26/05/2021
Read the blurb below this image.
It describes everyone of us, it describes a moment we have all experienced... and if you are not a wildland firefighter then this will give you an insight into the headspace that we find ourselves in at times during a wildfire incident.
Thank you to Reinard Geldenhuys for sharing this.
I know this face. I’ve seen it many, many times in my life. I’ve worn it many, many times myself. It is the face of someone losing a battle.
This is the face of an American forest firefighter (photographer unknown), but it could be anywhere in North America, Europe or Australia. It could also be the face of a woman firefighter, too. Perhaps a few of you have worn it at times. If you have, you will understand what it truly means to lose a battle.
This is a face at the end of a very long day — perhaps an 18-hour shift. You are on your way back to base camp now. You are completely drained. Exhausted. Your muscles burn. Your lungs, your ears, your eyes, filled with soot. Your tears, the phlegm in your throat, the snot in your nose — all black.
Today, you managed to keep from getting injured by falling rootless trees, rock slides and helicopter rotor blades. You kept hot embers from finding their way into your boots, your gloves, and down your collar. You barely kept hydrated in the 35 degree heat. You came this close to losing an eye. But you kept your brothers’ and sisters’ backs in sight at all times.
Somehow, you kept going.
Tonight, at base camp, the cook will fill your plate to overflowing with protein — pork chops, steak, chicken — but no salad, no dessert, maybe canned fruit.
And, afterwards, you will immediately crawl into your sleeping bag without un******ng and amid a camp full of snoring, you will crash.
Tonight, you may even have a chance to go home and to the luxury of sleeping in your own bed. Perhaps you will have someone you love run a bath for you, because right now, you can barely stand for a shower. Maybe they’ll even Q-tip the soot out of your ears, your eyes, your nose for you. Triple shampoo the leaves and sticks out of your hair.
But the smell never leaves you. It will remain forever. Trust me.
You will have dreams, nightmares. You might jerk awake as you find yourself falling, always falling. Your ears scream like turbine engines, helicopter blades and water pumps. The voices of your crew mates shouting and the radio crackle. You will reply to them in your sleep. “Over.”
Today, you lost a fight. The enemy got the better of you.
But tomorrow, at five am, you will be there in chow line — like everyone else — waiting for your four eggs, piles of bacon and endless toast and coffee. Your calf muscles, your shoulders, your back, screaming in agony. Turbine engines spooling up at the helipad once more.
Right now, you are scheming. Planning. Waiting to get even.
And you will. Because losing one battle does not mean losing a war.
Here’s to those unsung women and men you rarely hear about until it’s too late. Those who quietly go about their chaotic jobs so you can breathe easily at night.
They are your sons and daughters. The ones who refuse to lose.
Here’s to winning. And coming home in one piece.
Be careful with your fires. Be safe.
- “Fearless” Frederick Lepine, Helitak Firefighter & Air Attack Officer (Ret.), 1977-95, Govt of the Northwest Territories, Canada.
