Lately I have been reminiscing about my years as a Smokejumper; a separate life compressed into the years 1971 through 1977. I was 19 years old my first season. It was the toughest job I ever had and I loved it.
Most will agree that no matter how many seasons, or years, they were ‘jumpers… it was a lifetime. We worked hard and competed fiercely to earn our wings. There were no new-hires over age 27. Jumpers were restricted from parachuting after age 40. There were no women. The civil rights laws started changing during my tenure. I don’t believe women became jumpers until the early 80‘s.
The Smokejumpers were the most hard working, dependable “got your back” people I have ever known. All were individualists, mavericks who worked very well by themselves, thank-you. Some had a hard time staying out of trouble. As a group, a smokejumper crew’s capacity for work was enormous. However, we always worked well as a team. “Lead, follow, or get the hell out of the way,” was the mantra.
The buddy system was the rule; the minimum number of jumpers dropped on a fire was two. We often went for days on short rations. The fire packs were dropped on cargo chutes after the jumpers were safely on the ground. They contained tools, sleeping bags, and 3 1/2 days of food for two jumpers. Saws, rescue gear, fuel, drinking water, and other specialized equipment were dropped as needed. Sometimes the cargo chutes failed, landed in the fire, or hung-up in tall trees. Occasionally the fire crept around later and burned the gear. Once in a great while a bear, or thief, got in the food and gear. In hot weather it was not unusual to run out of water.
Two man fires were prized. “Two manners” kept jumpers very busy for several days before the fire was corralled and put out. Often there were streams full of trout on the way home. On large fires, full plane loads of jumpers were dropped to slow the head of the fire and were quickly relieved after a shift or two; as soon as sufficient ground troops were on scene. Dispatchers got nervous when too many jumpers were deployed on large fires. It left the forests vulnerable to lightning fires, where the Smokejumpers were most effective.
Jumpers were the happiest in the remote back country with very little “outside” supervision. Few non-jumpers understood waterless firefighting as as we did. Direct attack (working up against the flames) is much safer than indirect; as long as you keep your head up and eyes open. Backfires and burn-outs were the force multipliers that we relied on to catch fast moving fires. We rarely had enough manpower to fight fire conventionally. Our tactics made local fire managers nervous. They were not accustomed to highly capable crews using aggressive techniques that local crews were not trained, or allowed to use. We understood that there was a lot less fire to control the next day if all the available fuel within the fire-line was reduced to fine ash by morning.
These days it probably takes approval from Washington, D.C. to start a backfire.
Jumpers who were reckless or inattentive washed out during training or their closely supervised first season.
Ours was dangerous work; jumper culture was cautious, vigilant, and decisive. If you were not at the top of your game you got instant uncensored feedback. The greatest danger was an inattentive or unaware buddy. Things often happened very fast. We were expected to recognize a situation, determine the correct response and act appropriately in a split second.
We often did not have radios, they were precious commodities. We were never lost but rarely knew our exact location. With a compass, a rudimentary map and a landmark or two; we never had any trouble finding our way to the rendezvous point.
Our mission was to quickly put firefighters on the ground in remote areas beyond the reach of conventional firefighters and put the fire out before it got any bigger. We could be on the ground fighting a fire in hours where it would take conventional crews days to arrive on scene. Many of the locations we jumped were so remote that we were out of radio range.
In Alaska, dispatchers would try to send a plane within radio range to check on us once a day. Sometimes we were out of touch for several days with an injured jumper. Occasionally we made rescue jumps for airplane crashes, logging, or smokejumper accidents.
Most of us carried small signal mirrors. If we could see an airplane or lookout we could help them locate us from miles away. We each carried two signal panels in our leg pockets. They were fluorescent orange, about 16 inches wide and 10 feet long. We laid them out on the ground to signal our status and needs to aircraft. An “L” next to your parachute said you were safely on the ground and unhurt. With different symbols we could order food, additional jumpers, medical supplies, and tools. Not all orders were filled. We often had to make do with what little we had.
We were careful to ask only for the gear we truly needed before the plane left. Everything dropped out of the plane came out on our backs. The packs ranged from 90 to 150 pounds depending on how much gear was dropped and whether or not someone was injured.
Pack-outs ranged from less than a mile to 20 or more miles. Sometimes helicopters were dispatched to pick us up if we were too far out in the boondocks or if we were needed for other fires. Occasionally a packer with a string of horses and mules was dispached to retrieve us from a wilderness area. In Alaska, I have been “de-manned” by seaplane; our beloved Grumman Goose.
Once in a while, a fire got away and grew large; rarer still, we had to fall back to a safety zone and let one run. If we didn’t have effective escape routes we burned-out until we had them.
A lot of of the other firefighters regarded the jumpers as Prima Donnas. Few of them could keep up with the smokejumpers, or handle the same fire assignments. Most smokejumpers did their best to belie the reputation.
We were acutely aware that the end of our days was as near as the next jump or the next fire. There were accidents. Fatalities were rare, but we had more than most other firefighter crews. Aircraft accidents, usually helicopters; firefighting accidents, usually widow-makers.
Occasionally a jumper would “burn out” of a tree; i.e. the chute would partially hang-up in the side of a large tree, and collapse. Then the limb holding the jumper and chute could not bear the weight and break, dropping the jumper to the ground.
Some of the trees we landed in were well over a hundred feet tall. We had to rappel to the ground and retrieve the chute later. Sometimes a jumper would fall out of a tree while retrieving a hung-up chute. Parachutes malfunctioned; the reserve chutes almost always saved the day. Once in a great while a reserve failed or was deployed too near the ground.
Seems like every base had at least one career ending injury every season. Season ending injuries were not infrequent.
There were sub-sets of smokejumpers, it was seasonal work. Only a small number at each base worked year round, they were squad leaders and managers. Students worked to pay for their education. A few teachers. Some were ski-bums. Vagabonds travelled the world. A small number of veterans worked for government contractors in war zones; once and a while one of them didn’t come back. Some were ranch hands. Others aspired to be career Foresters or forest Fire Managers. Some became pilots. All left jumping life reluctantly.
We hoped we would have the good sense to leave the smokejumpers when it was time. A few hardy souls became career smokejumpers.
We have reunions every few years. The larger bases usually sponsor them in rotation. Missoula Montana, McCall Idaho, Boise Idaho, Cave Junction Oregon, Redmond Oregon, Redding California, Winthrop Washington, Grangeville Idaho, Fort Wainwright Alaska, Anchorage Alaska, West Yellowstone Montana, and Silver City New Mexico. Regretfully, I have only attended two. Missoula 1983 and Redding 2000.
I eagerly anticipate, yet dread, each new issue of the Smokejumper Magazine. The obituaries have too many surprises. The same is true of the website. Most people who become Smokejumpers work hard, play hard, and don’t waste their days trying to make them longer.
When I left the Smokejumpers I became an Administrator. That did not fit well. I moved on to become an FBI Agent. I hope my jumper buddies found new lives that were as rewarding.