Fire and Surf
Conquering the Waves
By
Intro: This story references my other stories;
Song of Life and
Why did I
become a firefighter. Although you do not need to read these stories to enjoy
this one, if you are interested in reading them you can find them under the
Author’s Bios at twochickies.com. I am all the way to the bottom. Thank you to
Natalie for the wonderful beta read. Please excuse any incorrect info in here
about brushfires, the L.A. County fire department, and surfing. This is a
purely fictional story and was written for the enjoyment of it. As always, I do
not own these characters, I am only borrowing them. Thanks and enjoy.
Mike stood on the deserted beach, his worn boardshorts hung loosely to his
knees, his bare shoulders and back warmed by the radiant morning sun, and a new
surf board planted upright in the sand next to him. A slight breeze gently
ruffled his straight brown hair, his bangs falling across his face. At the fire
station he would have felt compelled to brush them back into place, but out here
there were no uniforms, no captains, and no regulations. Out here there was
only the sun, the sand, and the surf.
He looked out and watched the surf gently roll in. The waves weren’t that high,
only about ten to fifteen feet. A couple days ago, they would have been choice,
thirty to forty feet, probably sixty at Maverick. The waves were always high
when the strong Santa Anna winds blew in and kicked them into a fury. The same
winds that blew a small camp fire into a raging inferno; an inferno that took
four days to knock down; an inferno that at one point had threatened to come
crashing down around him like the surf on the beach.
Four days ago.
Mike Stoker stood in front of the fire station, his uniform cleaned and neatly
pressed, his badge glinting in the radiant morning sun; one flag tucked under
his left arm, the other in his right hand. Attaching the grommets to the hooks,
he slowly pulled the American flag part way up and attached the California State
flag to the next set of hooks. As the flags slowly made their way to the top of
the pole, a stiff breeze caught them, snapping them to attention and holding
them there.
Mike turned his face to the wind coming off the ocean and his bangs blew across
his forehead. Reaching up, he pushed them back into place. If the winds stayed
strong, the waves would be rad. He’d been dying to try out the new board Hannah
and the boys got him for his birthday. It was the newest thing in surfing,
about two thirds the size of his long board. From what he had seen and heard,
it was quicker and more maneuverable; allowing the rider to drop down the face
and then pop back up on top. Some of the dudes he had talked to said it was a
real wicked ride.
His smile turned into a frown as another strong warm breeze pushed past him and
made its way northeast into the foothills. Foothills that were dry and tender,
primed for a busy brushfire season. Mike turned and went back into the station,
Cap would be calling inspection soon and the morning chores would be assigned.
Two hours later the first call came in, brush fire just north of Pasadena in
Battalion 4’s area. Two hikers alerted the fire camp just north of I 210 of the
blaze that was rapidly cutting a path across the valley. Units from Battalion 4
and 10 were rolled out. The day flew by as Stations from various Battalions
were stepped up to cover territories left short handed. The atmosphere at 51
was quiet and pensive. The guys called family and took naps when they could;
knowing that if the fire was not quickly contained that they would be brought in
on the second staging, leading to a very long night. They didn’t have to wait
long. At six p.m. the call went out pulling three units from Battalion 9 and
two from 14. The tones went out and the men of Station 51 scrambled for their
engine and squad. The adrenaline bubbling just below the surface, Mike’s senses
were heightened as he expertly weaved the big engine through the traffic and
into the foothills to the staging area.
Cap and Roy got out and walked over to the command center to get their
assignments. Mike looked at the other men of A shift. Marco’s eyes were
closed, his mouth silently moving as he repeated his litany of prayers, crossing
himself every now and then. Chet busied himself with various pieces of
equipment, checking and rechecking them. Johnny, unable to sit still in the cab
of the squad was pacing by his door. Mike could almost feel youthful exuberance
emanating from him.
Mike still had a hard time believing that Johnny was only twenty one years old
and not the twenty five that everyone believed him to be. When he and Roy had
retuned from Montana the guys gathered at the De Soto’s for a small welcome
back. After a few drinks and small talk, the question of Roy’s injuries came
up. The bandaged arm and stiffness in the way he walked and sat spoke volumes;
something serious had happened. Roy had looked to Johnny who had looked briefly
at Roy and then fixed his gaze at the floor in front of him. Slowly he told the
story of his childhood and the abuse he had endured at the hands of his
stepfather, of his ‘rescue’ by Jack and Carol Kemp, and of his coming to L.A.
and changing his age. Exhausted, Johnny had leaned back on the couch and closed
his eyes. Roy finished the story with the events that had transpired during
their trip to Montana and their run in with Johnny’s stepfather. When he left,
Mike had felt overwhelmed, his stomach twisted in a knot. He knew that there
were kids out there that were mistreated, but it was always some other person
out there, never someone you actually knew. That evening he had gone home and
held onto his own two sons a little tighter.
Shaking his head he came out of his reverie to see Cap and Roy walking back to
the vehicles. Roy and Johnny started unloading supplies and hauling them toward
the triage area. They would stay behind. Cap hopped in the cab of the engine
and directed Mike to one of the service roads that lead to the northwest. They
would be joining engine 110 on a ridge cutting and digging a fire break. The
winds had reversed and were now heading back into town and they needed to stop
it before it devoured several communities just past that ridge. They estimated
that the fire would reach that spot in about 3 hours. It was up to them to make
sure it didn’t get past them. Cap tossed sack dinners to Marco and Chet and
encouraged them to eat up. It was going to be a while until they got back to
base camp and they would need all the energy they could get. Cap sat Mike’s
next to him on the front bench and then proceeded to dive into his own sack
pulling out a sandwich and an apple. Concentrating on the narrow dirt and
gravel road, Mike would find time later to grab a bite to eat.
20 minutes later, Mike pulled the engine up behind 110’s. Jumping out the men
fastened their turn outs and grabbed shovels and chain saws. Cap directed Mike
and Chet - who carried the chainsaws - to go down the hill about a hundred yards
and join two of 110’s guys cutting down trees and pushing them back down the
slope. This would create a wider gap that the fire would have to leap;
hopefully allowing them to stop it in its tracks. Cap and Marco joined the rest
of 110’s crew and Captain, using the shovels to dig up the vegetation and turn
it under creating a bare earth barricade. Mike paused and looked across the
valley below to the adjacent hill top. The sky was black with smoke and tinted
orange from the leaping flames. Slowly the fire crept down the far hillside to
the valley below. It wouldn’t be long until it reached the bottom and started
to climb toward them. Bending to the task at hand Mike lowered his face shield,
started up the chainsaw, and began the work of felling his first tree.
Two hours and approximately twenty trees later, Cap had ordered their second
fifteen minute rest period. Mike leaned against the rear wheel of the engine,
his half eaten sandwich sitting on the ground next to him, an empty bottle of
water next to it. His eyes closed, he could hear the fast approaching roar of
the fire as the wind whipped it up into thirty to forty foot waves of leaping
and dancing flames, the booming of the burning trees as they crashed to the
ground. The heat from the flames as they steadily marched up the hillside
quickly evaporated the sweat from their skin. Rest periods would come more
frequently as the work and the heat threatened to overwhelm the men with heat
exhaustion. Mike opened his eyes and looked at the weary soot covered faces of
his crewmates. Marco sat with his knees pulled up, his forearms resting across
them, his head resting on his arms. Although his lips were now still, Mike knew
that he was probably still reciting prayers to which ever saint may be
listening. Chet lay curled up on the ground, his arm as a pillow, his eyes
closed, napping. Cap sat quietly studying the fire down the hill, marking its
progress, determining its speed, predicting its course. Cap use to be a smoke
jumper before he joined L.A. County. His experience in the trenches had paid
off more than once in saving the lives of his crew when situations turned hairy.
Mike watched as Cap slowly stood up and walked over to 110’s Captain. After
talking briefly they announced that they had about another hour of work to do
and it would be cutting it tight. Determined not to let the fire cross their
break; the crews of 51 and 110 returned to their work. Half walking, half
sliding down the steep incline of loose overturned earth Mike made his way
toward the few remaining trees. The heat of the flames intensified as they
leaped and roared up the hillside. They knew they were pushing it close as hot
embers ignited the tops of the trees they were felling and the ground at their
feet steamed. Pushing over his last tree, Mike turned at the touch of a hand on
his shoulder. Chet pointed up the hill to where Cap was signaling for everyone
to retreat. He pointed to his watch then held up 5 fingers and then pointed to
the sky. He was signaling that the water drop would be there in 5 minutes. Mike
gave the thumbs up and then proceeded to follow his fellow crewmate up the
hill. He noted that everyone else had already made it up to the safety of their
engines. Turning back to take one last look at the waves of flames crashing
through the forest, a frantic movement at the edge of the tree line caught his
attention. Scanning the area he caught sight of a beautiful white and brown
horse rearing and tugging desperately at its reigns caught in brush.
Turning back to let Chet know he was going to head back down to free the horse,
he realized the Irishman was already several yards ahead and would not hear
him. Setting down his chainsaw, he made his way back down the slope to the
frightened animal. He knew that if he didn’t free it before the water drop, the
force of the water would knock it off its hooves, possibly breaking its legs.
Careful not to get too close, Mike reached across the bush and held fast the
reigns. Wrestling the animals head down, he reached up and unfastened the
bridle. With a mighty leap the frightened animal pulled loose of its restraints
and galloped off, knocking Mike off balance and toppling his helmet from his
head. Flipping over onto his stomach to reach for the wayward piece of gear, he
reared back as flames sprung up in front of him assaulting is face. Jumping to
his feet Mike quickly turned and headed back up the hill, flaming limbs of trees
crashing to the earth around him. Looking up he spotted Captain Stanley waving
and pointing to a plane approaching from behind the engines. The drop would
come from the top of the hill down, wetting the newly created fire break and
slamming into the front wall of the fire driving it back upon itself.
Mike looked around; he was on open ground with no signs of shelter. A plan
formulated in his head. He would have to time it just right or end up in the
hospital with several broken bones. As the bays to the planes’ undercarriage
opened and tons of water thundered out, Mike charged up the hill into the
oncoming tidal wave of water. Crouching low, the impact of the water hitting
his back drove him to his knees. Now came the tricky part, he could already
feel the freshly moistened loose earth starting to slide out from under him as
the force of the water carried it down hill. Gathering his feet beneath him,
Mike took up a surfing posture, his right foot leading the way; in a Goofy
Footed stance. Popping up into a low crouch, Mike caught the “wave” riding it
down the hill. Shaking the excess water from his bare head, he looked up in
time to see a large fallen tree blocking his path, the inferno of flames just
beyond. Man did he ever pull a Gage this time was the last thoughts that went
through his mind as he slammed into the tree and tumbled into oblivion.
Wipeout! A total mullering.
Floating in and out of consciousness Mike faintly recalled being hauled back up
the hill on a tarp and hoisted onto the back bed of the engine. He remembered
trying to tell Chet not to fret, that he had taken bigger spills while surfing.
Chet had quipped back that if he didn’t lay back and stay still until they got
to the triage, Cap may spill them right off the back of the engine. Mike
groaned and slipped back into unconsciousness as they hit another bump.
At the triage area, Mike’s eyes didn’t seem to want to open. He could hear
Johnny and Roy’s concerned voices and something about a concussion and some
possible cracked ribs. He remembered Roy leaning over and telling him he would
be okay and that they were taking him to Rampart. He was loaded onto a
stretcher and transferred to the nice cool interior of the waiting ambulance.
At the hospital he remembered briefly opening his eyes to the intensity of the
overhead lights and catching sight of the kind Nurse McCall before slamming them
shut again. Somehow or another he was able to croak out Hannah’s name and the
nurse gently reassured him they would call her. Voices came and went, the
doctors, the nurses, x-ray techs, and Johnny, letting him know he was heading
back to the trenches, and to next time leave the heroics to him. Mike
remembered vaguely muttering something along the lines of if this is what it
felt like to be a hero he could have it any day.
Shortly after they settled him in his room, Hannah arrived. His folks were
staying with the boys. Hannah kept up a steady one sided conversation, burning
off her nervous energy. All Mike wanted to do was sleep. Of course the doctor
gave orders to the contrary. Since he had suffered a concussion, the nurses
were required to wake him every hour just to make sure his marbles were all in
place. They called it a neuro check, he called it an annoyance check.
Unfortunately since he didn’t get all their silly questions correct a couple
times they felt compelled to keep him an extra 24 hours.
The TV, Hannah, the nurses, and the occasional visit from Johnny or Roy as they
brought in victims kept him updated on the progress of the containment of the
fire. Fortunately their fire break worked and they were already at 70%
containment. The winds had died down and if all went well they would have it
100% contained in forty eight hours. They had lost a couple communities and two
of the guys from 36 had been hospitalized with second degree burns. Mike was
just glad he would be going home in twenty four hours. Dr. Brackett had given
him orders to take it easy for an additional twenty four hours at home and then
to report back to the hospital before his next shift for a reevaluation.
Two days later.
Hannah had wanted him to wait another day before coming out here, but this was
something he had to do. They say that when a wave throws you, you have to get
back on the board and conquer the next one or you will always question your
ability. Granted, surfing a mud slide down a mountainside into waves of
towering flames was not quite the same; but still, he was thrown and he had to
get back on the board.
Grabbing his board, he tucked it under his arm and waded into the surf. Laying
the board down on the whitewash he climbed on. Although the whitewash foam of
the waves was for beginners, this was a new board and he wanted to get the feel
for it before taking it deeper. Pointing it toward the shore, he gathered his
feet beneath him on to the deck and popped up into a low crouch as the waves
gently pushed him toward the beach. Definitely a lot more squirrely Mike
thought to himself as the board flipped out from under him and dumped him on his
butt. Pulling the board back to him he waded back out to practice more pop
ups. It didn’t take long before he was practicing 180s and cutbacks, something
he had seen some of the Grommets do on these new boards, but something he would
never have considered doing on his long board.
Sitting on the deck of the board, Mike looked further off shore to where the
waves were lining up. It was a perfect corduroy and the waves were breaking
glassy. Time to take it to the next level. Paddling toward the incoming waves,
Mike grabbed the rails toward the nose of the board and pushed it under the
water, duck diving, as the wave swelled over him. Some fellow surfers had shown
him that trick of ducking and diving under the waves instead of trying to paddle
through them. It saved time and energy. Making it out to where the line up
would be if there were other surfers, he sat up on the board and straddled it,
turning it parallel to the waves, waiting for the right one. He didn’t have to
wait long before he felt the wave start to swell beneath him, lifting him a
little higher than the other ones had. It felt to be at least a twenty footer.
Pointing the nose of the board toward the beach he started to paddle, propelling
himself to the top of the wave as it peeked. Balancing on the top, Mike
gathered his feet beneath himself and popped up into a low crouch, then leaning
forward slightly and standing up, the board slid over the top. Riding down the
face of the wave, the wind rushing past him, Mike leaned to the left and pulled
into a bottom turn setting himself up for his next maneuver. With his left foot
in the back, he pushed the tail of the board down and out. Carving the wave, he
was now pointing toward the top riding back up it. As the nose of the board
broke over the top he leaned heavy to his right, pushing his right foot and the
nose of the board back down the face, doing a 180 and slashing the top of the
wave. Leaning to the left again he dropped down into the barrel as it formed the
perfect a-frame over him.
The roar of the waves became deafening as the cool blue walls surrounded him and
embraced him. This was the critical time. Lesser experienced surfers become
enraptured by the beauty and don’t respect the power. If you stay too long then
the wave will close out and a surfer can get locked in leading to a total
mullering. Mike wasn’t about to let that happen so he listened to the wave,
felt it’s power. He could hear the collapsing of the wave behind him, he could
feel the wind increase; it was time to get out. Leaning a little forward, he
picked up speed and shot out of the tube and into the soup as the wave broke at
the impact zone; the momentum carrying him up into the whitewash. Leaping off
the board he picked it up and walked back up to the shore.
Shaking the water from his hair he looked up to where the beach met the road. A
tan Ford Bronco sat in the pull out next to Mike’s Dodge Station wagon. Captain
Stanley sat on the hood of the pick up truck. Hannah had told him where he
would be. Having witnessed Mike’s “ride” down the hill, Cap wanted to make sure
his engineer was handling everything okay. Hank gave him a friendly wave and
thumbs up; he was definitely impressed with his engineer’s skill. Mike smiled
and waved back. Everything was going to be okay.
Surfing terms:
A-frame: Perfect barreling surf. A cross-section of the wave reveals an ‘a’
shape.
Boardshorts: Quick drying, lightweight and worn by those surfing in warm water
Bottom Turn: The turn at the base of the wave when coming down off the face.
Often the first move made after dropping.
Carve/carving: The classic surfing maneuver, turning on a wave.
Close out: Where a wave breaks along its length all at once.
Corduroy: Swell lines that look like corduroy material.
Cutback: Reversing the direction that you are surfing in one smooth fluid move
Deck: The bit of the surfboard you stand on.
Duck diving: Diving under an oncoming wave when paddling out.
Glassy: Ultra clean surf without a ripple – looks like glass.
Goofy Foot: Surfing with your right foot forward.
Grommet: A young surfer.
Impact zone: The spot where the waves are breaking.
In the soup: When a surfer is in the white foam of the wave after it has broken
Locked in: When a wave crashes and the surfer is inside of it.
Mullering: Wipeout of the highest order.
Rail: The sides of your surfboard, running from nose to tail and back again.
Slash: A rapid turn off the top of the wave.
Authors notes: I would like to thank the web site surfingwaves.com for all
the information in this story about surfing. I wish I had the ability to go out
and learn it myself, but being landlocked in central Ohio doesn’t really allow
for that. Oh well maybe someday.