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A member of the Flathead Hotshots watches a blaze while working on the Eureka Fire near Ennis in 2013. COURTESY FLATHEAD HOTSHOTS
prefer sleeping in the woods instead of established re camps. Many hotshots are former military, and the crew’s struc- ture and relentless tactics are similar to the military and its chain of command.
“A lot of what I enjoyed in the military I enjoy in this job: The chance to do phys- ical exertion, the chance to su er and the chance to be in the woods, which is where mis ts probably belong,” says Je Barker, who previously served in the mili- tary before joining the Flathead Hotshots three years ago.
A study in the late 1990s found that the average male hotshot will lose 15 percent of their bone density from the wear and tear of re season. The average female hotshot can lose upwards of 23 percent.
Broken bones and injured joints are common; bumps, bruises, cuts and scrapes are guaranteed. In 2008, two Flathead crew members were struck by lightning on a re.
For these reasons and others, hotshots stand out among all re crews with a noticeable identity colored with bravado and ruggedness.
“I know for some people it is part of their identity. It follows you certainly. It has some street cred,” says Paul Linse, a former Flathead Hotshot and superinten- dent who is now the branch chief of avi- ation operations for the Forest Service.
Linse credits his training and expe- rience as a Flathead Hotshot for helping him reach his position as the chief of all re aviation resources in the nation.
Linse started as a sawyer for the Flat- head Hotshots in 1979 and was there through 1996.
“It was fun to be part of an elite crew. You nally realize after a few years that you’re part of a special team,” he says.
“The camaraderie among the crew was always a big part of it. At the end of the year, it was kind of a letdown because everybody dispersed. You get to see a
lot of places in the U.S., sleeping out on a ridge in the middle of the wilderness somewhere. That’s pretty special.”
The Flathead Hotshots prepare for the season inside a brown Quonset hut in Hungry Horse near Glacier National Park. The base is brimming with tools, equipment and a weight room. Old saw- ing machines are operational in the loft for crewmembers to mend their pants and sleeping bags, among their many resourceful talents. The walls through- out the main bay are lined with black- and-white photos of former crews, dating back to the original group in 1966.
The team takes pride in its history and heritage. Seven members have been on the team for over 15 years. Turnover among the crew is rare and the average team member is 28 to 30 years old. On most other teams, the average member is in their mid 20s.
“There are many crews that started and were erased from history. The fact that this crew has been around 50 years is a huge deal,” says Justin Randall, a long- time re ghter and new foreman for the Flathead Hotshots.
“You want to honor those who came before you and you want to set the exam- ple for those who come after you. Just that in itself is a pretty major driving force. The physical pain and work that we all endure, that makes it worth it. You look back on our history, at those who came before you, and it drives you to con- tinue to roll out of your sleeping bag on rocks in the morning and keep marching forward.”
The Flathead Hotshots have a unique identity beyond the age and experience.
A de ning quality of most hotshots is a machine-like e ciency. This includes walking in straight lines anywhere and everywhere, including re camp, with tucked in shirts and orderly attire.
Not the Flathead Hotshots.
“We take pride in not walking the line,” Borgen says. “I think there are dis- advantages to walking in a line, person- ally. When you’re in a line, it’s easy to turn your brain o and xate on the boots or the pack of the person in front of you. But when you’re not in a line, it forces you to look around and pay a lot more atten- tion to your environment.
“We do not conform.”
As chief of the crew, Borgen leaves it up to his team to decide how they want to walk or whether they want to tuck in their shirts as a sign of respect and expectation.
“Allowing people to have a little bit more exibility in terms of their per- sonal choices gets better morale as the season wanes on and the years wane on. And when morale is better, health is bet- ter, physical condition is better and the product is better,” Borgen says.
“Our methodology is a little di erent, but when you hit the ground, our safety and our quality and our quantity of prod- uct is right there on par, if not above par, consistently. Every crew is the best crew, just ask them. I don’t really care about that, I just want to be consistently rad.”
The job certainly has its sacri ces beyond the mental and physical su er- ing. For members with families, it means going away for several months at a time before coming home.
Randall, the new foreman who previ- ously served on other hotshot crews, had a hard decision to make before accept- ing the job in Hungry Horse. As a third generation wildland re ghter in Mon- tana, he felt compelled and drawn to the career. But with two young children, he knew his new role with increased respon- sibility would create a signi cant burden for his wife.
“There’s a tremendous amount of sac- ri ce that goes into this job. I oftentimes realize at the end of the season, I’m beat down and tired and want it to be over but my family is even more beat down and
tired than I am,” Randall says. “It gets harder every year. In the same sense, it’s another reason that I want to be here. I’m here because I enjoy and love and respect everybody on the crew and what we’re doing, and it provides me a great oppor- tunity to provide my family with the best life I can.”
In many ways, the hotshots are a family. A natural bond develops when you spend countless hours and days on end together. Also, the experience of life-threatening and dangerous situa- tions can bring people together.
“The relationships that they develop on the crew, sleeping in the dirt, working long hours, seeing things they probably have never seen before, stays with them forever,” Frye, the longtime re com- mander, says.
“That extends beyond hotshot crews to the entire wildland re community. It is very much like a large family.”
As this season has approached, the Flathead Hotshots have gathered old pho- tos and information about their 50-year history. It has lead to proud discoveries of the old crews — “Those guys were hard- core,” Borgen says — and exciting antici- pation for another season among the cur- rent crew.
Inside the hut in Hungry Horse, a family reunion is about to take place, fol- lowed by a wild adventure across the U.S.
“We’re all in this together from top to bottom,” Borgen says. “I’m very proud of this crew. I take a lot of pride in this crew. I love these guys.”
The Flathead Hotshots are holding a public celebration for its 50th anniver- sary and are inviting the community to visit their base at Hungry Horse Ranger District. The event is Friday, May 13, at 1 p.m. with the crew serving a free lun- cheon. An alumni celebration is sched- uled for the following day. For more information, visit atheadihcinfo.wix. com/ athead-hotshots.
dtabish@ atheadbeacon.com
Old tools and memorabilia hang above the Flathead Hotshots’ lockers.
GREG LINDSTROM | FLATHEAD BEACON
APRIL 27, 2016 // FLATHEADBEACON.COM
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