Fear on the Fireline: My First Real Encounter - Part 4 of 4

High above the calamity below, a breeding pair of red-shouldered hawks slowly circle on the convection columns, drifting like a song. The blue sky is their limit, which I often am envious of. Being trapped in a desperate situation gives me a moment of clarity. The world is much bigger than my own troubles. I have to take action.

I glance to my left and right. I consider a deployment of my fire shelter for a brief time, but think better of it because of the dense brush all around. The only real path I have is onward over the flames into the blackened trees and shrubs beyond.

Being on this large machine is a blessing to me. While definitely not recommended in the owners manual, it can act as a fast way to maneuver over obstacles when troubles arise. Having this type of tool has saved our crew countless hours of walking through overgrown areas like this on foot, which requires a different level of risk and additional people to get the job done. To put it simply, the machine takes the beating so you as the individual do not have to. While we don't use ATV's on all burns, in my opinion, they have saved tremendous amounts of time and money. I also believe that they have prevented many injuries over time.

My decision becomes clear. I glance all around me to find the least intense flames, and race towards them. I tuck my arms to my sides and I let the machine act as a shield as it plows over top of the fire. My world becomes very hot for a brief moment, and just as suddenly as the trouble began, it is over. I race over smoldering logs and brush, and wind my way back to the road to hop off and check to survey the damage.

"I got boxed in pretty bad back there" I say over the radio. "Are you ok?" is the next reply. I respond in the affirmative. As I am checking the machine over, all I find is a smoldering stick jammed through the suspension. Not even the plastic has melted. The rest of the crew comes to check on me, and in a few moments the attention is directed back toward the fire. The change in the wind is a signal to the burn manager to stop igniting. The rest of the planned acres for today will be set aside for another time. Like a football player standing on the sidelines, I watch the waves of fire crash together inside the block of woods. We are at a good stopping point, so we spend the rest of the day focusing on extinguishing stumps and logs along the boundary of the area to make sure nothing gets out overnight.

~

Late in the afternoon, I am tired but happy. Today was a good reminder to keep my head up, because there will always be risk. As I pull back out onto State Road 19 and head north towards my home in East Palatka, I turn up the radio when JJ Grey and Mofro tune in. I look up to see my sooty face in my rear view mirror as I sing along...

Listen to the birds sing their song

Listen to my heart beating strong

I just want to feel like I do when I'm with you

It's a beautiful world

I look over and see those two trailer park boys on a front porch and wave as I roll on by. They return my wave, and glance at one another. The taller one laughs and says "Damn, that fool looks like he just slept in a bed of charcoal!"

CWL, 12/2/22

Guana River WMA overlooking the marsh, Circa 2018

Fear on the Fireline: My First Real Encounter - Part 3 of 4

As I wind my way through the network of roads that connect the property, I pass by a wide-open dove field and a couple of wildlife food plots. I begin to slow the machine to a stop, and kill the engine while coasting quietly to the northern corner of the burn area. I look around and notice that the wind has already picked up, stirring the leaves around me in small swirls that disappear into the air. My mind tells me that this is a good sign, because it is before 10 AM, and we already have wind. We need that wind to carry the fire.

I check my protective gear one last time before we begin. I glance again at the map that was handed out to everyone during the briefing. We will have a northeast wind today, which is nothing out of the ordinary especially since we recently had a front move through that gave us about an inch of rain. The temperature should be up to 65°F by mid afternoon, and I am anticipating a pretty straightforward assignment while on the ATV. I look on down the designated fire lines and see that they are still looking good with plenty of disked up soil from the tractor work that was done recently. Even small amounts of flammable pine needles can provide a pathway for fire to snake across and out of the burn area if someone has their back turned long enough.

We begin by lighting a test fire that we let burn in a small area of gallberry which in theory should tell a good story of how the fire will behave in the fuels on the site. I see the gentle column move upward past the pines and watch as it begins to travel Southwest. We all watch as the small, almost ceremonial flames crackle and spread easily through the green vegetation. All of us group up together and warm our hands in the cold, probably the same way that our ancestors did for generations before us. We wait a few minutes to watch the small dot of flame grow bigger, slowly but steadily backing inward towards the wind. Everything looks good, so the signal is given for me to begin lighting a solid line along the downwind side to get the fire moving into the wind evenly up through the area. I also have help from other crew members to get the downwind side on the burn area boundary safely lit while preventing it from spotting over across the disked up lane that designates the boundary.

The wind begins to blow hard against me as I am lighting, creating a much wider line that creeps onward into the breeze. The burn unit is divided into two sections, cut roughly in half by a wide double-track. The fire lines are not straight, so we have to take great care to keep the fire inside. After about 20 minutes of putting down a solid line, I cut the burn fuel pump off and turn back around to check on the line I have put down. Another crew member is patrolling as well. We wait until there is about about 15 yards of burnt vegetation, or "black" as we call it, before the next phase of work begins. The wind continues to press hard, laying black smoke across the lane that worries me some, but nothing comes of it.

"Go ahead and step on in there", our burn boss calls over the radio, so I oblige. I turn the ATV into the woods and crash over a couple palmetto bushes to get into position. On goes the pump and after turning the 4 wheel drive on, I am off. I plow through the gallberries, over logs, and across heavy brush. I begin setting down spots behind me, which quickly grow into larger fires as I wind around the trees and through head-high brush. It makes things hard to see in front of me, so I watch the line of smoke from the backing fire to keep my bearings in this jungle-like undergrowth. I am calm and make calculated movements that push the machine to its limits.

As I am working back and forth, the rest of the crew patrols the boundaries while continuing to stay beyond the spots I am putting down. They decide to go ahead and pull up the flanks on up past me since we are having such a steady push from the wind. I see the line of fire that now becomes my stop and turn around point. In an instant however, the wind dies completely. This critical change in the weather completely escapes my situational awareness.

My focus had drifted to a small opening that I was trying to get fire to move through, and I had taken my eyes off of the main fire in front of me. The flames ahead stand straight up for a short while, and then become fuel-driven in the absence of the wind. Over the course of a few minutes, given the absence of wind, the flames change direction and begin to lean over into the heavy brush, heading my way. Suddenly, I realize I am heading straight toward a wall of fire with a lot of fire already behind me, which completely covers up my potential route of escape. In an instant, with the fire converging all around me, I feel the sudden cold grip of fear.

Scrub Fire, Ocala Nat'l Forest, Circa 2017

Fear on the Fireline: My First Real Encounter - Part 2 of 4

As I am filling up the equipment and double checking engine oil, I hear the rest of the crew begin to arrive. I breathe a sigh of relief, because it looks like we have our permit. Our plan is to burn a total of 180 acres of mostly mesic flatwoods down near the several-mile-wide floodplain of the St. Johns River. As my supervisor parks near me and steps out of the cab, he looks my way and asks: “Did you bring the Kestrel?”. I nod in the affirmative. A Kestrel is a hand-held weather monitoring instrument that is compact yet intricate, much like the bird. A designated crew member will need to update all of us every hour or so throughout the day to keep us current on any unexpected changes in temperature, relative humidity, and wind speed among other things. Even the slightest weather shift will not go unnoticed. It commands full focus and attention from everyone because of how it impacts the behavior of a fire.

Without any words passing between us, the other four crew members gather around to hear the plan for the day, or in fancier terms, the crew briefing. My supervisor will be the burn manager for today, and he steps forward in the circle to start the discussion. He is a tall Georgia born UGA alum that is among the most intelligent, yet soft spoken individuals I have ever met. He prefers to keep a low profile, which is why he has spent the last 15 years of his life living off the hard road taking care of this property for the State of Florida. His outfit, much like ours, consists of a yellow nomex long-sleeved shirt, green nomex pants, leather boots, complete with a durag for his head to wear beneath his bright yellow hard hat.

As we look through the maps being passed around, he goes through a step-by-step process of providing us with details that we need to know to be effective. We hear from him what our objectives are, whether there are any hazards to be aware of, predicted weather for the day, assignments for each of us, techniques needed for igniting, radio channel specifics, safety protocol, and what the process will be to ensure that the fire is safely contained in the area after the day’s work is complete. As he does some gesturing while talking, I see the eleven-page document in his left hand fluttering about. I know that this is his legal form we call a prescription that ties into the rules and standards of broadcast burning based on state law. A hand-written numerical series on the document indicates the authorization number that he scratched on it an hour ago while on the phone with FFS. If there is no authorization number, there will be no burn.

As the briefing comes to a close, this normally fun loving group subtly assumes a more somber tone. The last part of the talk covered safety for the day, and we are contemplating it. We all know that there are risks and try to acknowledge them in our minds. At the conclusion, we load up simultaneously. The shop yard comes to life again as four ATVs and the fire engine with the UTV trailering behind crank up in unison.

In an instant, we are back on the dusty road winding our way past creeks, woods and pastures. As a few startled ibis take flight from a roadside ditch in front of me, the cold breeze begins to makes my eyes water. My job today will be ignition from the roughly 700 pound ATV that has a torch full of fuel attached just behind my rear end like the cantle of a big metal saddle. In my excitement I run the throttle wide open, creating a white pillowing cloud behind me. The fire engine brings up the rear as the rest of the crew hustles onward.

ATV on Patrol, Circa 2014