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Voices of the Northwest
I was dispatched to the Fawn Peak Fire Complex near Winthrop, Washington as a helicopter crewman in time for the 4th of July Weekend this year. The Fawn Peak and Sweetgrass Fires were quickly contained at 70 and 140 acres but the Farewell Fire is still roaring. It marched north into the wilderness between Winthrop and the Canadian border. Its east border abuts the old 30 Mile Fire's burn area from 2001.
Myself and four other fire fighters from Foster Helibase had finished assembling a 15,000 gallon Heliwell for heavy helicopters to dip up to 3,000 gallons at a time –so we decided to pay our respects at the memorial for the four fire fighters who died on the 30 Mile as it was only ten miles up the Chewuch (Chee-wuk) River Road between the confluences of the Chewuch and Andrews Creek downstream and 30 Mile Creek upstream. A mile or so from where the pavement ends is a jumbled boulder field to the left of the road. An American flag juts from a metal socket nailed in a blackened fir snag. Art parks the van and we get out.
A wall of mortared native stone stands at the end of a gentle asphalt ramp not far from the road. Embedded in the wall are four black marble panels with the portraits of the dead fire fighters etched in the smooth surface. We gather and read the dates. Most of us were fighting fire before three of the people were born and continue to do so after their death. Fire is a living organism. It comes into the world small and weak and can be stomped to death with a vibram boot at birth. It eats and grows--grows and eats. It moves some times slowly, sometimes quickly. It rests at night and is most active on hot afternoons. It creeps stunted through stony areas and waxes strong and fierce in thick brush and dead fuel. It reproduces with fire brands cast skywards in hot updrafts to come down wherever and live or die on their own like jellyfish eggs. Sometimes it is a placid fire sheep and you can walk up to it and take the food right out of its mouth. Other times, it is a roaring dragon and wants to kill with blind malice. I think that is what happened on 10 July, '01 in this pile of jumbled rock.
We look at the fine, flat sand bar in the Chewuch not more than 70 meters from where the four died. The boulders might have looked like a good place to deploy shelters perhaps, but there was a lot of flamable leaf litter and fir needles in the cracks and the shelters would not seal effectively against the irregular surfaces. A whole 20 person crew could have deployed their tinfoil fire shelters on the damp sand bar and survived. It was there two years ago.
We walk the short trails that thread through the rocks a little ways where there are bronze plaques the size of saucers embedded in boulders where the four had tried to live and failed. Like Storm King, fire fighters leave stuff at this place too. There is a fire shovel and a pulaski with crew names written on the handles. A weathered teddy bear sits alone and notes on "write-in-the-rain paper" are weighed down with rocks. I read some of them and put them back.
Fire fighter caps and tee shirts abound with places and dates and fire names printed on them. A plastic floral arrangement with "Love, Mom and Dad" written on it has fallen over. And coins. I see a worn AA coin. That meant a lot to somebody. There were heaps of coins on top of the gray stone crosses at Storm King. At first I thought that the change was left by people who had not thought to bring some other memorial to leave at these sites but now I think perhaps there is a more atavistic level to this. Coins used to be placed over the eyes of the dead and in their mouths so they would have toll to pay Charon for passage over the Styx. It bears thinking about.
Ubiquitous plastic water bottles are carefully placed on rocks along with metal hot shot crew emblems. I take a laminated 10/18 card out of my pocket and slip it through a crack in the rocks. The card has the 10 Fire Fighters' Orders & 18 Watch Out Situations listed on it.
#1 FIGHT FIRE AGRESSIVELY BUT PROVIDE FOR SAFETY FIRST..... We all muse and reflect and look at the trout in the neck-deep water of the Chewuch and a woodpecker hammers in the charred timber across the river. I pick up a white rock from the kill zone. I will put it next to the red one from Storm King on my front porch. Nobody has much to say and we drift back to the van to leave without a word being spoken. In a few more days it will be the second anniversary of the 30 Mile burn over.
Norm
Visit other articles by Norm Maxwell at West By Northwest.org
including the section "Voices of Spencer Creek, Norm's Notebook" and
Old Men and Fire
The Fire of South Canyon: Remembering Storm King
Wee-wee for BB
Norm's Notebook: The Story of the Spruce Tree, and Mosby Creek, a New Land Use Lot Adjustment
Norm's Notebook: Dead Cars and the Six Million Dollar Manx
(Editor's note–Norm's "Dead Cars" story inspired a feature story in the Register Guard, "Heaps of trouble in the woods.")
Mentoring Military Style
Three Dollar Hammer
Song of the Open Road
Remember Fire Road
Home, Home on Fire Road
and more.
© Copyright 2000-2004 by West By Northwest.org
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