However, it all becomes really tough when we find out not everyone available to work in the States will actually be allowed to go. The request from down south is for 20 person crews and our newly reconfigured crew (several people have to leave for school) has 26 people from two different bases.
Therefore, the day before we leave is a down day for everyone. For those who can't make it to the top of the pyramid, watching the crew leave is pure agony.
At times like this I'm reminded how much the people and the job and the deployments mean to me. I felt so rotten when news came that we'd be leaving people behind. Our unit was being split up, it was made worse by a bunch of others leaving for school. Things feel so meaningful when it gets to be late season, we'd been working on fires for the better part of two months. We were in the Late Summer Zone, a place where we hit an equilibrium and we're like a team in the playoffs contending for a title. But it's always brushed away so quick, and with no ceremony.
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Day One/Two
For those reasons, the day we start the drive to Idaho is a bummer. All day I'm only living partially in the present, a bit of me is still lingering around the Telkwa fire base, wishing that nobody had to get an education or fall victim to an arbitrary number thrown out by some wildfire fat cat. We meet up with the Burns Lake crew - the other half of our new-look crew - in Merritt and for dinner we eat all the frilly carbs Boston Pizza has to offer.
The next day as we drive through northern Washington I'm more in the present, more excited about what's happening. It's the farthest I've ever strayed from Smithers in a work truck and it's a little unnatural.
"I feel like we're a long ways away, I feel like we're out there" I say to Dan, my boss.
"Nobody can get us down here," is his response. Somewhere, a group of birds takes flight in unison.
After two days driving we arrive in Orofino, Idaho, a dumpy yet charming town at the bottom of the Idaho panhandle. In Orofino we get a briefing on what fighting fire in the States is all about. The briefing takes place in a tidy National Guard hangar in the middle of which are 40 ancient metal chairs and one projector screen, like many things in the States, it feels like we're on a movie set. According to our briefer, Don, fighting fire is all about not getting burnt over by a raging fire, and knowing how to use your fire shelter in case you fail at the above.
Our first day on the fire we're put on a very steep piece of ground, a creek draw where trees hardly grow on account of the steepitude. We patrol the area and put out a lot of smokes. Our climb out at the end of the day is a total sweat bath, We gain 1000 feet of elevation over a distance of about 1001 feet. A man with a moustache watches all 20 of us crest the steep hill, we hardly notice him but later he comes by our truck to have a chat, the content of his speech is very American, he sounds like George Bush:
"You know first impressions count, and you guys made a good first impression, I see you walking up that there hill, looking the way you do with your gear matching and I see you mean business ... hell, you look like guys I could cut hot line with"
Never has high praise been so humourous, I can hardly control myself in the passenger seat. I'm happy I’m able to sit back and let somebody else have these conversations, Dan does the talking while I sip on jokes in the background.
Back at the same section today, we hose all day and that's alright. Fire digs in deep here and it's good for people to see how much of a pain in the ass it is when there are roots four feet underground smouldering away. Dig this deep in northern Canada and you'll hit permafrost.
We're working with a prison crew from the Idaho Department of Corrections and some of the guys get a kick out of talking to the felons, asking them about their crimes and such. I steer clear, two of them had an argument one night and I thought it was going to break into an all out prison riot. In hindsight I realize this was a gross stereotype.
Day Five
It's A slow day of patrol today, a lot of the fire burned through an abandoned orchard so we spend some time eating plums and apples. The section of the fire we're tasked with is unusual. (Good thing as we end up covering the same 1 km of land for way too long.) The creek is full of crayfish and little trout, next to the creek are cedar trees which give way to bunch grass and ponderosa pine, further up the hill are the old fruit trees and pasture land for the cattle, finally, above all that are the huge open wheat fields.
Day Six
Late last night a lightning storm came through and just as the storm hit, the fire meteoroligist started running around camp saying, "there is a severe thunderstorm coming! Get to your trucks!"
I poked my head out of the tent and there were people scrambling to get to their vehicles. My boss went over to a truck to see what all the fuss was about, apparently the answer he got was this:
"It's our weatherman, he's terrified we're all gonna get struck by lightning."
So all two hundred people in our camp, with the exception of the Canadian crews, are running for their trucks for fear of being zapped, all this despite the camp being reasonably well sheltered and it being a reasonably regular weather occurrence. In the ridiculous pre-work briefing the next morning everyone gives the weatherman a round of applause for "pulling the trigger on a safe decision."
There's a deeper American story beneath all this, one of terror fever and an all too bored populace. Some people on our crew slept through the whole storm.
Today we patrolled the same old short, dead piece of ground, we're marching toward insanity and becoming friends with our Burns Lake counterparts in the process.
Day Seven
Finally given a new piece of ground today. We dig a short chunk of guard and the physical work helps relieve some of the confined space tension we were feeling in cell block D with our prison friends.
In the afternoon I go on some smoke-killing missions with a new guy on our crew. Our last spot is a massive ponderosa pine that has fallen over and is perched on the edge of a cliff. It's just us and this huge dead tree like a beached whale perched on the edge of the gorge. We try to see who can get the closest to the tree while chucking dirt at its burning guts all while holding our breath. We hide from the helicopter as it flies by because the Americans don't like us working near the cliffs.
More on the way