Hotshots

What is a "Hotshot?"  They're specialized teams of individuals whose job it is to be the first responder firefighters on a wildfire. They are expected to knock down the fire before it gets too big.  They usually work for the U.S. Forest Service and are located in or near a National Forest.

I was a member of the Dalton Hotshots. When I worked for them in 1965, we were located at Tanbark Flats in the Angeles National Forest in the foothills just above San Dimas, California. Most of us were college kids doing it as a summer job. The work was hard, dirty and dangerous. Back then the job paid a little bit above minimum wage. But the adrenalin rush you got from fighting a raging fire made up for the low pay.

I remember arriving at the station. It was on a Sunday morning. I didn't have a car of my own yet, so my dad drove me there. It was not quite what I'd expected. My father recognized the construction as being an old C.C.C. Camp. The C.C.C. was the Civilian Conservation Corp of the late '30s and early '40s. President Roosevelt had created it to help the unemployed find work. They worked mostly in the National Forests and Parks. Most of the construction you see today in the National Forests and  National Parks were built by these men. My father had been a member of the C.C.C. and worked in a fire tower as a spotter.

It was early in the morning. I'd been told to be there at 8:00 am, but I arrived about an hour early. You always wanted to arrive early on the first day of a new job. I walked up to the bunkhouse and cautiously looked in. Everybody was still sleeping. I could smell something cooking and decided to head in that direction.  As I entered the mess hall, I said, "Hello, anybody here?" From the kitchen area this little man stuck his head out from the corner of the room and said, "The food's not ready yet, you're going to have to wait! " I said, "I'm the new guy."  "Oh," he responded, "sit down somewhere and I'll get you something to drink."

About that time some of the guys started wandering in. Most looked still half asleep. I nodded and gave a slight wave. Most gave me a "who the hell are you?" look.  Some mumbled  and made a feeble attempt at acknowledging me. Finally, one of them came up to me and said, "My name is Paul, I'm the crew leader," and he shook my hand. He said, "As soon as I get some coffee and something to eat, I'll take you to the bunk house and show you where to stow your stuff."  He explained that GT,  the foreman, would be there pretty soon to do my paperwork and to so sit tight. So I sat tight. Gordon T. (GT) came in and  introduced himself.  He went through the standard things needed for your first day on the job. He then handed me this little green book and said, "This is your bible, son. Read it and memorize the ten commandments of firefighting. It just may save your ass."

                                                                           

We were in the bunk house, it was about midday, when GT came in and said, "Come on, men, let's go cut some brush."  The moans and groans immediately started.  I wasn't sure what that entailed, but it didn't sound good. Gordon came up to me and said, "This being your first day, you don't need to go." Being a newbie, I knew I'd have to prove myself before I got accepted, so I said, "Oh, no, I want to go." He shot back, "Please yourself."

I thought I was going to die. When the truck we were riding in pulled to the side of the road, Gordon became a drill sergeant, shouting orders. We exited the rear of the truck with tool in hand. Gordon was yelling, "If I see any of you pussies drinking water, your ass is mine."  "Go, go, go," Paul was leading the way. This was definitely what they called "on the job training." You worked like a single machine. At the head of the machine you saw limbs flying, small trees falling. Next roots and stumps came ripping out of the ground, followed by mad shoving and tearing until the ground was bare earth, a path four feet wide and void of all vegetation. This continued until we had made a semicircle, down one side of the ridge and then back up.

When I exited the brush I was covered from head to foot in dirt and sweat. My throat was dry and I could feel the grit in my mouth and teeth.  Just when I was sure I was going to collapse, Gordon shouted, "You did good ladies, get some water." I was carrying two canteens. The first one I used to wash my mouth out and pour on my head. The second I drank down to the last ounce.  Until that day, I never knew how good water tasted.