Samson’s Bet
Incendiary Imbeciles #9
Hazing can be a heuristic teaching method for beginning wildland firefighters. If inclusive and genteel, hazing helps shrink hubris, arrogance, and exaggerated self-confidence. New and unexpected dangers lurk on any wildfire. Best to keep that sense of humbleness handy. But sometimes that humility must be kicked into the head of the hazer.
We had our current class of rookies out on their first wildfire. We hectored them to do better and faster as they constructed the fireline with chainsaws, pulaskis, and shovels. We slyly sneered snide salutations saying, “Good, good now, keep it goin’ “ in tones that shouted “Pathetic!” “Miserable!” “We should have hired Bonzo the Chimp instead of you!”
Soon we came across a burning snag that had fallen into another tree. Close to the fireline, it surely would send embers across and spawn spot fires. So two of the veteran firefighters commanded some rookies to come and push down that snag so it wouldn’t spark cinders.
Being rookies, they commenced pushing on the snag, two each at opposite sides shoving against each other, in a comical cartoon pantomime of immaculate idiocy, and of course accomplishing nothing. So one veteran firefighter shouts at them, “No! No! Nooo! You morons! You’ll never get it out that way!” Then he conversed with his veteran peers and they pointed at me and one shouted, “Hey! Hey! LB come over here and show these rookies how to push out a flaming snag!”
As I slouched over to the conflagrant snag caught in the tree, I saw my friends, grinning, laughing, and placing money on bets over whether I could push it out.
So I squatted beneath the smoldering snag and fitted my shoulders into the hot wood. Then I stood up slowly, conjuring powerfully loud cracking, snapping, and branches breaking, I had freed the snag from its incinerating entanglement.
Veterans began cheering, clapping, huzzahing, and nodding approval while some snatched up their winning bets. The rookies’ mouths gaped open in awe. And then suddenly we heard an ominous crepitation. Their eyes darted above me and squinted in shrill surprise as they gasped in horror.
Burning branches and flaming debris cascaded down on me, bouncing off my hardhat and shoulders, engulfing me in flame and billowing smoke.
Like Samson, my strength and arrogance had brought down this fiery house upon me. I stood as Joan of Arc on her pyre, tangled on a post-like snag, her long hair ignited, her beard flaming.
As the flames grew higher, I nonchalantly pushed away the reignited snag. Predictably, it fell over and lodged itself into another tree, sending embers across the fireline. The rookies rushed over and once again in their cartoonish fashion, a pair each on opposite sides, pushing on the snag against the other pair, accomplishing nothing. A veteran firefighter shouted, “Leave it alone! It’s OK! Move on! Quick now!” The veterans, perhaps feeling a surge of humiliation, rapidly ushered away the rookies.
As I stepped out of the flaming debris pile and swatted out the flames in my long hair and beard and kicked off cinders from my boots, one veteran firefighter turned to me and said, “You know, we were all pretty dumb for setting up that stupid challenge when the dangers displayed so obviously. But you remain the dumbest for accepting the challenge. I bet against you but I’m glad you are ok.” Then he nimbly scuttled away.
I worked alone for the rest of that fire, humbly mopping up the little spot fires that my cindering snag huffed across the fireline.
