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Kurtz in the desert, the hike, and a
hard-core introduction
SAN
DIEGO COUNTY — Today
is my first day at the fire station.
"Have you met Captain Loftus yet?" someone asks me. I haven't.
"He's hard-core, man. Prepare to get your attitude adjusted."
Captain
Loftus is my own personal Kurtz — the Heart of Darkness in
San Diego. Everyone talks about him, and eventually I will meet
him. He is the fire station captain at Potrero, a small desert
town in the rugged border country of rural San Diego County.
Our
fire station and other CDF stations like it have fire and 911
responsibility for a large part of the San Diego backwoods. We
work for the State of California, and our job is to provide emergency
services to the places that no one else will.
"He
won't admit it," the firefighter says, "but the Captain knows
everything there is to know about fire."
To
be honest, I am a little scared. The last week has been boring:
a series of mandatory training classes in the interim between
completing the highly structured fire academy and starting at
the station. Haz-Mat, confined space rescue, CPR, communicable
diseases — a dizzying sequence of sleep-inducing education.
After
a week, I have become a little complacent. My body is getting
weaker.
In
the academy, we hiked every morning. By Friday of the second week,
I felt strong and ready for the fire season ahead of me. But the
series of parties and social events that followed my graduation
from the academy and the subsequent lack of exercise have taken
their toll.
"At
this station, you gotta study every day from 5 to 7 p.m. That's
the rule," the senior firefighter explains. "I'm just telling
you because one time we didn't study, and Captain Loftus took
us to Potrero Peak and made us do hose lays until 9 at night.
He's hard-core, man."
Hard-core
is CDF's trademark. The department practices an aggressive, specialized
style of fire suppression. They hit fires hard and they hit them
fast. The standard dispatch to a vegetation fire in San Diego
is 5 fire engines, three 20-person handcrews, and a multitude
of helicopters and other aircraft.
This
morning is my first day on duty. Today I can fight fire, today
I can ride on the fire engine, today I am a real, practicing CDF
Firefighter. Unfortunately, I have no engine — it has gone
on a fire.
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'I don't know what you normally look like,
but you look a little pale.'
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The
Pines Fire started Monday afternoon. By Wednesday morning, the
fire has become several thousand acres in size (49,000 acres at
last count) and both the Potrero engines are assigned to the fire,
probably to do structure protection. So instead, I am sent to
Dulzura, a little town a few miles up the road from Potrero. Both
are alongside Highway 94, a one-lane road that intersects the
Mexican-American border in Tecate, a Mexican border town famous
for its cheap cerveza.
I
am greeted by a very friendly Captain O'Neal and a handful of
firefighters, some of whom I know. After breakfast, those of us
coming on shift must go for a hike.
"Now,
I don't know in how good shape you're in," Captain O'Neal cautions
us. "I don't want you to overexert yourself on this hike, so just
work at a pace you are comfortable with."
I
look at the hose packs lying on the shelf. "They aren't that heavy,"
I think to myself. Should I take one? One of the other experienced
firefighters does. I lift the pack and it feels lighter than I
expect, probably 45 pounds. "Oh,
what the hell," I say aloud as I put the pack on my back.
The
pack contains 300 feet of 1.5-inch hose, twice as much as I have
ever carried. I find walking easy on level ground, but strenuous
on an incline. The entire hike is on an incline, mostly a large,
uphill jaunt. I keep right on the heels of the leader through
most of the hike.
My
legs feel surprisingly stout, but on the backside of the second
hill, I feel a little woozy. I find myself panting and breathing
too hard to be on an easy section. I can feel my heart straining.
OK, time to take a break. After a little while, I take my pulse:
156 beats per minute, a little fast. I get up and manage another
hill, then take another break. This time I decide to hand my pack
to Drew, the only one among us without a pack. I unzip my fire
shirt and get up, feeling much better.
Back
at the station, Captain O'Neal stops in front of me, "You okay?"
"Yeah,
I'm fine," I say, trying to recover. "Why?"
"Well,
I don't know what you normally look like, but you look a little
pale."
I
go to the bathroom and look in the mirror. Whoa, I am pale. "Geez,
that's not a good sign," I say aloud, staring at myself in the
mirror.
Back
outside, I pop open another Gatorade. One of the firefighters,
an old Potrero veteran, looks at me, "Yeah man, Potrero Peak,
that's hike's a bitch, a real ass-kicker. It's like this one,
but harder. So, have you met Captain Loftus yet?"
"No,"
I say. "Am I supposed to be scared?"
The
firefighter looks down at me. "Are you kidding, man? Captain Loftus
is the best captain out there. You'll have a blast working with
him."
"You
think so?" I ask, puzzled.
"Definitely,"
he says, smiling. "Captain Loftus is hard-core."
—Matt
Mireles
The smoke column of the Pines Fire, over 50 miles away
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