LITTLE SMOKEY RESCUED BY CALFIRE FIREFIGHTER




cal fire firefighter adam dean holding smokey jr.






rescued from the moon fire



PROTECTING HUMAN LIFE DURING WILDFIRE SEASON..

On July 7, the death toll to our nation’s wildland firefighters reached that of last year’s entire wildfire season. In 2007, a total of nine firefighters died in the line of duty. Even with our rigorous training and safety standards, nine have already died this year and it is still early in the 2008 wildfire season. As the District Manager of the Bureau of Land Management (BLM) Idaho Falls District, I want to share my perspective on how all of us can prevent fire and help make firefighting efforts safer for everyone.

In my position, I am responsible for a wildfire management organization of 250 fireline-qualified men and women. An important point to keep in mind is that protection of human life is always my number one priority, followed by the protection of property and critical natural resources, such as sage-grouse habitat.

Central and eastern Idaho interagency wildland firefighters respond to approximately 230 wildfires per year. In nearly one-half of instances, it is an avoidable human act of carelessness that causes the wildfire blazes and puts our firefighters and others in dangerous situations. I challenge each and every citizen to be especially cautious with fire this summer. Preventing wildfire is the very best way to ensure the safety of our firefighters and our citizens.

Let me also encourage you to get involved and assist your local community. You can help by clarifying and refining your community’s priorities for protection of life, property and critical infrastructure in the Wildland Urban Interface. If you live near public lands, create survivable space. You can also volunteer with your local fire department or participate with your county officials when they are planning community wildfire protection. Citizen input is desired and invaluable.

My staff of land managers and 250 professional firefighters, along with the cooperating ranching community throughout central and eastern Idaho, all share a common interest in ensuring a safe and effective firefighting operation, particularly where fire crosses public and private land boundaries.

In a number of cases, a fire has been kept small or put out by ranchers, farmers or other local citizens who are working on the scene before any fire department or wildfire crews arrive. If you are responding to a fire, I simply ask that you stop and coordinate with any of the crews when they get there. Once communication is established, both parties can work together to coordinate resources and create an efficient and safe fire suppression plan.

While we want to prevent careless human-caused wildland fires, they should not be confused with spring/fall prescribed burns or those we sometimes employ as a management tool for ecosystem enhancement. Due to the decline in health of sage-grouse habitat and the potential listing of the bird as a threatened species under the Endangered Species Act, my fuels and fire program managers and staff have dedicated additional effort in prioritizing project work based on the most current field data collections and mapping images. Our fire management plans are guided by sage-grouse habitat restoration and are reflected in our on-the-ground efforts.

Be aware that when BLM firefighters are managing any fire – a wildfire, a prescribed fire or a fire for ecosystem enhancement – they are legally accountable and responsible for everyone working on the incident, including citizens.

Nine people this year will not be going home to their families and friends. Let’s keep these fallen heroes – and those lost in previous years – in our hearts as we tackle another long, difficult wildfire season across central and eastern Idaho and across our nation. As we do this, let’s do everything we can to help prevent wildland fires and protect our public lands and resources.

WE LOST ANOTHER BROTHER!
FEATHER RIVER HOTSHOT STEVEN E. ZINN

OROVILLE — A firefighter assigned to the Butte Lightning Complex was killed Sunday when he lost control of his motorcycle on the transition ramp from Highway 149 to southbound Highway 70.



He was identified as Chico resident Steven E. Zinn, 27, a member of the Feather River Hotshots, operating out of the Feather River Ranger District office in Oroville.



Zinn was a member of a Type 1 crew — often the first to reach a wildfire and trained to rappel or parachute into fire zones if needed.



Officials said Zinn had been with the district for nine years. He was reportedly off-duty at the time of the accident. Witnesses told the California Highway Patrol Zinn was traveling south on the southbound onramp to Highway 70 at a high rate of speed and passing other vehicles when he lost control on a curve at 2:15 a.m.



He was reportedly ejected from the motorcycle and slid several hundred feet before coming to rest in the roadway.



Zinn was wearing dark clothing and was struck by two oncoming cars whose drivers failed to see him in the roadway.



The CHP said Zinn was wearing a helmet, but suffered fatal upper body injuries from being struck by the vehicles.



According to a friend, Zinn was a 1999 graduate of Pleasant Valley High, where he played football.



He reportedly joined the fire service soon after graduation.



"He was a highly valued crew member of our Feather River Hotshots and a friend to many.

I know that you will keep Steven, his family

Story of the Death of a Firefighter
One Foot in the Black is a FICTIONAL story about a boy growing up with an abusive father in Michigan who comes to California to be a firefighter. He ends up at L.A. County Helitak Camp 8. His role model and Captain is killed in a burnover while the crew is fighting a massive fire in Central California. Here are a few pages of excerpts. I hope you enjoy this – Kurt Kamm ©

Prologue
A year ago, I saw a man go up in flames. Our helitak crew was fighting the Pozo Fire in the Los Padres National Forest in Central California. That morning, we dropped onto a remote ridge on Black Mountain. Our job was to cut a control line along the flank of the fire burning in the valley below. We struggled to clear a three-foot wide break through thick brush on the side of the mountain.
Without warning, the wind changed direction and a firestorm with a ninety-foot wall of flames roared up the canyon at us. In a heartbeat, the oxygen was gone, hot smoke and ash filled the air, and we couldn’t breathe. Our entire crew was caught off guard.
It was every firefighter’s nightmare. The heat was staggering. The brush was an inferno. Trees weren’t burning, they were exploding. Trapped on rugged, steep terrain, we had no time to deploy our fire shelters. Our only escape was to climb back up the fireline to our safe zone. We shouted warnings, dropped tools and daypacks and clawed our way up the side of the canyon.
We had sixty seconds to escape the firestorm, which was nearly upon us. I felt the radiant heat on my neck and wrists, and I knew I would die from breathing superheated air before I burned to death. I looked back and saw TB, our Captain, for a few seconds before he disappeared behind the wall of fire. If he cried out, I couldn’t hear him. The roar of the blaze was deafening. Jake, Luis, and everyone else in the crew made it to the safe zone. TB perished.
In a state of shock and anguish, we were pulled off the fireline and airlifted back to the incident command post. We received medical treatment and were sent back to Los Angeles. Our physical injuries were minor, but each of us struggled to cope with the death of our Captain. It hit me hardest because TB was my mentor, my substitute father.
We went out on stress leave and the Los Angeles County Fire Department sent us to see their psychiatrist for a Critical Incident Stress Debriefing.
Fighting a wildland fire is dangerous business and entrapment is always possible. At least once in every firefighter’s life he fights for survival and thinks the unthinkable. The Pozo Fire, one for the record books, started July 23, 2001 and burned 149,000 acres. It occurred the year after I came to California to escape a lifetime of abuse and neglect from my real father. My struggle to survive his mistreatment continued long after I recovered from the events on Black Mountain.

Chapter 24
(Scene of the Burnover)
From the air, we looked down on a landscape of charred trees and earth. The mountainsides were scorched. Fires dotted the canyons where snags still burned after the flames had passed. A few remaining pockets of green and brown showed life in deep creases of the land.
The skids of the helo barely touched ground and dropped nine of us on a rocky plateau near the ridge on Black Mountain. We unloaded our daypacks, tools, food and water, and the chainsaw. The area was just big enough for a staging point for our limited supplies. We stood at the top of a rugged canyon and watched the underside of the helo lift away. Looking down, we saw Pine, Oak, Sumac, Manzanita, chaparral and scrub brush growing together in a dense maze. Rocky outcrops interrupted the steep slope into the valley.
It was still morning. A light breeze blew ash across the side of the mountain. A plume of gray smoke reached thousands of feet into the Central California sky. From our vantage point, the massive Pozo Fire was a sobering sight, burning across mountains and through canyons. It moved along the floor of the valley below in our direction, consuming everything in its path. Bears, coyotes, deer, squirrels, lizards, snakes and all manner of wildlife in the Las Padres fought for life, fleeing the fire and smoke. Fish would be poached in their streams as the flames passed over. Across the valley, crews were cutting line with a D-6. It would be easier work down there, on flat ground, with a bulldozer to scrape out a wide firebreak.
*****************
Our radios began to crackle. The lookout across the canyon warned us, “The fire has turned up slope, move out, move up to the safe zone!” Up the line, Dozer and Art began calling on the squirrel channel, “Get out!”
Puffs of smoke and fingers of fire were now clearly visible below. A rush of fear and disorientation washed away my lethargy. I realized the entire side of the mountain had been preheated and was about to explode into flames. Trying to regain my composure, I shouted to TB, Jake and Red Eye below me, “Move out! Safe zone! Safe zone!” Where were they? I couldn’t see them. My first thought was to get down to them, but they had radios. They would know what they had to do. I felt a spike of fear, a surge of adrenaline, which started in my stomach and rushed through my body. It seemed like forever until I caught sight of Jake and Red Eye emerging from the brush, Jake was carrying the Stihl. They were coming up. Why did Jake still have the saw? Where was TB?

Chapter 30
(The Captain’s Ashes are Dropped from a Helicopter)
The flight to Malibu lasted fifteen minutes. As we flew over the Santa Monica Mountains, I looked down at the chaparral and coastal sage scrub. The whole area was a fire waiting to happen. Some days the sky was hazy, some days it was brown with dirt and pollution. Today the air was clear. As we approached the coastline, the horizon was as sharp as a knife’s edge. To our left, the Palos Verdes Peninsula surrounded the South Bay of Los Angeles. Ahead of us, Catalina Island rose up out of the Pacific Ocean. To our right, we could see the distant Channel Islands near Santa Barbara. The ocean reflected the sunlight in glistening patches of silver.
Tilting to one side, the Bird made a wide arc a quarter mile offshore then descended and hovered at five hundred feet. I released my harness and moved to slide the door open. A rush of cooler air filled the cabin, mixed with the faint odor of hydraulic oil and exhaust. The roar of the rotors was deafening. I motioned to Ted, indicating that he should take my place by the door, near Jill. He shook his head and held up the urn. I knelt on the floor in front of the open door and loosened Jill’s safety harness to allow her to lean forward. Ted handed me the urn and I took off the top. Inside, I saw grey and white ashes and bits of sand stuck together. I was looking at TB.
I passed the urn to Jill. She clasped it, looked at her daughters and, tears streaming down her face, leaned toward the open door. Her lips moved but I couldn’t hear what she was saying. She bent as far as the harness would allow and spilled the contents of the urn into the air. The rotor downdraft pushed most of the small cloud of dust and ashes that were once her husband toward the water.
As I crouched by the corner of the open door, bits of TB’s remains blew back into my face. Grit flew into my eyes and mouth. I ran my tongue over my lips.

Chapter 31
(Memorial at Santa Barbara Bowl)
Jerry Dunham stepped down to the table next to Tom’s picture. Jill, Jenna, Jean, and Ted came forward. Jerry handed the helmet and Tom’s badge to Jill. He embraced her, bent down and held each of the girls. He shook hands and embraced Ted. In a moment of absolute silence in the Bowl, Jerry Dunham rang the fire bell. He rang it once. Its clear sound echoed into the surrounding hills and disappeared.
As the sound of the bell died, it was replaced by the unmistakable noise of helicopters. Four thousand people looked up to see four L.A. County Firebirds and two CDF Super Hueys come over the mountain ridge behind the Bowl in the Missing Man Formation and fly across the sky into the fog.

Chapter 32
(After the Investigation into the Burnover)
A glass case on the wall in the hallway was half-full of names on parchment paper. Camp 2, headquarters for the L.A. County wildland camps, was preparing a list of every FSA hired by other fire departments. There must have been a hundred names. In another case, one with a black background, a smaller list had the names of L.A. County Firefighters who lost their lives in the line-of-duty. It began with 1929. We stood and looked at that page, reading to ourselves. Clyde Lockhart, Peter Carter, Stanley Sherrill. Each of these men once had a life, a history, but their names were now meaningless. Salvador Ruezga, Joseph Hughes, Jr., Philip Rockey. Soon Tom Bratton’s name would be up there, and one day some prick-head like me would be reading this list, and would have no idea who Tom Bratton was or what he meant to those who knew him. By that time, his file would be buried somewhere in the basement of County Fire Headquarters and he would be forgotten. We stood in silence. It was all so unfair.
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If you want the book, you can buy it online from the Wildland Firefighter Foundation store– http://wffoundation.org (they get the profits), or from Amazon.
My website www.kurtkamm.com has more information
I hope you enjoy this – Kurt Kamm

PICTURED ABOVE IS HOTSHOT STEVE WILLIAMSON OF THE BLACK MESA HOTSHOTS..FORMALLY THE HEBER HOTSHOTS!

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