This is a Smokejumper story.  A few months ago Rod Dow, an old Smokejumper buddy contacted me.  He was writing a book and wanted to know if I could remember a fire on the Innoko Flats of Western Alaska in 1972.

I have vivid memories of that fire.  What’s more, I dug out my old notebooks and found I had detailed notes of the fire but not the names of the jumpers who fought the fire.  What I remembered the most was the Muskeg.

Most people have never heard of muskeg.  Muskeg is a bog.

In the warm sub-arctic summer the snow, ice, and upper permafrost melts.   The flat lands are covered with a layer of water from a few inches to many feet deep.  Random spits and islands of land covered with grass, brush and scrub spruce rise above the water.  Together with the tundra, this kind of land is known as the “Taiga” in Russia.

From the air it is a vast forest of small trees punctuated by a million bright green meadows filled with streams and oily dark ponds.  The bright green meadows are muskeg; sphagnum moss a few inches to a few feet thick, with occasional tussocks of grass.  It grows and floats on the ice water.  Muskeg is tightly woven and thick enough in many areas to support the weight of animals and people.  Much of it will only support the weight of very small animals.  The water under the muskeg is often shallow; sometimes it is deep.

There is no way to know the strength of the muskeg or the depth of the water by looking at it.

Walking on muskeg is tedious.  Like walking on a huge water bed; occasionally breaking through to the water and permafrost below.  It is cold, wet, deceptive, and dangerous.

In the summer, the long hot days dry out the trees and moss above the water line.  Lightning starts fires that run through the dry vegetation with the wind.  The fires are natural and the flats are uninhabited.  They are usually left to naturally burn out.  When the fires threaten an active caribou migration, settlements or military assets, they are fought.

Smokejumpers are careful not to land in the muskeg.  They steer their parachutes for the small spruce and high ground.  Air cargo and fire packs sometimes disappear in the muskeg.  If lucky, the cargo chutes are lying on the surface and the wet gear can be drug out of the bog.

On July 13, 1972, at 1845 hours we left Talkeetna, Alaska on a Fire Call to the Innoko Flats.  We were in an old C-47 jump plane leased to the Alaska Smokejumpers.  At 2045 hours, nine of us  jumped fire number 7819, located at 63º 17’ N; 153º 59’ W.  Dick Jeppson, a McCall Idaho squad leader, was Fire Boss.

The fire was running when we jumped and the smoke was against the ground.  Visibility deteriorated to about 200 yards by early morning.  We had made good progress and were getting hungry.  I volunteered to go back to the landing zone for some food.  I found our tracks back to the gear in low visibility.

I filled a rucksack with ‘rats, C rations, and put on a GI mosquito head net I found in the gear.  I was new to Alaska.  Never before had I encountered mosquitos of the number and ferocity of those on the Innoko Flats.

As I returned to the crew there were numerous game trails through the muskeg that crossed our tracks.  In the dense smoke I followed the wrong trail.  Before I knew it I was about 250 yards out on a bog.  I wasn’t concerned when I broke through.  The water under the muskeg had heretofore been shallow.  I expected to quickly hit a shallow bottom and step back up on the surface.

It was pure luck that as I went down in deep water, I reflexively spread my arms out to the side on top of the moss and sod, holding it open as my head went under.  I was in trouble.

If the sod closed over me there would be no air.  I was able to grip the sod and kick my way back to the surface through the hole I had made, and get my head out.  With my clothes, pack, boots and gear, it was all I could do to keep my head above water.

It took forever to shed the pack without sinking below the surface.  I had to find the buckles on the shoulder straps and loosen them until they separated.  By then I was exhausted.  I could not shed my boots or clothes.  Nor could I climb out onto the sod or make way through it.

The best I could do was slowly tread water, keep my head up, and try to stay warm.  I was getting very cold.

After several lifetimes I heard voices discussing the fact that that it was Bastille Day.  Soon I saw jumpers coming out of the smoke.  I hollered forever before they heard me.  It took them a while longer to see me.  With the mosquito net, I looked like a grass tussock sticking out of the bog.

I remember Jeppson telling me to quit screwing around.  I told him that I was drowning and needed help.  He scoffed and started out on the bog to pull me out.  He broke through and barely got out.  That got everybody’s attention.

They rapidly cut Black Spruce, laying a mat of small trees on the bog out to me.  In the smoke they looked like ants at work.  Jeppson eased out and pulled me up on the mat.  We were a long time crawling back to solid ground; my arms and legs were so cold they didn’t work well.

It took me several hours hunkering over a smoky fire with a lot of coffee and brandy to warm up and regain my strength.  Meanwhile our fire burned into another nearby fire and more jumpers were called.

The Alaska Smokejumpers had a tradition of giving each other nicknames; often disparaging ones.  Thereafter I was known as the Beekeeper.

I never again wore a mosquito net.