I got the call
When a fire sprung up in the Piute Mountains southwest of Lake Isabella, I began to have hope the long-awaited phone call, summoning me to a Fire Camp, was imminent. Even though the Peak Fire was on BLM property, it would be supported by the Sequoia National Forest (SQF) so I would be working under my U.S. Forest Service contract.
During the winter months, the folks who administer and oversee our contracts made some improvements in their computerized system. As is often the case, a few bugs always seem to surface when the system goes to work.
Before my phone rang with an invite to a fire, Hoss Mcnutt called. “I just got called for the Peak Fire. When I got my assignment sheet, you’re listed at the bottom as having declined the assignment.”
“What? How can that be? I’ve never even talked to anyone.”
I made a quick phone call to the dispatch office. As I began to explain my grave concern and ask what was going on, she interrupted me. “We’re getting some strange reports from the new system.”
“No kidding. How can I show as having declined to accept assignment to a fire, if I’ve never been called?” “I’ll let you talk to my supervisor.”
After a brief conversation with the supervisor, who was sympathetic to my predicament, he confirmed I was indeed a Type I Pickup. I was in fact sitting at home, and I was prepared for assignment. “I’m sorry Brent. There are no orders for Type I Pickups right now, but new orders are continually coming in.”
When we’re issued our contracts, a Dispatch Priority List is created. The DPL with my name has Bill Bruno in the No. 1 spot, and I’m No. 2. When Bill gets called, I should be next. I was also aware Bill was on his way home from his first assignment on a different fire. He’d told me he was going to go decline any offers for a few days, so I’d be the next driver called.
I was antsy as I waited. Patience is definitely not one of my strong features. Suddenly I received a oneword text from Bill, “Standby…”.
Before I could figure out what he meant, my phone rang. It was the supervisor from the dispatch office. “Is your one-ton pickup available for the Peak Fire?” Finally, I was being dispatched. “Yes, I can be there by 9 a.m. tomorrow. (Thursday, 7/22/21).”
The rest of Wednesday was spent in final preparations, loading everything into the trailer and the rear seat of my truck. Of course, with a planned 6:30 a.m. departure I was awake by 4:30.
I rolled down the driveway at 6:20 a.m., on my way at last. I planned to go to Bakersfield, then wind my way up the Kern Canyon on 178. Mcnutt was ahead of me, also on his way to the Peak Fire. Hoss called. “Don’t go into Bakersfield. Every exit is closed. I can’t get off the 99 until Los Angeles.” Obviously, it wasn’t quite that bad. Knowing the problem I took James Road across to Union, and followed Union south to 178.
In a few moments I was swinging into the curves of the Kern Canyon. The massive chunks of boulder sticking out from the canyon walls urged me to crowd the centerline. I didn’t want to scratch any “beauty marks” on the side of my trailer. However, the trailer and I arrived unscathed and unscratched, at Fire Camp at 8:59 a.m.
The rest of Thursday we sat. Fire Camp wasn’t even set up and operating yet. Our Check-in process, where one used to walk up to a table and speak to a real live human being, or a reasonable facsimile thereof, was now entirely digital.
Read a QR Code, open an app, check in by answering 41 questions. Easy-peasy. Not.
Friday morning I was up at 5 a.m., started my generator and made a pot of coffee. I poured my cup full, and looked for someone to use the rest. His name was Duly and I learned he was the Division M Supervisor. Division M has been the most active portion of the fire.
Later that morning I got a quick and easy run from Camp to the Kern Ranger Station in Kernville with a radio repeater destined for a fire in Idaho.
Later in the afternoon, I was asked to take three fold-a-tanks to Drop Point 20 as soon as possible. My contact was to be “Division Mike,” the supervisor of Division M who drank my coffee earlier in the morning.
Thirty-two miles and 7,000 vertical feet later, I arrived at DP20. The final six miles were a steep and twisty four-wheel-drive dirt road. When I arrived, nobody was there to tell me where to put the tanks, nor to sign my paperwork.
I picked up my radio. “Division Mike, or Mike Trainee. This is Ground Support Driver Echo Thirty-one.”
“Ground Support, this is Mike Trainee.”
“I’ve got your fold-a-tanks and I’m at Drop Point 20.”
“I’ll be right there.”
When the tanks were on the ground I said, “Tell Duly his Coffee Vendor said Hi.”
“Hey, are YOU the guy that gave Duly the coffee this morning? Man he rubbed my nose in the fact he already had his coffee.”
I was pleased Duly had shared his good fortune with his trainee. My load delivered, I eased off the scorched mountain, down through the burn, and back to Fire Camp. It wasn’t a huge trip mileage-wise at 65 miles, but I left camp at 3:44 and shut my engine down in camp again at 7:10 p.m. I got to see some interesting country, badly burned of course, but interesting nonetheless.