The fire season is a grind. Always has been. It takes a toll on its participants, like the gladiators who fought for glory only to be cut down due to an unending source of adversaries. It’s one of the last occupations that allows the laborer to learn the importance of structure, camaraderie, discipline, and teamwork while allowing an unforgiving sense of freedom in the wilderness while death is casually waiting around every corner.
Wake up, lace up, caffeine up, eat up, load up, hurry up, start ‘em up, tie it in, hike out.
Repeat.
Weak people cannot accomplish this. To get through a Hotshot season, you need to be strong-minded, strong in body, and be able to compartmentalize ever-growing pains, aches, and thoughts of despair and joy all at once. It’s the knee pain you only tell your saw partner about, the raw flesh under your pack and on your feet that only your lover sees, the hip you pop back into place right before the morning hike, and the thoughts of everything in between that you keep to yourself.
How are you doing man?
“I’m fucked up, but I’m ok.”
Fire call, heart rate, slam food, traffic, pull-in, milage, resource order, nicotine, drink water, on to another one.
Repeat.
It’s 14 days of burning 5,500 calories in the furnace of humbling and hardcore humanity. Sweat that doesn’t stop, and if it does, it’s already too late. Your armor in the Colosseum of timber and brush is your crew colors that are held together by salt and a couple of whip stitches that you are very happy with.
Yes, we can sew, and we are damn proud of it.
Sleep has never been deeper, breezes have never felt better, and the Sun beats down on you like it’s trying to take your soul. But you don’t let it… you left it on the last god-forsaken hike. Jokes on you, Sun.
Your boots slowly start to let in the dust and soot as the Earth continues to spin. They will probably make it another couple of rolls, and the cowhide they are made of is in much better condition than the dead cow you’re sleeping next to. You talk to the critters in the forest more than your loved ones as metal objects fly overhead, delivering water you cannot drink and will kill you if you get too close.
And knowing all of this, trees still fall down more than Hotshots do. Thousands of wildfires go out before the desire to conquer another mountain does. You’ve broken down more walls than construction companies have, and society becomes that nagging partner that demands your attention. You can literally push through anything and climb over the hardest of challenges, even though
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