Fire!

Sorry, did I scare you? Hey, at least I didn't yell it in a crowded movie theater.

We got our Fire Training today, and to be perfectly honest, if anything I'm more terrified of fire than I was yesterday. Was that the point, firefighters? To make me feel as if no amount of preparation or supplies or strategy will ever make me ready to face a fire? If so, then you sirs succeeded. I was called on to demonstrate the use of the fire tents, which are essentially human-sized flame retardant shower caps that--in the worst case scenario--you climb into, flop down on the ground in, and then pray to a god you might not believe in while flames burn over and around you. I could barely hear anyone around me when I was inside, face pressed up against the grass, hoping that I hadn't left any gaps. It was pretend, and it was the stuff of nightmare.  Practicing with the hoses was pretty fun, although the first one we connected up and turned on sprang a number of leaks from where the mice had had a gnaw. Comforting.

Look at how big South Potrero is getting! 

Molly got back from camping in Hopper Canyon and we spent the evening holed up in the ranch house watching Indiana Jones and sneaking surreptitious glances out at the pack of firemen who were now playing a game of horseshoe toss.

As it got dark, there appeared a shockingly huge, orange harvest moon that hung low in the sky. The man in the moon was never so clear. 

That night, I fell asleep to the sound of hushed male conversation interspersed with the crackle of fire and the clink of beer bottles that carried in through my open window--an odd counterpoint to the usual chorus of frogs and crickets.

You are welcome.

I was watching Pole Canyon today, when the sudden rumbling of the ground and growl of distant engines signaled the arrival of several truckloads of Ventura County firemen (roughly the equivalent of two years' worth of Hot Firemen calendars). As soon as they saw me, sitting in a broken chair on the road with one eye to a scope and the other squinting in what I'm sure was a most attractive way, they began to pour out of their vehicles, undoubtedly drawn like oppositely charged magnets to my sunburnt shoulders and the sheen of perspiration on my brow. Be still my beating heart!

They came out to see the condors, of course. And ended up getting quite a show. Of course, I missed writing down precise times for the switchout and probably a feeding session or two, but most of the guys seemed genuinely excited at the chance to see the birds in action and to learn some fun condor facts! (but probably mostly the former). For many, it was their first time.

Returning to the ranch house that evening, I caught glimpses of several of the firefighters working shirtless in the fields. I was too cowed to go outside after that, so I watched from the window as they packed up for the day, fired up the grill and played baseball in the yard. Eventually, I worked up the courage to go hang out on the porch with the less intimidating "old guys"--the rounder and mustachioed members of the team who were sitting out what they described as "a younger man's game." I'm cool like that. They seemed surprised to hear how us Fish and Wildlife girls routinely camp out alone on the job, since I'd mentioned that Molly was out at Hopper Canyon at the time. "All by yourselves?" They asked, incredulously? "Yup." "Do you have bear spray with you at all times??" "Nope." It was a highly reassuring conversation. (It was not).


*Image courtesy of getrealdenver.com

Ahoy, firemen!

So apparently there is going to be a crew of firemen up at Hopper tomorrow and Wednesday doing brush-clearing and various other fire prevention things. While this is an exciting prospect, a) I will be nest-watching during prime firefighter viewing hours, and b) the thought of that many men (or more specifically, that many potentially / probably attractive men) is a little terrifying.