you get in really close to the main fire, that usually means that things aren’t going well. Small stuff we can get in close, but the bullroarers we try to anticipate rather than attack. It’s like a jigsaw puzzle.” At a “Y” in the trail, he turned upslope.
She didn’t point out that farther on, his choice became a significantly tougher route.
“No two fires are the same. Even one fire can change its behavior from one minute to the next.” He eased the pace on the steeper terrain so that he could keep talking, but didn’t flag at all as they continued to ascend.
They were at six thousand feet and the thinning air slowed most people down. She’d been up here for the last six months, so she was fully adapted. Apparently his lung capacity was sufficient. Of course, he’d just been fighting a fire at over five thousand feet.
“So, we do our best to be smarter than the fire and—”
“Smarter? Fire’s think?”
“In the most evil ways you can imagine. I can’t tell you how many times my crew has cut a line, only to have the wind go through three compass shifts so it actually goes around our line and comes at us from the other direction. Fighting a fire on two facing fronts, that’s an uncomfortable place to be.”
“Then why—” She cut herself off as they broke above the last of the tree line. She’d always enjoyed this view. Climbing out of the trees, the vista was incredible. It was as if Mount Hood simply exploded into being, dropped that very instant from the heavens. The ski slopes and chair lifts were wrapped around one flank of the mountain. It was mid-August, so Palmer was still skiable and the upper lifts were still going to reach there, but the lower slopes had turned to alpine meadow for the short summer season.
They stopped at seven thousand feet, both breathing heavily, to appreciate the view.
“Then why do I jump fire?” He was winded but not breathless.
She nodded, but felt foolish for asking. It was such a natural thing for someone as macho as Akbar the Great.
“So that I can stand where I did yesterday morning. Here, turn around.”
Without asking first, he placed his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face south; his hands were an easy and powerful strength where he left them resting light on her shoulders. The shock of the intrusion of her personal space was wholly overwhelmed by how much she enjoyed the feel of that casual strength.
“Look.”
Hundreds of square miles of the Mount Hood National Forest stretched before them. Rolling hills cloaked beneath endless rolls of dark conifer. Occasional sharp ridges of rock sliced upward from the green shroud, crying victory as they soared forth. It was one of those perfect summer days and all she could see was the forest that lay for dozens of miles ahead of her.
“Imagine,” Akbar’s whisper was so close beside her ear that she felt both a chill and a heat. “Imagine that behind us is a couple hundred acres of unsightly black, nose-biting char and hundreds of man-hours of back-breaking mop-up.”
His description was a sharp jar to the senses.
“In front of you though, is ten thousand, a hundred thousand acres of pristine forest. My team and I did that. We kept that forest safe and alive, at least until the next fire. There’s no feeling like it in the world.”
Laura tried to imagine it. Tried to imagine that she had saved this vast area in front of them… “You make me feel small.” As if her life was—
“No!” He cut off her thoughts with a tone as sharp as a knife and whirled back to face him, but dropping his grip on her the moment he did so.
She missed it.
“No. You show people why it’s important. You, your mom, your grandmother that you were telling me about, you show people why it’s worth preserving. Every flower or mountain stream or elk you show people attaches them that much more to the land. If it weren’t for people like you, they’d probably let it all burn and not even know what
She didn’t point out that farther on, his choice became a significantly tougher route.
“No two fires are the same. Even one fire can change its behavior from one minute to the next.” He eased the pace on the steeper terrain so that he could keep talking, but didn’t flag at all as they continued to ascend.
They were at six thousand feet and the thinning air slowed most people down. She’d been up here for the last six months, so she was fully adapted. Apparently his lung capacity was sufficient. Of course, he’d just been fighting a fire at over five thousand feet.
“So, we do our best to be smarter than the fire and—”
“Smarter? Fire’s think?”
“In the most evil ways you can imagine. I can’t tell you how many times my crew has cut a line, only to have the wind go through three compass shifts so it actually goes around our line and comes at us from the other direction. Fighting a fire on two facing fronts, that’s an uncomfortable place to be.”
“Then why—” She cut herself off as they broke above the last of the tree line. She’d always enjoyed this view. Climbing out of the trees, the vista was incredible. It was as if Mount Hood simply exploded into being, dropped that very instant from the heavens. The ski slopes and chair lifts were wrapped around one flank of the mountain. It was mid-August, so Palmer was still skiable and the upper lifts were still going to reach there, but the lower slopes had turned to alpine meadow for the short summer season.
They stopped at seven thousand feet, both breathing heavily, to appreciate the view.
“Then why do I jump fire?” He was winded but not breathless.
She nodded, but felt foolish for asking. It was such a natural thing for someone as macho as Akbar the Great.
“So that I can stand where I did yesterday morning. Here, turn around.”
Without asking first, he placed his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face south; his hands were an easy and powerful strength where he left them resting light on her shoulders. The shock of the intrusion of her personal space was wholly overwhelmed by how much she enjoyed the feel of that casual strength.
“Look.”
Hundreds of square miles of the Mount Hood National Forest stretched before them. Rolling hills cloaked beneath endless rolls of dark conifer. Occasional sharp ridges of rock sliced upward from the green shroud, crying victory as they soared forth. It was one of those perfect summer days and all she could see was the forest that lay for dozens of miles ahead of her.
“Imagine,” Akbar’s whisper was so close beside her ear that she felt both a chill and a heat. “Imagine that behind us is a couple hundred acres of unsightly black, nose-biting char and hundreds of man-hours of back-breaking mop-up.”
His description was a sharp jar to the senses.
“In front of you though, is ten thousand, a hundred thousand acres of pristine forest. My team and I did that. We kept that forest safe and alive, at least until the next fire. There’s no feeling like it in the world.”
Laura tried to imagine it. Tried to imagine that she had saved this vast area in front of them… “You make me feel small.” As if her life was—
“No!” He cut off her thoughts with a tone as sharp as a knife and whirled back to face him, but dropping his grip on her the moment he did so.
She missed it.
“No. You show people why it’s important. You, your mom, your grandmother that you were telling me about, you show people why it’s worth preserving. Every flower or mountain stream or elk you show people attaches them that much more to the land. If it weren’t for people like you, they’d probably let it all burn and not even know what
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