When the wildfires exploded in Southern California, comparisons to a war zone raced through newsfeeds almost as quickly as the flames tore through the hills.
If this is a war, then it is the kind of war that, as writer Kathryn Schulz put it, “we lose even when we win.” If wildfire is the enemy, then it is unbeatable. And if firefighters are soldiers, they are seriously overmatched.
Yes, some wildfires — including the ones that ripped through Los Angeles and still threaten it today — will always have to be fought. But the bigger picture remains unchanged: We cannot win a war against nature.
A more accurate and sustainable wildfire narrative exists, however. I experienced it firsthand during the 2022 and 2023 fire seasons as a crewmember with the Stanislaus and Baker River Hotshots. It is as compelling as any war story, but far more nuanced than the classic adversarial framing.
It is based on a simple truth about much of the Western landscape: Fire is as necessary as it is inevitable. Even suppressing a fire often requires setting more fires in order to corral the primary target. But doing so takes skill rather than brute force — artistry rather than enmity.
(Left) Baker River Hotshots crew members hike into formation after refilling their drip torches during a prescribed burn operation in Washington’s Okanogan-Wenatchee National Forest. (Right) A pine tree torches during a prescribed burn operation in Washington’s Okanogan-Wenatchee National Forest.
Wildland fire isn’t a war. It’s a craft, albeit a mentally and physically grueling one.
Hotshot crews typically log over a thousand hours of overtime in a six-month fire season, and it takes at least several seasons to acquire the experience and situational awareness that makes a firefighter effective. Out on the line, we called it being “dialed.” Even the least experienced among us are forced to become more dialed than we’ve ever been before.
It’s true that soldiers also have to be dialed within their operational environments. But the comparison should end there. Our end goals aren’t the same. We shouldn’t have to send firefighters into battle in order to find them inspiring; excellence and commitment to craft, divorced from any concept of conquest or violence, are dramatic enough.
Wildland fire isn’t a war. It’s a craft, albeit a mentally and physically grueling one.
See, part of what makes the war metaphor so nefarious is that it lets society off the hook, allowing it to substitute lip service for genuine support and recognition. It encourages people to call us heroes and thank us for our service even as we’re categorized — and paid — as unskilled labor.
Today, the base pay of an entry-level federal wildland firefighter starts at $15 per hour, temporarily up from $13 thanks to the Bipartisan Infrastructure law. And even if Congress finally acts to make that pay raise permanent, it is still a paltry starting point.
(Top left) Baker River Hotshots lead firefighter Ty Ruijters (foreground) wields a drip torch during a prescribed burn operation in Washington’s Okanogan-Wenatchee National Forest. (Top right) Baker River Hotshots crew members Brook Wedin and Ty Ruijters stare into flames while waiting to begin a burnout operation on the Bedrock Fire in Oregon’s Willamette National Forest. The crew had already worked a full day shift by the time the main fire front began to flank existing fireline, forcing an emergency, late-night burnout. By the time they returned to camp at 6 a.m., they had been awake for 24 hours. (Bottom left) Jerrod Stefl, a squad boss on the Stanislaus Hotshots, rubs the sleep from his eyes while holding a burn on the Six Rivers Lightning Complex in California’s Six Rivers National Forest. Large fires are staffed 24 hours a day, with crews working day, night or “swing” shifts. The latter shifts are often used for defensive burning operations, which become less risky under cooler, wetter conditions.(Bottom right) Baker River Hotshots crew members Jack Bruemmer, Keith Kaneshiro, Ian McGinnis, Lance Barajas, and Daniel Araya (clockwise from left) refill dolmars with gas and bar oil and sharpen chains after a shift on the Flat Fire in Oregon’s Rogue River-Siskiyou National Forest.
If we understood that depriving a landscape of healthy fire is as dangerous as depriving our bodies of nutrients and rest, we would pay wildland firefighters like doctors and give their choice to go train and work in the woods all the respect it deserves.
There is no future without fire, and no future in which federal wildland firefighters are not its indispensable stewards.
It is time we brought both our policies and our stories into alignment with this fact.
Note: This story was updated to correct the location of some of the prescribed burn operations in the photos.
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