Page 6 of Ink and Ashes
Three days and 7.4 hectares later, the sixth wildfire of the year is declared one hundred percent controlled.
The first day fighting was the hardest. BCWS sent out an initial attack crew to control it, but they quickly realized that the fire was spreading faster than they could keep up. Before the end of the first burning period, our team was called in to help.
We started at the base of the Monashee Mountains and hiked just under 20 kilometres to where the fire began, then spent all night working to create fuel breaks. By the time the sun rose the next morning, the fire was being held.
It took us another two days to get it fully controlled. Now that it is, a crew from a neighbouring town has taken over putting it out to give us a chance to rest in a real bed again.
“Good work out there today,” I tell the crew as we return to the station. “Get some rest. We have to head back out first thing tomorrow.”
“Thanks, Lieutenant,” a chorus of voices calls back to me as I head toward my quarters. Closing the door behind me, I fall ontothe small bed.
April to September is the busiest time of year for departments across the province. With the influx of tourists and the hot, dry temperatures, we see most of our action in the spring and summer, and we have to be prepared for anything.
The Ember Grove Fire Department consists of a full unit crew, with a team of fourteen paid-on-call emergency personnel. We have eight people trained in fire and rescue, two trained in EMS, and four who are trained in all aspects. Additionally, we have a career team consisting of our fire chief, two lieutenants, two firefighters, and two paramedics.
A typical shift in this department has two career firefighters in from eight a.m. to six p.m., then they’re on-call overnight. We do two shifts on, two shifts off, and the volunteers are called on an as-needed basis. It’s usually pretty quiet in our jurisdiction, so we’ve never had a need to have someone here all the time.
But since we got called to this fire, all sixteen of our firefighters plus our chief have been working day-in and day-out to get it controlled. We haven’t been away from it for more than a few hours at a time, which was spent resting in tents on the hard forest floor. At 7.4 hectares, this fire is small compared to many wildfires the province experiences, but in our area, it’s rare to see anything larger than 2 hectares.
And we’ve never faced anything quite like this.
On any given day, the Monashee Community Forests are the perfect breeding ground for wildfires. But this year, it’s been extreme. We’ve already had six, and this was the second to break our record for the largest fire fought in the past decade. We’re not even two months into fire season; if we continue at the rate we’re going, we’ll see double what we usually do by the time fall comes.
Our goal is to make sure that doesn’t happen.
We’ve been working our asses off trying to keep them from starting, but the weather has not been on our side. This winter was unseasonably dry, and coupled with the lightning that’s been simmering below the surface from the few storms we did see, it’s created the ideal conditions for a spike in holdover fires.
I’ll admit, knowing the predicted forecast for the summer, we did see this coming. But it doesn’t make fighting them any easier. We’ve been killing ourselves, hoping and praying that one of these days, we’ll get a break in the clouds.
I blow out a breath, feeling the exhaustion deep in my bones as I decide whether I should bother with a shower or go straight for the nap. I’m worn the fuck out, but I can also feel the smoke seeping through my pores from days spent fighting the fire, so I opt to clean up first. I stand and grab a towel from the shelf above my desk before making my way to the showers.
For a small town, our department is relatively big. Maybe not compared to city departments, but since we cover such a large, rural area, we need specialized vehicles. Our garage—or the bay, as we call it—is built larger than a typical fire department so it can hold all our apparatus. Our station alone has an engine, a quint, a brush truck, two tenders, and an ambulance. God forbid a day comes when we need all those vehicles at once, but we have them because we respond to such a variety of calls and need to be prepared for whatever comes our way.
Our main lobby is through a set of doors in the bay, and that’s where the chief’s office and officer’s quarters are—one for each of the lieutenants, myself and my best friend Beau Madison. Just through the lobby is the bunk room, laundry room, and showers, while a set of stairs in the bay leads to our meeting room, kitchen, and common area.
I make my way from my quarters through the bunk room and continue to the showers. Most of the team is already out cold, so the bathroom is empty when I walk in. We’ve been awake for the better part of the last seventy-two hours, and I know the moment my head hits the pillow, I’ll be out too.
I turn on the shower and step inside, letting the hot water drench me and wash away all the dirt and grime from the past few days. I close my eyes and allow myself a moment to clear my mind and forget how bad things have been so far.
Firefighting is what I was born to do, there’s no question about that. I come from a long line of first responders and growing up,it’s all I knew. Nearly everyone on my father’s side of the family has worked in this department, whether as a firefighter or a paramedic, and my sister and I knew we would do the same. Our great-grandfather, grandfather, and father all filled the role of chief here at one point, and someday, I will too. I don’t think either of us ever considered a different career path; we both know that saving lives is our birthright.
Sometimes, though, it takes a lot out of me to get through the day. We’re lucky that we don’t see too many deaths in a small town, and the wildfires we fight are usually deep enough in the forests that the surrounding towns aren’t directly impacted. But that doesn’t make the job any easier. It’s rewarding work, but it’s also extremely physically, emotionally, and mentally exhausting.
Don’t get me wrong. I love being a firefighter, and I wouldn’t switch careers for anything. But that doesn’t change the fact that it’s hard sometimes.
I started volunteering here when I was in high school, and my dad—who was Chief at the time—trained me himself, ensuring I knew absolutely everything I needed to know about firefighting before he let me touch a set of turnouts. It was an unconventional way for me to learn, but I wouldn’t have had it any other way.
The thing about my dad, though, is that he was the perfect firefighter. I’m sure he had his moments, but for the most part, he never let anything get to him. At least not that myself or anyone else on the team could tell. It’s like he had a switch in his brain that he could turn on and off as necessary.
I’m not like that. I can focus on the task in the moment, but after all’s said and done, it doesn’t leave me. Every single call, every person I’ve ever lost, lingers in the back of my mind.
I guess that was bound to happen, given my history with fires. But sometimes it eats me alive. Fires like the ones we’ve been facing this year make me question everything I know about this career. I’ve been doing this for over a decade, yet still, every time we get hit with a fire like these past few, it makes me feel weak. Disappointing.
Like a bad firefighter.
Jaw clenched, I force my eyes back open, unwilling to let myself think self-deprecating thoughts any longer. I may be a lot of things, but I know, despite everything my mind tries to tell me, that I amnota bad firefighter. There’s a reason I’m a leader for this team, and it’s not just because I’m part of the family the department is run by.
I turn off the shower and grab the towel, wrapping it around my waist. After drying off, I pull on a pair of clean pants from my locker before picking up my pile of dirty clothes and tossing them into the washing machine with everyone else’s coveralls. I’m hitting the start button when a soft voice sounds from behind me.
