Something Greater

What moves us to that moment of silence?
When we stop and listen to the world while it speaks to us.
When, instead of rushing through life,
We stand with the stillness of a mountain, breathing in the sunset,
Letting the evening light fill our lungs,
The warmth wash over our body.

Eyes closed, we feel the flowers sway side to side through ribbons of light.
Mountains fade over time, only to rise again.
Life and death interweave, recycling themselves over again.

Our awe for the immensity of the world around us and what it feels like to find love are reflections,
Identical emotions running parallel through the deepest reaches of our hearts.
An overwhelming sense of belonging to something greater.
Filled with an inescapable feeling that we are not hopeless.
A fear we confront when faced with the silence of the unknown.

Just Enough Time to Get Antsy

Idaho -Sitting in our ready room while listening to morning briefing, our crew boss came in with orders.  We were headed to a fire in Idaho.  Instantly, the excitement grew and the chatter increased.  He calmed everyone down, briefed us on the situation and told us to get ready.  In an instant, 20 of us were filing out the door, tidying up any last minute items that had come up.  Within 20 minutes we were loaded into the crew carriers and headed toward the fire.  It was about a 5 hour drive to get there.  Just enough time to get antsy.  When we arrived, we could see the fire ripping up a hillside, the column rising up into the clear blue sky.  When a fire is completely out of control like that, there aren't many options.  Our crew boss tied in with the Incident Commander and talked out a plan.  We headed over to a portion of the fire that was manageable and started burning out off of roads.  The winds were steady and twice we had to stop our operation and get to a safety zone, only to head back in minutes later when it was deemed we were safe.

At one point, a lone buggy was sent in with a crew of 6 to tie in with an engine and perform a particularly scary burnout.  They would start lighting along a road, the engine going one way, the buggy going the other in hopes that it would create a black line, a buffer that would stop the larger fire. The winds had picked up and the fire was closing in on our line.  It became apparent that the operation was wasn't going to be successful.  The crew members on the ground, were ordered back into the buggy.  One hung on to a railing on that back and continued to burnout as the buggy raced up the dirt road back toward the safety zone.  We watched from afar as the fire blew past our line, knowing that we would regroup and try some more. As the sun set, the fire died down a little bit more and we continued the burnout into the night.  After burning out for the majority of the day and night, we tied it into an anchor point and settled down for the evening.  The fire would continue ripping for another couple days before we, along with several other crews and a few air tankers, could finally get a handle on it.

Landing in a Marsh

Alaska - In 2009 I was working for the Bonneville Hotshots, a wildland firefighting crew based out of Salt Lake City, Utah. At the beginning of the season, we flew up to Alaska to help fight a massive wild fire raging out of control. After flying in to Fairbanks and jumping on a chartered bus, we arrived at the helibase and flew in to the fire on helicopters.  Flying in low over the timber, we landed near a marsh.  On the second load, the helicopter ended up landing in the middle of the marsh, It's tail rotor sinking dangerously close to the ground.  The pilot knew the danger and ordered everyone out. I watched as the crewmembers jumped out of the helicopter into waist deep water, wading toward dry land, holding their bags above their heads like they were in Vietnam.

For two weeks, we worked 18 hour days, cutting line, and securing the edge of the fire. Toward the end of our tour, we were assigned to burn out a section of line. For this particular assignment, my saw team, along with two other saw teams and a handful of diggers, were assigned to the hold the line, meaning we were going to spread out and make sure that our burnout operation didn't jump the line. We were positioned so that if it did cross, a handful of us could jump on it before it got out of control. As the burners staggered down the line, igniting the undergrowth, we crossed our fingers and prayed for good wind. They passed us with glazed looks on their faces, a result of the insane work schedule we all had for the last two weeks. Zach Henseler, a lead firefighter at the time, paused to check out his work as he moved by me. On our way home after our tour, we found out that the fire had blown up and destroyed all the work that we had just put in. Such is the life of a Hotshot.