Jumping Fire: A Smokejumper's Memoir of Fighting Wildfire
By Murry A. Taylor
Harcourt Inc.
448 pages $26

The low rumble is unmistakable. We hit the ground, face down, heads toward the oncoming aircraft, hard hats held tight. This is it, we say to ourselves, as the World War II-era bomber lumbers around on its final pass before diving down to within 50 feet of the sprawling fire crew.

We grip our tools firmly at our sides. No one wants shovels flying around when 2,500 gallons of fire retardant hits, turning everything into a pink, syrupy splash zone.

These memories -- air drops, the fatigue of working 24 hours or more straight, and the awe-inspiring sight and roar of fully grown trees exploding into flame -- were rekindled by reading Murry Taylor's Jumping Fire. I spent three fire seasons on a hand crew two decades ago digging fire lines for the US Forest Service, using only the wildfire fighter's friend: the pulaski, a combination axe and grub hoe. I'll never forget the blast of wind as the aerial tanker dropped its load to quench a "slopover," a finger of fire that escaped our lines on a ridgetop above Big Sur.

The hand crew is at the bottom of the firefighting hierarchy. High above, at the elite pinnacle, are smokejumpers: first on the scene, sent to make sure small fires don't become big ones.

It's easy to marvel at these smokejumpers. They parachute from airplanes into the heart of the fire, protected in padded jumpsuits, heads enclosed in helmets with wire-mesh masks so thick the face inside disappears. In the moments before a jump, as an aging propeller-driven plane thunders toward the drop zone, their wait is filled with tension. "We were each on our own for the time being, hounded by suspense, armored by protective gear, held hostage to an invasive and inescapable roar," Taylor writes.

If all goes well and Big Ernie -- the smokejumpers' god -- is willing, two to 16 smokejumpers jump from an altitude of 3,000 feet, hit the ground, gather their supplies dropped from above, and work through the night or longer, lassoing a fire with a line scratched in the dirt. Big Ernie, on the other hand, may have other ideas. He's not mean, but like smokejumpers, he's got a twisted sense of humor; he may leave a jumper snagged 80 feet up in a Douglas fir tree or drag you across rocks or through cow manure.

Taylor's gritty account of a year in the life of a smokejumper was a timely reminder of how unpredictable wildfires can be. It landed on store shelves in the summer of 2000, just as millions of acres across the West turned to smoke and ash during the nastiest wildfire season on record. Taylor has jumped into wildfires in Alaska and the West for 27 of the past 34 years. He completed his 200th jump in 1999 at age 58, making his mark as the oldest active smokejumper ever.

But it was the year 1991 that Taylor picked to tell the smokejumper's tale of danger, excitement, boredom, camaraderie, and loneliness.

Taylor returns to the theme of isolation often in his memoir, but it is balanced by the sense of belonging that comes from shared intense experiences with fellow jumpers. Because smokejumpers spend their summers fighting fires, family relationships may suffer and even disintegrate. At the same time, lifetime friendships are often forged.

In reading Taylor's memoir, some may recall the classic Young Men and Fire, by Norman Maclean. His book investigated the deaths of 13 firefighters, 12 of them smokejumpers, when a grass fire blew up in Mann Gulch, Montana, in the fall of 1949. Maclean's book was published posthumously in 1992, the year after Taylor started his project.

Maclean has a philosophical approach to humankind, choices, nature, courage, and fire. He treats them not as mysteries, but rather with a thorough peeling back of the layers of circumstance and human decision. Taylor instead drops us right onto the fire line, compelling the reader to choke on smoke, brave the heat, and confront the possibility of a horrible death.

"Smoke and sparks. The heat was burning my bare wrists and neck. I could smell singed hair. I began to feel confused. I was running with Jeff Bass and another guy, dodging rocks and fire somewhere in Idaho. A great light raised high in the sky behind us, a roar at our backs, and the space in front of me instantly filled with flying embers and extreme heat...

"Our escape route was on fire. We had lost contact with everyone. We were running in fire. I had often imagined what it must be like to be trapped in fire. The blinding heat, the horror. The fire is on you. Your body is burning. That detached observer within recognizes that your worst fear has, in fact, become your final reality. You are finished. You are burning to death."

We see life through the eyes of the smokejumper and meet the characters on a jump crew. Taylor's style is a mix of lyrical wonder for the stunning scenery he encounters along with the raw banter of firefighters one-upping each other. The dialogue sometimes rang hollow, however. Men on the fire line may actually talk that way, but it seems somehow contrived.

Nevertheless, his writing clearly conveys that it's dirty, dangerous, exhausting work, where death and injury are ever present. The injury report each summer records broken backs, legs, and ankles as well as chainsaw cuts, concussions, sprains, strains, and, of course, burns.

"You are the walking wounded," Dr. Carey Keller, a sports medicine specialist, told a group of jumpers after completing a study of smokejumper injuries. "The fact that so many of you have been injured and yet remain in such good shape is testimony to your attitude toward physical fitness, personal injury rehabilitation, and your unfailing commitment to this work you seem to love so much."

Some rookies and "snookies" -- second-year jumpers -- don't come back, however. The washout rate is high, and fear takes its toll.

For those who remain, staying in shape is more than a luxury: It's essential. Jumpers put in at least an hour a day on running and physical training. These aren't big guys, and there are so few women that Taylor doesn't introduce us to any. Few smokejumpers are over six feet tall. In fact, most are several inches shorter and weigh around 150 pounds.

Toughness is part of survival. Taylor figured he had run 8,000 miles by May 1991 just to remain a smokejumper. Alaskan jumpers must qualify each season by running three miles in 22.5 minutes. The day will come when a seasoned jumper won't qualify, Taylor writes. When that happens, the result is clear. His buddies don't know where to look or what to say.

In some ways, the firefighting life can be regarded as an escape route from the mundane sameness of life in the larger circle of society. Taylor didn't do well in the real world. His marriage crumbled because of time on the fire line and extracurricular romantic activities. Later efforts to maintain relationships foundered because of the firefighting life.

Whatever the price exacted by his all-consuming profession, Taylor feels it was well worth it. Fire comes first, after all. Smokejumpers run to the plane when the call comes. Getting paid to fly above some of the world's most stunning wilderness, jump into a fire, and conquer it is the greatest job in the world, Taylor writes.

He recounts the morning after a near disaster when he and several buddies narrowly escaped with their lives. "My new campfire cracked cheerfully in a way that made me sort of hurt inside. I got to thinking. Here I am -- living the dream, as jumpers like to say. The smokejumper dream, complete with a whole-hearted a---kicking from Mother Nature. The old girl dancing, as usual to her own tune. And wouldn't you know it, a blues tune at that -- the chase 'em, rock 'em, smoke 'em, snake 'em, bug 'em, bear 'em, snag 'em, divorce 'em, sleep-starve 'em, and burn 'em up blues."

Even a lowly fire scratcher can understand the allure of sitting around a campfire pigsty dirty, slurping instant coffee from a tin can, living the dream.

-- Guy Lasnier holds a master's degree in journalism from Columbia University and is the Personal Technology Section Editor for the San Jose Mercury News.

Further Resources

National Smokejumper Association http://www.smokejumpers.com

Alaska Smokejumpers http://www.alaskasmokejumpers.com

First published October 19, 2000
Last updated March 6, 2008
Copyright © 2000 Consumer Health Interactive