Jul 3, 2013

Hotshots 6.30.13

Photo: City of Prescott AZ
One of the reasons I've moved away from strictly reporting hard news into TV hosting is that some stories now affect me in a way that kills a broadcast news career.  

Such is the case with the deaths of the 19 Prescott firefighters - The Hotshots.

Some of my first big stories as a reporter were covering National Forest Service hotshot crews for an Oregon TV station.  The station would often use stringers (freelancers) to get footage from remote mountain areas but if a fire threatened lives and structures, we got the assignment.

What had started as a controlled brush fire in Eastern Oregon was turning into a raging inferno when we got the call.  The fire was burning so hot, it had jumped a river.

A photographer and I met the captain at a base camp before heading to the fire line. We would follow him in our truck to get footage from a safe place; crazy that you can literally walk to the edge of a fire line and not even get singed. 

The scene at a wildfire isn't nearly as chaotic as when a building is burning in a densely populated city. I'm seldom afraid covering natural disasters and that day was no different.  We don't think about dying, we simply do our jobs.  This is what we signed up for.

"Get out! Get out now!"  There was no warning.  In a flash, the wildfire had shifted direction.  We were trapped by an inferno on three sides.

We raced to the trucks but turning a satellite rig around on a narrow dirt road is no simple maneuver.  We hit the bank, nearly tipping.  In these situations, it's not seconds that determine whether you live or die, it's a fraction of a second.

Reporting has made me aware there is no such thing as luck.  Luck cannot keep a truck upright, set its tires straight and turn it to exactly the right degree to slip through an inferno - in a fraction of a second.

For the Granite Mountain Hotshots, a fraction of a second was not enough time.

We ache with the families. I've spent the last few days bearing the weight of a sorrow that makes no sense in the natural. I've come to understand this unexplainable grief I feel over certain stories is a God thing - ironic for someone who spent half a lifetime running from Him. 

There's a spiritual definition called "intercession" but to me it's just means you literally feel heaven's burden on earth.  Yet, it isn't a hopeless grieving, but one that says there is divine purpose yet to be fulfilled.  We often can't see the greater reason but heaven can.

'What went wrong?'  In this intercession place, it's not a question to place blame but, like Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemene, pouring out the weight of sorrow.

Tears are of little use to a reporter; no weeping on the nightly news.  Foolish girl, my mind warns, Stop crying for strangers. And instantly the heart responds by shutting down.

Until the tears keep falling anyway...Tears won't bring back the Prescott firefighters  but they will honor the heroes who gave their lives on their last call. 6.30.13.
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A Facebook page has been set up in memory of the 19 Prescott firefighters