At times the 2,269-acre Hunter Peak Fire, northwest of Cody, gained ground, but nearly 600 firefighters were handling the fiery upheaval with consummate skill.

On Friday, Brad Pitassi and Dawn Sanchez, public information officers, along with Ed LeBlanc, Whiskey Division supervisor, and Tim Daly, structure defense supervisor, provided a closer look at the forest inferno.

Their No. 1 goal was protecting the public, firefighters and homes while determining the highest probability of successful fire suppression, Daly said.

Local fire departments conducted the initial attack, Daly said.

“Interagency cooperation is huge,” he said.

Hose lays were planned behind homes to protect those structures or other water needs such as engines or pumps, LeBlanc said. Water can be tapped from streams, lakes or portable tanks filled by tenders — trucks with water tanks.

The hose lay or trunk line will run 12,000 feet. The trunk line itself was 1.5-inch hose with 1-inch laterals branching off every 200 feet to feed sprinklers, Pitassi said.

The goal is to have the hose lay in before  backfires are lit, Daly said.

Above homes a few miles north of incident command was an approximately 3.5-foot wide hand line, a swath where all growth was removed by firefighters. The hand line acts as a fuel break that fire cannot easily cross.

The National Fire Protection Association provides guidelines at www.firewise.org to create fire-defensive space around homes and structures, Sanchez said.

The more defensible the space, the easier it is for firefighters to protect property.

Of vital importance was ensuring motor fuel was stored away from the home and the containers were properly labeled, Sanchez said.

Lots of homes were well-prepared for fires. Fuels such as trees, brush and dead branches were removed, and the grass was mowed around some properties. A Powell resident received praise for his well-planned home fire defense on Squaw Creek.

“Kudos to those houses that were prepared,” Sanchez said.

Rincon vets

Firefighters are a diverse bunch, including fire-busting veterans on the Rincon crew.

Craig Humphrey retired from the U.S. Marine Corps. He hitched up with Rincon last year, he said.

“It’s hard,” Humphrey said, laughing. “No, I’m just kidding.”

Humphrey wanted to be a firefighter years ago. He signed up this year when his organization partnered with the Bureau of Land Management, he said.

Humphrey looks like a Marine. Many firefighters wear beards, either because sinks are scarce or as a personal preference. But Humphrey’s slightly lined jaw was free of whiskers as though shaving was a lifelong daily routine despite rudimentary environments he’s likely encountered around the globe. Still, like his teammates, his clothing was gray and his face sooty from constant exposure to ash.

“I fell in love with it (firefighting),” Humphrey said. “It just fits in with what I want to do. It’s good to be a part of it.”

The U.S. Forest Service and Bureau of Land Management’s goal was to reintroduce vets to civilian life and provide them with jobs.

“These folks can adapt to the environment very quickly, so there’s less training,” LeBlanc said.

Choppers & peril

Like a scene from “Apocalypse Now,” helicopters batter the skies above. One chopper flies overhead with a cable hanging from its undercarriage with containers trailing like box kites on a string.

They’re hauling supplies for a spike camp, Sanchez said.

Spike camps don’t return to base at night. Rather, the firefighters camp on the mountain.

Hot Shots — high level firefighters — work directly with aircraft to dump water on flames, LeBlanc said.

An air traffic control (or air attack platform) airplane flies reconnaissance throughout the day to advise pilots and ground crews of fire conditions, LeBlanc said. 

Aircraft put the fire in check until hand crews arrive to extinguish the flames, Sanchez said.

On occasion, aircraft can extinguish the fire, Daly said. Flying over fires and mountains where up- or down-drafts prevail is treacherous.

“The air resources are kind of our unsung heros,” LeBlanc said.

Every flight is evaluated for risk to pilots, LeBlanc added. “This mountain already killed someone in ’88.”

Firefighter Edward Hutton was killed Oct. 11, 1988, by a falling snag while conducting mop-up work along the eastern edge of the Clover Mist Fire.

Much more recently, Hot Shot Justin Beebe of Missoula, Montana, was killed Saturday in a Nevada fire.

The biggest challenge is dealing with fatalities, LeBlanc said.

Firefighters may be numerous, but they are tight-knit kindred spirits.

“It is a big family,” Sanchez said. “When we lose one, we lose a brother or sister.”

The family must be notified of the tragedy, LeBlanc said. “Somebody’s got to go knock on that door.”

Fortunately, no one has been injured on Hunter Peak, LeBlanc said.

“There is an adrenaline rush, but you need to moderate that,” LeBlanc said. One key to self-restraint is working with everyone on the team. Different members of the team complement each other by sharing their knowledge.

Take five at two

“At 1400 (2 p.m.) we take a tactical pause,” LeBlanc said. Around 1400 hours, the fire starts to heat up. North-facing slopes begin receiving more sun, and south-facing slopes bake all day.

Predesignated safety zones are locations that crews know in advance where they can shelter if the fire places them in danger, Daly said.

Zones such as Drop Point 40 are tree-free, so the flames can’t torch tops to topple trees, Sanchez said.

Between 1400 and 1800 (6 p.m.) the fire began making headway, LeBlanc said. Afternoon thunderstorms build to bring erratic winds.

On Hunter Peak, patches of blue sky were overwhelmed by pillars of burnt orange smoke colliding with puffy white clouds. A helicopter with a nose like a humming bird’s beak raced hell-bent for leather into the smoke, dangling a huge bucket of water. 

It’s a K-max helicopter, Sanchez said. 

Smokes

The hills on the north side of Squaw Creek Road smolder in places. A nearly consumed nearby stump blows smoke like a tea kettle left on the stove too long.

In places along the hill, brush and stumps stream columns of smoke like Norris Geyser Basin.

“We’re on an uncontained fire line right now,” Pitassi said.

The situation was not as dire as it appeared. Firefighters were working the fire.

“Zero containment doesn’t mean zero progress,” Pitassi said.

Fire lines are built as anchor points. Then those containment lines are connected. Once lines are secured, the second phase is initiated — mop up.

A fire can be 90 percent contained, but the other 10 percent can flare up into massive growth, Pitassi said.

Circumstances are constantly re-evaluated, LeBlanc said.

LeBlanc and Sanchez spread out a map.

The fire is a rough L-shape, starting north and running east.

Division Tango (T) on the north end was concerned with fuels that didn’t burn in 1988, LeBlanc said.

Working under fire

Dozer bosses scout dozer lines for the operators, who may not be able to see everything in their path while managing their machines, LeBlanc said. Many of the dozer lines are restored from the lines cut during Clover Mist. Dozer lines for fire breaks will also be tied together.

Containment lines create barriers for flames.

“Basically what we’re doing is putting the fire in a box,” Sanchez said.

Powell's own

Jason Fields, a second lieutenant with the Powell Volunteer Fire Department, was sent to the fire Aug. 10 by Park County with fellow county dozer operator, Chip Ash of Cody.

Fields said he worked the Whit Fire west of Cody as a Powell fireman five days before his deployment to Hunter Peak.

“It’s fun,” Fields said. But running a bulldozer in the rocky terrain is demanding. He must constantly be cognizant of snags and boulders beneath his tractor’s treads that could threaten to snatch control.

As of Friday, Fields said he had cut 5 miles of dozer line and Ash had cut 3 miles.

Fields shares a sense of ownership to the land, just like its landowners.

His family and friends camp in the area every chance they get, Fields said. “This is our backyard.”

Fields typically fights house fires in the Powell area, but he’s no stranger to wildland fire. Firefighters, whether saving a burning home or protecting the land, are cut from the same cloth, Fields said. “We’re still brothers.”

Untold understory

Backfires in understory (brush and grass) check fire intensity. If trees torch or crown, they can be extinguished by tapping into hose lays, Pitassi said.

The perception that fire devours everything in its path is a misconception, Pitassi said. Fire burns in a mosaic pattern, leaving patches behind untouched by flames.

This fire will stick around to some extent until a season-ending event, such as a snowstorm, smothers the flames, Pitassi said.

Wildfires have been unjustly villainized, Sanchez said. “Our forests need fire.”

Fire clears forests of understory and down trees, thus preventing huge fires from spreading out of control, Sanchez said. Fire burns grass, leaving behind nutrients in the soil. Fire breaks up the canopy so birds of prey can spot their quarry.

Wild ungulates like the nutrients left in the soil following fire, Sanchez said. “Elk and deer love low-intensity (burn) areas.”