A FIREFIGHTING SAGA WHEN I WAS A KID.....A short story.

      At the age of 15 yrs. and as usual, along with a lot of other kids, I was broke. In those days after the end of the 2nd World War, the Coal Industry slowed down in our hometown of Fernie and we were anxious young teenagers looking for every way possible to earn a few bucks.
      During the out-of-school months, sometimes farm work in the harvesting season, work of any sort on a Gov't survey crew doing topographical mapping of the local areas, and lying about our ages to fight forest fires during the fire season was the thing to do. The legal age requirement was 16 years, but some of us (Including yours' truly) didn't volunteer to fess that up if we weren't asked.
      Some of the fires we would volunteer for were spot fires from a passing lightning storm, and the forestry hadn't come of age technically speaking to extinguish fires from the aid of airplanes and helicopters as they do now.
      So the importance of spotting those fires was most often reported by shortwave radio from livable forestry lookouts strategically placed on the higher mountain tops for the summer.
      One summer day, myself and Richard Haraluk, an older friend of 17, were hanging around the White Spot Café doing nothing productive when we were approached by Buster Barnes, a Forest Ranger who had recently received a report that a stump fire had been ignited by lightning up in the Flathead Valley, just East of the small town of Corbin, B.C.
      The Flathead Valley was still a remote, wilderness area where few people inhabited it year round, but was accessible by 4-wheel drive and horse-pack provided by some of the local people in the surrounding areas. It stretches from the Corbin area in the Rocky Mountain Range, to Kalispell Mont.
      I knew that specific area because I had earlier in the summer ,worked as a rodman/chainman for a Survey Company doing the mapping of that Region for the Canadian Gov't. (Looking older, there was no question of my age.)
     Without any second thoughts about it, we volunteered to go.
     So the following day, after getting supplies to last 3 or 4 days, hand tools such as short-handled shovels and grub-hoes etc., some horse blankets, lean-to canvasses and such, we got started on our way.
     As we were leaving Fernie, Buster stopped to pick up another fellow whom he introduced us to as Barney McKinley, a  freelance reporter who was not only a stranger to the area but a complete novice when it came to back country existence. He had travelled west to do a report for a Montreal Newspaper on fighting forest fires.
      We were all gung ho and excited as we wound our way off the highway and up the back-roads that got tougher and rougher, then finally requiring Buster to use four-wheel drive as we climbed up to the site on the side of a mountainous hillside to the embarkation point.
      Scrambling out of the vehicle and stretching our legs, Buster pointed out a wisp of smoke that was estimated to be 10 to 12 miles away and without any known trails to get there.
      Worse yet, there had been a very rare, hurricane type windstorm that had blown through the Flathead Valley about 10 years prior, that looked just like the blown-down forest after Mt. St. Helens erupted. (In fact, when I saw the aerial view of  the eruption damage, it reminded me of the many years before of the same condition we encountered on this trip.)
      While surveying through that area previously that summer, we knew what to expect, but poor old little spindly Barney McKinley, had no idea. We had all-weather, rough souled boots that were far more appropriate than Barney's brand new high-top, shiny leather soled boots he had purchased in anticipation of our trip. Expensive boots, yes! But walking on felled trees 2ft. through and had shed their bark, No!!
      Regardless, we had committed ourselves to this job, and we had no intention of stopping now. So we started packing our stuff into three back packs and without proper forethought, most of the food was canned stuff. Not thinking about the weight distribution as we packed everything, most of the canned food was placed in one pack, while the blankets and camping gear in another. The rest of the tools and miscellaneous gear were placed in the third. 
     After reassuring ourselves we had all we needed, we bid farewell to Buster and he turned around and left.
     The first 300' down the steep brush covered mountain side turned out to be an eye opener, since little Barney had grabbed the first pack loaded with the food, which was by far, the heaviest. To anyone having experience backpacking, you know that it's more difficult travelling down a steep incline with a heavy load and is quite a bit harder than climbing up the same.
     Barney ended up rolling butt over tea kettle most of the way down, and battered and sore, had to rest up while Dick and I repacked everything to weigh at least somewhere near the same, proportionately.
     Then, an unexpected thunderstorm came by soaking and making the trees we were forced to climb over and walk on, slippery. Another problem for Barney with his smooth, leather soled, high top boots. The rain finally stopped and we continued walking towards our goal that we knew was directly in line with a rock outcropping 30 miles across the valley.
     We never reached the burning area by nightfall, and we decided to pick a reasonable spot to set up our temporary campsite to start a fire, relax and dry out before preparing our beds of cedar boughs and blankets. We then erected our canvas lean-to's in case of more rain. Dick and I were fine, but poor Barney showed us his shins with the skin all barked off and bleeding from the slipping and sliding on the wet, fallen trees. But half a box of band-aids and warm food heated over the fire gave us all a more hopeful outlook towards the day ahead.
     Barney, not having waterproofed his new boots, placed them before the fire to dry in preparation for the next day, and we all retired to sleep solidly until morning.
     As we all reached for our boots, Barney let out a long sigh and held up his boots for us to see. He had placed them too close to the fire and the tops were charcoaled down about 3 inches. He cried, and we almost cried with him. It was a disappointing start of the day for little Barney.
     However, we trudged on after having a sandwich breakfast, to reach the site of the burning stump around 10:00 A.M. to actually find to our delight that there was no fire to fight. The rain from the day before had extinguished it completely. But as a precaution, we spread out the remains and shoveled dirt over them before leaving to hike the long trail, back.
     We arrived back at the embarkation site sooner than expected due to not having to spend any allotted time extinguishing a blaze that wasn't there any longer. However, it was evening so we set up camp at the bottom of the steep hillside and settled down for an uneventful night again starting a bonfire to have our dinner of pork and beans, Prem,( Spam) and hot coffee.
     To us, it couldn't have tasted better. This time, making sure that Barneys boots weren't placed too close to the fire again.
     We awoke the next morning, and after another sandwich breakfast of the remainder of the lunchmeat, sat and relived our experience of those two previous days, telling Barney we expected him to mail us his newspaper report on his firefighting adventure. We had a laughing good time over his burned top boots and he did ;promise us he'd never forget the experience and would mention our names in his story.
      Buster Barnes arrived around Noon to pick us up and return us to Fernie where we were paid for our services and Dick and I each chipped in to help Barney pay for some new shoes.
      Well Barney, we never did hear from you again. but wherever you may be, if you're still alive, I want you to know, I wrote this story for you!  Just sayin'.