A fireman in Emerald Hills. — PHOTO BY JAMES WOODCOCK/BILLINGS GAZETTEHow one man fought two fires
By W. H. Hinkley
MISSOULA, Mont. (Aug. 22, 2006) — Gregory Nolan is bouncing his 11-month-old daughter, Stacy, on his knee. She giggles wildly. A few minutes later, Nolan’s wife, Angie, takes Stacy for her nap. When she comes back, she doesn’t look happy. “This is crazy,” she says. “This is the fifth straight day.”
“What am I gonna do — not go?” he says, appalled. “We’re spread thin. I can’t not go.”
In about an hour, Nolan will head to Gash Creek, where he and his fellow firefighters have been trying desperately to keep the flames from moving east.
This isn’t new for Nolan. He’s been fighting fires in western Montana for almost a decade now. Though most years have been eventful, the year he’ll never forget was 2000.
“Terrible,” he says. “Worst I’ve seen. Worst I’ll ever see.”
That year, flames engulfed a sizeable patch of the western part of the state. Nolan worked mostly in the Bitterroot Valley, where fires stretched southward from Missoula to the Idaho border. The fires got so bad they tossed smoke into South Dakota — over 500 miles away.
“Unbelievable,” he says. “At times, the wind was just making fools of us. And forget about rain. We hadn’t had any in so long. Trying to contain fires that have everything going for them is just laughable.”
Angie comes from the kitchen and sits across the living room from Nolan. The two aren’t speaking much these days. She stares out the window. The sky is dark gray with a hint of brown.
▪ ▪ ▪
“They’re still trying to figure out who did this,” Nolan says. He’s all suited up and ready to get to work. “But I’ve been around long enough to know there’s usually some stupid reason for it. Probably some campers who don’t know what they’re doing. . . . Or, worse, some angry teenager.”
If you think about it, it’s the fire’s job to make our knees buckle. . . . Of course, it’s our job to make the fire buckle.— Gregory Nolan, on what it means to be a fireman
Nolan heads out with little hesitation. He seems almost at ease with what he’s doing. Only at home does he appear tense or unsure of himself.
Nolan and his fellow firefighters are close to halting the eastern half of the fire. Those fighting the western half aren’t having as much luck.
After a few hours, Nolan takes a short break. He’s sweating like crazy. Rick Holtz, another veteran firefighter, stands next to him. The two are chugging water. To no one in particular, Nolan says: “We’ve got this one.” Holtz nods.
Smoke streams about the valley. It’s hard to imagine what the valley looked like before the fires started. Like in most of this part of the state, the ground is rocky, though plenty still grows here. Grasses and pines provide a hearty meal for the fires.
Later, after nearly nine hours of work, Nolan gets out of his gear and heads home. As usual, he’s stayed longer than requested. He’s beat, though happy with himself.
“We’ve got this side under control,” he says. “Too bad they’re having issues out west.”
Before getting in his truck, Nolan speaks to Holtz, who tells him he’s heading over to the other side in about an hour. “They need help real bad,” he says. Nolan tells him he promised Angie he’d be home on time. He’s already late.
Driving out, Nolan looks at his fellow firefighters. Already he seems anxious to get back to work. He has tomorrow off, which makes things worse.
“I never get tired of this job . . . and it’s not because of the risk,” he says. “Most people don’t realize how safe this job really is, especially when you’ve pretty much got things under control. When things are contained, you get a thrill out of being able to stare right into the face of something so awesome.
“If you think about it, it’s the fire’s job to make our knees buckle. . . . Of course, it’s our job to make the fire buckle.”
▪ ▪ ▪
Angie is irritable, as usual. Stacy is crying. Both mother and daughter haven’t been feeling well lately. The air might have something to do with it.
“We may want to think about moving,” she says, handing Stacy to her father.
“I don’t wanna get into that,” Nolan says.
“This is getting old,” she says, then takes Stacy into the bedroom. Nolan follows her. “I wanna hold her,” he says.
“Just go,” she says, almost inaudibly.
Nolan heads back to the living room. “Unbelievable,” he says. From the feel of it, one would think tomorrow was a workday.
▪ ▪ ▪
Angie and the baby are asleep. Nolan is out driving. He’s not going anywhere in particular. The windows are down and the smell of smoke is heavy in the air. It’s a smell he’s come to love.
“I’ve always liked the smell of smoke,” he says. “No offense to those who’ve lost their homes, but I thrive on this. Fire’s my thing, you know.”
Up on the mountains, an eerie glow dominates. Flames that seem part of some hellish sunset can just barely be seen above the trees.
Nolan drives, and keeps on driving. He doesn’t know where he’ll go tonight. Maybe he’ll stop by Ben Clemmons’ house. Clemmons is also a firefighter. When he isn’t at work, Nolan likes being around those who “get” him.
And if the fire inside of him tonight grows a little hotter, he might even head back to Gash Creek, and help out the only way he knows how.
No comments:
Post a Comment