In the Black of the Night

It is hard to capture the feeling you’re trying to write about after the time you are feeling it is gone. Last night on the hike back though, I felt like I was indeed a hotshot. It was about a 45-minute hike out. Behind is we left a hill on fire. You could see the orange contrast against the starry night. A line of 20 somethin’ crew members walked in a line, illuminating our steps with a government-issued headlamp. Some had chainsaws on their shoulders, some fulmars and a couple with drip torches. We crossed creeks and rivers, attempting to step on rocks to keep our feet and plants dry. Many tried, few succeeded. The line in front of me took the same path over a beaver dam, carefully stepping to make sure no holes were stepped in. Full-grown men, with heavy packs and tools weighing them to the ground, looked like a toddler stumbling along through chunky steps. One arm stretched out for balance as the other held a tool over their shoulder. Their bodies rocking left to right with every step. Trying to find our buggies that serve as our home in the black of the night.