say, it was not luck, but preparation: Our people are well trained and dedicated; we had great support from surrounding districts who brought Tenders and much needed manpower; and our I.C. kept his cool and made things happen. As they say, "Luck favors the prepared."
    Once the fire was nearly out came the long cleanup. Already tired muscles made to pick up muddy hose, stow it in a truck, ride back to the Station, then clean and restore hoses and rigs. It was 9:30 before I was home. Definitely tired, and with a soul deep sense of satisfaction. It was one of the best days of my life.
    I have met Fire face to face. She is glorious and terrible. It has given me a deeper understanding of so many things, including myself. I know it is wrong to say it aloud, but I understand the addiction, and want more.