September's Endless Call

The first month of fall started this week. This was stated about seven times in the morning briefing, along with what it really meant: everyone is tired. And while most Septembers signal that the end has begun, this one is notable in that there seems to be no end on the horizon. No autumn clouds promise to douse the summer flames. In fact quite the opposite; a heat wave is predicted this week, with high temperatures reaching 98.
Ironically, it seems to hit the Overhead more than the grunt line firefighter. You see their fatigue and the homesickness showing up in the lines of their face. You get the sense that when they warn you of the obstacles associated with such long and busy seasons, that they are talking to themselves, more than to you. And I suppose it makes some sense—they have the more mentally taxing jobs, and they have the established homes—the spouses and children to miss, the strained relationships and the damaging neglect that is baked in with any prolonged time away, no matter how worthy the cause, or how lucrative the paycheck.
The delights of the young--snow covered mountains and sun baked beaches, the foreign continents, bars won’t be going anywhere too soon. But the precious moments of middle age pass much faster. The first steps of a son, the first recital of a daughter, the school play and the big soccer game only come once. And one's wife is growing more frustrated. She is not the beaches of India, and she will not stay or wait forever.
The conversations start to turn from fire stories and strategy to football--even in more formal meetings. College in particular, but professional too. Today in camp someone put up a University of Washington Husky tent—and it was received with passionate approval by those in favor, and tamed annoyance by others—like a painful joke told at one's expense--brushed off with a forced smile. No other sport seems to catch wildland firefighters attention like football. Perhaps it is the physical toughness of the game that we relate too, or perhaps it is because it signals Fall, and the time that typically the chaos starts winding down and we can return to a more sedentary regimented lifestyle, and the fruits that such life patterns offer.
But not this year. If things continue, one wonders whether the Rose Bowl will be watched in base camp. As of now, there are over 20 large area fires in the Northwest alone—and the rest of the country is suffering just as bad, with California only now threatening to show its full potential for disaster. We all put our boots on, lace them up, stuff down the ever increasingly bland camp food that tastes more and more like last nights', and warn others about the complacency, fatigue, and homesick distraction that is really affecting us.

(A lone firefighter attempts to share sunsent with a distant loved one)