Blogging My Autobiography - Chapter 18

Recently we had a fire on the mountain near our home which I blogged about here. It brought back memories of what was my favorite job, maybe of all time, fighting forest fires. When I was 18 Grant, my advisor from scouting days, came to me and asked me if I was looking for a summer job. I was always on the lookout for more money so I said sure. I was still working at Dick’s but I figured that could be worked out. So he had me come down to his office and fill out an application for a Range Aide at the BLM where he was the operations manager. I passed the physical test and was hired on as a temporary employee of the US Government.

A Range Aide was primarily a fire fighter, but we did a lot of different jobs, which included building reservoirs for wildlife and cattle, building and mending fences, herding cattle, making and placing BLM road signs and even moving crappers from a filled hole to a new, empty one. It was as disgusting as it sounds. We also had to maintain our equipment and stay in shape, which meant volleyball, basketball, running and lifting weights on government time. We also found time (a lot of time, actually) for highjinks as well. Those summers are full of memories. I don’t have time for all of them, so let me pick a few highlights from the 4 summers I worked there.

Roasted Rattlesnake

As firefighters we were what was known as a helitack crew. That means that we would often be choppered in to the hottest part of the fire and be expected to stop it while the big crews mopped up from the sides. Fires always burn uphill in the shape of a hand with several fingers. One of the fingers is inevitably the hottest because it has more fuel or there is an updraft that is providing it with a push up the hill. That was our point of attack. We would jump out of the helicopter with shovels, axes (called pulaskis because they were half axe and half grubbing hoe) and a 10 gallon bladder of water strapped to our backs. Just for reference, 1 gallon of water weighs 8 pounds. Those packs weighed 80 pounds each and had on the end a trombone sprayer which you pumped to get water out. We had another name for them, piss pumps and not for the reason you may think. The pumps were about as effective as urinating on the fire, hence the name. However, in combination with a little dirt thrown with a shovel and fuel removed via the pulaski, we could stop even a pretty major fire quickly.

One day we were working a fireline, cutting trees and scraping the dirt to stop the advance of the fire. I was swinging my pulaski, using the grub hoe to break through some sagebrush. I took a step backward and heard a buzzing sound at my feet. I looked down and there was a small rattlesnake draped around my boot, shaking his rattle for all he was worth (could have been a girl snake, I guess). Naturally I froze. If I had been bitten, I didn’t know because I had thick pants on and tall boots that would have protected me from a bite probably. I yelled at my partner, Paul and told him to get over here and kill this snake. He used some colorful epithets and came over. When he saw the snake, the colorful epithets increased in strength and he used his shovel to cut off the snake’s head. We stood there for a moment contemplating the headless snake until Paul said, “I wonder if we can skin this thing and make a hatband from it?” I said I thought so and he whipped out his knife and skinned it on the spot. He just rolled the skin off like a woman removing panty hose and wrapped it around his hat. It was too small and we were both disappointed. We wanted something out of the experience. Then, inspiration struck and I said, “I wonder what it tastes like?” Paul liked that idea and whacked off a chunk of meat and roasted it over a burning log nearby. When it was done, we both took a bite. We looked at each other and he said, Tastes like chicken.“ We tossed it aside and went back to work.

Always Sleep in the Burn

Often times we would work 24 hours straight but at night a fire ”sits down“ and doesn’t move too much. That’s when you take a nap so you could keep going. One night, I was tired and decided I had had enough of smoke and ash. I found a nice tree with grass at it’s base and lay down to sleep with my helmet as a pillow. I dropped off quickly and slept for maybe an hour when I woke to a roaring sound. Sitting up from my grassy bed, I looked around and didn’t see any real fire until I looked up. The tree I had been sleeping under was burning like a torch. I quickly moved away and a large portion of the burning tree landed exactly where I had been sleeping, setting fire to the grass. I would have been spitted and roasted if I hadn't woken up. Shaken, I walked into the burn, dug myself a shallow hole, piled up some coals around the outside to keep me warm and went back to sleep. I had forgotten the rule, ”Always sleep in the burn“ because there is no fire there, all the fuel is gone.

The Mother of All Water-fights

If you put a bunch of 18-20 year old boys in a compound with fire trucks, mischief is bound to ensue. We had regular water fights with 180 psi nozzles gleefully shredding each other’s shirts with the high pressure hoses. It hurt, but we were having too much fun to care. There was one day that it went to the next level. The main pumper truck was a Dodge Power-wagon that held about 200 gallons of water. The objective of the game was to capture that truck and shoot everyone within range. Two guys had captured the truck, one on the pump and the other driving. I had been a target and felt the need to get even. There was another truck we called the nurse. It’s tank held about 1000 gallons and could be emptied in a couple of minutes via the 3 inch diameter hose out the back. I waited until the pumper was out of water and used the much larger nurse to force the Dodge into a corner. Of course the guy on the pump jumped off and ran, leaving the other in the cab. I turned on the nurse pump and took the hose to the pumper threatening the driver. He rolled up his windows and sat. I waited knowing he couldn’t stay there for very long, it was a hot day. As soon as the door opened, I shoved that 3 inch hose into the cab, rapidly filling it with water and soaking the driver but good. Man, was he torqued! Everyone else laughed pretty hard that day, though. I had gotten my revenge.

Riding the Green

My last summer was spent in eastern Utah near the Green River. I lived there with several other guys in a government house. Of course our job was to fight fires, but we also had responsibility for cleaning campsites along the river. One of our guys was an experienced kayaker and so he made the run weekly. The rest of us rotated in and out to help him. The run started at the base of Flaming Gorge dam and ended at either Little Hole or Browns Park. Of course there were rapids all along the way, which were great fun to take in the Zodiac boat we used. If the water was running high, some of the rapids were class 4. Class 1 is a ripple, Class 2 is a wave, Class 3 will give you a thrill, Class 4 is, ” I am not too sure“ and Class 5 is ” You have GOT to be kidding!“. Further down at Split Mountain, it was all class 4 and 5. We never went that far, it was National Park Service land. One run in the middle of the summer, we went all the way to Browns Park. Browns Park was the home of Robert Parker, aka Butch Cassidy. While we were there we met an old lady who said she remembered Butch and regaled us with tales about him over herb tea mixed with Tang. The one I do remember had to do with what Butch did to one guy who crossed him. They were in a bar, one cold night and some bravo got drunk and was talking about how he could take Butch. Of course, Butch took offense and proceeded to pound the guy until he passed out. Butch then hauled him out to the Green which was frozen over, cut a hole in the ice and stuffed the poor soul into the Green, feet first, leaving his head above the ice and the rest of him submerged. He packed snow around his neck and waited for it to freeze, then left him there to die of exposure and hypothermia. The old lady concluded that Butch was just meaner that a rattler and not a nice man, but she relished the story just the same. It was like touching history to hear her talk.