Audio
Radio Traffic of WV-31 overrun by a grass fire
YAKIMA, Wash. - From his rear seat on Engine 31, Michael Rhine watched the fire, seemingly at a safe distance. But as the engineer swung the truck around to face the one way out, a big stand of sagebrush blew up into a 40-foot wall of flame. Amid zero visibility and intense heat, Engine 31 was engulfed, crashing through a dirt barrier and a barbed-wire fence before faltering to a stop.
"They're off the road," someone yelled on the radio. "Probably need a mayday."
The two firefighters in front bailed out the driver's door, but Rhine couldn't budge the back door. It was so hot his hand blistered as he tried to push it open.
The others yelled at him to go out the front, but he couldn't hear over the roar of the fire. He dove over the seat, out the door and to the ground, and they began to flee. As the three sprinted across a field in search of safety, Rhine felt the fire burning his ears. He kept running.
The wildfire that broke out Sunday west of downtown Yakima, an agricultural hub known for tree fruit, wine grapes and hops for beer, burned across nearly 10 square miles before firefighters contained it. The blaze destroyed a vacant home, a vacant structure owned by the state and four outbuildings. Fences, pump houses and fruit trees were damaged.
Also lost: Engine 31, a structure protection fire truck valued at $400,000.
The three firefighters on board suffered minor injuries. But their narrow escape illustrates the dangers of fighting wildfire in the arid West, where tinder-dry land and blustery winds can almost instantly turn a routine blaze into a killer.
Rhine took up volunteer firefighting some two years ago, initially to bond with his son. When the son pursued other interests, the father found he enjoyed it and continued training.
Rhine relishes the volunteer work that fills his summers. The 50-year-old school counselor said it makes him feel as if he's "going on 35."
The 2010 fire season started quietly here with a wet spring, though recent temperatures well into the 90s dried the grasslands and forest floors out quickly.
Blue skies and sunshine greeted Rhine Sunday, so he spent the day riding his motorcycle. He noticed the plume of smoke drifting from behind a ridge just after 2 p.m. while riding home.
Rhine stopped in at the station. No calls yet. But he went home, put on his firefighting pants and shirt and gathered his gear. Then the call came.
Mike Willette spent the afternoon touching up the paint on his new horse barn, monitoring the smoke from his home atop a bluff at the end of a narrow, dead-end driveway.
A neighbor hollered over from his orchard: "Michael, you keeping an eye on that smoke? I lived through this as a kid, and you can't run fast enough."
When Willette saw the fire reach the bottom of the hill, he told his wife, Suzan, time to go.
She gathered photos and other keepsakes, and Mike Willette scattered sprinklers to protect the house. His wife drove away in one car. He followed in another, stopping briefly to halter their two horses and release them.
Engine 31 entered the driveway as Mike Willette pulled away.
"I'm sending 31 down there. We do need to protect the egress. They have one way in, one way out," a lookout said.
"Copy. If we have to get people outta there, get 'em moving," a command voice replied. "Hey, no heroics. You know, we don't want anybody to get hurt."
Rhine surveyed unburned fields as the truck picked its way over the bumpy dirt lane toward the house and Engine 45, a water truck already in place. He didn't see any signs of immediate danger. His driver began to turn the 30-foot fire truck around at the end to beat a hasty retreat if need be.
Routine chatter continued over the radio for a few minutes before a voice bursts in: "Three-one, get out. Get out."
Rhine felt the heat, the smoke getting thicker.
Another voice, much more urgently, seconds later: "It's heading west. Get 31 outta there!"
Yakima has been scarred by wildfire before. In 2001, four area firefighters died battling the Thirtymile fire in north-central Washington's Okanogan National Forest. An investigation found that fire bosses had broken all 10 U.S. Forest Service standard safety rules and ignored numerous signs of danger.
This week, Rhine and the two other firefighters sprinted across a field and found safety beyond Willette's barn. Another truck swooped in to pick them up and an ambulance carried them to a hospital.
Over the radio: "Lost the damn truck, but everybody's accounted for."
Injuries were minor: a twisted ankle, smoke inhalation and cuts. Rhine suffered second-degree burns to his ears.
Safety was the top priority Sunday, Rhine said. He said he doesn't believe any safety rules were broken. Quite simply, fire is erratic.
"We went into a situation that was deemed safe. We knew there was some risk, but the fire behavior changed within seconds," he said.
Rhine still considers himself a rookie, despite many hours of training. His two colleagues on the truck had several years of experience. Both have declined comment. West Valley Fire and Rescue officials also declined to discuss the incident during the third-party investigation.
"I remember thinking I was going to die," Rhine said, but added that getting stuck in the cab of a burning truck wasn't a defining moment in his life.
"The care and compassion I received from brother and sister firefighters afterward was the defining moment to me," he said. "Living through it and experiencing the love and support from fellow firefighters and others in my life."
Mike Willette's house survived the fire. His new barn did not.
"I'm so glad they're alive," he said.
My Opinion
So, I'm not only a volunteer firefighter, but I'm also a wildland firefighter with Alberta Sustainable Resource and Development in the Waterways (Ft. McMurray) District. So I've seen my fair share of wildland fires and I can tell you that fire IS very erratic. But with that being said, you have to know your topography, area, and weather to fight fire effectively.
I know that when I see a storm cloud (CB) moving in, that it's going to change the winds as it passes over or around. I know that the downdrafts off that CB can affect the winds over 16km's away. You also have to take into account, topography, slope, terrain, vegetation, and moisture in the air. If it was a hot day and they know that the Relative Humidity (RH) was going down to the lower percentile (ie 15-25%) then they may experience cross-over conditions where you're more likely to see extreme fire conditions. Especially seeing that the temperatures were in the 90F range (32C). You should EXPECT to see extreme and erratic behaviour and sometimes, the best thing to do is to take a step back and re-assess the situation. Maybe you need to burn out ahead of the fire? Maybe you need more resources like air tankers, heli-bombers, and ground resources. Great job in containing the fire, and although they lost the engine, it's fantastic (even a miracle) that everyone was safe and not seriously hurt.
The vegetation they have down there is very similar to a grass fire in that it can seem pretty benign and an easy catch, then you get that shift in wind and the fire goes from heading towards a natural fuel break such as a road where it'll most likely stop and you can hold it, to continuous fuels and it builds heat, energy, and momentum there. All of a sudden you're short resources, and you're stretching thin and you may not know it. Safety HAS to be of the utmost importance. Yes we're here to do a job, and yes saving property is one of those jobs, but saving lives, including our own, is said first for a reason. Protect yourself and be careful of watch out situations like this one. I'm glad they're all ok, but let's try to learn from this incident. It's not a mistake because things like this do happen just because they do and fire is like that, but if we can learn from this, it might help us plan for that scenario and maybe cope with it a little better. Maybe you DON'T go down that one way road and have a separate egress point? Maybe you choose a LARGE safety zone that WON'T burn over. These are things that we can think of.
Firefighter Brad MacMillan
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