Wildland Firefighting as an Extreme Sport
Most of the public adores wildland firefighters, heaping thanks and praise on us "heroes" for facing danger, risking life and limb to protect the lives and property of other citizens. But that kind of public esteem is simply icing on the cake. For most crews who stick with it, wildland firefighting is not a matter of altruistic sacrifice or patriotic duty. And the extrinsic rewards of fire paychecks padded with overtime and hazard pay do not adequately compensate for those long hours of boring drudgery punctuated by brief moments of terror. No, there are intrinsic gratifications for being a wildland firefighter that we dare not admit lest the public know that we're not into it just for the fame or fortune--we're in it for the fun!
Yes, firefighting can be fun. Hiking and camping in wild country, working hard and getting dirty, enjoying the camaraderie and esprit de corps of collective labor--these are all joys of being a wildland firefighter. But above all, it's not a job, it's an adventure! Firefighting attracts "adrenaline junkies" and risk takers who thrive on the edge. In many respects it resembles a kind of extreme sport. It’s not quite as insane as base jumping in a bat suit, nor as sexy as freestyle aerial skiing, but it appeals to the same kind of folks who are attracted to outdoor recreation in the danger zone. Wildland firefighting in many respects feels like one of the extreme sports.
Unfortunately, fighting fires has negative consequences that can spoil the fun if and when you become conscious about its cost to others and care about its impact on the land. Everyone who sticks with it sooner or later gets ordered to do some dumb, dangerous, destructive thing that is knowingly an exercise in futility from the standpoint of stopping a wildfire or putting it out, but you do as your told.
I’m not talking about structure protection assignments that often do compel some action, even futile efforts, because the potential benefits of firefighting outweigh the costs. I’m talking about aggressive initial attack in truly wild places like wilderness areas where trying to stop a lightning fire from burning the top of a mountain in a fire-dependent ecosystem is borderline insanity. Firefighting in national park wilderness areas was the highlight of my adventurous life as a firefighter. But now I try to forget how many wondrous alpine meadows I mucked up with firelines, how many giant snags became big stumps, for no good reason. Years later, these areas that burned were beautiful and abundant with life, but the firelines my crew left behind and the unburned area beyond looked damaged and decadent. As you wrack up these kinds of experiences over time, this can sure spoil your fun. Recreational wildland firefighting no longer feels sporting.
Sadly, if you are drawn to recreating with wildland fire there are few occupational alternatives to firefighting, but in doing that, you ultimately kill the thing you love. For sake of analogy, imagine if the aftereffects of your rush from whitewater rafting was to leave behind still waters in a wild river. Or perhaps a better analogy is to view wildland firefighting like the "sport" of big predator trophy hunting, maybe even bullfighting. At what point will there be the equivalent of PETA (People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals) not praising, but protesting firefighters for trooping into some remote mountainous forest and trammeling the wilderness, especially if that wild place is held sacred by indigenous people?
Fortunately, the entrepreneurial spirit in extreme sport adventurism has discovered a new avenue for fire recreation without fire suppression. I predict that soon we'll see other mountain bikers attempting similar exploits, sneaking past security checkpoints to thrill-ride across fresh-burned areas, shredding down smoky slopes. And who among the ranks of weary firefighters slogging through the smoldering ash in another endless day of dry-mopping will condemn them, or deny their joy if they see them zooming by?
The big lie promoted by journalistic hype and timber industry opportunism that wildfires leave behind devastated “moonscapes” that are repellent to people has, in fact, been proven false by survey research. Hikers are attracted to wildfire areas, react with awe and admiration at the fire effects, and see the beauty in burns. This was precisely the experience of the aftermath of the 1988 Yellowstone Fires. After the newsmedia breathlessly reported that park had been “destroyed” by the fires, tourists flocked to see the vegetation regrowing and wildlife thriving in burned areas.
There must be a way to satisfy our human cravings for wielding torches and dancing with flames that does not involve playing soldier, battling blazes or fighting fires in a warped war on wildfire. Rather than fire soldiers, I want to see land stewards who work with fire rather than fight against it, using fire to nurture biological diversity and ecological integrity in fire-adapted landscapes. This work can be as adventurous and adrenaline-pumping as suppression, and would be far more authentically heroic, too, than conventional firefighting in wildlands.
Until that day when the paradigm shifts, we should be asking ourselves, how to convert the extreme sport of firefighting into something with less extreme risks to its participants, less extreme costs to taxpayers, less extreme impacts to the land. Let us re-create recreational suppression into something truly sporting, genuinely heroic, absolutely joyful.