Firing Highway 33

From Nevada Dust To Highway 33, Remembering The Fires, The Chaos, And The Legend Who Led Them Through It All.

Written By: Greg Keller, Former Superintendent of the Eldorado & Modoc Hotshots

Firing Highway 33 with the General

The beginnings of this firing show had started almost a month before the day of my story on a dusty road in a barren stretch of Nevada that no one ever cared about or will ever care about again, unless there’s another fire there. On this day the General was not his usual cheery self because almost every other Hotshot Crew in the state had gone to Montana. Our two crews, however, were stuck in the beautiful chaparral country of the Carson BLM District, knowing full well that all the other R-5 crews were in Montana. But things weren’t too bad, we’d had a seventeen day run, averaging eighteen to nineteen hour days (the R-5 crews came home after about three days).

It was really the perfect scenario, a new fire every day or so, not much line construction, a lot of firing. We made a lot of money, we were well fed (this made the General very happy), and for the most part, the crews were having a good time (except for the entire seventeen day run there were no showers). I found the General needed something more than a shower, he needed a telephone. You see the General was courting, so we seemed to stop at every available phone booth. After we were released, the crews headed home and what they thought would at least be a good night’s sleep. But the phone rang about 2300 that night, dispatchers like to call at 2300, and we were on the road again. As usual, we were strike teaming with the General.

We headed to the wonderful country around Lake Isabella at Bod Fish. There wasn’t much firing on this one, just a lot of line cutting in steep terrain with heavy fuels and plenty of poison oak. From there we headed to Banning and built a line that basically started nowhere and ended nowhere (but that is a story for another time). After what amounted to a double shift, I had the mistaken idea that some sleep was in order. After only a few hours of sleep, I was rudely awakened by the General. It was 0200 and he had that look. “Let’s go” he said, “there’s a big fire in Wheeler Gorge”. Somehow he knew this was the one he had been waiting for.

After a long drive we pulled into Ojai. It was still dark and the fire was cranking. The General was warming up. There was a camp full of kids that needed to be evacuated. While I worried over the evacuation process and how to move a couple of hundred kids to the local high school, the General worried over finding a good map and a place to start firing from. And he worried about one other small item on his agenda. How long could he fire before he had to leave for his wedding? The General was in a state of bliss, a big firing show and getting married all at the same time. If he had had a C-phone in those days we would have been able to devote all out time to fighting fire. As it was, we all kept our eyes open for a phone booth. When one was found, the General would dutifully phone home. It seemed he was trying to renegotiate the date until after the firing show. I was never sure if found a map, but we started firing behind an avocado grove.

By the time the kids were all transported and I tied in with the General, he was running low on fuel. “Damn hard to fire with only fussees”, he said. So I headed to town to try and find a gas station with diesel fuel at 0 dark thirty. It was an interesting evening; fire seemed to be burning everywhere, an engine foreman walked around in a daze, his crew worked on without him. The confusion seemed wide spread, even the General appeared to hesitate. There were no shortages of ideas or people giving them and fortunately some time before noon a briefing of sorts was given. With a plan in the works westarted firing behind the residences of Ojai. We used a portable pump to knock down hotspots, going from one swimming pool to the next. It was very hot that day and the pools looked really inviting.

And speaking of inviting, a woman invited the General and myself into her home and made some ice cold lemonade. The General asked if he could use the rest room and was shown the way down the hall. Back in the kitchen the ice cold lemonade was done and I waited for the General to finish his business, when the most amazing sound I had ever heard came from the direction of the bathroom. The woman had a stunned look on her face when the General reappeared looking pleased with himself, took the cold drink and went out the door. She could probably hear him laughing over the sound of the saws as we cut through her backyard fence.

I don’t recall all the events of the next several days, except that we didn’t cut much line and we fired a lot of country. It was during this period of time that the General started watching his watch. It almost seemed he was obsessed with what time it was. Well he walks up to me and his foreman and says, “I’ve got to go. If I leave now I can just make the wedding”. So for a moment we stood and watched him drive away, only to see him return a day later. And that’s how the General ended up spending his honeymoon with me. It started a tradition in which I spent nine of the next ten anniversaries with the General, usually involved in a good firing operation. The one thing I do remember is the IC being pretty damned mad when he saw us in camp and wanted to know what was up. The General had to explain that the crew had to eat sometime. With instructions from the IC, we headed back out, doing our best effort to institute portal to portal pay. Even on this fire there were some bean counters and when they got wind of the time we were turning in, the word went out to get our crews back to camp for some rest.

Instead of going back to Soul Camp we headed in to Carpenteria and worked out of there for several days. As the posse closed in we headed over the mountains and stayed at Pendola for a day. Finally running out of tricks and drivers that could keep their eyes open; we headed back to Soul Camp and went off the clock. When the sun came up the crews were more or less rested and we attended a real briefing and got a map with a plan. Fire Highway 33!

It was a hot day with favorable conditions and a mild wind at our backs. The General had a certain look; we were going to make the evening news, one way or another. We started out fast (as the General usually does) using fussees, drip torches, very pistols and even a torch in the air. I’ve seen him fire fast when holders could barely hold on. But today he fired fast, just because. We fired miles of road, the crews feet were burning from the heat of the pavement. This time the holders had to struggle just to keep up, and there weren’t even any spots to deal with. As the day progressed and there wasn’t too much holding to be done, the General had me scout out in front a ways to check the lay of the land. I encountered a strike team of state engines and wondered about the wisdom of deploying in front of a firing show but the attitude of the strike team leader made me forget my concern in a hurry. In a gruff and impatient manner he wanted to know who was in charge. I pointed to the approaching smoke column and said the firing boss was at the base of that column and that it was going to get pretty hot in a few minutes. There was no verbal reply; you could see the disdain on his face. I saw him a little while later. The engines in his strike team had drooping red lights, blistered decals on the doors and melted tail light lenses. All I said to him was, “you should have moved your trucks.” The General came by and the two of them had a lively discussion. I don’t recall seeing either the strike team leader or his strike team again. The lunch hour found us at a small road side store. Sack lunches were going down good with cold sodas. More 25mm ammo was being pulled from the trucks, drip torches were topped off and shirts were stuffed with fussees. We were a grim and dirty bunch but we all had a certain look in our eyes that said, Damn, it just doesn’t get any better than this.”

Then a surprise radio call from Operations to the General got everyone’s attention. A “Firing Specialist” was due any minute to take over the firing show. Well after several days of carrying out one of the biggest firing shows in Forest Service history, a “Firing Specialist” was just about the last thing we needed. But to everyone’s surprise, the General responded courteously to Ops. And sure enough before we got started up again, a truck appeared. Three guys step out with their round metal hard hats and Filson vests. One was different than the rest. He had a certain swagger to his step. This was the “Firing Specialist.” He eyed the General and knew immediately who he was. He walked over with a confident look in his eye, doing his best John Wayne. It was like two gun slingers meeting at high noon in the middle of Highway 33. The General said in a pleasant voice, “we were just getting ready to fire up again, what can we do to help?” Something didn’t seem right, so I thought I’d stay close to see what developed. The General looked at the crews with pistols, fussees, and drip torches and asked the Firing Specialist what he had to fire with. “Well,” he replied, “I’ve got a case of fussees.” So the General told him to light them up and we’d follow in behind holding. The Firing Specialist dropped the case of fussees and bent over to open it up. At this point the General pulled two (I wish I could say pearl handled) very pistols from his belt. He cocked and fired two rounds over the Firing Specialists head and yelled to the crews, “Let’s go!” As I looked back (laughing so hard I could barely walk) I saw the Firing Specialist holding his ringing ears with a look of astonishment on his face. He’d lost the showdown in the middle of Highway 33. Some days later, the General was holding court at his favorite place in fire camp, the dinner table. The IC appeared and had a laugh or two with him and commented that it was the biggest burn out he’d ever been involved in. The General thought this over for a second or two and said, “You ain’t seen nothing yet.” As my fire seasons with the General developed over the next ten years, I realized what he had meant.

Written By: Greg Keller, Former Superintendent of the Eldorado & Modoc Hotshots