It was with a mix of awe and angst that my husband David and I reveled in the rugged and remote beauty of the Siskiyou Range as we drove eastward from Crescent City. I was pondering the majestic realm’s vulnerability to devastating fires when I saw a sign for the Siskiyou Smokejumper Base Museum. We followed the road along an airstrip across from a parked Twin Beech aircraft and a row of brown wood buildings framed by a green lawn under the cool shade of a leafy canopy. A sign on the small redwood building read, “call Gary for a tour.” A minute later Gary Buck was at the other end of the line and on his way.
In the meantime, we enjoyed a genial chat with another couple — Lee and Mary Gossett — arriving at the museum. Lee and my husband David clicked over their mutual love of flying and the discovery they had both married flight attendants from Commonwealth countries (me, from Canada; Mary from New Zealand). As it turned out, Lee and Gary were smokejumper buddies from the ’60s and the Gossetts often dropped by to touch base with Gary. This time, Lee and Mary were passing through Cave Junction on their way to a smoke-free lunch on the Oregon coast.
Listening to the affable twinkled-eye man and engaging storyteller, scenes from a string of movies started playing through my mind. Lee reminded me of the bush pilot character played by Richard Dreyfus in “Forever” and his stories brought back images of Mel Gibson in “Air America” and Tom Cruise in “American Made.” We weren’t surprised to hear this real-life charismatic action hero who flew missions for the CIA’s secret airline had written his memoir. We made a note to get a copy of “Smokejumper to Global Pilot,” intrigued by Lee’s journey from firefighter to Air America pilot.
By the time the affable lanky and smoke-worn museum guide arrived, David and I were primed for more smokejumper history and tales. Gary opened the door to the small redwood building and pointed to photographs as he explained that the strategically positioned Siskiyou Smokejumper Base was one of the first four aerial firefighter bases in America in the early 1940s and that it preserved the oldest smokejumper buildings in the world. In 1943 conscientious objectors were Siskiyou Base’s first smokejumpers. We were amazed to find out that some of the first smokejumpers also came from a small unit of African-American paratroopers assigned to help the Forest Service put out fires from explosive devices launched from platforms in Japan during WWII. Of the estimated 9,300 balloon bombs that drifted in the jet stream, about 1,000 actually landed in the western states.
Smokejumpers are part of the most elite of the wildlands firefighting teams along with rappel and hotshot crews. Men don’t have a monopoly on the adrenaline-stoking calling to battle blazes in remote forests, but acceptance of women in the field is relatively new. The 1915 photos of wives of Forest Service rangers fighting fires in Mendocino National Forest only exist because so much of the manpower in the country was committed to WWI. The National Forest Service didn’t pay female fire suppression crews until the 1970s and the first female to break into the patriarchal smokejumper club was hired in Idaho in 1979.
Budget concerns and changing policies resulted in the closure of the Siskiyou base in 1981. Seven Forest Service bases and two BLM (Bureau of Land Management) bases strategically located in Alaska, California, Idaho, Montana, Oregon and Washington currently serve the West.
The Siskiyou base buildings sat vacant and neglected for years while developers lusted after the scenic setting. Deals were brewing to tear down the buildings until the unwavering opposition by the brotherhood of 200 retired jumpers halted the plans. The band’s commitment to preserving the historical wealth of the site finally wore down the powers-that-be. By 2009 volunteer work crews were busy restoring the buildings for the nonprofit Siskiyou Smokejumper Base Museum.
Two hours into our visit, Gary was still guiding us through buildings bloated with amazing memorabilia, exhibits and photographs, each with its own story or anecdote illustrating the day in the life of a smokejumper. The recruits trained to jump, land and get out of a fire zone safely. There’s a difference between landing in the tundra of scattered stalky trees versus dense coastal forests where you can find yourself tangled in a 250-foot tall tree with 60 pounds of gear on your back. I wasn’t surprised that every jumper in the group photographs of bare-chested trainees was a well-buffed American male specimen. What I didn’t know is that training included beginning to advance sewing classes to learn how to make and mend chutes as well as repair damaged jumpsuits.
Smokejumpers are used as the first responders to quickly and effectively get to remote forest fires when the blaze is first spotted and easiest to control, most often after a lightning storm. Patrol flights look for smoke where a storm hit and smoke can take as long as a few hours to appear. The job is to get in, put out the fire and get out hauling chutes, packs and the load of hand tools that was dropped behind you. Jumpers can be in the air within 10 minutes after the alarm and a small group of 2-4 individuals can put out the fire before it grows into an inferno that requires hundreds of firefighters and millions of dollars to control. Many of Gary’s generation of smokejumpers feel that tearing down fire lookouts to rely mostly on technology is a mistake.
We thanked Gary for the impressive educational tour as we gladly left a donation to help the museum keep the Siskiyou Smokejumpers’ legacy alive. I left the museum wondering if the West’s escalating fire crisis and the impact on climate change might lead to re-evaluating the value of a Siskiyou smokejumper base.
Linda B. Mullally and husband David share their passion for travel, outdoor recreation and dogs through articles, hiking books and photography at www.lindabmullally.com, Falcon.com and Facebook