The View from Here

Figure 1 -- The iconic image of the South blow-up that will claim the lives of 14 wildland .

Acknowledging our current culture and its shortcomings while using its strengths to lead change.

December 2018

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This collection represents collective insight into how we operate and why we must alter some of our most ingrained practices and perspectives. Contents Introduction ...... 3 I Risk ...... 4 1. The Illusion of Control ...... 5 2. It’s Going to Happen Again ...... 14 3. The Big – Honor the Fallen ...... 19 4. The Problem with Zero ...... 26 5. RISK, GAIN, and LOSS – What are We Willing to Accept? ...... 29 6. How Do We Know This Job is Dangerous? ...... 39 II Culture ...... 41 1. US and THEM ...... 42 2. Because It’s Fun ...... 47 3. Fire Culture ...... 49 4. What Makes You Matter? ...... 53 5. Learning at Work – Safe Spaces Required? ...... 57 III Operations...... 66 1. Same as It Ever Was ...... 67 2. Own Your Strategy ...... 72 3. Fruit We Can Reach ...... 74 4. We are Wrong ...... 82 5. The Lunch Spot ...... 84

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Figure 2

Introduction

We Must Align Our Perspectives and Seek a Common Understanding This collection of essays—divided into three key categories: Risk, Culture, and Operations— daylights qualities and practices in the wildland fire service across a broad spectrum, from outdated and unwarranted to honorable and profound. We must acknowledge our current culture and its shortcomings while using its strengths to lead change. This collection represents collective insight into how we operate and why we must alter some of our most ingrained practices and perspectives. The main intent is to provide awareness for those decision-makers operating at crucial levels who are empowered to influence how we interact with fire across the landscape. We must align our perspectives related to risk and exposure if we are to advance our collective interest in the well-being of our workforce and our landscape. To fully appreciate the task at hand, we must also fully acknowledge the culture that supports and shapes the work as it’s currently performed. This collection is intended to illuminate the complexity of interacting with wildland fire while revealing the simplicity of shifting perspective. Common understanding will lead to actions that will ultimately advance our collective well-being.

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I Risk

These six essays describe the collective tension around risk and exposure in the wildland fire service.

Figure 3 – Becky Blankenship photo.

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1. The Illusion of Control

Ready to tip some sacred cows? Figure 4

(This content originally appeared in the Spring 2016 Issue of Two More Chains that is available on the Wildland Fire Lessons Learned Center’s website: https://www.wildfirelessons.net/viewdocument/two-more-chains-spring-2016.) By Travis Dotson

In the wildland fire service, we suffer from an “Illusion of Control”. This illusion is so pervasive it’s never even acknowledged, let alone discussed. The ever present assumption that complete control is possible puts us in a constant cognitive struggle to make sense of the frequent evidence to the contrary. We are not in control of the elements influencing fire, we are not in control of the other humans influencing our situation, and we are not even in control of our own perception of what the situation is.

In spite of all this uncertainty, as we step into this dynamic and complex environment, we convince ourselves we are in control of our own safety.

In spite of all this uncertainty, as we step into this dynamic and complex environment, we convince ourselves we are in control of our own safety. This unconscious self-—the illusion of control—is feeding our well-intentioned efforts to “get better” at our current way of doing things. What if we dropped the illusion and accepted all the instances in which we gamble? Could this acknowledgment provide a new perspective on when and where we are willing and not willing to take chances in this line of work? Maybe.

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Good old Wikipedia says: “The illusion of control is the tendency for people to overestimate their ability to control events.” Notice that the illusion stems from overestimating one’s ability to control. This is an important distinction. Complicating the matter, Wikipedia goes on to inform: “The illusion is more common in familiar situations, and in situations where the person knows the desired outcome.” I am rather familiar with the fireline. When I’m there I know what the desired outcome is. If I come upon a stretch of line dotted with sketchy leaner snags I tell myself to be “super heads- up” when I walk through. If I scramble down that piece of dirt and don’t get smashed— especially if a snag creaks and wobbles and I pick up the pace—when I’m back at the truck I can give myself credit for surviving (overestimating the extent of my control). But let’s face it, I was just rolling the dice. And I got lucky. Sticks and Stones For the most part, we accept the gambling involved with heavy things falling down onto us. Tops of trees and granite masses of multiple sizes whiz by us on a fairly regular basis. When someone does get mangled by forest shrapnel, we typically attribute this to “wrong place/wrong time”—which means chance (bad luck). To be realistic, on any given day it’s a good bet to go into the woods with the expectation of not getting hit by a tree or rock, but it’s still a bet. Now, enter all the elements we typically face: fire weakened trees, wind, compromised root systems, bug kill, poor visibility, tough ground, etc. The odds get worse, but then we “mitigate” right? Send fallers in ahead of time, set a wind speed threshold, avoid really bad areas, etc. Being anywhere in there is still a gamble. We don’t even need to go into any detail about rocks. If there’s slope and chunks of solid mineral material, gravity does its finest work and we just cross our fingers and stay “super heads up”. Again, with trees and rocks, most of us accept the fact that we’re rolling the dice. We are instructed to believe that our own ability to “keep our head on a swivel” is solely responsible for our continued existence, which further escalates our commitment to the illusion of control. Entrapped By Our Beliefs We love to rail against the goal of “zero fatalities” and drone on and on about the “inherently dangerous” nature of our business. But right out of the other side of our mouth comes a long list of things that can “guarantee” us not being entrapped by fire. Ready to tip some sacred cows? I’m not saying all the advice dispensed in the long list of lists isn’t helpful. I’m just saying we need to acknowledge all the assumptions that are baked into them. Let’s go right to the king of the lists: The Ten Standard Fire Orders Assumption One: All of these actions are POSSIBLE (within our control). Have you ever KNOWN what your fire was doing at ALL times? Think of all the simple and complex ways you have been surprised by fire.

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Assumption Two: Humans are capable of flawless performance (it’s possible to get everything right all the time). When I’m not thinking clearly due to the carbon monoxide in my brain from the smoke I’ve been living in for a week without adequate rest and extreme physical exertion, having a list tell me to “think clearly” doesn’t remedy the situation. Then there is the king assumption above all else and the hardest one to let go of: Assumption Three: It’s possible to FIGHT fire safely. (Note: Not interact with fire, but FIGHT.) To believe this, you have to believe that in this dynamic, complex, unpredictable environment, individuals are to blame for bad outcomes. To believe this is to say only “bad firefighters” get hurt or killed (especially by entrapment). This last order sets us up for the circular logic used in the aftermath of tragedy: “They died, so they obviously didn’t provide for safety first.” While this is a convenient method for self-soothing (I won’t die because I DO provide for safety first), its utility on the fire ground is questionable and might even be destructive.

I’m just asking you to consider this more realistic perspective. Just try it out for a bit and see how it feels.

Difficult Pill to Swallow I realize there is a group out there shaking their fists and shouting: “Blasphemy!” Trust me, I know how difficult a pill this is to swallow. I know it’s easier to just spit the pill out and keep on doing your part to support the Illusion of Control. I’m just asking you to consider this more realistic perspective. Just try it out for a bit and see how it feels. Consider for a moment how it would feel to have less control than we would like, knowing full well you have no choice but to jump right back into the “I have control” mindset to go out and swing a tool. The Absence of Zero Risk Alternatives One area we almost all agree on is the absence of zero risk alternatives. I’m fairly certain there are very few folks out there who believe we can mitigate our way out of risk completely. The 2016 Interagency Standards for Fire and Fire Aviation Operations (Red Book)—that can be found and downloaded at the National Interagency Fire Center’s website at: https://www.nifc.gov/policies/pol_ref_redbook.html—recognizes this: “Our safety philosophy acknowledges that while the ideal level of risk may be zero, a hazard-free work environment is not a reasonable or achievable goal in fire operations.” Pretty straight forward. The Red Book goes on to state that: “The primary means by which we implement command decisions and maintain unity of action is through the use of common principles of operations. These principles guide our fundamental wildland fire management practices, behaviors, and customs, and are mutually understood at every level of command. They include Risk Management, Standard Orders and Watch Out Situations, LCES and the Downhill Line Construction Checklist. These principles are fundamental to how we perform fire

The View from Here 7 operations, and are intended to improve decision making and safety. They are not absolute rules. They require judgment in application.” So none of our lists are “absolute rules”. And, I would add that thinking of them as “rules” only serves to entrench us in our Illusion of Control. The supporter of these lists being absolute rules typically believes in the fantasy of “just follow the rules and nobody gets hurt”.

The supporter of these lists being absolute rules typically believes in the fantasy of “just follow the rules and nobody gets hurt”.

As a crew leader, what is your primary duty? Is it to get work done? Is it to bring all your crewmembers home safely? I know your answer is “both”. That’s exactly why we are so invested in the Illusion of Control. We have to believe we are in control to “get off the bus”, to feel OK with “engaging” in any format. We have to believe we are in control to take on the charge of “bringing everyone home safe”—even though this charge devastates survivors. Did the crew leader fail when a random rock or snag kills a firefighter? No! By the same token, did a crew leader fail when their fireground prediction was wrong—no matter what the reason—and the crew is overrun by fire? That is where we are less willing to emphatically shout “No!” because it makes us uncomfortable. It challenges our own Illusion of Control. I’m not saying there isn’t skill involved in our work, of course there is. Skill is an enormous part of our job and we have honed it to a very sharp point. We are good, more than good, we are outstanding at navigating the complexity of the environment we face. We have gotten better and better over time and we will continue to improve. But we will never be in complete control. And we will never improve to the point of perfection. I truly believe there is benefit in acknowledging that. Let’s back off from that stuff for a bit. We’ll come back to it. Maybe we should explore where this Illusion of Control came from, where was it born and who fed it so consistently—enabling it to grow as big and strong as it is. The Illusion of Control is nothing new, it’s just part of our wiring. Many of us work for “land management” agencies whose very premise is rooted in the notion that intentional human intervention is needed for “the greater good”. Belief in our ability to control is crucial to that effort. You Ever Heard of ‘Jetty Jacks’? Have you ever heard of “jetty jacks”? These large, crossed-steel structures built to trap sediment and stabilize river banks were used in an attempt to tame the Rio Grande starting in the 1940s. They served their purpose but now present a dilemma for all land owners involved. The modern day complexity resulting from the initially simple solution is well documented in “Taking Out the Jacks: Issues of Jetty Jack Removal in Bosque and River Restoration Planning”, by Kathy Grassel, 2002. (This article can be downloaded at the University of New ’s Digital Repository website: http://digitalrepository.unm.edu/wr_sp/140/?sequence=1.)

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This paper explains how “jetty jacks contributed to the success of the massive human undertaking of reshaping the Rio Grande for the protection of property, levees, and riverbanks from flooding.” As the use of these simple tools increased, those in charge realized they could convert the meandering and braided river into a more convenient straight channel down the middle of the Rio Grande Valley. In relation to our modern day, the author explains: “Jetty jacks in a post-dam era have lost their function.” The paper goes on to discuss “issues surrounding their former usefulness present redundancy and potential stumbling blocks to their removal”. Figure 5 – Jetty Jacks.

The Failure to Predict Downstream Complications If you’re not getting where I’m going with this, let me help you out. When we engineer solutions to a problem we are currently facing, we rarely predict all of the potential downstream complications that we may be creating in the process, as in the case of jetty jacks. What if some of the older “solutions” we have implemented in the wildland fire arena have actually “lost their function” and we just haven’t acknowledged it yet? Figure 6

More likely, it’s not the solutions themselves, but rather the perspective which spawned them that is problematic. The perspective of “Fire as the Enemy” obviously framed the problem in such a way that produced exactly what we currently have, an organization unable to extract itself from adversarial language related to fire.

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With language driving culture and culture driving action, it makes sense to be where we are today. The problem, however, is that the language supports the old problem frame. And maintaining that frame limits our ability to innovate. I am curious about what possibilities would emerge were we to shed this limiting perception? For better or worse, we love the idea of an enemy to defeat. It feeds our power-driven Illusion of Control. And, it sells T-shirts. The Context in Which These Solutions were Imagined Now back to those Fire Orders. Let’s talk about them in the context of their inception. What else was going on when these well-intentioned words were crafted? Who created them and what was the typical view of the world at the time? We all know the story, our very essence is rooted in our retelling of the lessons written in the blood and the glory of our pursuit. Figure 7

“Surely these men gave their lives in defense of this country, for without the strength of our forests, water, and other natural resources, this Nation would not be a leader in the free world today.” Richard E. McArdle, Chief, U.S. Forest Service, January 1957

This powerful statement by Chief McArdle (above) that links our business directly to leading the free world came after 11 fatalities on the Inaja Fire of 1956 which spurred the creation of a task force to tackle two very clear objectives: 1. Recommend further action needed in both administration and research to materially reduce the chances of men being killed by burning while fighting fire. 2. Recommend ways to develop experts in fire behavior. Many efforts resulted from this endeavor, including—but not limited to—the creation and adoption of the Ten Standard Firefighting Orders.

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Figure 8

What I want to examine is the context in which these solutions were imagined. What did America, and the world for that matter, look like and what was the perspective of those charged with tackling the socially unpopular recurrence of dead firefighters? 1957 America As the Ten Standard Fire Orders were being crafted, the was deep in the . As our collective fear of Communism blossomed we dreamt up the notion of “Mutually Assured Destruction” which included “Massive Retaliation” as part of our foreign policy. The memory of dropping two atomic bombs on Japan was fresh in our minds. The culture of the time relating to anything unwanted was to overpower and destroy it, both overseas and domestically. Here at home we were just wrapping up an era of well-supported public persecution, eventually known as McCarthyism. At the same time, the U.S. Government was in the height of intentionally dismantling Native American communities through the “Indian Termination Policy”. Yes, it was literally called “Termination”. The Civil Rights Movement—and resistance to it—was in full swing. What does this have to do with the Fire Orders? Context matters. America in the 1950s wasn’t all lollipops and daisies. Part of the fabric of the time was a general tendency toward control, with the default response to any problem being force. Overpower. Eliminate. Defeat. This is the unquestioned vernacular depicting the go-to tactic for maintaining accepted norms. And it comes through loud and clear in the Fire Orders. Having your default response set to “fight” has consequences. It sets you up for periodic defeat, which we have certainly proven with our continued combat with fire.

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I am by no means the first to question the utility of our sacred lists. After South Canyon, the fire community was shaken to its core. Much discussion regarding the Ten Standard Orders ensued.

A Small Group Who Started Pushing Back I am by no means the first to question the utility of our sacred lists. After South Canyon, the fire community was shaken to its core. Much discussion regarding the Ten Standard Orders ensued. Most folks reacted with the mantra: “We don’t bend them; we don’t break them”. There were also a few individuals who started asking harder questions and pushing back:  “Effective Firefighting Calls For Bending Rules Sometimes” by Quentin Rhoades in 1994. This article can be downloaded at the Wildland Fire Leadership website: https://www.fireleadership.gov/toolbox/staffride/downloads/lsr9/lsr9_effective_firefightin g.pdf.  “Human Limitations vs. Superhuman Expectations” by Jim Cook in 1995. This article can be downloaded at the Wildland Fire Lessons Learned Center website: https://www.wildfirelessons.net/viewdocument/human-limitations-vs-superhuman- ex.  “The Ten Standard Firefighting Orders: Can Anyone Follow Them?” by Ted Putnam in 2002. This article can be downloaded at this website: https://www.coursehero.com/file/27422022/10-SFOs-putnamdoc/

In the paper cited above, Ted Putnam wrote: “These ‘orders’ are deceptive in that they seem to be basic actions firefighters can accomplish. It is only on closer inspection and considering them in light of what is behaviorally possible that it becomes apparent that none of them can be followed, as stated, let alone following them all simultaneously as management suggests.” Admitting that We Don’t Know Everything So what does all this mean? The existence and continued use of the Fire Orders only serves to confirm our very real Illusion of Control. I’m not certain we can eliminate the Illusion of Control—I’m not even sure we want to. I do feel like there is benefit in acknowledging it. We’ve said it before: Uncertainty Exists. I’m suggesting the effect of uncertainty on our objectives is most problematic when the uncertainty goes unrecognized. What if we chose to admit that we don’t know everything, including what the fire will do and how we will react? The ultimate assumption in the Fire Orders—and just about every other tool in our toolbox—is that the system surrounding the individual is perfect and bad outcomes are the result of some individual’s poor performance (AKA “human error”).

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Figure 9

Acknowledging that we consistently overestimate our level of control is just one more reason to accept that “mistakes” are well within the range of “normal” on the spectrum of human performance and that a system dependent on flawless human performance is unsound and unjust. Asking the Question has Merit The other unspoken assumption in almost every list or piece of guidance we have is that, overall, our objective is to overpower the fire—to fight. But this flies in the face of the current fad of waxing poetic about identifying and protecting “values at risk”—most notably, our very vulnerable human workforce. What windows open when we reimagine our mission and the intent of our actions on a given assignment? Can we even open that window while subscribing to marching orders born of an aggressive and simplistic worldview more than a half-century ago? I don’t have the answer. But I am confident that asking the question has merit. We are not in complete control. And the sooner we admit that, the sooner we can get busy innovating our way to safer interactions with fire.

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2. It’s Going to Happen Again

(This content originally appeared in the August 8, 2017 Wildland Fire Lessons Learned Center Blog Post authored by Mike Lewelling, Fire Management Officer, Rocky Mountain National Park. This Blog Post can be found at: https://wildfirelessons.wordpress.com/2017/08/08/its-going-to-happen-again/.) By Mike Lewelling The Safety Officer stated that the purpose of our review was to learn from this accident and to ask ourselves: “How could this accident be prevented?” A good goal, and a good question that we should always ask. But, even so, it is a question that bothered me. Figure 10

I recently had the unfortunate job of completing an accident review on one of my Hotshots who had received a very serious chainsaw cut wound to a finger. By policy—and good practice—we convened an accident review panel. This group included the Hotshot Superintendent; my Supervisor; the Park Safety Officer; the injured Hotshot; and me, the Park Fire Management Officer. The Safety Officer stated that the purpose of our review was to learn from this accident and to ask ourselves: “How could this accident be prevented?” A good goal, and a good question that we should always ask. But, even so, it is a question that bothered me. Important Sideboards It seems to me that to even frame such a question, some sideboards and assumptions first need to be made. These include:  Unwanted wildland fires will continue to occur.

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 Line Officers/Agency Administrators will continue to request that firefighters suppress wildland fires.  Wildland fires will continue to occur in uneven, steep, rocky terrain with countless physical and environmental hazards.  Firefighters will continue to utilize direct and indirect strategies and tactics to achieve the mission.  Hotshot crews will continue to be asked to accept potentially higher-risk assignments.  Firefighters will continue to utilize chainsaws to effectively and safely accomplish their mission.  More? What other high-risk duties do we ask our firefighters to accomplish—that aren’t going to change as long as we continue to ask them to operate in the wildland fire environment? Figure 11

Removing the Non-Realistic Mitigations These sideboards/assumptions prevent the “Root Cause” seekers from recommending non- realistic mitigations such as:  Not being near ,  Not walking on steep uneven ground,  Not going near physical and environmental hazards,  Not using dangerous tools like chainsaws. The fact is, we made a personal choice to work in wildland fire, and that choice of employment carries with it inherent risk. The previously listed sideboards/assumptions come with accepting

The View from Here 15 this job. As public servants, the very nature of our employment comes with risk—meaning if you don’t want to be exposed to risk, you can choose another line of work. Here’s What Happened that Day Having framed this accident with sideboards, here’s what actually happened that day on the Clark on Colorado’s White River National Forest. The Sawyer and Swamper were asked to take care of a 3×3-foot spot across the fireline that was smoldering in the duff under a tree. This spot was on a steep slope. The Sawyer, working the bottom side of the tree, had moved to the tree’s high side. The Swamper was clearing brush that had already been cut below the tree. The Sawyer and Swamper were approximately 10 feet apart. The Swamper slipped and fell toward the tree—putting his hands out in front of him to break the fall. At the same time, the Sawyer reached out with the chainsaw to limb the tree. Both of those movements closed the gap. The tip of the chainsaw made contact with the Swamper’s right ring finger, cutting through his glove, lacerating the finger from his main knuckle to the tip of his finger. A well-orchestrated medical treatment and evacuation occurred. The Swamper was transported by the Superintendent’s vehicle off the fire and transferred to a waiting ambulance who got the Swamper to the hospital emergency room in an hour. Key Factors in this Accident In reviewing the accident, we looked at several key factors:  Risk Management The crew has chainsaw JHA’s that they go over at the beginning of the season and periodically review, as well as tailgate safety sessions each day based on the day’s work. These processes identified potential hazards as well as mitigations of Sawyers and Swampers working together. Figure 12

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 Mission Drive There was no sense of urgency. The spot fire was not posing an immediate threat. The crew was just beginning work for the day to complete handline and the fire was not moving.  Team Selection The Sawyer and Swamper have been working together all year. Each person had two years on a . Prior to being on the Hotshot Crew, the Swamper had six years of fire experience. He is certainly well aware of risks and is proficient in moving over steep, uneven ground. The fact of the matter is, as a Hotshot Saw Team, these two are as experienced as it gets.  Training The Sawyer and Swamper have had basic saw training, years of crew experience snagging, cutting hotline, bucking, felling, etc. In addition, the entire crew spends a great deal of time on Sawyer and Swamper operations as a standard operating procedure.  Team Fitness This accident occurred first thing in the morning. Both employees had good rest. They had just eaten, were warmed up, and were very situationally aware. Both of their physical fitness levels are outstanding. The crew was toward the beginning of their third assignment of the year.  Environment This was a typical fireline environment that you would find on any fire in mountainous terrain. Cannot be avoided.  Work Complexity Limbing and brushing-out around a tree is a skill that both of these employees are very proficient at. They had done this countless times this fire season.  Complacency The Sawyer and Swamper were situationally aware and are on their game when the saw is running. Although brushing and limbing are a task frequently done, when the saw is running, these two pay extra attention.  History Looking back at this IHC’s history, this is the first reported chainsaw cut accident in more than 20 years. This is an astonishing feat given the countless hours of exposure and technical difficulty of their chainsaw operations. These two employees were doing the job they were asked to do. And they were doing it in a way that was professional, competent, and how they were trained to do it. The Swamper simply slipped and tried to arrest his fall by putting his hand out in front of himself. I do not know of anyone who has not slipped, tripped or fell at some point. My True Answer: “I Don’t Know” My empathetic mind—as a leader of employees who are real people with real families and loved ones—cannot process that there is an acceptable level of accidents/injuries or fatalities in The View from Here 17 our line of work. However, the practical part of my mind has to acknowledge that once we agree to an acceptable level of risk, do we not also—at the same time—accept a certain level of loss? It’s a simple mathematical equation—probability and consequences. If we accept that we have a 99 percent chance of success, which also means we accept the 1 percent chance of loss. As leaders, we ask our employees to accept risk by completing assignments for us. If we ask them to accept this risk, did we just make a subconscious decision to accept the potential for loss should something go wrong? I do not say “accept loss” as some flippant resignation that by accepting this concept people getting hurt or killed is OK. I want the people I lead to know this is a possibility, and in some part of their brain they will take that extra look, take an extra second, make a different decision that makes a positive difference in the future. Therefore, my true answer to “How could this accident be prevented?” is: I don’t know. Do You?

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3. The Big Lie – Honor the Fallen

(This essay was written and distributed by Mark Smith of Mission-Centered Solutions in 2016. It is available online at the Wildland Fire Leadership’s Blog site: http://wildlandfireleadership.blogspot.com/2016/06/the-big-lie.html.) By Mark Smith Introduction I’m the author of this essay, but it reflects two years of dialogue within a group called “Honor the Fallen” (HTF). Coalescing in the wake of the 2013 Yarnell Hill Fire and loss of 19 members of the Granite Mountain Hotshots, HTF is a collection of roughly 30 “seekers” within the wildland fire community. Hose‐draggers, fire directors, dirt diggers, academics, “Ollies”, agency administrators, ICs, FMOs…a diverse cross section is an understatement. This essay benefits from their critical eyes and input. What the group seeks is best explained by one of its founders: “One of the few acts of free will that tragedy leaves within our control is the chance to grow. Our brothers have given us such a precious and hard won opportunity to learn new knowledge and apply lessons. We realize and seek to highlight that cultural and other human factors risks are just as profound and potentially deadly as physical risks on any incident. The results WILL be repeated unchecked unless we commit to looking inside, to looking deeper at how we think, how we talk and how we perceive ourselves. Our end state is that the group’s efforts became a catalyst for continued cultural introspection into how human factors affect our decisions. The engagement generates a watershed event from the fire, having provoked thought, dialogue, questions and explorations in all corners of the wildland fire community. Yarnell Hill leads to a stronger, more self‐aware and more resilient wildland fire culture. Our effort was perceived as having rendered due honor and respect to the Granite Mountain Hotshots.” HTF is ready for this essay to be shared. But as another one of our members put it so well: “…I can't help but feel that there is a conversation that needs to precede it. A conversation about our mission as suppression resources. Are we now in the business of intentionally risking lives to achieve wildland fire objectives? I ask because at least the [Agency] has never accepted that position before and maintains its stance on zero tolerance to this day. I understand that firefighters are going to die but there is a big difference between vehicle accidents and entrapments.” This essay takes the position that, by default, and for many reasons, risking lives to achieve wildland fire objectives is exactly what is happening. The debate on whether that is what should be happening is stifled by the denial that it’s happening right now.

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If the calculus is going to change, then wildland agencies are going to have to decide how to reconcile the expectations of taxpayers and their elected representatives with agency culture on acceptable risk. Right now this disconnect between reality and action is analogous to Social Security. Everyone knows it is unsustainable, everyone knows what is going to happen if nothing is done. Everyone knows it’s going to be really bad. Yet we demonstrate a complete lack of collective will to tackle the elephant in the room. Slight adjustments and tweaks are made that have almost no perceptible impact because they nibble around the edges of symptoms. The causes at the core remain unchallenged. The Big Lie: 18.6 – and Culture in a High Risk Environment I was 18 years old and “chuted up”. Waiting for my first jump with my new unit after completing airborne school. Sitting on the drop zone waiting to board the helicopter, I watched two of my fellow Ranger candidates steer their parachutes into each other and become entangled. At 300 feet both their canopies collapsed and they plummeted to earth. Both suffered permanent serious disability. As soon as the ambulance was away, one of the NCOs, our jumpmaster, walked back over. “All right Rangers, next stick. Load up!” As we were getting seated in the helo he said in a calm, even voice: “The smallest mistake will kill you and your buddies. Now you know why we train the way we do.” Some joined for adventure. For college money. For a job. But we were all told from Day One how dangerous our new world was going to be. It had not taken long for the concept to become visceral. There were no illusions about the path we had chosen. From that moment on, death and injury were going to be a normal part of my life. A state I greatly respect recently asked, “Why are families so surprised or feel betrayed when their kids die fighting wildfires?” I believe the answer to that is because of the Big Lie. The lie that wildland firefighting is safe. Young firefighters and their families are told that they have a “right” to a safe work environment. It is explicit in the Interagency Standards for Fire and Aviation Operations: “Every individual has the right to turn down unsafe assignments.” [Reference: NWCG, (2016) Interagency Standards for Fire & Aviation Operations, Chapter 07 Safety and Risk Management, 07‐14 (Pg. 144 in online version.)] The lie is so insidious that it permeates the thinking of many fire managers and agency administrators to the point of denial, despite a steady flow of coffins standing as evidence to the contrary. During my service, from the disastrous attempt to rescue hostages in Iran in 1980 to just before 9/11, over 550 members of the U.S. military special operations community were killed during training or operations. [Reference: Special Operations Warrior Foundation (SOWF) (2001), statistics of special operations forces killed in line of duty from its founding after Operation Eagle Claw in 1980 to just prior to 9/11/2001.] That’s an average loss rate of about 26 a year out of a population of about 46,000.

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During a recent trip to the wildland firefighter memorial in Boise, I counted the names of those firefighters whose markers stated they died on a fire. I only counted those who died in 2000 or later. My count was 182. The actual count—through 2013—according to the National Interagency Fire Center is 261. [Reference: NIFC (2013) Historical Wildland Firefighter Fatality Reports, available on the NIFC website: http://www.nifc.gov/safety/safety_HistFatality_report.html.] Considerably higher than mine. From 2000 through 2013, an average of 18.6 ground and aerial wildland firefighters died doing normal business on fires each year. In 12 of 14 years that number was well into double-digits. In 2013, it was 34. I am always challenged during discussions about risk during classes and presentations to wildland audiences. “We're different than the military. We do not have acceptable losses.” [Reference: Wildland Fire Lessons Learned Center (LLC) (2015), Two More Chains, Spring 2015 Vol. 5 Issue 1 – has an in depth discussion of this topic.] “It appears you do,” I respond. “It’s almost 19 a year and for the most part the cultural fundamentals of trying to fight fire on the cheap with a seasonal militia-based model are unchanged.” Is it surprising when a officer is killed in an accident or shooting? Are we shocked when a structural firefighter is caught in a roof collapse? When a ship is lost at sea in a big storm? My mom would have been distraught had I been killed, but wouldn’t have been surprised. The Truth is That Wildland Firefighting is Inherently Dangerous The truth is that wildland firefighting, like any realm in which people, machines and extreme natural forces collide, is inherently dangerous. One in which a seemingly small error, even being at the wrong time and place, can get people hurt or killed. How long do we try to “vector to zero” before admitting the data is telling us there is no such thing? Merriam Webster has a pretty simple definition of safe: “Free from harm or risk.” [Reference: Merriam‐Webster (2014) Merriam‐Webster.com: Dictionary and Thesaurus–available at the Merriam-Webster website: https://www.merriam-webster.com.] It seems unrealistic one could be working on or above the fire ground and be free from risk. Here’s the interagency standards’ definition of safety: “A measure of the degree of freedom from risk or conditions that can cause death, physical harm, or equipment or property damage.” [Reference: NWCG, (2016) Interagency Standards for Fire & Aviation Operations, Chapter 07 Safety and Risk Management, 07‐2. (Pg. 132 in online version.)] The Big Lie turned “Free from risk” into “A measurement of the degree of freedom from risk”. How does that measurement appear on a wildland 215A? Or discussion around “acceptable risk” in a WFDSS document or IAP? The point of origin of the Big Lie. If interagency policy defines safety as a measurement of something that never gets measured... how can that mean anything?

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There is nothing low risk about a 19-year-old hotshot driving an ATV loaded with fuel mix down a mountain at dusk after being up and working for 12 hours. I would challenge anyone to do a proper risk assessment and get that below medium.

The essence of risk analysis is that after risks are mitigated, you make decisions based on the acceptability of the residual risk. That, too, is interagency policy. [Reference: NWCG, (2016) Interagency Standards for Fire & Aviation Operations, Chapter 07 Safety and Risk Management, 07‐2. (Pg. 132 in online version.)] But it is not supported in practice. There is no column for that on a wildland 215A, as there is on other versions, such as the ’s. I've not seen a 204 that quantifies residual risk for crews (i.e. this is a medium risk operation). The vast majority of administrators, fire managers and incident leaders I meet simply do not know how to do it. If the definition of safety is meaningless, and in contravention of its true nature, so too will be all the policies, rules and checklists that flow from it. The garbage in, garbage out effect. Following progress down the left and right flanks of the Big Lie, the confusion magnifies. Platitudes like “the 10 and 18. We don’t bend ‘em, we don’t break ‘em”, or “firefighter and public safety is your number one objective.” Actually, those are priorities not objectives. And they are two completely different priorities. Often you have to risk more with one in order to lessen the risk to the other. If real risk assessments—using the two axis, probability/severity model—were done in a tactics meeting on a typical wildland fire, here’s what we’d find. That most firefighters are routinely operating in medium or high-risk conditions. I often ask groups what they feel the risk level is on a typical fire assignment. The overwhelming majority say low, some say medium. This is shocking to me. There is nothing low risk about a 19-year-old hotshot driving an ATV loaded with fuel mix down a mountain at dusk after being up and working for 12 hours. I would challenge anyone to do a proper risk assessment and get that below medium. A single engine air attack platform operating over a fire in severe turbulence is medium risk. I have done dozens of risk assessments for airborne operations and have never been able to get one of them under a risk level of high. This tells me every jumper is operating in high risk just to commute to work. Nearly 19 firefighters a year are dying because they are operating, even after mitigation, in an inherently high risk environment. Not because they are just violating rules in a low risk environment. The Big Lie Stands in Opposition to the Values of Duty, Respect and Integrity I don’t believe the Big Lie is the normalization of this reality. The Big Lie is in denial of it. It stands in opposition to the wildland fire leadership values of duty, respect and integrity. [Reference: NWCG (2007) PMS 494‐2, Leading in the Wildland Fire Service, Preface, 3.]

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What actually gives me great hope is that, slowly, more and more leaders are abandoning the Big Lie in favor of the harsh truth that wildland firefighting is a very dangerous profession. The reality that people are going to get hurt and they are going to die. Many leaders have admitted to me in private that they know this. Yet they fear its admission is a license to ignore risks or abandon hard won safety standards. “We can’t admit we have acceptable losses!”

What actually gives me great hope is that, slowly, more and more leaders are abandoning the Big Lie in favor of the harsh truth that wildland firefighting is a very dangerous profession.

A colleague, retired Marine Lieutenant Colonel Eric Carlson, puts it best. “Oh no.” he says, “We accept the risk of losses. There are no acceptable losses.” [Reference: Carlson (2012) Comments as lead facilitator for L‐580 Leadership is Action, Gettysburg Staff Ride.] That’s the crux. Our loss of 550 special operators was not acceptable. Each loss compelled us to introspection and improvement. Just as that loss of 261 wildland firefighters has driven us to this discussion we’re having now. There is acceptable risk. There is no acceptable loss. But there will be losses. So where does that uncomfortable truth leave us? Simply, with the sacred duty to keep that loss as low as humanly possible. With the obligation to tell the truth to our firefighters and families about the world they’ve become a part of. Of the risks they will face. With making imperfect decisions using the best art and science possible. With redeeming the values of duty, respect and integrity. What Aspects of Current Culture Can We Attribute to the Big Lie? There are many aspects to that challenge of what needs to be overcome and how, but all start with foundational culture. What aspects of current culture can we attribute to the Big Lie? The Big Lie fails to acknowledge that it is impossible to “obey” the 10 standard firefighting orders to the letter on the best day. Do you truly know where your firefighters are at all times? Do you really have communications at all times? Therefore on the worst day, when a bad outcome occurs, you have automatically violated these yes or no “rules” and are therefore guilty. This is a lawyer’s dream. Senior leaders have begun to address this by calling the 10 & 18 guidelines and not policy, but these steps have been tentative and only partially implemented. The Big Lie has begot a zero defect mentality whose main goal is not making any mistakes. Transparency and learning have become subordinate to covering one’s rear end, resulting in the chronic underreporting of near misses and other important lessons for fear of reprisal. We make culture. It is the result of choices, either conscious or unconscious. Figuring Out What Works and Why As the developers of the first Fireline Leadership (L‐380), Incident Leadership (L‐381), and now Advanced Leadership for the C&GS (L‐481) programs, my colleagues and I have spent decades

The View from Here 23 looking deeply into the timeless lessons from humans’ experience in chaos in order to figure out what works and why. Culture has to start with expectations. Many in wildland fire are asking: “How much risk is acceptable in fire suppression?” Does engagement with fire always mean fighting the fire?

The objective must be a culture whose leaders have the critical thinking and risk decision tools worthy of people getting a very dangerous job done with limited means to do it.

That answer starts with defining the mission and the environment in which it must be conducted [Government] organizations seeking to achieve certain politically articulated goals. [Reference: Boin, Hart, Stern & Sundelius (2010), The Politics of Crisis Management, 20.] Those define the expectations of the American people, elected officials, senior leadership, and our leaders. Taxes are paid with an expectation of protection from human-caused and natural disasters. While no reasonable person expects a firefighter to die or suffer serious injury protecting their property, they do expect firefighters to put themselves in harm’s way in an attempt to minimize damage. In the current perimeter control paradigm, that means placing teams of people and equipment, all subject to the forces of “Murphy’s Law, into a chaotic environment fraught with friction, danger and uncertainty. [“Murphy’s Law” Reference: De Morgan (1866) “Supplement to the Budget of Paradoxes,” The Athenaeum no. 2017, 836 – subsequently Murphy’s Law: If it can happen, it will happen – a corollary to the 2nd Law of Thermodynamics: that energy tends to spontaneously move from being concentrated in one place to becoming diffused and spread out.] Even the best model of probability and severity cannot diagram the exponential risk curve when multiple hazards and human factors begin compounding. Especially when the environment has the potential to change far more quickly than we can detect and react. Because 26 or 18.6, or whatever the number may be, will never be zero, the objective cannot be a number. The objective must be a culture whose leaders have the critical thinking and risk decision tools worthy of people getting a very dangerous job done with limited means to do it. An over‐reliance on rules and centralized control is a far less effective approach to guiding human action in chaotic conditions. Its rigid inflexibility only adds to friction and uncertainty. Compliance models work well for managing money, vehicles and equipment. Not well for governing human behavior. “Success as a resilient organization is built on a strong organizational culture and adaptive capacity.” [Reference: USFS (2014) Human Performance and Resiliency RD&A – Program Charter, 2.] Operational cultures that align to principles versus rules, conduct training and practice to communicate intent and support the use of professional judgment are much more agile and effective. “The secret of their success in three characteristics: safety awareness, decentralization, and training”. [Reference: Boin, Hart, Stern & Sundelius (2010), The Politics of Crisis Management, 37.] These are safer than compliance-based cultures because their The View from Here 24 operators are armed with the information, understanding, training and freedom required to make continuous risk decisions at their level. The Truth is a Worthy Anchor Point For an organization to reach the difficult but critical balance of safety, efficiency and effectiveness in a high-risk environment requires a culture that places great value on team result, trust, truth, initiative, improvement and decisions aligned to the end state trying to be achieved. Once the desired culture is defined, budgets, programs, strategies and tactics, decisions and behavior can be aligned to it. Researchers can measure progress. When the inevitable occurs, liability investigations can be quickly screened for willful violation or gross negligence. Everything else can be defended using professional judgment and the reasonable person principle. Maximum learning can be gleaned from near misses, accidents and other flawed decisions. The road to a culture that can walk that kind of talk is extremely difficult to achieve and maintain. There will be ups and downs and setbacks. But until the Big Lie is defeated for good, we’ll never get there. The truth is a worthy anchor point to begin to honor both the living and the fallen.

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4. The Problem with Zero

(This content originally appeared in Travis Dotson’s Ground column in the Spring 2016 Issue of Two More Chains, available on the Wildland Fire Lessons Learned Center website at: https://www.wildfirelessons.net/viewdocument/two-more-chains-spring-2016.) By Travis Dotson Figure 13

It’s the latest cool guy thing to complain about, along with skinny jeans, smart phones, and drones—in the catch-all category of “kids these days”. (“Get off my lawn!”) Oh how we love to rail against the goal of Zero fatalities and what it illustrates. Get any two Ops-Nazis (Opsies?) with dirty together and you can have hours of perfectly pleasant conversation about overtime and ridiculous conjecture about the certain enormity of fire season somewhere. But drop the “Zero” turd and the punch bowl gets punchy. Eyes roll immediately. Heads shake. Well-practiced snorts escape nostrils. “It’s just not possible!” “This job is inherently dangerous!” “It’s just like driving a car . . .” I’ve participated in my fair share of that predictable public performance, but lately I can’t stomach it. I can’t help but notice the irony of our well-scripted tirades. For, in the very next breath, we switch gears right into how we need to “get back to basics”. This is code for old-timer fuzzy math which goes like this: I’m a good firefighter + I’ve never been entrapped = Entrapments are entirely avoidable. This perspective would support the notion that zero entrapments is possible—just be good. What if the Goal was Zero Entrapments? In the debate over Zero, the distinction no one is talking about is fatalities vs entrapments. When we get angry about the unrealistic nature of the golden goose egg in the sky, what we cite is all the instances of death from above (trees and rocks), vehicle accidents, and the

The View from Here 26 apparently inevitable phenomena of big machines falling out of the sky and rolling down hillsides. Those are the losses we point to as unavoidable. But entrapment? That’s just bad firefighting. Bad decision-making. Bad deciders. So what if we kept Zero but changed the goal? What if the goal was Zero entrapments? Is it any different now? Do you all of a sudden cheer and stomp with support? After all, it’s so simple. Just make damn sure you have LCES in place. I’ve been told it’s “impossible to be surprised by fire if you have LCES in place”. Of course, the only way to measure this is to wait until an entrapment occurs and then use the entrapment as proof of inadequate LCES. Circular reasoning at its finest. Why Can’t We Do It? Back to the question: If the goal is altered from Zero fatalities to Zero entrapments, do you now support it? Probably not, because something deep down tells you this isn’t possible either. Figure 14

After all, there is the data—by which I mean the absence of an entrapment-less fire season. My point is, if it’s as easy as LCES, why can’t we do it? The answer to that is “them”: The bad firefighter who can’t seem to get LCES right. OK, if that’s the case, why do we have so many of “them”? Even with our haphazard reporting, in just the past 25 years we have recorded over 130 entrapment incidents (nearly twice the number of “Hit by Tree” incidents) involving more than 800 individuals. That’s quite a few sisters and brothers to write off as bad apples. Even more telling than these numbers are the individuals. I have a hard time believing I’m a better firefighter than Dave Ruhl, Mark Loutzenhiser, Rick Lupe, or countless other dialed-in folks who’ve seen the flames close over them. So the next time you roll your eyes at “Zero” and start to robotically repeat the “inherently dangerous” line, include entrapments in the “inevitable” category. And believe it, because as long as we anchor, flank, and pinch, it’s gonna happen. Change the Way You Think What does this mean for you? It means change the way you think. This will change the way you talk. Changing the way we talk will alter what young firefighters hear.

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The way we currently do business, entrapments are normal outcomes—just like fatal trees, rocks, and rollovers. Acknowledging this permits our youth to imagine a different approach. Who knows, it could even move us toward Zero. Think Change, Tool Swingers.

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5. RISK, GAIN, and LOSS – What are We Willing to Accept?

(This content originally appeared in the Spring 2015 Issue of Two More Chains that is available on the Wildland Fire Lessons Learned Center website: https://www.wildfirelessons.net/viewdocument/two-more-chains-spring-2015.) By Curtis Heaton, Operations Section Chief for the Phoenix NIMO Team and a Lead Instructor for the L-580 Gettysburg Staff Ride “Are you sure we do not have acceptable losses in wildland fire?” I quietly asked. The group shifted around uncomfortably waiting for someone to speak. It was a beautiful fall day. I was facilitating an L-580 Gettysburg Staff Ride conference group under the shadow of the 1st Minnesota Monument.

“Do we have acceptable losses in wildland fire?”

The theme at the stand was Leadership and Risk. One of my fire peers had just passionately stated: “We are not the military and we do not have acceptable losses.” The location was fitting. The 1st Minnesota Volunteers had incurred an 82 percent causality rate in just five minutes of pitched fighting. It is one of the greatest single engagement losses in the history of the U.S. military. We were standing at the very spot where they received the order to attack. Once again, I asked: “Do we have acceptable losses in wildland fire?” I could sense that critical thinking and group sense-making was beginning to occur. Figure 15 – 1st Minnesota Monument

The 1st Minnesota Stand On the afternoon of July 2, 1863 Confederate forces launched a major offensive aimed at defeating the Union forces positioned outside of Gettysburg. As the battle raged, Union Major The View from Here 29

General Hancock sensed the Union plan was failing and the Confederates were poised to break through his thinly held lines. A breach meant the would be divided and crushed. Hancock needed time to shift resources. He turned to the only resource he had available, the 1st Minnesota Volunteers. Hancock ordered the 1st Minnesota Regiment to: “Take those colors!” Outnumbered 6 to 1, both Hancock and the brave Minnesotans knew they were wading into a . This risk was the only option Hancock had in his arsenal. His time wedge had closed. He had no room to maneuver—no margin. Events beyond his control had placed him on Cemetery Ridge—the center of the Union defense. Decisions made by his leaders and the actions of others had placed him at the crucial part of the battlefield. The L-580 Gettysburg Staff Ride – Identifying Leadership Parallels The NWCG Leadership Committee developed the L-580 Gettysburg Staff Ride for senior fire leaders. Through dialogue at a series of stands, military Subject Matter Experts share their knowledge of the battle and their own personal leadership lessons. The role of the wildland fire conference group leaders is to identify leadership parallels between a military “incident” in 1863 and those of a modern- incident. Union and Confederacy leaders are profiled and the timeless tenets of leadership and decision- making are discussed. The Staff Ride ends with an integration phase where attendees “look in the mirror” and reflect on what it means to be a leader. They Followed the Plan . . . The 1st Minnesota had simply filled a resource order that morning. They followed the plan and arrived at their drop point and now they were staring at a wall of Confederates. Both the threat and consequences were clear. They had to stop the rebels, a force of 1,500 crack troops. A total of 262 Minnesotans engaged. Five minutes later 47 Minnesotans were left standing. The actions of 1st Minnesota disrupted the Confederate offensive and bought Hancock time to move up Union reinforcements. The Union line held that day. From a General’s perspective, the risk of losing an entire regiment was worth the gain of saving the Union line. But what about the Private? Why would the Minnesotans willingly accept so much risk? Are we any different? How can we learn from their sacrifice? Why Gettysburg? The was arguably the key battle in the Civil War. Two great armies collided at a crossroads and fought for three days, incurring tens of thousands of casualties. It is considered “the high water mark of the Confederacy” and may have decided the outcome of the Civil War and the fate of a nation. It is the most studied incident in American history. For all of these reasons and more, the Battle of Gettysburg is a great place to study leadership and decision-making. How We View Risk in Wildland Fire While “Risk” comes up at various points during the Gettysburg Staff Ride, it always reaches passionate debate at the 1st Minnesota Monument. The View from Here 30

Do we normalize risk by simply avoiding the topic?

I consistently hear my peers dismiss lessons from the military because “We do not have acceptable losses in wildland fire.” “They make decisions differently.” I disagree. There have been more than 500 wildland firefighters killed in the line-of-duty during my career alone—roughly 20 deaths per year. We lose billions of dollars in capital and resources, we experience a number of serious injuries, as well as both physical and emotional trauma, and much more. This is what our current system produces—the loss we “accept”. We also protect many things: life, property, resources, infrastructure. But nothing is ever free in the risk equation. The uncomfortable discussion about risk, gain, and loss only seems to occur when the Staff Ride participants begin to realize their decisions and actions as leaders can result in the loss of life. When it becomes personal.

Hancock could not draw a bigger box.

Many have never experienced a really bad day (and, fortunately, most never will). But as an occupation, wildland fire is deadly and destructive. It is also a beautiful, simple, and necessary act of nature. And as leaders within that occupation, we need to be honest about the consequences of our decisions and the human factors that influence them. We need to be honest how words and behaviors reflect our personal view of risk. Language Do we normalize risk by simply avoiding the topic? Verbs for discussing risk have become nouns in our language. In essence we “normalize” the action. Our words and processes make risk acceptable. We have developed a script in order to avoid the uncomfortable discussion about risk and loss. We accept that risk is in everything we do, yet culturally we continue to talk about risk in an ancillary fashion to the actual decision-making. Initial Attack: we attack wildfires. Hancock ordered 1st Minnesota to attack. Attack is defined as a “violent or harmful act”. Is that what we always want to achieve? Hancock sure did. We build a plan rather than engage in planning. “WFDSS” was designed to encourage critical thinking—it is now a product that we have to develop. Objectives like “Protect ______” is a common objective on an incident. This objective is built on the assumption we can protect anything and that the risk is always worth the gain. What is the cost to our people for protecting? “Keep the fire north of______, south of______”. The Box. This common strategy statement assumes all of the hazards found within the box can be mitigated and the exposure justifies the gain. When it fails, we just draw a bigger box. Hancock could not draw a bigger box. He was at the edge of margin. Strategy should

The View from Here 31 be based on time, space, and assets. A strong strategy encourages maneuverability and flexibility. It creates more margin, rather than reduce it. Processes Processes are built into the system to decide, act, and then mitigate risk. That sequence seems flawed. Sense-making has given way to documenting. We seem to believe we can mitigate everything—just make sure you document it. Fifty or so pages into the Incident Response Pocket Guide (IRPG) addresses some type of hazard mitigation. “See the safety message on p. 17 in your IAP and reference p. 24 in your IRPG on dealing with those downed power lines and be safe!” The 5-Step Risk Management Process in the IRPG was designed as a critical thinking/analytical tool to support and mirror the decision-making process. Is that how it’s being used? Or do we make a decision and use the tool as a subjective filter to justify a predetermined course of action—and to be comfortable with the risk we have transferred? We have a page in the IRPG dedicated to “How to properly refuse risk”. Risk has to be properly refused? Risk should always be evaluated and discussed. “Refusing” should be thrown out of our vocabulary. The very stigma associated with this term creates unnecessary friction in the system.

I think of Robert E. Lee as a Haines 6 coupled with high winds and record draught.

A little friction in the system is good, it encourages us to run a diagnostic, to understand why there is friction. However, if we generate too much friction then the system erodes from within. It destroys itself. We should view every discussion about risk as sense-making, a tactical pause, inquiry—put any label you want on it. But encourage all discussions about risk. The system has enough friction in it as is, we need not create more. Scripts Perhaps we have developed a “script” that we are all too comfortable using. You have heard it countless times. It goes like this: “Critical fire weather today…extreme fire behavior…don’t let your guard down…maintain situational awareness…show a lunch break…” It is a well-used script. It has defined a culture. Follow the rules and everything will be OK. Just make sure you document everything in case things do go bad. Did the 1st Minnesota get a safety briefing before they attacked? We act this way because we are human. Humans are creatures of habit; we love patterns. They make us comfortable. We do it this way because we have always done it this way. When facing uncertainty, humans often revert to fear or quickly dismiss uncertainty so we feel we understand what is occurring. We feel like we are in control. We can feel normal. Sense-making requires effort. Recognizing how we are influenced by these scripts is the basis for critical thinking—thinking about how we think. Fire has no script. It behaves solely on the conditions. Hancock had no script at Gettysburg. But he clearly understood the conditions and the risk—as did his Minnesotans.

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Scripts can be good. Like incident organizers and prescribed fire burn plans that help us to make sense of policies and aid in training and development. Hands down, the wildland fire community is full of outstanding problem solvers. Day in and day out we are constantly adapting plans, tactics, and modifying those scripts to fit reality. We unfold the map on the hood of the truck at DP-7 and pause to make sense; to understand. Here we rewrite the script based on our observations, perceptions, and conditions. Here we engage in group sense- making. Scripts and adaptability are strengths in our culture. And yet they also affect our ability to perceive and detect anomalies and how we communicate deviances. The danger surfaces when the script replaces critical thinking and sense-making. When the script becomes thought. Figure 16 – Knowing that they faced certain death, why did the members of the 1st Minnesota go all in?

Sense-Making and Critical Thinking Hancock and the Minnesotans had little time for group sense-making on July 2, 1863. The Confederates, led by the legendary Robert E. Lee, were pushing hard for the Union line. Robert E. Lee was the best. He was both feared and respected. I think of Robert E. Lee as a Haines 6 coupled with high winds and record drought. General Lee was extreme fire behavior in 1863. The Confederates were a 30,000-foot convection column ready to collapse on top of Hancock and the Minnesotans. Hancock had to make sense of what was occurring and he had to think critically. He was not only trying to predict the future but he also needed to share his vision with the 1st Minnesota. He accomplished this solely through his presence and character. He had no process to fall back on or script to reference.

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Hancock clearly understood what was at risk strategically. The price for losing the battle would be high. He knew what was at stake—his country. He was a smart guy and understood the politics. He also had a pretty good idea what Robert E. Lee was trying to do. He had learned after getting pummeled by Bobby and the Confederates time and time again. Hancock was preparing to apply those lessons learned at the expense of the 1st Minnesota. He knew what he was asking the 1st Minnesota to do. He did it out of duty, not personal glory or ego, or by following a process or a script. He made sense of the situation and he communicated the risk. OK, cool story Heaton, so what’s your point? My point here is that Hancock, like all great leaders, understood risk and did not avoid it or bury it in ambiguity and false mitigations. He had no qualms about transferring risk; that was his job. He had no issues communicating the risk. His intent was clear and he was clearly accountable for his decision. That is the first lesson on risk from the 1st Minnesota stand. The second lesson is why the 1st Minnesota accepted the risk from Hancock. They merely filled a resource order and reported to their assigned drop point. Their Branch Director ordered them to attack. They could have attempted to mitigate the risk, transfer the risk, or just declined it and ran away like so many other brave but scared kids that day. But no, they went all in. Why? Why would 262 men march to certain death? Why would firefighters ever leave a safety zone? Figure 17

Granite Mountain Hotshots 95% Casualty Rate

Why We Live and Die Together. What It Means to be ‘Us’. Why did the 1st Minnesota attack? As the U.S. Marine SME for my conference group at the Gettysburg Staff Ride always points out: “They didn’t do it for Hancock. They were brothers. One goes, they all go.” The Private at Gettysburg did not fight for a cause. They fought for each other. Their greatest risk was failing their brother. This insight is coming from a veteran (the Marine SME) who understands risk and human performance under stress. Is our model really any different? We transfer the risk by inserting the operator into a hazardous and uncertain environment and then seem surprised when a group of them die?

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I am honored to be associated with the wildland fire community and equally humbled by what that actually means.

So, Who are We? Causes are great: mission, duty, protecting the public and our natural resources. Great stuff and it all has meaning. It is all worth some level of risk. I am in no way downplaying the dedication of our people. But like the 1st Minnesota, we in wildland fire ultimately fight for each other, for our families. This is the essence of the warrior culture. That sense of being—of belonging to something bigger and better than yourself. Finding your limits and giving it all you have. It is cool. If you have not been part of what I am describing, then you might not understand. Live side-by-side with someone for months at a time. Share hardships. Laugh, sweat, bleed and cry with them and you do not (will not) fail them. You will risk a lot for each other. You will do things with them you would never do alone. Ask a career Hotshot or or or Engine Captain what is most important to them. The answer is their people. I am honored to be associated with the wildland fire community and equally humbled by what that actually means. Being part of this special group influences my decisions, it defines my behavior at times and it may inadvertently encourage me to act in certain ways. Call it trust or duty or even ego.

It doesn’t take much motivation to get our people to engage a fire. It is who they are. It is why they signed on. It is also why we have mass casualty events.

It is complicated enough that I am not sure I even understand it. Our Fallen may not have died for a glorious cause but we can choose to honor them for the gift they left behind; the gift of knowledge. We can choose to learn from their sacrifice. It is a priceless gift and not one to be taken lightly. We Need to Be Real About Accepting Risk This esprit de corps is not something that we should try to “fix”. Rather, it needs to be better understood. It is why we are often so successful. It doesn’t take much motivation to get our people to engage a fire. It is who they are. It is why they signed on. It is also why we have mass casualty events. Who wants to be the first one to pull out? Who wants to be the first one to question the boss or tell the homeowner it was unsafe to protect their home? Who was going to say no to Hancock on the afternoon of July 2? Who is going to say it is too steep or too dry or too dangerous? Who is going to define acceptable risk? That’s why we need to be real about accepting risk. Hancock assigned the mission. We assign the missions. We are the system that accepts the loss. The View from Here 35

Figure 18

San Bernardino NF Engine 57 – 100% Casualty Rate

Risk and Leadership So yes, it is about risk and it is about leadership. More importantly, it is also about how we have normalized risk by simply allowing our people to be who they are. How we continue to fool ourselves with misdirected blame, mitigated language, and layers of process. It is wrong to continue to expect our firefighters to manage risk at the tip of the bayonet. Even with all of their skill and training, sooner or later they will not be able to manage the risk we transfer to them. We must first admit that we accept loss before we can begin to reduce it. Complexity and System Failure Thirty-Mile, South Canyon, Dude, Esperanza, Yarnell Hill and countless other fires were not simply human error or unexpected weather events. These fires were the result of a culture that allows humans to excel. Excel to the point of a systematic failure—to try to hold the line when conditions are extreme, to accept great amounts of uncertainty. All of these fires have two reoccurring themes: Complexity and System Failure. Fuels, Weather, Topography and People—all four of these elements were in place and just happened to be complex enough at one level or another to outpace the group’s ability to adapt to changing conditions. How are We Changing? The best equipment and technology in the world cannot save a mountain climber in an avalanche or bring a spacecraft home safely. There is too much uncertainty built into these complex systems. Getting it right most of the time is quite impressive. Getting it right all of the time may not be possible. Complex systems have complex problems. Like the rest of the world, the complexity of the fire environment has changed. All the data supports a “new normal” in our business: an environment more complex than the system that we designed to manage it. It is a system designed around human decision-making.

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Figure 19

So, how are we changing? How do we create a greater degree of margin in the system so we can maneuver in the face of uncertainty? How do we develop a more resilient system to respond to changing conditions and to learn from failure? How do we think and lead like Hancock without relying on the sacrifice of the Private to be successful?

We must first admit that we accept loss before we can begin to reduce it.

What is Our Acceptable Level of Risk? Is acceptable risk captured in WFDSS? Is it communicated on the ICS 215 and 215a? Do we share it at the morning briefing? (“Briefing”—yet another verb [to brief] that has become a noun in our language.) If we are unable to define acceptable risk then we must be willing to accept it with whatever loss occurs.

Acceptable Loss or Normalizing Risk? Please Help Define What We Need to Address After writing down my thoughts from my experiences at 1st Minnesota and getting feedback on this topic, it is clear that I am talking about two separate—but closely related—issues: Normalizing Risk and Acceptable Losses. They are so closely related that I have struggled separating them in this article. Perhaps I am oversimplifying a complex issue. Discussing one takes me right to the other. I could therefore use your assistance. Please help define what we need to address by answering the following four questions: [In the original version a hyperlink was provided here to access the questionnaire, which has since been closed.]  How do we view loss in the community?  What parts of our culture place us in the greatest danger?

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 Under what circumstance could a bad thing happen to you?  How does recognizing our limitations ultimately improve our performance? After you answer these questions you can view the answers of others at this site provided on the Wildland Fire Lessons Learned Center’s website: https://www.wildfirelessons.net/viewdocument/acceptable-loss-and-normalizing-ris It’s your responsibility to have an opinion on these topics. Discuss these issues with those around you.

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6. How Do We Know This Job is Dangerous?

(This content originally appeared in Travis Dotson’s Ground Truths column in the Winter 2013 Issue of Two More Chains that is available on the Wildland Fire Lessons Learned Center’s website: https://www.wildfirelessons.net/viewdocument/two-more-chains-winter-2013.) By Travis Dotson Answer this question: “How do we know fighting fire is dangerous?” If you are like me, you say: “Because people get hurt and killed doing it.” Right? It’s dangerous because people die. But our goal is to operate safely. What does that look like? Easy, no one gets hurt or dies. Right? So, if we figured out a way to operate where no one got hurt or killed, this would cease to be a dangerous job. I know it seems like I’m chasing my tail here, but bear with me. What happens when you ask the question in a different way? Do you think this is a dangerous job? (Always a resounding “YES!” from everyone.) Do you think we can fight fire safely? Every time we mobilize and take action we are risking the loss of life or limb, and our brothers and sisters die every year, making this a dangerous job. Different people answer this second question in different ways. I have found that the people who emphatically answer “Yes” to this question are on either end of our position spectrum: Those at the entry level and those at the administration level. Why is that? Every Time We Mobilize The new folks believe we can do this job safely because we tell them we can when we say things like: “Here is a list of things that will keep you safe…” “Safety first!” “Fight fire aggressively having provided for safety first” etc. The administrators believe it’s true because: 1) We tell them it’s true; and 2) It makes things really complicated if it isn’t true. Who wants to consciously ask someone to risk their lives because people keep calling about “that smoke”? Every time we mobilize and take action we are risking the loss of life or limb, and our brothers and sisters die every year, making this a dangerous job. My point is the job is dangerous—not the way we do the job. I know, I know. The way we carry out the mission can increase or decrease risk. But the decision to take action kicks it all off. Putting the call out to drop the blade, rotors, or fire-out the next road unleashes the greatest risk—at any stage of attack. And we often make that decision unconsciously because

The View from Here 39 we are just doing what we have always done. (“Let’s take a recon flight.” “Let’s put in some check line.” “Let’s back off to the next road.”) Avoid the Fight Are we being honest? I don’t think we always acknowledge the real risk on the front end—only after something bad happens. Overall, our strategy continues to boil down to: “Let’s do what we did last time and hope nothing bad happens.” This works out a vast majority of the time (making us think we did the right thing). I just don’t think we hear ourselves sometimes: “Let’s go ahead and continue to try and stop this fire in lodgepole pine in the middle of August—after a month of doing the same—with no forecasted change in conditions. But remember—no trees or bushes are worth dying for!” If we start acknowledging that it’s not “safe” to fight fire, maybe it will make us think of ways to avoid the fight (just like we should have learned in grade school). After all: “Supreme excellence consists of breaking the enemy's resistance without fighting.”– Sun Tzu, The Art of War Trust me, I believe there is a right time and a right place to fight. I just don’t think it’s as often as we have made it out to be. Lead Up, Tool Swingers.

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II Culture These five essays paint a picture of some common traits that occur within the wildland fire service culture.

Figure 20 – Kari Greer photo.

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1. US and THEM

(This content originally appeared in the Summer 2015 Issue of Two More Chains that is available on the Wildland Fire Lessons Learned Center website at: https://www.wildfirelessons.net/viewdocument/two-more-chains-summer- 2015.) By Alex Viktora

Figure 21

Two wildland firefighters are getting ready for morning briefing. One of them has just been handed a 72-hour report. “Can you believe what those [INSERT RESOURCE TYPE HERE] from [INSERT REGION OF THE COUNTRY HERE] did when [INSERT ACCIDENT/INCIDENT TYPE HERE].” “Yeah, man. I heard about that bad deal. Those guys are #@$ing idiots!” (Shakes head.) “Yeah. Our crew would never find ourselves in that kinda situation! We’re better than that.” (One finger pointing upward, the other hand on the hip. Chin up. Confident.) Have you had conversations like this? I’ll bet you have. I know I have. I used to have these talks. I used to be the one with the pointy finger. At the end of these rants, I succeeded in making myself feel better about the firefighting skills, abilities, and safety of: 1) Myself and 2) Those I worked most closely with. How did I do this? I deployed the “Us” and “Them” model of the world. Model We All Use: Us and Them This model, which we all use, is simple: folks like you, especially closest to you—those you work and suffer and eat and sleep with (in the case of wildland fire crews)—help shape and build your identity and your view of the universe. Let’s call this group that you belong to your “Tribe”. Humans have been part of tribal-type units of one sort or another for millennia. Tribes are important, critical even, to humans—individually as well as collectively. The other side of the model is folks you don’t know. You’re different than them. You think differently than them. You act differently than them. You wear different T-shirts and drive different colored trucks than them. You come from different parts of the world. You have different languages.

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No Need to Change; No Need to Learn Over time, it’s natural to protect, promote, and defend “Us” from “Them”. And when you hear about something bad happening to them, it’s only natural to attribute the outcome to the differences between “Us” and “Them”. When I’d say things like “It could never happen to us,” I succeeded in protecting “Us” from the idiots—“Them”—simply by insisting that folks who have bad things happen are “Them”. Bad things always seem to happen to “Them” not “Us”. Right? And if bad things always seem to happen to Them—and only to Them—it’s easy for Us to keep doing things the way they’ve always been done. No need to change. No need to learn. Figure 22

All that you need to make this model work is a difference between your group and the others. Find a difference—big or small—and BAM. You’ve got it: Us and Them. So how does this Us and Them phenomena happen? And why does it matter? We All Belong to Tribes The world is full of Us and Them situations. We find ourselves in these situations because humans have grouped-up in one way, shape, or form for a long time. Some of these associations are serious, while most are trivial. To one degree or another, they’re all tribes. I’ll bet you have your own Us and Thems. You’re not alone. We all play in this game. And you’re either in one of these tribes or the other: Ford and Chevy. Husky and Stihl. Apple and Android. Mets fans and Yankee fans. My favorite? Skiers and snowboarders. If you’re like lots of folks, the bumper of your car is a good place to go to see what your tribal affiliations might be. Football teams, philosophical and brand loyalties, are identified right there for the captive audience behind you to see. Tribal badges. What tribes do you belong to? Does the kind of truck you drive or phone you talk on mean you belong to a tribe? Sure it does. These natural groupings—formed around an interest or loyalty or mission—are all tribes. Some of them are tightly knit, others are loosely affiliated. Most of these tribes aren’t really a big deal, not in the grand scheme of things. (Sure, you really should know that skiers who drive Chevys and talk on Android phones, run Stihl chainsaws and root for Boise State really DO have it figured out. But, I digress . . .)

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What tribes do you belong to? Does the kind of truck you drive or phone you talk on mean you belong to a tribe? Sure it does.

Fire Tribes The world of wildland fire is full of tribes, many of which are incredibly cohesive units, and most of which manage to be part of at least one “Us and Them” situation: Type 1 and Type 2 crews. Engine crews and hand crews. and heli-rappellers. Square parachutes and round parachutes. Paid firefighters and volunteers. Federal firefighters and contractors. Locals and outsiders. Incident Management Teams and ground-pounders. Swivel-chair-ninja- desk-jockeys and field folks. Old-salt, leather-lunged veterans and wet-behind-ears-newbies. Rookies. Probies. Neds. Pukes. Us—and Them. Figure 23

T-Shirts, Buckles, and Stickers We take our wildland fire tribal affiliations seriously. We develop languages (“bump around the nuked snag patch to DP-15 and stage there”) and traditions (don’t wash that yellow!) and ceremonies (pig roasts, big flips, dunks in folda-tanks, ash baths) that are (intentionally?) unintelligible to outsiders. We wear crew shirts with pride and ensure that only those who earn the shirt have the right to wear it. We forge belt buckles out of brass and hand them out only to the truly tested. We sew patches on every pack and bag we have. Crew sticker designs take weeks to develop. Once printed, they show up everywhere—frequently like graffiti on the bumpers of other fire trucks. Most importantly, we look out for each other, sometimes from hilltops, and always while hanging out in the bar—or wherever.

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Tribes are vital. They matter. I love my tribes. And I support your right to your own tribe.

We are tribes. I have a tribe, and so do you. Tribes are vital. They matter. I love my tribes. And I support your right to your own tribe. As has been said elsewhere, wildland firefighting is a team sport. Good teams work to excel and improve and outwork and out-compete any other team on the field. In the complex, dynamic world of wildland fire, high-performing teams are what we seek. High-performing teams and crews and individuals are a good thing, no doubt. The fact that we have them everywhere in the world of wildland fire should be considered a strength. We are teams. I’m on a team, and so are you. Single Biggest Impediment to Learning? Do tightknit, highly-cohesive units contribute to the existence of tribalism in the wildand fire service? They certainly can. And our tribe may lead to Us and Them situations. Could one of our greatest strengths also be our most significant weakness? I’ll get to this in a minute. Figure 24 – Do tightknit, highly-cohesive units contribute to the existence of tribalism in the wildland fire service? They certainly can. (Photo by Kari Greer.)

Here’s the bad news: Us and Them—tribalism—can be a dangerous way to view the world. It leads to dangerous revolutions. Arms races. World wars. Mass suicides. Have any of these Us/Them dichotomies in the world of wildland fire led to these kinds of dangerous, tragic situations? Perhaps not. Have these divides led to warring factions where battles are waged and lives are lost? Not exactly.

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In my view, Us and Them just might be the single biggest impediment to learning in the wildland fire service. Us and Them is a problem in the world of wildland fire in two ways—and both of these have to do with learning: When different groups are thrown together on a fire, how will the tribes mingle, communicate hazards, achieve objectives and establish collective safety? How will they share and learn from each other as they work together—at the tip of the spear—in real time?

In my view, Us and Them just might be the single biggest impediment to learning in the wildland fire service.

When something bad happens to a member of another tribe, it’s easy to look at the attributes of the other tribe (geography, resource type, experience level, agency affiliation, etc.) and dismiss the event as attributable to just these superficial differences. When we dismiss negative events like this, we can’t learn the lessons that are available. Now What? First off, say “Hello”. This is simple. And not unique. It’s a concept that has been written into crew SOPs: Say Hello. Start to get to know the other tribes on your fire. Next, when you hear the news of a wildland fire accident or tragedy that happens a thousand miles away to a member of a different tribe, embrace the idea that the lessons from this negative outcome might apply to you. Open your mind to the notion that you and your tribe might have more in common with this distant event than you realize. Empathize with those involved, and recognize that bad things happen to good people all the time. Good, experienced firefighters aren’t immune to negative outcomes, regardless of tribal affiliation. Finally, say “We”. When you do, think of all the wildland fire tribes, not just your own. Do away with Us and Them. Use We. We are better than Us and Them.

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2. Because It’s Fun

(This content originally appeared in Travis Dotson’s Ground Truths column in the Winter 2016 Issue of Two More Chains, available on the Wildland Fire Lessons Learned Center’s website at: https://www.wildfirelessons.net/viewdocument/two-more-chains-winter-2016.) By Travis Dotson You ready? Leg straps tight?” Nod. “Hook up!” I love hearing that, almost as much as I love the feeling in my stomach when I hear “Get Ready!” as my arms instinctively grab the outside of the plane and I rock back eyes fixed on the horizon—coiled and buzzing . . . anticipating the slap to send me out the door. On the engine, I loved getting the two-hour standby call at the end of shift followed by a smoke report. You know you’re gonna get the call so you double check everything, grab some extra food, smile and nod at each other as you hydrate. Then bam! The call comes and you’re rolling. Eventually, you crest a hill or come around a bend and there it is, a nice clean line of fire leaning over and not a soul in sight . . . it’s all yours. Stop drooling, they’re just words. But you want it. You want to pull hose and wrap the head before anyone else shows up. You want to hero hot shovel a spot before it gets legs. You want to look back at a long line of cold black.

They had salty close-call war stories just like you. They all died living the dream.

Why? The Central Theme Why do we fight over the saw? Why do we smile when we get the nod to dump the big leaner? Why do we put more fire down than we really need to? Real simple. Because it’s fun. That’s all; it’s fun. Yeah, there’s as many reasons to do the job as there are people doing it, but there’s no denying that central theme. Just watch this recruitment video that is available at the National Interagency Fire Center’s website at: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LrT7DXxtUJQ&feature=youtu.be&list=PLQ8A35dn16G2- rU5Wereskec_hPNI8ce5. When we memorialize our fallen sisters and brothers, we like to say “they lived life to the fullest.” What does that mean? I think it means they had fun doing hard stuff most people wouldn’t do because of the danger involved. Eva Schicke, Luke Sheehy, and Dan Holmes all wanted a challenge. They intentionally

The View from Here 47 placed themselves in a position to constantly conquer fear. They had salty close-call war stories just like you. They all died living the dream. Seeking Out Risk Living life to the fullest means seeking out risk, whether it’s the risk of a broken heart via the courage of falling in love, or the risk of superheated gas in your airway via the courage of doing a demanding and dangerous job. We do the job because it’s fun. Part of the fun is the challenge. Part of the challenge is fear. Fear stems from uncertainty. Uncertainty is dangerous. The job is fun because it’s dangerous. But what happens when the uncertainty we crave cashes in and you’re there to see it happen? Now your buddy’s in a box and you’re back on the line. Is it still fun?

Part of the fun is the challenge. Part of the challenge is fear. Fear stems from uncertainty. Uncertainty is dangerous. The job is fun because it’s dangerous.

How Will You React? All the ingredients are the same. The challenge is still there. The risk hasn’t changed. The only thing different is your perspective. Damn, that’s some dark murky water to wade, but you have to jump in there. You need to think about it before it actually happens, otherwise you’re engaging with no briefing and no plan. That’s just bad tactics. How will you most likely react? What bad things could you get into? Who will you ask for help? What steps will you take to survive? Think about it, Tool Swingers.

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3. Fire Culture

(This content originally appeared in Bre` Orcasitas’ November 2016 “The Evolving Nomad” Blog, which is available online at the following website: https://theevolvingnomad.com/2016/11/20/fire-culture/.) By Bre` Orcasitas First of all, don’t be that guy. Don’t be last to lineout in the morning, get back to the rigs from a store stop, water up, suit-up in your jump gear, get up the hill, or be last in a run. Don’t leave your buggy window open, slam the door to the blue room at 5 a.m., flip the ATV, pour drip torch fuel on your pants and set yourself on fire, break your tool handle… again, throw rocks off a hillside out of boredom and hit an adjacent crew’s sawyer, open up your spitter after it’s been sitting in the rigs for two weeks while we were spiked out, back the rig into the side of the building while using a spotter, seize the Mark III pump, put gas in the diesel Supt.’s ride, taunt a rattlesnake, or fall asleep on a hot spot inadvertently melting your pack. Figure 25

You May Hear: Close the gap Pick it up Two more chains Waiting on one You look like a soup sandwich What a C.F. F’in new guy This whole thing is a sh*t show

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So and So is super dialed Did you line his ass out? Hurry up and wait Figure 26

What we do. Who we are. What we are about. We dedicate a significant portion of our time and energy to maintaining physical fitness year round in order to fulfill our duties on the fireline. We use direct communication, i.e. lack of sugar-coating things because we don’t have time for beating around the bush about what we need; time is a factor. Early is on time, on time is late. Dress-down, Water-up, Gear-up, Tool-up, Line-out, Lunch-up, Circle- up, Wheels-up We power through things that are uncomfortable, painful, and/or difficult in order to get the job done on a regular basis. We break our bodies and work until we drop and then we joke about it. “Don’t worry that sh*t’ll buff out”, “Uh-Oh, Looks like Mike’s going T.U.!” To us, Tango Uniform is a technical term. We communicate through sarcasm, jest, and innuendos in order to speak our peace to all levels in the chain of command without getting in trouble for it. Being aware of our surroundings is important because if you aren’t it’s a good way to get dead. The camaraderie is unparalleled because we train, sweat, work, sleep, drive, and laugh together for months on end in a dynamic and harsh environment. We also experience traumatic situations together, whether or not we talk about it. When a hike sucks, at least it sucks for all of us.

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Figure 27

We pack 100 lbs. on our back in unforgiving terrain for miles on end because sling-loading gear off a fire is frowned upon. We significantly hurt ourselves but don’t tell our supervisors because we don’t want to get pulled off the line. We leap out of crew buggies before they’ve fully stopped to beat our crewmember to washing the windows because we show integrity and lead by example. Duty, Respect, and Integrity are not just a kitschy string of words, they have profound meaning. You either get that or you don’t. If you don’t get it, you’re that guy. If you aren’t willing to do for the crew before you do for you? We don’t want you here. We donate our time on a regular basis because getting to work 20 minutes early is common practice. Eating fast is an unspoken job requirement. Digging a flat spot into a steep hillside is either to make a bed or a platform to receive cargo. Hiking a cubee of water or a jerry can of fuel is a prideful thing to do. Food and sleep are always more important than a shower. Always. If you have energy at the end of the day you weren’t working hard enough. If there’s time for leaning, there’s time for cleaning. “Too many rookies” is the phrase you hear when you f*ck something up in front of other crewmembers. Hearing “Don’t f*ck it up” is a sarcastic yet serious show of support for whatever small task you have taken on. The View from Here 51

You work hard, take more in a line dig, and put extra in your pack-out bag to lighten someone else’s load because—why wouldn’t you? Prove you want to be here. There were 150 applicants for your job; you are replaceable. Respect isn’t a gift; you’ve got to earn it.

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4. What Makes You Matter?

(This content originally appeared in Travis Dotson’s Ground Truths column in the Fall 2017 issue of Two More Chains, that is available on the Wildland Fire Lessons Learned Center website at: https://www.wildfirelessons.net/viewdocument/two-more-chains-fall-2017.) By Travis Dotson Figure 28

For this piece, I set out to do my garden variety axe grinding session. It’s usually pretty easy for me to put a quick edge on my axe de jour and proceed to swing with unveiled malice in the general direction of the unsuspecting target: tradition, ignorance, hypocrisy, well-intentioned managers and IMTs. I’ve lashed out at them all. For this particular word slinging session, I had planned to swing at those buried in the firefighter persona—those whose identity has grown roots around their belt buckle. I loaded up to spit venom and fury at the rather regular phenomenon of intentionally entangling what we do with who we are—wrapping identity around our personalized version of “wildland firefighter.” Got a crew logo tattoo? Check your work email on the weekend? Spend time at the station on your precious two days off? Struggling with forced retirement? I planned to smash you with senseless sarcasm and aimless animosity. I set out to attack the over-attached because it’s an easy target and it’s socially acceptable to do so. It’s also a windmill I personally know the inner workings of. Is this target related to identity? Yes . . . and. There is always and. Identity and belonging. Belonging and worthiness. Worthiness and community. All of that and more. Always more. No clean lines. Everything is connected.

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What if we momentarily viewed wildland fire and all that comes with it as a drug?

Our Addiction is Understandable I set out to attack. But I couldn’t. All because of that and. Those tattoos and weekend emails are but a symptom. What if we momentarily viewed wildland fire and all that comes with it as a drug? Comradery, adrenalin, travel, excitement, belonging, meaning, service, self-worth, money, health insurance, security . . . These are all “good” things. When asked what keeps us coming back, these are the reasons we cite. The “addiction” is understandable. We blend all these good things together into a soothing concoction that can keep us high for decades. Some of us have a very healthy relationship with this drug. Kind of like those freaks who have only ONE cup of coffee each morning. Plenty of people put in a season or two on the fireline and walk away without hesitation. Some folks get hooked for a while and then move on to healthier lives or other drugs. Some of us are completely strung out. I know, this is a rough comparison and it might make a few folks roll their eyes or shake their heads. It might even make a few folks mad. Nobody wants to listen to their dealer preach about the dangers of addiction. If you don’t like what I’m saying you’re probably just more sophisticated than me. You’re in possession of a much higher intellect and capable of understanding fire culture in a more nuanced fashion. Or, you could be a straight-up junkie. Obviously, we all sit somewhere on the complex spectrum of awareness related to how much we need or don’t need this work to satisfy certain aspects of our persona. Not all of us are conscious of the level to which this vocation feeds our self-worth. Some of us just like getting paid to ride four-wheelers and cut down trees. But to a lot of us, it’s more than that. How much more?

What so many of us are “addicted” to is not the work or even the “identity.” It’s the connection and community essential to human health. Is your relationship with fire “healthy”? Be careful of the temptation to count yourself in the “healthy” category. Nobody wants to be an addict, abuser, or victim—and we are all very capable of lying to ourselves. Dirt Bag Intimacy On the surface, there doesn’t seem to be anything wrong with wrapping one’s identify around fire. It’s actually pretty hard not to get what you do tangled-up with who you are, especially if it involves the intensity and bonding that’s so abundant on the fire ground. Shared hardship is high value stuff. It will leave a mark on your heart. All that good stuff makes us feel like we matter. Let me remind you that when I talk about addiction here, I’m not talking about the actual performance of the job. We don’t suffer withdrawal symptoms from pulling hose or chopping The View from Here 54 roots. I’m talking about the indescribable magic we pretend not to notice in each other’s eyes. I’m talking about the stuff we try so hard to express at 3 a.m. while hovering around the coals of the chaos, whether that chaos was a burn show gone bad or the season-ending crew party (pretty much the same thing). I’m talking about the dirt bag intimacy that can never be verbalized in clear text because our language is limited to action-filled anecdotes of previous communal suffer-sessions. This is how we say: “You matter to me; I matter to you.” This is community. This is tribe. This is belonging. Humans are biologically programmed to thrive using this evolutionary advantage: “We have a strong instinct to belong to small groups defined by clear purpose and understanding—"tribes." This tribal connection has been largely lost in modern society, but regaining it may be the key to our psychological survival.” Sebastian Junger, from his book “Tribe” That’s a dumb thing to throw rocks at. Is the Fireline the Only Place You Matter? So how to proceed? 1. Acknowledgement. What so many of us are “addicted” to is not the work or even the “identity.” It’s the connection and community essential to human health. This complicates the inevitable separation, whether it’s the Golden Boot at 57, all that leads to and follows a night in jail, a tree to the head mid-career, the pursuit of a sustainable relationship, the birth of a child, or the complicated weight of fireline trauma. Any of these, or the myriad of other circumstances leading to an unanticipated or unwanted extraction from the fireline, tend to set us outside the precious circle of belonging.  What part do you play in keeping that circle open?  How prepared are you for your inevitable separation? 2. Diversify. I have heard it’s important not to keep all your eggs in one basket. I think that means don’t keep all of your life savings under the mattress (in case one of your old hotshot buddies stops by on the way to Vegas—we all know that dude). Are all your belonging/worthiness/community eggs in one basket? Is the fireline the only place you matter?  Be intentional about investing in other communities. Some people go to church, some people volunteer, some people chase big animals or big waves with people that value their contribution. What you build may never be as intensely satisfying as the heyday of the crew. But as one wise old hotshot supt. is fond of saying: “Something is better than nothing.” Get to Know Yourself This business of identity, belonging, and community is very serious. It has everything to do with what makes us feel like we matter. Mattering matters. There are many paths to mattering. From your path, you can no doubt see someone traveling a different path. Don’t throw rocks at them.

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We are community, let’s be a supportive one. Let’s not shoot our wounded. If you see someone struggling with an impending separation, whether retirement or the noble pursuit of a saner life schedule, be kind. Acknowledge the enormity of the exit and what goes with it.

Take a hard look at your relationship with being a firefighter. How much of your identity have you invested? Get to know yourself, dig in there and find out what makes you tick.

When you see someone going all in, lining up the tattoo appointment or repeated day-off station visits, honor what those actions signify. Maybe make a note to broach the topic of diversifying one’s identity investment in the name of resilience. After all, none of us know when our name will show up on the emergency demob list. Take a hard look at your relationship with being a firefighter. How much of your identity have you invested? Get to know yourself, dig in there and find out what makes you tick. What matters to you? What makes you matter? Where else can you contribute and commune? To find out you have to dig deep. But that’s not a problem. You have plenty of experience digging. Get dirty, Tool Swingers.

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5. Learning at Work – Safe Spaces Required?

The Wisdom and Irony of ‘Don’t F-It Up’

(This content originally appeared in March 2017 as a three-part series in the Wildland Fire Lessons Learned Center’ Blog, available online at: https://wildfirelessons.wordpress.com/?s=learning+at+work.)

In the Winter 2017 issue of Two More Chains, firefighter Bre` Orcasitas discussed wildland fire culture. In her Blog Post “Fire Culture” (that appear s in this publication on page 49) she wrote: “Hearing ‘Don't F-it Up’ is a sarcastic yet serious show of support for whatever small task you have taken on.” This three-part Blog series by Rachel Reimer digs deeper into how and why that phrase has meaning and examines wildland fire culture and learning. By Rachel Reimer Part 1 Wildland firefighting is dangerous work. And yet every year, there are hundreds of new recruits hired into the ranks of wildland firefighters, regular people who undergo a learning process in order to become one of the team. It is through this process of learning that they are able to transform from “the public”—those people we order off of our fires, and hopefully keep far away from any real firefighting—into “wildland firefighters”. When I consider the topic of learning in wildland fire workplaces, I think of new recruits because they are enduring the most obvious and steep learning curve. But in reality, the learning never stops. My question is, can we learn when the stakes are so high that failure is not an option? Doesn’t learning require a “safe-to-fail” environment where people can honestly engage with the vulnerability of trying something new for the first time? Or, is the sarcastic yet gritty and horribly honest phrase “Don't F-it Up” the sum total of all we need to know about learning in wildland fire? I explore these questions through my experiences in the 2016 fire season instructing at boot camp, leading my crew, and at the Women’s TREX in Northern . No Room to Fail – The Paradox of Learning When I think back to my experiences as a rookie at the ten-day boot camp my agency runs for new recruits, I didn’t feel like there was room to fail. I was intimidated. I tried really, really hard all the time—even when no one was looking. I did so in part because that’s who I am and in part because I suspected that there was never a time when no one was looking. I distinctly remember the hill runs, pushing myself to physical limits I didn’t think possible, watching as people vomited and hyperventilated at the top, trying desperately to slow my The View from Here 57 heart rate and recover before the next lap, thinking “Oh sh*t, it’s going to be me next.” The stress is real. It’s real at boot camp because it’s real in our jobs. Or at least that’s what I thought then. Figure 29

This year I was invited to attend boot camp again. I joined the ranks of the privileged few who get to run the camp. When I got the call, the first thing I did was up my PT. Hill runs three times a week. I realized that while I would be an instructor, I’m still a rookie instructor. But this year it was different. What I saw at boot camp this year reframed how I think about learning and safe-to-fail spaces within wildland fire. At boot camp the instructor cadre had many conversations about the learning curve of new recruits, all revolving around the need to push people to expand their skillset while also not breaking them down as human beings. We want them to be tough, capable of handling stress, and yet also comfortable asking for help. We want them to prove they can work hard, that they will earn their way, to show pride in their work ethic and yet not have attachment to ego or exhibit too much personal pride. The paradox of learning puzzled me, and I thought about it through the season as I interacted with my crew. Small mistakes lead to big ones, right? Wrong. Small mistakes lead to learning, which prevents big mistakes.

Running Saw – The Irony of ‘Don’t F-it Up’ On the small Initial Attack crews that the British Columbia Wildfire Service utilizes, there is limited room for a delay in passing on skills. With three or four people to an Initial Attack fire, often in large timber with a significant amount of saw work, everyone has to be capable of performing most fireline tasks. This is why rookies on IA crews often get to run a saw, something unheard of on the larger 20- person unit crews. This year I thought about safe spaces for learning as I handed a chainsaw to the 19-year-old rookie I had on my crew. After hours of classroom training and in-the-field instruction, it was finally time for him to make his first cut. I looked at him and said, “I will be right here. Look up between cuts and make eye contact with me. If I tell you stop—STOP. I trust you. You’re going to do great.” I smiled. He nodded, eyes wide, every muscle in his body tensed. In my mind, I was screaming: “Don’t F-it Up!” What does that even mean? Well, for me it means that I care about my crewmembers and I don’t want them to get hurt, which means that I fear the consequences of them making a

The View from Here 58 mistake. Let me say that again. When I think about my crewmembers making a mistake, I am afraid. Why? I don’t want them to fail. That fear of failure inside of me creates an intolerance of mistakes—even small ones. Because small mistakes lead to big ones, right? Wrong. Small mistakes lead to learning, which prevents big mistakes. Figure 30

If I am afraid of anything that isn’t perfect in me or in my crew, I will create an environment where shame is everywhere, fear of failing is high, and the willingness to be vulnerable and take on new tasks will diminish. In short, an intolerance of mistakes can cause me to lead in a way that is not empowering, but instead intimidates those working for me. As a leader, I try to be aware of my own fear that gets triggered when my crewmembers make mistakes. Instead of transferring that fear to them, I say “I trust you” when the fear inside me wants to say “You’d better get this damn near perfect, or else you’re not good enough, which means that I’m not good enough, and you’re probably going to get us both killed.” Research has shown that when you look like you might be weaker than others in your group for any reason, the urge for people around you to put more pressure on you to perform is even greater. [Reference from: Van Der Zee, K., Atsma, N., & Brodbeck, F. (2004). The influence of social identity and personality on outcomes of cultural diversity in teams. Journal of Cross- Cultural Psychology, 35(3), 283–303.] If you’re last on the hill run, you’re going to get yelled at. When it comes to being seen as weak in wildland fire, it seems like that experience is more common for women. Or is it?

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Part 2 The Big Experiment The Women’s TREX went a step further by defining a space that was purposively shame-free, safe-to-fail, and open to conversations not just about skills but also about what it’s like to be perceived as the weak link, and the kinds of pressure to perform that this feeling generates. Figure 31

The biggest experiment in creating a learning environment in wildland fire that I have ever been involved in is the Northern California Women’s TREX that happened in October 2016. The Women’s TREX was developed out of the regular TREX program. TREX, or the “Prescribed Fire Training Exchange,” is a program run by The Nature Conservancy. This organization connects wildland firefighters, prescribed fire practitioners, and land management and research personnel in training events that use prescribed fire on the landscape. (For more information on The Nature Conservancy, visit its website at: https://www.nature.org/ .) These events are run like a fire, with their own IMT, , and org chart. The focus is on burning with live fire operational training for everyone from Burn Bosses to Type 2 Firefighters. People bring their taskbooks, fill roles as trainees, and gain experience to fill the gaps in their career progression. TREX is all about learning. The Women’s TREX went a step further by defining a space that was purposively shame-free, safe-to-fail, and open to conversations not just about skills but also about what it’s like to be perceived as the weak link, and the kinds of pressure to perform that this feeling generates.

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These women were trying to put their fingers on something in the culture that just didn’t seem right. Being perceived as the weak link hurts. Trying to outwork that fear of failing can be exhausting. In 2015, Monique Hein, formerly of The Nature Conservancy’s Southern Rockies , attended the TREX (NCTREX). Monique was housed in cabins with the other female TREX attendees, a total of 14 women. “By day five the nights got later as we cracked open beers and shared struggles in our careers. I started to hear a common theme,” Hein recalls. “Women shared their experience of working in fire at their home bases. Their confidence was low. They felt like they were behind on their skills and leadership development. The women also felt invisible, alone, and not supported. They didn’t know where to go from here, and many of them thought why even stay in a career where they did not feel wanted.” These women were trying to put their fingers on something in the culture that just didn’t seem right. Being perceived as the weak link hurts. Trying to outwork that fear of failing can be exhausting. They had a proposed solution: “How cool would it be if we had an all-women’s TREX?” The Nature Conservancy said “Yes”. A location in Northern California was identified thanks to Lenya Quinn-Davidson, who facilitates the Northern California TREX. A female IMT was formed and the first ever Women’s TREX was planned for October 2016. So, if a safe space is made for learning where shame and blame and the fear of failure are consciously kept at bay, is it truly a safe space for everyone? What happens when the minority (women) suddenly becomes the majority? History is full of examples of victims-turned-bullies. And it is also full of examples of people who quietly and compassionately work for cultural change in a way that doesn’t mean identifying an “enemy”.

Whipping Boys? Men are invited to the Women’s TREX. The organizers realized that this was an opportunity for a bigger learning experiment and purposefully reversed the gender ratios. So, while a long waitlist of hopeful attendees grew, they accepted 90 percent female applicants and 10 percent male, socially engineering the Women’s TREX to be the exact opposite of what wildland firefighters experience on a daily basis. “It’s going to be two weeks of just male bashing, probably, and I’m going to end up being the whipping boy for all men in fire,” said Casey, a male participant at the Women’s TREX, who anticipated the worst. But, he wanted to learn and saw this as an opportunity he couldn’t pass up—“even if that meant having to take the lashings.” History is full of examples of victims-turned-bullies. And it is also full of examples of people who quietly and compassionately work for cultural change in a way that doesn’t mean identifying an “enemy”. It turned out there were no “lashings.” Afterwards, Casey said, “We all learned from each other and it turned out that I wasn’t the whipping boy. I felt that the ladies were maybe almost

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Figure 32

compassionate toward me. I don’t know if that was because they know how it feels to be a minority of the group, or what the deal was.” From day one the focus was on learning—tactics, skills, leadership—and also about the broader wildland fire culture. Maybe this kind of experiment would shift the culture a bit, and reveal something none of us had seen before. And can you guess the one thing that came to the surface that men and women both seem to share in wildland fire? Shame, fear of failure, and vulnerability. If we need to create a “safe space” in order to learn, what does that say about our everyday work environment? The answers were tough to hear and came from all genders. For men and women at the WTREX, the crux issue seemed to be wildland fire’s cultural problem with vulnerability. It’s the relationship between fear of failure and the need to shame yourself and others to avoid failing. Can you guess the one thing that came to the surface that men and women both seem to share in wildland fire? Shame, fear of failure, and vulnerability. Instead of having a level-headed acceptance that vulnerability is required for learning, there seems to be a cultural belief in wildland fire that vulnerability is weakness. And it also seems like weakness is equated with femininity. Women more often get treated like the weak link. But men feel it too. Casey, one of the male participants at the Women’s TREX, said: “I feel like if I show weakness, people will correlate that with more of a feminine trait. Because of that, you could be looked at as weak or probably not the best firefighter out there.”

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Casey continued: “People make an assumption that you’re not tough enough maybe to do some of the stuff that the job requires. If you’re a male person and you show weakness, then you get shamed, too. And the shaming may look like being associated with being female, or feminine.” One woman explained: “Everything you do is under a microscope and it can be very easy to start wavering and maybe have confidence issues.” For women, that fear and shame is closer to the surface, but they’re not the only ones who have to deal with it. It affects everyone. Really Great—and also Really Difficult The WTREX participants experienced an environment that was the literal opposite of this. People were being vulnerable, learning, and asking questions. This was not only tolerated but encouraged. Participant Katie reflected: “It was really great—and also really difficult in a lot of ways for me. There was a lot of experiences that I’ve had in almost ten years of fire that I have normalized.” Katie reflected for a moment on her experiences as a career firefighter. “I spent so much time kind of trying to neutralize a lot of things that I’d gone through. Just trying to not process that. And all of a sudden there were like 30 more examples. How hard we’ve all been trying to be tough, to prove our worth, hit a lot of us smack in the face.” Katie continued: “It felt really vulnerable to me because in the past I have prided myself on kind of having a strong exterior and being able to be strong for myself and the people around me.” For Katie and many others, men included, the WTREX was an opportunity to soften that exterior, and to recognize that others share her experiences. “The [Women’s] TREX kind of transformed me,” said one woman. “There was the burning side of things and then it became this really open environment and space for people to share that experience and have that empathy.”

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Part 3 Have the Courage to Face Your Fear Learning requires the willingness to allow others to see that you don’t have it all together, to be willing to be vulnerable. In wildland fire culture, this is a very difficult thing to do. Figure 33

It is possible that even in jobs we love, with people we see as friends, there are areas where we are creating a culture that is intolerant of vulnerability that reacts very strongly against anything that is seen as weak, and too often equates weakness with feminine attributes—whether those attributes are expressed by women or men. As groups of people, we push those we see as the weak link because we are afraid of what failure might mean. For wildland fire culture to learn from its own mistakes, we all need to be brave enough to admit to the fact that we have some learning to do. Figure 34

The Wisdom of Don’t F-It Up It is no one’s fault that this correlation with vulnerability and weakness exists. In a risk-taking profession like wildland fire, vulnerability can be dangerous when it applies to fireline tactics. I’m not arguing that failure is truly safe, because it isn’t. Avoiding vulnerability is an excellent tactical decision-making mindset. However, when this tactical decision-making mindset is uncritically applied in the day-to-day culture of how we lead, how we communicate with one another, and how we build our teams, this negatively impacts our ability to learn.

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When things that are different are labelled as weak and those individuals are shamed into silence, there are significant consequences for learning and growth in the profession as a whole. Recognizing this intolerance for vulnerability in our own culture and admitting to the need for change is not failure. It means there’s room to grow—room to learn. Together. For wildland fire culture to learn from its own mistakes, we all need to be brave enough to admit to the fact that we have some learning to do. “I think everyone’s going to feel uncomfortable in one way or another as it all comes out and as things start to change,” says Katie, one of the participants in the Northern California Women’s TREX (WTREX) that happened in October 2016. Casey, a male participant in this TREX, described the change this way: “We need to be better individuals, you know, better human beings. Maybe it’s not ‘women’s thinking’ [about fire], but just being a decent human.”

[The WTREX was supported by Promoting Ecosystem Resiliency through Collaboration: Landscapes, Learning and Restoration, a cooperative agreement between The Nature Conservancy, USDA Forest Service and agencies of the Department of the Interior. For more information, contact Lynn Decker at The Nature Conservancy by telephone at 801-320-0524 or send an email to: [email protected].]

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III Operations

These five essays describe the way things work on the line.

Figure 35 – All photos by Kari Greer.

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1. Same as It Ever Was . . .

Our traditional solution of ‘more stuff’ doesn’t work— It’s time we tried something else (This content originally appeared in the Winter 2015 issue of Two More Chains, available at the Wildland Fire Lessons Learned Center website at: https://www.wildfirelessons.net/viewdocument/two-more-chains-winter-2015.) By Travis Dotson Individually, our early years are extremely important. They lay the foundation for who we will become. Here is some basic information from Johns Hopkins University on the subject: Why is Early Learning Important? “Simply put, a child’s early years lay the foundation for all that is to come. In recent years, researchers have learned that the human brain develops the vast majority of its neurons, and is at its most receptive to learning, between birth and three years of age.” (From Neurons to Neighborhoods – The Science of Early Childhood Development; by Jack P. Shonkoff and Deborah Phillips; National Academies Press, 2000.) Figure 36

What if this was also true for organizations? I know an organization does not have a brain to develop through the formation of neural pathways, but the basic idea that “early years lay the foundation for all that is come” seems plausible to me. Maybe it’s not so much like forming neural pathways and more like a big rock starting to roll down a hill and gaining momentum. The direction it’s going is set and not much is going to change that. What would that mean for wildland firefighting as an entity? Specifically our “safety culture” or “risk management perspective” or whatever you want to call the focus of getting the job done without bad things happening. What was that early foundation/direction? Original Mission Let’s fist start with our original mission. Pretty straight forward: Protect resources from fire. What did we need to do this? Stuff. Mainly people.

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In 1910 fire did what it periodically does and a lot of people died trying to stop it. We shook our heads and wondered what to do about it. We figured out the solution rather quickly—get better at stopping fire. How? More stuff. Figure 37 – Captain Moses Harris, Troop M, First Cavalry, assumes command of Yellowstone National Park in August 1886. Within days of arriving at Yellowstone, soldiers began fighting wildfires throughout the park. (Photo courtesy of the National Park Service.)

We invested in new ways to locate and travel to fires, more people and new tools. What about people dying on the job? Another easy solution, we just decided it was possible to fight fire safely. Once again, all we needed to do was get better at it. Looking back, I think this becomes the unspoken cornerstone of our organizational foundation: Continually improve our ability to subdue fire without killing people. This is the trajectory we set out on more than 100 years ago and have yet to look back. I see two big assumptions in this foundation:  We can overpower fire.  We can do it safely. Are these assumptions valid? It’s certainly a convenient dogma to justify doing things the way we’ve always done them. What keeps these two assumptions alive is the fact that most of us can immediately point to numerous instances in our own personal—and organizational— experience where they held true. Yes, we can and do overpower fire with nobody getting hurt on a regular basis. The problem is using those instances as proof it’s possible to replicate that outcome every time. Just because you’ve never been in a car accident on the way to work doesn’t guarantee a semi won’t plow you over tomorrow morning. This may not stop you from driving to work, but it should make you think critically about whether or not you really need to be in the office every day. “Nothing pleases people more than to go on thinking what they have always thought, and at the same time imagine that they are thinking something new and daring: it combines the advantage of security and the delight of adventure.” T.S. Eliot

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In my experience, every time we “contain” a fire (more often than not meaning we put a line around something that wasn't going anywhere) and nobody dies, we chalk it up to skill (“safe firefighting”). On the flip side, when a fire goes over the hill or someone gets hurt, our camp conversations boil it down to “bad firefighting.” Like I said, pretty convenient way to view the world, but it leaves no room for reality which has lots of grey. Why are the terms “close call” and “near miss” so common? Because they happen all the time. This is us almost getting our ass kicked. And it means we’re not as good as we think we are; we’re just lucky. Simplistic Assumptions The environment in which we operate is not simple. It would be nice if it was, but it’s not. Even so, we have allowed these simplistic assumptions to become beliefs. We codified a process to convince ourselves of the ability to guarantee safety (10 Standard Orders) as part of the justification for exceedingly grandiose efforts to overpower fire.

Figure 38

This overindulgence in unnecessary exposure results in really bad things happening on a regular basis. In what has become tradition, every time the number of dead firefighters makes us uncomfortable we convene to debate what flavor of new stuff to pursue. In its simplest form, this results in more crews and bigger air tankers. More nuanced approaches involve better training and organizational realignment. But, overall, our strategy still consists of “get better.” We change the words and point to stuff we haven’t pointed at before. But it’s all just a scrambled version of the “more stuff” approach. What’s that saying about doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results? In addition to the folks who want new stuff there’s always a group who point to the stuff we already have as the ultimate solution. Their mantra is “back-to-basics.” The back-to-basics argument insinuates the existence of some Golden Age of operations with no dead firefighters, which, in reality, just doesn’t exist.

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Fantastic Adjustments – Very Little Change Have we as the wildland fire service ever really changed? I would argue there is a difference between change and adjustment. I think we have made fantastic adjustments and very little change. Some of our amazing adjustments include: The development of smokejumpers, hotshot crews, air tankers and helicopter use, the ICS system, numerous checklists, fire shelters, dedicated research, NWCG, and LCES. Recent additions include the IRPG, Leadership Curriculum, Lessons Learned Center, Safety Management System, and on and on. Like I said, amazing stuff, but it hasn’t eliminated the existence of funerals in our business. I know none of these initiatives ever purported to be a magic bullet for putting an end to the need for caskets, but they are widely used to support the two big assumptions I mentioned earlier:  We can overpower fire.  We can do it safely. Are we OK with maintaining these beliefs? Is there harm in maintaining these beliefs? Is it only me who gets frustrated with the gap between what we say and what actually happens? We are really good at modifications, adjustments, and adaptation. But substantive change is a different matter. I get the sense it’s going to be a long time before we change what we DO (there’s too much invested in the status quo). Maybe a reasonable goal is to alter one belief. What would it look like if our core belief was: We can’t fight fire safely (as history has illustrated). We could acknowledge there is a scale that includes safer and safest—but not safe. Is there merit in that? Inspiring New Approaches I feel this change (altering a belief qualifies as change in my book) has the potential to shift our perspective enough to inspire new approaches. It changes the conversation around what operations to take on. Any leader of tool swingers will attest to the regularity of being asked to take on assignments that don’t make sense (mop up 700 feet in, put “political” smokes out, use aircraft so we don’t lose them, etc.). The debate in our head always starts with: “Well that’s silly…but can we do it safely?” We do this little mental mambo as a way to avoid conflict, still get overtime, and convince ourselves we’re in control. Imagine if the answer to that question (“Can we do it safely?”) was always “No” (because the cultural belief was that it’s not possible). The question then becomes: “Is this worth it?” This approach acknowledges that every exposure involves the potential for a buried body. Changing Our Language We do have in our ranks those who have internalized this approach. They are the folks who have recently witnessed firsthand the reality of what’s at stake. The crew boss who recently lost a crew member to a fireline accident is likely to be a bit more cautious. We shake our heads and call them “gun shy” while whispering to each other the virtues of “getting back in the saddle.”

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Figure 39

We initially tolerate them as a way of being polite. We shuffle them around and get others to carry out the questionable assignments. Eventually, the politeness wears off and we either browbeat them back into conducting business as usual or chase them into a less operational position. We never acknowledge these folks are temporarily gifted with the ability to actually see what it is we are risking. It’s this reality we must culturally internalize by changing our language. Only then can we truly deliberate on the utility of the exposure involved in our ultimately futile attempt to overpower fire. “Is this worth it?” applies to the initial decision to staff a fire, during on-the-ground tactical judgments, and throughout interactions between an IC and the delegating official. As “Is this worth it?” becomes our culture, many of our go-to strategies will become harder and harder to justify. Ironically, the path to safer interactions with fire requires the fundamental belief that safe is not possible.

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2. Own Your Strategy

(This content originally appeared in Travis Dotson’s Ground Truths column in the Fall 2012 issue of Two More Chains, which is available at the Wildland Fire Lessons Learned Center’s website at: https://www.wildfirelessons.net/viewdocument/two-more-chains-fall-2012pdf.) By Travis Dotson This summer I was at a classic Type 1 briefing. You know, big stage, giant map, PA system, Finance saying “turn in your time,” Training saying “come fill out some papers,” Plans saying “Next.” Anybody ever been to that briefing? Eventually, one of the multiple ICs came up to give the parting words. He gets up and makes some jokes about the color of his hair and how long he has been around. Good stuff. He then starts to talk about how he has been on a number fatality fires and how he has read lots of fatality reports and how they all boil down to two things: People not having good enough Situation Awareness, or not adequately assessing risk. (Isn’t one part of the other?) He then gives examples of folks thinking they were far enough away from the snag or that the fire wouldn’t run as far or as fast as it did. I understand he was genuinely concerned for our safety and was trying to caution us all to be careful. Like saying “stay safe out there.” (Which is kind of like telling someone “Good Luck” as they walk into the casino!) But, at the time, all I heard was: If you get hurt out there, it’s your fault! All it really did was make me mad. I felt like saying: “With all due respect, sir, I’m out there implementing YOUR strategy. You’re the one saying: ‘Let’s keep the fire from advancing this direction.’” Implementing that strategy involves risk. No matter how you slice it. So it feels like you’re telling me: “Go out there and expose yourself to a bunch of hazards—but if you get hurt, it’s your fault!” Really? Let’s consider who we are as dirt throwers.

Getting the Job Done Let’s consider who we are as dirt throwers. We are typically action oriented, enjoy a challenge, and want to do a good job. We are a group of people who will find a way to get the job done. What is the Danger/Opportunity in that? The opportunity is that the job will more than likely get done. The danger is that we will typically accept a substantial amount of risk in getting the job done. Check these out:  Firefighter vs. Tree (after sending fallers in to snag the area—mitigating risk). This Rapid Lesson Sharing report is available on the Wildland Fire Lessons Learned Center’s website at: https://www.wildfirelessons.net/viewdocument/gold-pass-fire-snag.  Firefighter vs. Log (steering clear of a falling operation puts them under a bucking operation). See this 72-hour report from the Boise National Forest available on the Wildland Fire Lessons Learned Center’s website at: https://www.wildfirelessons.net/viewdocument/trinity-ridge-west-b The View from Here 72

 Firefighter vs. Snake (reaching down to pull some grass out of the way). See this Green Sheet report from the Los Angeles Department available on the Wildland Fire Lessons Learned Center website at: https://www.wildfirelessons.net/viewdocument/snake-bite-la-county-2012. So all these folks didn’t “adequately assess the risk”? Or they “lost Situation Awareness”? (Is that even possible?) Or, were they out there trying to do good work and implement a strategy that involves risk? Trust me. I certainly believe that we as individuals contribute the most to avoiding injuries. But we do not operate in a 100 percent safe work environment. We prove that every summer. Be Careful What You Ask People to Do ICs at all levels (Type 5, 4, 3, 2, and 1), we need to acknowledge our part in deciding how much risk is accepted out on the ground. Yes, a crew can always “turn down” an assignment or suggest another way of getting the job done. But remember who you are dealing with. A bunch of “find a way” type of folks who pride themselves in getting things done. We will find a way—the safest one we can. But please don’t believe the responsibility for every mishap lies solely on the shoulders of those closest to it. Be careful of what you ask people to do, because they will do it. Dig On, Tool Swingers.

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3. Fruit We Can Reach (This content originally appeared in the Summer 2017 issue of Two More Chains, available on the Wildland Fire Lessons Learned Center’s website at: https://www.wildfirelessons.net/viewdocument/two-more-chains-summer-2017.) By Travis Dotson There’s been a lot of talk lately about “Unnecessary Risk.” One of the latest pushes on this term has come out of one agency’s journey through the dark woods of “Safety” toward the awkward proclamation that breathing matters most. So here we are being advised to take no unnecessary risk. This charge, like any sourced “from above,” triggers massive group griping and a fist-clenching shuffle-dance squawk from more than a few in the field. At this point I do have to wonder if this reaction is more of a conditioned response to “D.C.” letterhead than discerning disagreement. We should all admit there is no shortage of merit on either side of this particular episode of “Us vs Them.” (For more insights on the “Us vs Them” topic, see the Summer 2015 issue of Two More Chains, available on the Wildland Fire Lessons Learned Center website at: https://www.wildfirelessons.net/viewdocument/two-more-chains-summer-2015. This insightful article also appears in this publication on page 42.) Barroom Theater As the snow flies and training centers host a variety of symposiums, seminars, and summits for the like-minded, the belt buckle brigade gathers at winter pasture (hotel bars) to practice the alcohol-fueled ritual of oscillating between nostalgia and cynicism. This is the prime setting to lob rocks at the target-de-jour. In this case, the predictable objection to “Unnecessary Risk” is quite understandable. The seasoned skeptic shouts the faux-question: “And how exactly will the powers-that-be decide if a risk was unnecessary?” Thank You, George Broyles Figure 40

We would like to thank George Broyles, Fire and Fuels Project Leader for the U.S. Forest Service’s National Technology and Development Program, for his significant assistance with this article. George has explored how “Heat, Smoke, Fatigue and Noise” all conspire against wildland firefighters. “They are so common in our work environment, we may not even consider them hazardous,” George warns. All of the technical references and resources listed in this article are courtesy of George.

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In this perfectly played out yet unrehearsed barroom theater, a comrade takes the cue and exclaims: “That’s simple. If something bad happens then you shouldn’t have been doing it. Didn’t we tell you that no tree is worth dying for!” The cynic is sure that a bad outcome will be the only time necessity is actually measured, and the conclusion is forgone. This stage performance then continues as the ultimate antagonist is hoisted as a target— complete with cloven-hoof and pitchfork: Lucifer Line Officer. (Hsssss!) (Can you hear the shouting and table pounding?) “YES. It’s THEM! They are the ones demanding we stop the fire on bad ground and put out political smokes in the snag patch!” A convenient and conventional mark: Them. The lack of nuance suits the setting. Eventually, the theming peters out and the herd cycles back to telling time-twisted tales of heroic assignments and deadly days off. The curtain eventually closes as the stragglers stagger off to make ill- advised afterthought phone calls to loved ones they fervently promised to keep in mind. The actors in this tragedy aren’t wrong. We all get it. “Unnecessary” is nearly impossible to define pre-action, and overly easy to declare in hindsight. Accepting Risk: There is Always a Reason The other blister this talk of unnecessary risk rubs raw is the condescending implication that line going decision-makers are reckless. Yes, it is offensive to imply the concept of “Unnecessary” is novel to a group who makes life and death decisions on a fairly regular basis. I’m sure the promoters of this well-intentioned campaign would insist there is no assumption that the concept is new, nor is it an insinuation of the current workforce’s tendency toward taking on pointless peril. But, intended or not, it comes across that way. Nobody on the line is accepting risk for no reason. There is always a reason. It’s just that the reasons are buried in layers of tradition, self-worth, economics, and every bit of culture- creating minutia one can imagine. “Necessary” is a deep dark hole and we’re shouting at each other from opposite edges. It is offensive to imply the concept of “Unnecessary” is novel to a group who makes life and death decisions on a fairly regular basis.

Low Hanging Fruit We Can More Easily Discuss Everyone owns aspects of this dance around the unwarranted. It’s easy to throw rocks at the doubletalk happening on all sides, as if saying one thing and doing another is outlandish. I’m pretty sure hypocrisy shares a birthday with human speech. To put it more plainly: We all have blood on our hands. Beyond the issue of whose hands are dirtiest, all of this back and forth babble tends to focus on the grandiose and flashiest risks—fast-moving flame fronts and spectacular structure saves. What about some of the not-so-sexy risk we accept? Is there some low hanging fruit we can more easily discuss? Can we leverage some of our cultural values that fully support the notion of reevaluating what we’ve unconsciously accepted as necessary? Let’s try.

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To put it more plainly: We all have blood on our hands.

We Say We Value “Smarter” We’ve all heard it and most of us have said it more than a few times. It’s the classic almost- clever jingle used to admonish the unwise worker. This worker is likely expending unnecessary energy on a task more efficiently accomplished by a process soon to be displayed by the smirking coworker snorting: “Work smarter not harder!” It stings when you’re the target those words are aimed at. It’s an outright attack on the woodsy intellect so highly valued in our culture. For most of my career, every time that saying was hurled at me I stored it away and narrowed my eyes to scan for unsuspecting others I could fling my fears at. It never took long to find someone with fewer fire stories long-arming two cubies up the hill. I would saunter alongside them and offer to take the load. As I eventually moved off with the cubies dangling from the tool across my shoulders yoke style I could taste the salt in my chide of “Work smarter not harder.” Ahhhh yes, the comforting cocktail of self-righteousness and pride. It feels so good—until you realize what it really is. And so it goes, the cycle of systemic conformity to unspoken ethics rehearsed and carried out in time-honored traditions. Video “Know the Risks of Smoke” Insights from George Broyles, Fire and Fuels Project Leader, U.S. Forest Service National Technology and Development Program This video is available at the WFSTAR (Wildland Training Annual Refresher) website hosted by the National Interagency Fire Center at: https://youtu.be/0gqTbJSQL_U Bad Ass or Dumb Ass? The basic theme is this: brute strength is handy, but intelligence matters more. Yeah, it’s bad ass to endure a brutal pack out, but you’re a dumb ass if you carried anything you didn’t need to. OK, now the meat. If we truly value working smarter, let’s apply it to a few other known threats in our work environment. 1. Smoke Prolonged exposure to smoke literally makes you dumber. As CO exposure increases, your ability to think clearly decreases.1 Being in smoke you don’t need to be in is the epitome of not working “smarter.” In fact, it is actually working dumber.

1Sources: 1.) The OSHA Carbon Monoxide Poisoning, OSHA Fact Sheet, U.S. Department of Agriculture (2002); available at the Occupational Safety and Health Administration website at: https://www.osha.gov/OshDoc/data_General_Facts/carbonmonoxide-factsheet.pdf. 2.) The Health Hazard Evaluation Report from the Colorado Department of public health; available at the Centers for Disease Control website at: https://www.cdc.gov/niosh/hhe/reports/pdfs/1998-0173-2782.pdf. 3.) The Crystalline Silica Primer available at the U.S. Geological Survey website at: U.S. Department of the Interior. (1992). Crystalline Silica Primer, Staff, Branch of Industrial Minerals, Special Publication.

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Next, we get to have the discussion about what instances we “need” to be in smoke. As fun as that tail chase is, I’m going to move out to the extreme end of the spectrum we have all seen because it’s rather common despite its absurdity:  Camp placed in a valley where smoke accumulates.  A crew strung out “holding” a smoke-choked road when the probability of ignition is near zero.  Mopping-up stuff that poses no operational threat. So first and foremost, exposure to smoke is dangerous because it impairs our capacity to think clearly—something most of us have a hard enough time doing given the complexity of our environment. The long-term effects of smoke exposure? We have no idea. But chances are they’re pretty bad. At the low end, all the smoke we eat puts us at increased risk of respiratory and cardiovascular diseases. Cancer? All that can be said at this point is that wildland fire smoke does include carcinogens.2 Here is a finding from “Broyles, G. Wildland Firefighter Smoke Exposure, USDA, Forest Service, 2013”: “In our wildland smoke assessment (650 firefighters, 7,500 hours, 17 states, 80 fires), we found that firefighters exceed safe levels on all fire types for each established short and long- term metric (5-minute, 15-minute, 8-hour).” We all know we can do better on this front but we seem to be too dumb to care. Maybe it’s the smoke? We do lots of things to raise our core body temperature, like hiking ridiculously fast to ridiculously remote locations with ridiculous amounts of weight on our back to do ridiculously demanding physical labor in ridiculously hot environments.

2. Heat-Related Illness Heat-Related Illness (HRI) kills wildland firefighters. Ask the families of Caleb Hamm (see the “CR 337 Fire Fatality Report” available on the Wildland Fire Lessons Learned Center’s website at: https://www.wildfirelessons.net/viewdocument/cr-337-fire-fatality-2011) or Michelle Smith (see the “Globe Hotshots PT Fatality Report” on the LLC website at: https://www.wildfirelessons.net/viewdocument/globe-hotshots-pt-fatality-1996).HRI is a function of our core body temperature. We do lots of things to raise our core body temperature, like hiking ridiculously fast to ridiculously remote locations with ridiculous amounts of weight on our back to do ridiculously demanding physical labor in ridiculously hot environments. That’s a lot of exertion—and a lot of ridiculous.

2Sources: 1.) This article, available on the American Association for Cancer Research website at: Rothman, N. et al., Contribution of occupation and diet to white blood cell polycyclic aromatic hydrocarbon-DNA adducts in wildland firefighters. Cancer Epidemiology, Boimarkers & Prevention, 1993. 2.) This article, available on the ScienceDirect website at: McKenzie, L. et al., Quantification of Major Components Emitted from Smoldering Combustion of Wood, Atmospheric Environment, Vol. 28 No. 20 1994.

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We don’t control all aspects of where the work is, or the conditions present at the worksite. But we do control the level of exertion we put forth getting to and carrying out the work. Pretty basic. The self-induced problem here is the direct correlation between exertion and production: Less Exertion = Less Production (in most cases). Production matters and more is always better because of its effect on reputation. Now we’ve stumbled into the deep dark magic of “Identity.” Recognition, belonging, self-worth, acceptance, legacy . . . it all matters. What makes you tick can make you sick. Now think about “Necessary.” How much of your exertion is necessary? The answer is clearly every last bit of it. What I’d like you to think about is: What is it necessary for? Necessary for image? For belonging? For hours? Trust me, I get it. As the kids say: “You Do You.” Just be honest with yourself about what the risks you take are for. 3. Noise Noise directly impacts the “C”—you know, the one that goes between “L” and “E.” Noise causes distraction, headaches, and fatigue. It also reduces concentration and slows reaction time.3 All this makes a hard job even harder. Yes, we work in a noisy environment. Pumps, saws, aircraft, heavy equipment. These are obnoxiously loud tools we spend lots of time in close proximity to. Most of us shrug our shoulders in relation to this quagmire. The feeling is something along the lines of: “Yeah, what are we gonna do? Not work because it’s too loud?” Well, not exactly. Although I know we could all improve our decision making in this arena. First of all, noise is no different than any other kind of exposure. Avoiding it is best. Do you need the noise? Do you really need to sit next to the pump because you’re the “operator”? Hey wildland firefighters, I have some tough news to break to you. It turns out you are, in fact, human. I know the TV news and brightly colored “Thank You Firefighters” signs outside ICP tell you otherwise, but the test results are in and unfortunately, you’re NOT an otherworldly super-being. Cutting to cut, pushing to push, flying to fly, pumping to pump. Those are all-around bad deals, noise or not. Oh look, we’re back to a fresh look at: “Necessary”! OK, say you need the noise. Fine, don’t be lazy about exposure. Don’t be closer than required. Hearing protection? Let me sort that one out for you. There is no “Bad Ass” in this equation. No

3Sources: 1.) This article, available on the Scandinavian Journal of Work, Environment and Health website at: Cantley, LF, Galusha D, Cullen MR, Dixon-Ernst C, Rabinowitz PM, Neitzel RL, Association between ambient noise exposure, hearing acuity, and risk of acute occupational injury, Scandinavian Journal of work, Environment & Health, 2015; 41(1) 75-83. 2.) The article Broyles, G, et al., Noise Exposure Among Federal Wildland Firefighters, The Journal of the Acoustical Society of America, Express Letters, 141, 2017; available at the Journal of Acoustical Society of America website at: https://asa.scitation.org/doi/full/10.1121/1.4976041.

The View from Here 78 ear plugs = Pure Dumb Ass. Not interested? Your call, but long-term you’re looking at problems with anxiety, depression, increased morbidity, and social isolation.4 Have fun with that, Dumb Ass. Figure 41

4. Fatigue Hey wildland firefighters, I have some tough news to break to you. It turns out you are, in fact, human. I know the TV news and brightly colored “Thank You Firefighters” signs outside ICP tell you otherwise, but the test results are in and unfortunately, you’re NOT an otherworldly super- being. Yep, performance deteriorates as you get tired. And you do get tired (that happens to humans). Each of the previously mentioned exposures are compounded when combined with fatigue. Research across all organizations, including public safety (fire, , EMS) is clear—the weary are not wary. There is a marked increase in accidents and injuries as fatigue sets in5. When we’re tired, we have difficulty processing information and adapting to changing circumstances—fairly important abilities in our world. What do you think of when you hear 2:1? Hot drip mix? Beer to water? If you’re like me you think of CTRs. That seems to be the only place we actually care about “rest.” Trust me, I know

4Source: This article, available at the Journal of Occupational and Environmental Medicine website at: Kirchner, D Bruce MD, Evenson, Col Eric MD, Dobie, Robert A. MD, Rabinowitz, Peter MD, Crawford, James MD, Kopke, Richard MD, and Hudson, Warner, T. MD, Occupational Noise- Induced Hearing Loss, JOEM Volume 54, Number 1, January 2012, 106-108.

5Source: This article, available at the U.S. National Library of Medicine National Institutes of Health website at: Weaver, MD, Patterson PD, Fabio A, et al. Occupational Environmental Medicine, An observational study of shift length, crew familiarity, and occupational injury and illness in emergency medical services workers, 2015.

The View from Here 79 and respect the game we play with hours. I tend not to blame humans for being human—like getting tired OR maximizing the benefit within the incentive structure. On that note, I will point out once again that the current pay system for a large part of our workforce incentivizes exposure: More H and OT (aka exposure) = More Money. So, the same folks telling us not to take unnecessary risks pay us more if we do. Wait. What? Yeah, don’t get me going on that one because that is a different tirade. Research across all organizations, including public safety (fire, police, EMS) is clear—the weary are not wary. Do whatever you do with timesheets. I’m just suggesting that you put some thought into the actual rest you and those you oversee are getting—or not getting. Not the mythical rest on your CTR—the actual down time. Be intentional. Get radical. Support sleep. Hell, pay people for it! Whoops, somehow slipped back onto my soap box there, sorry. Anyway, be brave and get real rest. Triangle: Put a Pinch of Practical in Your Tactical Pause Figure 42

We all know it’s impossible to learn anything if it doesn’t somehow take the form of a triangle, so here you go. This triangle (courtesy of George Broyles) is heavy and it will smash you. It’s also pretty much invisible because we are so accustomed to its elements. Some of the points are sharp and will cut you down where you stand, others are rather dull, but insidiously incessant. You want to do some good for yourself and those around you? Put a pinch of practical in your tactical pause. Stop what you’re doing to intentionally:  Lower core body temperature.  Lower heart rate.  Relieve fatigue.  Get out of the noise. The View from Here 80

 Get out of the smoke. I know we all have to get in bed with risk to move the dirt that needs to be moved. But Bad Ass or Dumb Ass is an Ass either way. As far as exposure goes, live to reduce & reduce to live. Funny, that kind of sounds like saying: “Don’t take on unnecessary risk.”

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4. We are Wrong

(This content originally appeared in Travis Dotson’s Ground Truths column in the Fall 2015 issue of Two More Chains, available at the Wildland Fire Lessons Learned Center website at: https://www.wildfirelessons.net/viewdocument/two-more-chains-fall-2015.) By Travis Dotson Figure 43

Dave Ruhl was scouting a flank of the small but growing . (A learning review report of this incident is available on the Wildland Fire Lessons Learned Center website at: https://www.wildfirelessons.net/viewdocument/frog-fire- entrapment-fatality-2015.) He was talking with the helicopter overhead about what was out in front and making plans. He obviously had some expectations about what the fire would do. I’m sure he was surprised by how quickly the fire shifted directions and started pushing him. I imagine he did not expect this to occur with the intensity that it did. I bet his escape route was “back to the heel” and “down the road we came in on”. Sound familiar? I guarantee he based his actions on current and expected fire behavior. (What other choice do we have?) But he was wrong. Are you going to blame him? Are you going to judge him for not predicting the fire behavior accurately? Are you going to parrot some trite adage you’ve never really thought about? Here’s some of the dumb things we say in these situations:  “Expect the Unexpected” Is that a joke? Is it only half the joke? I don’t get it. How do I know if I have succeeded in expecting the unexpected? Does it mean I can only be accidentally surprised? It just sounds like a recipe for bench-sitters to look backward at any unexpected event (a common occurrence in our complex system) and exclaim: “They should have expected that!” Real helpful. The View from Here 82

It doesn’t matter if you say “Expect the Unexpected” before or after a bad thing happens—it’s useless either way. It’s a never-ending roller coaster of circular reasoning—and we usher new firefighters onto it from day one. Quit saying it. Quit believing it. Quit teaching it. What we need to do is accept the unexpected. Only then can we consciously consider the worth of each exposure.  “They Lost Situation Awareness” Did it fall between the seats in the engine? Did it chew through its leash and wander off? The whole concept of Situation Awareness is based on the notion that one’s awareness of “the situation” is not absolute, it involves perception. That’s not something you can lose.

I predict that very good firefighters will be entrapped in the future. It’s simply an unavoidable consequence of interacting closely with fire.

We’ve taken the useful concept of Situation Awareness and dumbed it down into a rock we can throw at each other. I guess if we created the rock and we’re throwing it, we deserve to get hit with it. It just doesn’t seem very productive. This infectious over-simplification is not without consequence. It subtly supports the pernicious idea that flawless human performance is a reasonable expectation. Recommending firefighter omniscience doesn’t magically make it possible. It only condemns us to more cross covered hillsides. Have you ever been surprised by fire behavior? Have you ever sat on the ridge and said: “Yep, today’s the day this thing goes big” and watched nothing but a couple trees torch? Have you ever gotten “chased out” or had to scramble into the black? Have you ever said: “Damn, that thing moved a lot quicker than I thought it would”? That’s you being wrong. Our predictions are wrong all the time. We’re just extremely good at ducking and weaving. Yeah, Dave Ruhl was wrong—but so are we. It’s not possible for your Situation Awareness to match reality. You will be surprised by something. Uncertainty exists; it’s what makes fighting fire unsafe. I predict that very good firefighters will be entrapped in the future. It’s simply an unavoidable consequence of interacting closely with fire. The initial acceptance of this basic fact is what will enable us to become safer than we are currently. Look at how incredibly good we are in spite of the fact we are operating on a fantasy (that we can fight fire safely). Imagine how much better we will get when working with reality. Be Real, Tool Swingers.

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5. The Lunch Spot

(This content originally appeared in the Spring 2014 issue of Two More Chains, available on the Wildland Fire Lessons Learned Center website at: https://www.wildfirelessons.net/viewdocument/two-more-chains-spring-2014.) By Travis Dotson Do you recognize these three photos (below)? If you’re a student of fire you should. Figure 44

Figure 45

Figure 46

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Many have noticed it. The eerie similarity of the “Lunch Spot”: South Canyon, Thirtymile, and, now, Yarnell Hill. Those are the big ones—and there are certainly others. What is it? Why does it jump out to us? Why does its potential enormity make sense on some visceral level? Let’s take a look and see if there’s anything to this. First, what makes a lunch spot a Lunch Spot? Insignificant Lunch Spots We’ve all been on innumerable insignificant Lunch Spots. It’s usually just the closest available shade at the logical breaking point for the day, nothing special. On long mop-up shifts it’s the place we gaggle-up and retell stories of blue-bird powder days and missed shots on monster bulls.

In an emerging fire, the midday pause is often more than just a meal stop.

It’s where we get into mischief if we’re left unattended too long. It’s where we earn ourselves push-ups and the crew lead decides we need to go another 100 feet in—just to keep us occupied. But on the shifts we live for, it’s something else entirely. Safe Place for Tactical Pause When the smoke is churning and we’re slamming line, the physical location of the Lunch Spot often coincides with a decision point. It’s commonly a spot offering a safe place to take a tactical pause. You top out on a ridge, tie into a road, or hit a boulder patch and pause to question whether or not what you are doing is working. The time of day, progress—or lack thereof—and some physical feature spur discussion about a potential shift in focus. Maybe it’s going from direct to indirect, from gaining ground to “hold what you got”, or moving out to start structure protection. Figure 47 – The Payson Hotshots on the 2007 Poe Cabin Fire. (Photo by Aaron Pool.)

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“Lunch” is often started with words along the lines of: “Alright, shade-up and grab a bite while we figure out what we’re going to do with this thing”. In short, it’s often just before, during, or after one—or several—transitions. Maybe there is chatter about the next ICS level and some fussing over a complexity rating. Maybe the next level of IC was just ordered or just arrived. In an emerging fire, the midday pause is often more than just a meal stop. What Does It Look Like? What does this situation actually look like? Usually the crew is tired and everyone just sighs, slumps, and swigs. The quiet ones consume carbs and offer an audience while talkers ingest fuel and dispense words. The overhead is out wrestling with the innumerable inputs dealt them in this live fire tactical decision game.

It might not always take place while the crew is eating, but these conditions and the decisions made in those moments can literally determine life and death.

As food disappears, a few folks instinctively chuck rocks while others obsessively calculate overtime, and a small group discusses the issue at hand—the fire and their collective future. This small group always has opinions while resigned to the fact they will saddle-up and hop-to whatever mission the crew lead hands down. Bets are even placed on what’s coming and everyone anxiously awaits the crackle of crew-net. So What? So what? Is this moment in time on a fire even significant? Obviously, with hindsight, we can argue it is significant. It might not go down exactly as described or always take place while the crew is eating, but these conditions and the decisions made in those moments can literally determine life and death. So what usually happens? Maybe a conscious decision about strategy is made or a casual request for assistance comes across the radio. Maybe we just notice a way we could be of use— and BAM—the afternoon action is on. The Conscious Decision The conscious decision about strategy sounds something like: “Hey, let’s gear up and head back to the trucks; looks like we are going big box on this thing.” That usually gets a few hoots and a grin or two—the likelihood of big burn shows and 16’s just went way up. We’ll prep anything you want for a chance at the torch.

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Figure 48

What Time Do You Take Lunch? Obviously, the conscious decision could come in all different forms. It could be: “Air support and dozers are 20 minutes out; let’s keep hold of that anchor point and look for potential pinch points.” Or, it might be: “Sit tight. It’s a cluster down here and we’re just going to wait till things settle out a bit.” Either way, it’s an intentional action—based on the observed conditions. Often times, a change in strategy calls for a tactical relocation. In those moments we think about efficiency and how we can contribute. We weigh options and make a decision based on what we currently know. Maybe we head off to a ranch. Usually we make it to the ranch, sometimes we barely make it to the ranch, and once in a great while we become proof that this work environment is way more complex and dangerous than we are willing to acknowledge. The Request The casual (or frantic) request for assistance could be any number of things:  “Can you guys take a quick look at those structures up the road?”  “Can we get a little help with these spots up here?”  “Can we get a hand bumping this water down the line?” Sometimes it’s not even spoken. We just see what is needed and jump in. All normal stuff. All innocent. We are a crowd of folks helpful by nature and disgusted by sluggish responses. Damn right we’ll help. In the moment, we don’t always grasp the gravity of an innocent decision to jump in and help out.

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Figure 49 -- The Diamond Mountain Hotshots on the 2002 Monument Fire. (Photo by Ben Croft.)

All of this takes place as we head into the most volatile portion of the day. The vast majority of entrapments happen between 1400 and 1700. That’s just what the numbers say. Do we know why? Not really. Although lots of folks have opinions about it. We can speculate. Often, the afternoon has the highest potential for fast-moving fire. When fire moves fast we have less margin to operate in—less decision space in unexpected situations. A walk up the line at 1500 is a drastically different risk than when we last did it at 1100. Same piece of ground, different conditions, less margin. Normal decisions that typically work out fine—can end up with tragic outcomes. Does Any of This Mean Anything? Implications? Are there any? Does any of this mean anything? Or, is it just another made-up common denominator to throw around in the classroom to show students how salty and smart we are? It can certainly be used that way. But could it be something else? Something useful? A set of alarming words used to initiate dialogue in the moment. A method for re-booting awareness of what we’re facing and what’s at stake:  “Is this going to be a Lunch Spot people talk about?”  “Are we changing tactics just before 1500?”  “Was that a casual request for assistance on an emerging fire?” Whether any of this is of merit is certainly up for debate. But I am convinced that using the “Lunch Spot” as an opportunity for reassessment has value. Because of our history, those two words have come to represent a critical decision point. It’s the small window we have to put real thought into: What we’re facing; What really matters; and What we’re willing to risk. So let’s use it. Are We Heading Off to Repeat History? After the shock of Yarnell Hill and all the other tragedies of 2013, we—as the Wildland Fire Service—are currently at the “Lunch Spot”.

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Figure 50 -- Firefighter on Minnesota's 2011 Pagami Creek Fire. (Photo by Kari Greer.)

I don’t think we’re conscious of how complex things really are and how close to the ragged edge we sometimes operate.

We’ve been heads down throwing dirt for quite a while and despite all our aggressive well- intentioned efforts we just got crushed. We’re sitting in the black wondering what to do now. Figure 51 – The Granite Mountain Hotshots at their final Lunch Spot.

A few folks are chucking rocks just waiting for the next assignment. There are those who see no reason to do anything different and want us to “just keep doing what we we’re doing and stay heads-up.” Some are looking back at what we’ve done so far and the terrain ahead and are muttering: “It’s not worth it.” A bold few are out scouting for a different way to do things. I’m terrified we’re not acknowledging the gravity of the situation, not using this pause to genuinely take stock of what we are facing. Does what we’re doing make sense? I’m afraid we’re going to gear-up with good intentions and unknowingly head off to repeat history.

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