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YELLOWSTONE FIRES
Words and Images by Dan Morrison

arrive a Huckleberry Base Camp Huck Base. Its August 31, and to date, the 13 major fires burning in the Greater Yellowstone Area Command have consumed 681,561 acres, and 8,461 people are fighting the blaze, which so far has cost the taxpayers $53.4 million. The weather is hot and dry, the winds unpredictable but generally strong in the afternoon. Fire conditions are extreme. Earlier, at Jackson Hole, Wyoming, I had asked Ed Waldapfel, a Forest Service information officer, how long the ordeal would continue. He answered candidly: Itll burn until the first snowfall, maybe this week, maybe next month. We just dont know. Now, before moving up to the fire line, I must report to Fire Information Officer Dennis Neill and have my gear inspected. None of it is acceptable. No, you cant wear jeans and a sweatshirt, he says. And those gloves arent regulation. Those boots dont look too

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and that was it. The bear ate him. So tell me, I ask Jim, just what do we do if we meet face-to-face with a grizzly? Well, Ive got this can of bear mace strapped to my waist. Its active ingredient is cayenne pepper. He grins. But in my opinion all youd be doing would be seasoning yourself before the grizz had you for lunch. We continue to follow the trail for over an hour. Eventually we come upon a high-tension powerline pole standing at 45-degree angle. Its wires are snapped and frayed, lying inert in the black ashes covering the ground. This is where it started, Jim explains. The winds knocked that tree across the lines and they snapped, sending a shower of sparks in all directions. Within a few seconds we had a forest fire. The wind is malevolent her, the prime mover in the fire. The weather forecast calls for more, with gusts up to 50 mph. Jim and I hike back out of the smoking woods and down to Huck Base. Im supposed to catch a ride on a Chinook helicopter with two other photographers: a freelancer out of New York and a wire service shooter from Denver. Were to be given a media tour that will allow us to get some overall aerials. We wait at the helipad for an hour, then receive a radio message informing us the Chinook has been diverted elsewhere. A Huey 212 will be sent in its place. Meanwhile, a temperature inversion has moved in, causing smoke to descent upon the valley like a brown wool blanket. Then we hear the Huey is down with mechanical problems, and now, due to limited visibility caused by the smoke, no aircraft will be flying all afternoon. The others decide to return to Huck Base, but Im in the middle of a discussion about grizzly bears with Scott Cary, a member of a helitac crew out of Anchorage, so I decide to hang out at the helipad for a while. Scott works in the Alaskan bush, and he knows about bears. Hes not at all happy with environmentalists who have been demanding that forest service workers not be allowed to carry mace since cayenne pepper might be offensive to the animal. Hell, says Scott, thats the point. Its supposed to be offensive. Apparently a few of the helicopter crews have decided to fly in spite of the smoke. As Im talking to Scott, a Chinook come in to gather supplies to take out to the spike camps. Then a Bell Long Ranger 206 comes in to pick up a package for the Bailey Spike Camp. Theres an empty seat, and the pilot reluctantly agrees to let me hitch a ride. We arrive at Bailey Spike about 4 p.m. The smoke is so thick the sun is barely visible. I introduce myself to Ivan Cupp, camp supervisor. Who gave you permission to come here? he wants to know. Dennis Neill said it would be okay. Its only a half-lie. Neill had said he would try to find a spike camp willing to put up with me. Well, okay, I guess. Welcome to Bailey Spike. You can photograph anything you like. But let me caution you to please ask the Apaches permission before you take their picture. Some of them are real sensitive about being photographed. Follow me and Ill show you where to lay your bedroll. Living arrangements for firefighters break down to three basic categories: a base camp, a spike camp and a coyote camp. A base camp is semi-civilization. Even though its a temporary setup, there are showers, a mess tent with three hot meals a day, a commissary, telephones the basic necessities and even a few minor luxuries. A spike camp is out in the boonies, within walking distance of the fire, primitive, and even minor luxuries are non-existent. Weve got showers here, but only for the women, explains Cupp. I think thats discriminatory, but unfortunately necessary. The biggest danger of a grizzly attack is due to the scent of a menstruating woman, so personal hygiene is important for the females. A coyote camp is nothing more than an area the firefighters have cleared a safe distance from the flames. There, they throw down their sleeping bags, often within several yards of the blaze.

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Darkness arrives early. I check out 12 yards of black plastic from the supply tent, tie it to a tree, tuck my sleeping bag inside and crawl into my spikecamp condo. As Im slipping in and out of sleep, Ivan wakes me to explain Ive failed basic woodsmanship by tying my makeshift tent to a snag a dead tree that will possibly fall on me in the middle of the night. Im too tired to get up to redo my sleeping arrangements. Ivan is disgusted with my ignorant city ways but apparently decides not to press the point. Listen, Ivan lectures, if you hear three short blasts on the air horn, grab your gear and get down to the meadow as quick as you can. Three blasts means were either about to be overrun by the fire or weve got a grizzly in camp. I sleep fitfully. At odd intervals, trees on the hillside just across the meadow candle, bursting into flames with a loud faroosh! and lighting up the sky. At 5 a.m., I awaken to someone yelling Aiyiyi! Come on! Lets get it! The next thing I notice is my nose is frozen. The thing about trying to sleep on the ground at 7,000 feet is it can be above 90 degrees in the evening when you go to sleep and below freezing in the morning when you wake up. The thermometer reads 30. I stumble out of my sleeping bag, pull on my boots and stagger over to the huge

Yellowstone Firefighters firefighters on On aa mission Mission

Aw, come on, I protest, these are expensive leather work boots. Theyve even got steel toes. Steel toes? he says. I once worked a fire over in Oregon. Had a new crew. Dont know where they got their boots, but they had steel toes in them. Seven of my men stepping in a hot spot, and by the time they got out of it those steel toes had roasted their feet. Crippled all of them.

The smoke for the forest fire is so thick everyone is coughing, spitting on the ground. I ask Ivan what the long-term effects of breathing all this smoke are. Well, they say its equivalent to smoking two packs a day.
Neill marches me over to supply and soon Im outfitted like the firefighter: yellow hard hat, goggles, leather gloves, yellow Nomex shirt (Nomex is a patented fire-resistant fabric), green cotton trousers, yellow sleeping bag and a foam ground pad. Ive got a web belt around my waist with two plastic canteens, along with a fire shelter. The shelter deserves special attention. Its used as a last resort, when the firefighter has no route of escape from the approaching flames and must the fire actually pass over his body. The firefighter wraps himself in the shelter, a thin metallic blanket, creating a protective cocoon. Many firefighters have this piece of gear to thank for their lives. The boots are still a problem. Supply doesnt carry them because, of course, real firefighters bring their own. But an

impromptu commissary has been set up in the camp by an entrepreneurial couple out of Jackson. The store offers a few items otherwise unavailable to the men. After trying on several boots, I finally select a $95 pair that looks suspiciously similar to a $40 set I recently owned. Something to do with supply and demand, I suspect. The firefighters departed camp early this morning and have been gone for hours, but Jim Chard, a camp supervisor, offers to guide me out to the source of this part of the Yellowstone inferno the Huck Fire. It started August 20, when 50-mph winds blew a tree across power lines. In 11 days, the Huck Fire has burned 46,581 acres and has run up a bill of nearly $2.6 million. Thirty-six crews (a crew consists of 20 people) including 10 Army crews and 198 overhead people are fighting it, mostly to no avail. Jim and I set off. The trail leads up the hill and into the charred forest. Weve only been walking for a few minutes when Jim stops, and kneeling down, inspects the dusty footpath. Deer tracks. After a few more yards, he stops again. Well look at this, he says, fresh bear tracks. Bear tracks? I ask nervously. What kind of bear? I had been warned earlier to be especially alert for grizzly. Dont worry, its only a black bear. Theyre small. The word small can be a relative thing. A male black bear can weigh as much as 600 pounds., and although according to my fact book theyre less carnivorous and less aggressive than the grizzly, I think they probably deserve wide berth. Bears are a subject of great interest to me. Every story Ive ever been told about a grizz ends with

Working the daily grind

It has been a long day for these firefighters