“And me?”I ask, since I’m still the only person who isn’t busy, and I’mitchingto get back to work, nearly crawling in my own skin.
“You’re with me,” Porter says.“I need eyes on this thing.I’m working blind.I don’t know where it’s going or what it’s doing, and you’re the one who knows the area best.You up for that?”
“Shit yes,” I say, just glad to know what I’m going to be doing.
“Good,” Porter says, nearly cracking a smile.He folds a map into a small square, puts it in his pocket, and lifts his own pack.“Let’s do this thing, then.”
We head for a small,rocky outcropping right on the shoulder of the mountain.It’s hard as hell to get to, but it looks like it’s going to offer a near-perfect view of most of the valley, so that’s where we go.
In addition to all the other problems with forest fires, it’s surprisingly hard to know where exactly theyare.They can move incredibly fast, especially one this big and hot, and since they’re vast and in the wilderness, it isn’t like someone’s reporting where the edges are at all times.Even with air support, it can be hard to get a good picture.
And you wouldn’t think it, but a fire can sneak up on you.In a dense forest, when you can’t see over the tops of the trees, it’s easy not to realize how close one is until you feel that incredible wall of heat, and a fire can outrun a person, especially in the deep forest on tricky terrain.That’s why you need a lookout.
The spot Porter’s chosen is only about two miles away, but there’s no trail.For the first mile we have to shove our way through branches and undergrowth, continually checking that we’re on the right path.Then we get to a long, steep boulder scramble, and though we look for an easier way up, everything else is nearly vertical.
As we climb, the sky gets darker and darker, even though it’s still early afternoon.The wind picks up around us, and I can hear it whistling through the trees, even through the small spaces between the rocks I’m climbing over.
Halfway up, Porter leans against a rock.He’s breathing hard, has his jacket open, and his t-shirt is soaked with sweat.I stop as well, and we both take a drink of water.We’ll be useless if we pass out from dehydration.
“Shit,” he says, when he finishes drinking.“I was hoping we’d be up there before the wind really hit.”
“We couldn’t see this slide from the beach,” I say.“It’s harder and longer than it looks.”
“Ain’t that always how it is,” Porter says, almost reflectively, and I just nod.
He’s not so bad all the time,I think.I could stand to remember that.
“You recovered?”he asks, hooking his water back onto his pack.
“Never been readier,” I say, and then both of us laugh, because it’s beyond untrue.
By the time we get to the ridge, every muscle in my body is screaming.They’ve all been screaming for at least twelve hours, so I just ignore it.We take another moment to drink, catch our breath, and get our bearings.The wind is nearly howling now, so strong that I can feel it trying to knock me over, and the sky is an unholy gray-black-yellow color, half wood smoke from the fire and half the oncoming underbelly of a nasty thunderstorm.
Don’t get burned alive and don’t get struck by lightning, I think to myself.Piece of cake.
At least we’re in the mountains and there won’t be any tornadoes.Once we were out fighting a prairie fire in one of the Dakotas, and during an incredible thunderstorm, I got to watch a tornado twist across the landscape only a couple of miles away.We all just stood there and watched it, because what else were we going to do?It’s not like there are basements in the middle of nowhere.
As soon as we can, we keep moving to the lookout point.The trees thin out, and between their tops, I can see the vast swath of black, brown, and gray burned areas.It’s an uneven line going back toward the Spires, and from here, it’s easy to see how random wildfires are.In some spots the burned area is narrow, nearly cut off completely by lush green foliage.In other spots, it’s wide, almost the entire area between the river and the ridge line to the north.
Then, closer to us, I can see the spot where the fire jumped the Quartzite River.It’s narrower where that happened, not nearly as solid and wide a fire break as it is here.
At last, we reach the point, and both of us just look around for a moment.It’s beautiful, wild, anddangerous.We’re in the middle of an enormous U, made by the fire: one leg across the river from us, to the southeast, the main body of the fire still to the west.Through the smoke, I can see the bright orange line flickering only a few miles from the firebreak we made, a big black swath that cuts along the base of the hill.
I hope it works.DearGodI hope it works.Too late to do anything else about it.
“It’s going up the ridge,” Porter mutters, looking to the northwest.There’s another bright orange line, and this one is moving up a mountain, so quickly we can actually see it moving.The storm is closer to that side of the fire, and even from here I can see the wind whipping it in every direction.
As we watch, an updraft sweeps the mountain, and where it meets the flames the fire spins upward, into a loose cylinder of orange and yellow.
Porter and I both hold our breath, because fire whorls are dangerous and almost impossible to predict, even in a place whereeverythingfeels dangerous and impossible to predict, mostly because it is.
An involuntary shiver goes down my back, and I pull out my GPS and compass.
Porter and I take measurements quickly: wind direction and speed, temperature.We mark where the fire is right now on a map, where it might be heading soon, though with the updraft and the wind changing direction every few minutes, we may as well be throwing darts at a map.
Still, I was afraid it would be worse.The firebreak protecting Eaglevale is as good as we could make it, and that’s air support’s first priority, though the thunderstorm is making flying dangerous for them.The fire working its way up the ridge, far to the northwest,couldbe a big problem, but not for a few more hours, and there’s no point in worrying about it until this storm blows over.
Most of the crew heads downriver, to the east, and they’re protected from the fire by the wide, rushing waters of the Quartzite.Porter radios air support while I radio the guys down below, but for once, it seems like the situation might be under control.
