Writers Edward Abbey, Gary Snyder, and Norman McLean all led high-altitude fire lookouts in the West—their experiences informed their work.
But Jack Kerouac’s reaction makes me smile.
After searching for cigarettes at Desolation Peak Lookout in Washington during a summer in the 1950s, Kerouac complained that his brain was “in tatters.” He added: “I thought I was going to die of boredom or jump off the mountain. »
I couldn’t disagree more. My wife Linda and I have worked at Benchmark Lookout in the San Juan National Forest, a fire tower in southwest Colorado, for seven years, and we love being there.
We are on the job from mid-May to mid-September and mostly alone – except for the abundant wildlife, rare visitors, and firefighters who can see our part in the combined efforts to thwart wildfires . Fire crews are eager to examine this huge part of the West that constitutes their firefighting territory.
We begin our journey in southern Colorado, leaving the town of Dolores and driving 30 miles on gravel to the tower at 9,264 feet. We carry our own food for 10 days, with four days off. Linda spins the wool, we both choose lots of books, and I spend my days scanning the earth and sky above.
We believe we are suited to this work and never find isolation a problem. Because once we climb our wooden tower at the start of the season, we become eyes in the sky toward the vast Four Corners region, looking for what we don’t want there: smoke indicating a forest fire.
I usually spot smoke out of the corner of my eye, when I’m doing the dishes or even while reading a book. Vigilance sets in during a workday which generally lasts as long as there is daylight.
Everything stops as I trace the location of the smoke on the 80-year-old Osborne fire detector and on maps. Then I radio my discovery to Durango Interagency Fire Dispatch. These are my 15 minutes of calculated bingeing in an otherwise calm existence. Dispatch uses the information I provide to dispatch engine crews, helicopter crews, or aircraft to the fire.
Some days I spot two smokes, sometimes five, more often none – although after a rain, the mist rising from the canyons can imitate the smokes and try to fool you. We call them water dogs. What’s always entertaining is the weather itself.
Out of thin air, clouds seem to materialize just above Benchmark Lookout, and with our 360-degree view, thunderstorms here are dramatic and strong. One day, lightning struck so close that the hairs on our arms stood up.
We are often asked why we have a fire watch station. Our reasons are not easy to express. Most of the time, our quick response is “we like to be alone” or “we like to be in a remote place.” This is too simple and does not reflect how we and many other fire watchers feel about their job.
On the one hand, we know that we are still needed and that we are not yet overtaken by satellites and planes. Our job is not just to detect fires. We provide critical observations of weather conditions and fire behavior to fire crews on the line.
Looking outward, our view takes in Mesa Verde National Park, Canyons of the Ancients, Bears Ears National Monument, Shiprock, the San Juan Range and more – a four-state area where the Arizona, Colorado, Utah and New Mexico.
Our vision is constantly changing as the sun traces its arc and the weather changes. And time seems to slow down when human-made distractions disappear. Our tour was visited by horned lizards, elk, mountain lions and a mother bear with two cubs.
Hummingbirds fly en masse through the masses of wildflowers beneath our feet, and we see flickers, swallows, and turkey vultures. Sandhill cranes, white pelicans and a few ospreys also fly overhead. Calm surrounds us because we have this magnificent view all to ourselves.
Winter is now deepening as I write this. We’re already dreaming about next year’s fire season atop our 42-foot tower.
Rick Freimuth is a contributor to Writers on the Range, writersontherange.organ independent, nonprofit organization dedicated to sparking vibrant conversations about the West. He is a former forest firefighter and carpenter, now retired. He lives in Paonia, in western Colorado.
