It鈥檚 been stiflingly hot all this week, and in Washington鈥檚 North Cascades National Park, wildfires have ratcheted the heat up even more. A blaze called the Sourdough Fire started on Saturday, July 29 above Diablo Lake, one of the park鈥檚 iconic roadside destinations. As of Thursday, August 16, it has burned .

The nearly 400-person crew has the conflagration about 11 percent contained, and they鈥檝e successfully protected the handful of nearby structures. Most urgently threatened were the Ross and Diablo dams, which generate electricity for Seattle, and the , home to many utility employees and their families.

The fire passed the town by without any injuries or property damage. Nicholas DiGiacco, the spokesman for the National Interagency Fire Center, that officials are 鈥渃onfident鈥� that the area is contained. Now, fire crews are shepherding the flames west, towards a preexisting firebreak, a wildfire scar from 2015. 鈥淥ur intent is to move this fire into that scar with the intention that it would run out of fuel,鈥� said DiGiacco.

The crown jewel of Washington State鈥檚 Cascade Mountains, North Cascades National Park is a popular summer destination for climbing, camping, boating, and hiking, just a few hours from Seattle. It boasts a handful of road-accessible campgrounds and recreation areas, but the main attraction is 500,000 acres of remote alpine backcountry accessible by hundreds miles of trails, including a long section of the Pacific Crest Trail.

This year, though, the thru-hikers en route to Canada, along with other outdoor enthusiasts, are going to have to reroute or wait for things to cool off. In addition to the Sourdough Fire blazing in the heart of the park, the smaller is burning in the National Forest along the park鈥檚 eastern border, and that fire has closed the highway to traffic from the opposite side.

The park鈥檚 ecosystem is , and it has overcome small, cleansing blazes as well as larger and more damaging ones over the past decade. What makes the Sourdough Fire particularly worrying is its proximity to infrastructure. The burn area borders the North Cascades Scenic Highway, the only road through the park.

鈥淩ocks continue to fall down, trees continue to fall down, so we鈥檙e not putting crews in there unless we absolutely have to for transport back and forth,鈥� Northwest Interagency Incident Management Team section chief Dean Lange .

The dams at Diablo Lake and Ross Lake that make electricity for Seattle are also near the flames, and were taken offline. A on the shores of Diablo Lake had to be evacuated.

It鈥檚 not just people living in the nearby towns and would-be campers who are feeling the heat. At the beginning of the week, enough smoke drifted into the greater Seattle area to . Fortunately, the smog is nowhere near the levels it has reached , but it arrived in tandem with daily highs in the 90s鈥�very hot for the historically temperate area.

Slightly cooler temperatures are for later this week, but it will be awhile before North Cascades National Park and the highway are . The Sourdough Fire is , and there鈥檚 the possibility that it will continue to spread during the dry, hot, and breezy conditions expected in the next few days.

Wildfires and heatwaves are the new norm in a region best known for rain and lush forests. But with any luck, the worst damage from the fires in North Cascades will be on would-be visitor鈥檚 summer plans.

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鈥淲e fight fire with humans on the ground and hand tools primarily. Some are squirting water, some are swinging axes. We are nowhere near a technological solution to the human aspect. Either work on solving that at some point, or focus on how you can help the tired, dirty, hungry, firefighter who鈥檚 been up for 36 hours do his or her job better.鈥� Those were the words of one frustrated fire chief, at the Wildfire Technology Innovation Summit in March, 2019, to deliver real, effective solutions for his firefighters.

The way we fight wildfires today, in 2023, is not fundamentally different from how they were fought during the early 20th century. Firefighters on the ground cut breaks with hand tools, or perform controlled burns with drip torches. They coordinate those actions via handheld radios with command centers that are often miles away. And communication across the five federal agencies responsible for wildland firefighting, plus the myriad state and local entities that might also be involved, is fractured and disorganized.

As more and more Americans move into the wildland-urban interface, and climate change increases incidences and severity of wildfires, this outdated approach is no longer a match for the scale of the problem.

Enter the , which President Biden signed into law in 2021. It provides $5 billion in funding through 2026 to improve the way in which our nation fights wildfires. A lot of that money is going toward mitigation efforts, improved pay for firefighters, and burned-area restoration. But at the Department of the Interior (DOI) alone, $72 million is being devoted to modernizing firefighting technology, and training firefighters to use it.

Enter the 2024 Ford Bronco

With these improvements in mind, this 2024 Ford Bronco is one of the very first examples of what that new firefighting technology will look like. Built in collaboration between Ford (which is donating the vehicle to the DOI as part of its initiative) and , a vehicle upfitter serving defense and first responder agencies, it incorporates a host of communication abilities, as well as the ability to push fire command operations through rugged terrain, closer to the front lines.

Starting with a bone-stock Bronco equipped with Ford鈥檚 Sasquatch package, Darley incorporated an integrated satellite, cellular, and radio-based communications system that brings redundant compatibility across an array of government and civilian communications channels. It鈥檚 powered by a large, 3.5-kilowatt-hour battery pack that charges from the vehicle鈥檚 alternator, and is operated by a single-tablet running prototype-incident management software developed by Darley. A drone housed in one of the rear storage areas adds the ability for incident managers to take eyes even further than the vehicle can travel itself.

This all probably sounds pretty basic to you and me, and the supercomputers we carry around in our pockets. But it’s probably the best indication of how far behind fire-fighting technology really is. Right now, incident command is run out RV-size vehicles using simple radio equipment. Those vehicles are too large and unwieldy to get further than paved roads. So, on-the-ground information about fuel loads or fire behavior has to be radioed in by individual firefighters, then assembled and distributed again by radio. And anything from the exact location of fire crews, to localized fire behavior can easily be lost or missed in that process.

鈥淲e鈥檙e using a tracking system that was developed in the 1940s and it was developed primarily to move military equipment for World War II,鈥� one firefighter told the (PCAST) in March, 2022. 鈥淓very one of your cellphones sitting on the desk in front of you can order whatever you need and have it delivered to your house tomorrow.鈥�

Here鈥檚 How the 2024 Ford Bronco Will Improve Firefighting in the Field

With the 2024 Ford Bronco, incident commanders will be able to quickly鈥攁nd easily鈥攍eave pavement behind. Equipped with 35-inch tires and locking axle differentials front and rear, the vehicle will be able to drive right into the frontlines of an active fire, then use satellite data, firsthand observations, and drone footage to assemble a live picture of current fire behavior, wind directions, fuel loads, and crew locations. Darley鈥檚 new software will display all of that simply and intuitively on the tablet. And, all of that information can be distributed across the tangle of responders, agencies, and managers either present in the field, or remotely. The Bronco is equipped with transmitters to establish a large wireless network, giving field workers the ability to receive and transmit data even in the absence of cellular networks.

鈥淲e could put real-time fire perimeters鈥攁nd by that I mean one minute from collection to firefighters鈥� mobile phones鈥攊n the hands of almost every firefighter in the country right now if we pointed and wrote a few checks,鈥� another firefighter told the in March, 2019.

This integration of multiple data sources into a simple, intuitive interface is similar to the technologies soldiers and their commanders have been using to fight wars in recent decades. Darley tells me they鈥檙e basing the fire equipment on the same capabilities. And just like to coordinate their efforts more effectively, with less risk in the ongoing counteroffensive, American firefighters will soon be able to fight fires more effectively, more safely, in the near future.

鈥淥ur biggest hurdle with all these different technologies is what we call our 鈥榣ast mile connection,鈥欌€� a firefighter testified to PCAST in March, 2022. “How do we get this data to boots on the ground?… The communication infrastructure is just not there.鈥�

Next Steps: Getting Firefighters the Gear They Need

Ford and Darley are building two of these Broncos, with this first example going into use in New Mexico鈥檚 Bandelier National Monument later this year. Its capabilities fall exactly in line with the in February, which found that existing technologies are capable of augmenting wildland firefighting efforts right now, and are desperately needed as fire behavior grows more and more dangerous.

鈥淭he needs of our wildland firefighters overlap substantially with those of America鈥檚 warfighters,鈥� reads the report鈥檚 conclusion. 鈥淲hereas we have a national commitment ensuring that our warfighters are not sent into harm鈥檚 way without the best of American science and technology at their disposal, no similar organizational framework exists to protect and empower wildland firefighters.鈥�

Now, finally, a substantial budget is being applied to making that dirty, hungry firefighter鈥檚 job better. And that solution is going to look a lot like this Bronco.

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Working the front lines of America鈥檚 wildfires is a difficult and dangerous job, but that doesn鈥檛 mean everyone who signs up is chasing adventure. While physical and mental challenges are part of the attraction, what draws many to the field is the camaraderie that comes with working in an unpredictable environment alongside a committed crew. And what makes a great firefighter isn鈥檛 a high tolerance for risk so much as the ability to be calm and assertive no matter what the day brings. In this episode, we speak to a trio of firefighters about how and why they fell in love with one of the most demanding jobs out there.

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Greg and Julie Welch were relaxing at their campsite in Minnesota鈥檚 Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness in August, 2011, when a tiny fire in a nearby bog suddenly exploded into a massive inferno that began racing toward them. At first they were confused: they knew there were small wildfires in the area, but all forecasts suggested there was nothing to worry about鈥攊t was humid and rain was on the way. However, an extremely rare convergence of atmospheric events had set in motion what would become known as the Pagami Creek Fire, consuming more than 92,000 acres over several months, making it the biggest wildfire in the state听in more than a century. And now the Welches faced only one choice: jump in their kayaks and paddle for their lives.

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Filmmaker began his career fighting wild land fires in 2003, so in many ways, his latest film project felt like a return home. The Wild Land, a short documentary made in partnership with the , follows the Colorado Craig Interagency Hotshot Crew as it battles wildfires in California and Montana during the 2021 season. It was a 鈥渄ream come true鈥� to combine his two loves of wildfire and filmmaking, Irving says.

Wildfires are burning hotter and stronger than they used to, in large part due to severe drought caused by climate change, as well as a that have let wild land fuel build up. Hotshot crews use a variety of tactics to fight these fires, as shown in the film. One technique requires crews to build their own line of fire (away from the head of the blaze), with the goal of sending it back toward the wildfire and burning up all the fuel in its path.听

While a big part of the film shows the crew hiking through the backcountry and fighting the fires, Irving wanted to focus on the important relationship between the crew and the crew boss, one that requires trust and respect when hotshots are putting their lives on the line. The Colorado Craig Interagency Hotshot Crew, led by Logan Blankenship, is a close-knit group and even holds a small birthday celebration for a team member at the end of a long night. Blankenship, Irving says, is the best crew boss he鈥檚 ever seen or worked with.

The working conditions are a big part of retaining career firefighters. Previously, it was common for hotshots to work 36-hour shifts, which led to burnout among crews. 鈥淗opefully this film shows other firefighters that it doesn’t have to be that way,鈥� Irving says. 鈥淚t’s okay for a crew boss to care about their crew, to look after them, and make sure they’re staying healthy.鈥�

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On July 22, the Oak Fire started in Midpines, California, 37 miles from Yosemite Valley. At the time of publication, 18,532 acres and 41 homes and buildings have been destroyed. This is the story of one Mariposa resident .

On Friday, July 22, I鈥檇 just returned home from hosting an e-bike ride with a family of six鈥攍eading bike tours is my side gig鈥攚hen I noticed smoke nearby. My house is down Triangle Road, next to the Butterfly Creek Winery in Mariposa, California, just 40 miles from Yosemite National Park. I鈥檝e called Yosemite and the Sierra Nevada foothills home off and on for 30 years. They are my favorite places in the world.

The flames were visible from my front yard, beyond Carter Road, which climbs Buckingham Mountain, near where we were riding. The fire looked to be growing quickly, but it was also far enough away that it didn鈥檛 seem threatening.

Concerned but not overly alarmed, the family and I piled into our van and headed toward Midpines to get a closer look. Snarling flames paralleled Highway 140, and thick billowing smoke filled the sky. Temps were in the high nineties, and a breeze blew. As we passed the Midpines Country Store, we decided to turn back because I was worried the road might close, and we didn鈥檛 want to get stuck.

Once we flipped back, the fire鈥檚 severity increased. The flames were more significant now, the fire more intense. We agreed that we needed to evacuate my house as soon as possible and get everything to a safe location.

Phone reception is non-existent in the Sierra foothills, so instead of cutting back to Triangle, we went to town so I could call for help. Fire trucks sped down the highway. The sky was orange. I rang everyone I could think of, including my friend and Stone Nudes photographer Dean Fidelman from Yosemite West. He tried to come with his van to pick up my e-bikes, but a closed road stopped him. I also called Josh Holmes and his son Jax in nearby Nipinnawasee, who immediately got in their car and drove to my place.

We sped back home and everyone grabbed what they could. Josh and Jax carried boxes of books, climbing gear, and technical outerwear. A lot of my stuff was stored in bins and big haul bags, so it didn鈥檛 take long to fill my SUV and Josh鈥檚 pickup. I didn鈥檛 bother unplugging power cables from the wall; I didn鈥檛 care which of my many bikes went on the rack; I assumed I would be right back to move more gear. Looking toward the fire from my front yard, I thought, 鈥淭his is going to burn my house down tomorrow.鈥�

I loaded听my 100-pound boxer, Fenster, into the front seat, cranked the windows down since the AC was out, and we drove fast to Paul and Julia Wignall鈥檚 place, owners of , on Mount Bullion, about 21 miles away. Due to detours from closed roads, it took more than 40 minutes to get there. I unloaded, lifted Fenster back in the car, and prepared to get as much stuff into my vehicle on the next run as possible.

New roadblocks kept me from returning. I took a back way to one junction only to be stopped. 鈥淭he fire is throwing flame a mile or more down the road,鈥� one officer told me. 鈥淪omeone almost just got taken out from a speeding emergency response vehicle,鈥� said another.

Out of options, my attention turned to Fenster and making sure he didn鈥檛 overheat. (Boxers have short little noses, which make them prone to heat stroke.) I tried three bars and restaurants, but two were closed due to fire; the third, the , was open, so off we went. I hadn鈥檛 had the time or the insight to pack his leashes, so I made one by ripping a Fourth of July ribbon off a pole on Main Street and tying it to his collar.

Soon the pub filled up and everyone talked about the fire. CAL FIRE described it as 鈥渆xtreme with frequent runs, spot fires, and group torching.鈥� As I write this on July 26, it鈥檚 16,000 acres and is now the largest California wildfire of the year.

鈥淵our place is gone,鈥� everyone told me. I had no reason to doubt them.

The news鈥攖he loss of my home鈥攄idn鈥檛 faze me. I鈥檇 already spent the week in and out of the hospital, and I was freaking out because tuffs of hair suddenly started to fall out of my head. A visit to the family physician one day turned to the emergency room the next.

The doctor told me I had alopecia, and he didn鈥檛 know why. His choice of language (鈥渃hronic illness鈥�) and my rapidly deteriorating condition made me think I could die. In short, I was battling an autoimmune disease for an unknown reason. This condition will significantly change how I look, too. Hair falls out of my head and may never grow back. If it does, it comes back white and wispy. I can鈥檛 grow a beard, and I fear my eyebrows and eyelashes are next. I cried in the ER, bawled alone in my house, and cried on my landlord, Dale鈥檚, shoulder. I wailed away, sobbing like I was at a funeral. But I was just alone at home.

Overwhelmed with thoughts of death and my newly balding head, on July 22, I went back to Mount Bullion and pulled up to the summit. There, I watched flames devouring my old neighborhood. Under the blackness of night, burning red lit up the hillsides. It looked like I was peering into the gates of Hell.

Early reports said the blaze charred ten homes, which was later updated to 41. The flames took out every inch of terrain I鈥檇 e-biked this year. My Strava report says I spent 150 hours since January in that area, covering some 218,000 vertical feet and 1,800 miles in the process. I was absolutely in love with that region, which climbs into Jerseydale and the Sierra National Forest. You can see into Yosemite at one spot and directly at El Capitan. Now, .

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As an out-of-control blaze approached their home, a couple made what seems like a crazy choice: they ignored evacuation orders and stood their ground. Fire officials tell us that decisions like this puts lives at risk, including the lives of firefighters who may need to come to the rescue. In the U.S., authorities universally agree that escaping to safety is the only reasonable thing to do. And yet some people still insist on staying put to defend their own homes. In this replay of an episode from 2019, we tell the extraordinary story of Gary and Lori Lyon, who survived seemingly impossible odds during one of the world wildfires in California history.

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I was thousands of miles away from home when the Camp Fire ignited not far from where I grew up. It was November 8, 2018, and one month since I had moved to Berlin, where the day was cold and darkening. But back home in Butte County, California, it was hot and windy. At 6:45 A.M.,听the fear that permeates in that corner of the world was realized: a spark lit, and a blaze was born.

I鈥檇 spent my whole life in Northern California, where summers always carried the existential threat of wildfire. I鈥檇 seen a few pass through Butte Creek Canyon, where I grew up, slowly burning the ridges for weeks before simmering to a stop. But in recent years, climate change鈥攁nd in this case, negligence on the part of Pacific Gas and Electric (PG&E), which supplies the majority of the state with power鈥攈as been creating conditions that we鈥檝e come to consider a 鈥渘ew normal鈥�: wildfires that burn hotter, bigger, faster, later in the year, and less predictably than ever before.

On November 8, PG&E was supposed to shut off the power in Butte County, but it didn鈥檛. A transmission tower failed in the Feather River Canyon, and within an hour, the ensuing flames were headed straight for the tiny town of Paradise, which sat on the ridge above the canyon where I grew up. Back in Berlin, I opened my laptop to gauge the threat on my home and watched the chaos unfold. I read accounts of people鈥檚 cars burning on the Skyway鈥攐ne of the only roads out of Paradise鈥攁s traffic snarled their escape. I saw videos of fire lining the roads, civilians fleeing on foot. I heard about people trapped in their homes and those who didn鈥檛 make it out before their cars ignited. Not long after, the fire swept down into the canyon.

It was days before I knew that my sister鈥檚 home in Butte Creek Canyon had burned down, along with the majority of homes in that area, and that my childhood home had miraculously survived. It took weeks before anyone knew the total tally of the devastation in Butte County, but as November 8 drew to a close, 85 people were dead, 18,804 structures were destroyed, and Paradise had been wiped off the map. The Camp Fire would soon be known as the most destructive wildfire in California history.

News teams streamed into Butte County for months after the blaze, telling and retelling the gut-wrenching tales of those who survived and those who didn鈥檛. But watching from so far away, I felt like I didn鈥檛 understand it, like I couldn鈥檛 get a full picture of what happened that day. What I did know was haunting, but what I didn鈥檛 haunted me. Until I read former San Francisco Chronicle听reporter Lizzie Johnson鈥檚 new book

Paradise, out this month, is a harrowing minute-by-minute account of the Camp Fire, combining on-the-ground stories from the town鈥檚 residents, first responders, and officials, with a complete picture of the environmental conditions, urban-planning missteps, corporate negligence, and bureaucratic failures that coalesced into this unprecedented disaster. By the end, I closed its pages with the paradoxical realization that the devastation this fire wrought was completely avoidable, but also that we鈥檙e doomed to see it repeated over and over again鈥攁nd already are.

The book opens at dawn at fire station 36 in the Feather River Canyon, where California Department of Forestry and Fire Protection (Cal Fire) captain Matt McKenzie wakes to the sound of 鈥減onderosa pine needles [falling] like the raindrops that refused to come.鈥� An hour later, he鈥檚 forced to abandon the breakfast he鈥檚 preparing for his crew, when news of a nearby fire pings his phone. From there we watch in slow motion as the fire explodes, traveling an acre a second and cascading through the tiny community of Concow鈥攚here residents only knew of the fire when flames licked their homes鈥攂efore bearing down on Paradise.

Johnson takes us through the chaos as emergency responders try to calculate the speed and threat of the fire, which moved faster than anyone could wrap their heads around. City officials stall evacuation orders, not fully comprehending the magnitude of the impending disaster. We see how vulnerable Paradise was: because the town is located atop a ridge with just a few routes out, evacuating all of the听nearly 27,000 residents at once was impossible.

In the end, it didn鈥檛 really matter how they timed the orders鈥攄ue to a technological error and a low registration rate, the emergency alert system failed to send an evacuation notice to 80 percent of Paradise鈥檚 residents before it was too late. As the flames neared the town, smoke turned the sky a 鈥渂ruised navy, then black鈥� before a 鈥渉ail of embers鈥� like 鈥渕illions of lit matches flutter[ing] from the heavens鈥� bore down, starting hundreds of spot fires. The residents knew for themselves it was time to flee.

The bulk of the book takes place in the firestorm. Packed with so much suspense and detail that it sometimes reads like fiction, Paradise delves so deep into the experiences of every character听that we see the fire through their eyes, feeling the weight of their every decision, every close call. My heart pounded as flames closed in on Rachelle, clutching her hours-old baby in the back of a stranger鈥檚 car. My eyes welled as Tammy, a nurse at Feather River Hospital鈥檚 Birth Day Place (the labor and delivery unit where my niece was born one year earlier), called her family to apologize for past transgressions and say goodbye, not sure she would make it out alive. I had to put the book down several times to catch my breath鈥攚hen Travis watched his friends get sucked screaming into the flames, or when police-department dispatcher Bowersox listened as elderly residents stuck in their homes cried for help, knowing no one was on the way to save them.

The details of these accounts are painful enough. But Johnson鈥檚 powerful ability to pull us so completely into the lives of each person makes them almost unbearable. We don鈥檛 just pick up with the characters in the midst of the flames; we get their entire backstory (sometimes excessively), learning how they ended up in Paradise and why they loved it. Beloved Paradise Unified School District bus driver Kevin McKay, for example, moved to the hamlet from Santa Cruz, California, when he was 12. After growing up and buying a house in Magalia, a small community north of Paradise, he enrolled in school and took a job that gave him the time he needed to study鈥攄riving the school bus. During the Camp Fire, McKay navigates a busload of children through the flames, asking the two teachers on board to make a manifest of everyone鈥檚 names in case they didn鈥檛 survive.

The effect of these backstories is an intimacy that makes each escape feel personal. That鈥檚 the true feat of Johnson鈥檚 meticulous account: she humanizes a tragedy that is otherwise too big to fathom鈥攅ven for those of us, like me,听for whom the tragedy was already personal anyway.

This humanization extends to the aftermath, too. After we see all of the characters escape the flames, Johnson takes us to the reckoning, where we begin to understand that, while climate change, poor infrastructure, and flawed emergency systems were all contributing forces, the real blame rests on the shoulders of PG&E. The fire was caused by a single hook installed in 1920 and then neglected, on a transmission tower that failed. It would have cost just $19 to repair. 鈥淚t was the hook that took the lives, the hopes, dreams, the health, the sanity, the wealth, the happiness of a community,鈥� Johnson recalls Butte County district attorney Mike Ramsey saying during the court proceedings against PG&E. 鈥淏ut etched into the very soul of this community is a concern: What will happen next? Will this happen again?鈥�

Those questions are already being answered. Since the Camp Fire, wildfires across the West have exploded and consumed more towns whole. In August 2020, the North Complex Fire burned through California鈥檚 Butte, Plumas, and Yuba Xounties, killing 16 people and leveling the communities of Bery Creek and Feather Falls. As of press time, Butte County is 鈥攏ow the largest single wildfire in California history鈥攚hich started just ten miles from the ignition point of the Camp Fire. Again, it looks like ,听and again a handful of small towns are threatened.

In this landscape, it鈥檚 hard to land on a note of hope, and Johnson doesn鈥檛 try to. Like everyone else, she admits in so many words that the solution to this swelling problem is anything but clear. But before the book鈥檚 epilogue, Johnson brings us to the conclusion with an Indigenous legend from Butte County鈥檚 Konkow tribe, something she weaves poignantly听throughout the book. In the legend, a wildfire as destructive as the Camp Fire kills the majority of the tribe and displaces the rest, forcing them to wander for generations before finally making an exultant return home.

The modern-day residents of Paradise haven鈥檛 been so lucky. Just 2,034 of the town鈥檚 26,500 residents returned to the ridge. Houses are being built as quickly as possible, but for every person who promises to return, it seems, there鈥檚 one who vows they never will. The memories of the fire are still too raw, or the price of building materials too high, or the insurance payment still pending. More than that, the Paradise they knew is gone. The beloved Johnny Appleseed Day parade, the weekly football games with residents piled into the bleachers of Om Wraith Field, the thousand American flags that lined the Skyway on Memorial Day. Gone, too, are the 鈥渂almy summer evenings at the drive-in movie theater, a mattress thrown in the truck bed鈥� and 鈥渢he air that smelled like heaven after the first winter rain or the first warm day of summer.鈥�

For now, at least, these memories have been preserved. More than just a portrait of destruction, this book is a small act of restoration. Paradise will never look the same again, but Johnson captures its pre-fire charms with enough compassion that, for some, reading Paradise may feel something like coming home.

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Many wildland firefighters work 72-hour shifts, which include hiking over rugged terrain with a pack that can weigh up to 90 pounds, explains former wildland firefighter Katy Luetke, a certified strength and conditioning coach for the California Department of Forestry and Fire Protection. And these firefighters need to be in shape nearly all year: Luetke says that while fire season in California used to last from June to October, it now runs from April through the end of December, thanks to drought conditions exacerbated by climate change.听鈥淵our ability to endure a season is very much dependent on both your endurance听and your strength,鈥� she explains. 鈥淭he combination of those two factors is work capacity.鈥�

The Workout

Luetke keeps her team fit for duty with moves like the ones below. She suggests starting with a ten-minute warm-up (she likes Turkish get-ups), followed by stretching. Cycle through the entire sequence three times, resting only as needed. You鈥檒l need a moderate weight, a heavy weight, a pull-up bar, a rope, and a sandbag鈥攆eel free to improvise, though, using whatever household items you have. Luetke recommends completing the workout two to four times a week.

The Moves

Reverse Goblet Lunges

What it does: Targets the lower body and core

How to do it: Using both hands, hold a medium-weight kettlebell (or dumbbell, cinder block, or whatever you have) to your chest. Stand with your feet hip-width apart, parallel to one another.

Engaging your core, take a big step back with your right foot, bending your right knee. At the same time, bend your left knee to about 90 degrees, making sure it doesn鈥檛 go past your left toes. At the bottom of the movement your right knee should graze the floor. Engage your left glute to stand, stepping your right foot forward to return to your starting stance. Alternate sides for a total of 16 reps.

Make it easier by using bodyweight, or increase the intensity by adding more weight.

Push-Ups

What it does: Develops the chest, shoulders, triceps, core, and shoulder stabilizers

How to do it: Start by getting on all fours on the floor. Keep your wrists directly under your shoulders to make the move more challenging, or take a wider stance to make it easier. Extend your legs so that your knees are straight and your weight is distributed through your palms and your toes.

Retract your shoulders, engage your core, and bend your elbows to bring your chest down to the point where it grazes the floor. Straighten your elbows to return to the starting position. Maintain a neutral neck position throughout. Perform ten to 25 reps.

Need to dial down the intensity? Rest your weight on your knees instead of your toes. To make it harder, set a weight plate on your back or wear a weighted vest or backpack with something substantial inside. To avoid injury, progress gradually. Start with five pounds; once you can complete the higher end of the rep range with good form, increase the weight by another five or so pounds.

Pull-Ups

What it does: Strengthens the back, arms, and shoulders

How to do it: Start under the pull-up bar with your arms fully extended overhead. Grip the bar with your hands about shoulder-width apart using an overhand grip (palms facing away from you). If you鈥檙e still mastering the move, Luetke suggests starting with a mixed grip; use an overhand grip in one hand and an underhand grip (palms facing you) in the other. If you need to modify it further, use an underhand grip and do chin-ups instead鈥攁 chin-up involves the same exact movements as a pull-up; the only difference is your grip, which makes it easier.

For both chin-ups and pull-ups, retract your shoulders, engage your core, and bend your elbows to about 90 degrees, bringing your chin above the bar. To come down, extend your elbows slowly and with control back to the starting position. Complete as many reps as possible with good form.

To make it easier, use a super band (a thick looped band with a rectangular profile) for assistance, start with a jump, or do reverse rows (aka bodyweight rows) if you have access to a squat rack and a barbell or a TRX suspension trainer.

Sandbag Rope Pull

What it does: Works the back, shoulders, traps, and biceps

How to do it: Tie one end of a rope to a sandbag鈥攖his could be a duffel bag filled with sand, heavy books, rocks, bricks, or whatever you have. With the other end in your hands, unfurl the rope to its full length and sit on the floor with the bag in front of you. Bend your knees and plant your feet on the floor slightly wider than hip-width apart. Engage your core and lean back slightly.

With your palms facing one another, grasp the rope in each hand. With your right arm fully extended, reach down between your knees. Meanwhile, bend your left elbow so your left hand is holding the rope by your right armpit. As you bend your right arm to pull the sandbag toward you, release your left hand, straighten your left arm, grasp the rope between your legs, and pull. Continue until the sandbag is at your feet. Perform two rope pulls.

Uneven Loaded Farmer Carry

What it does: Targets the core, lower body, back, biceps, triceps, forearms, and hand muscles

How to do it: To start, deadlift a moderate to heavy weight into each hand from the floor, so that you鈥檙e holding them at your sides with your elbows fully extended. A dumbbell, kettlebell, or even a loaded duffel bag or suitcase will work.

To do a deadlift, stand with your feet about hip-width apart. Keeping your back flat and your chest up, slightly bend your knees and hinge forward from your hips while reaching down to grasp your weights, keeping your elbows extended. Thrust your hips forward to come back to a standing position with arms by your sides, keeping your core engaged throughout.

Luetke suggests using weights that are within 30 percent to 50 percent of each other鈥檚 weight, such as a 25-pounder and a 40-pounder.

At the top of the deadlift, hold your arms fully extended by your sides and walk at a comfortable pace with a weight in each hand for 30 seconds. Then set your weights down on the floor, switch hands, and deadlift them back up from the floor and walk for 30 more seconds, for a total of one minute. (Don鈥檛 worry about how far you can walk during that minute.)

The post Work Out Like a Firefighter appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

I worked as a wildland firefighter for the U.S. Forest Service for four summers, the past two with听a hotshot crew of听20 experienced firefighters who travel all over the country and听spend听most of the听鈥渟ummer鈥澨�(April through October)听sleeping on the ground and digging fire lines in extreme temperatures and rough terrain.听

The government issues any equipment that is absolutely necessary to do our jobs, but we also rely heavily on our own personal kits听for extra听comfort. We鈥檙e not exactly nice to this gear; we subject it to 16-hour days in heat, smoke, and dust, and when we鈥檙e not using it, it鈥檚 often shoved into a duffel bag. Having these items break during the summer is inconvenient at best and could negatively affect your productivity at worst (like when your sleeping pad deflates halfway through a 14-day assignment and you鈥檙e camped in a place only accessible by helicopter). Because of scenarios like this, there鈥檚 added dependence听on our gear. After four seasons of trial and error, these were the items I knew would last, no matter how much I abused them.听

Icebreaker Merino 175 Everyday Short Sleeve Crew ($70)

While I鈥檝e spent a good number听of days working听in a cotton T-shirt under my 鈥測ellow鈥� (the bright, long-sleeved听fire-resistant shirt听we wear while on the job), from Icebreaker has taught me that wool is the way to go.听

With no polyester, spandex, or nylon to hinder听the crew鈥檚听natural breathability, the听wool听cuts down on odor and clamminess听by wicking away sweat and drying quickly鈥攁nd less stink means you can get away with fewer washings. (Microbes have a harder time clinging to wool than to synthetic fibers.) This is听helpful when you use the听same two shirts for a couple听weeks straight.

While other merino wool base layers I鈥檝e used have effectively disintegrated鈥攄eveloping numerous holes and shedding more and more material after every washing鈥攖he two Icebreaker tees I bought three summers ago became听my day-to-day mainstays. Neither has听a single hole to show for it, despite months of sweat, sawdust, and getting shoved into and pulled out of my bag every day.听

听

Therm-a-Rest Women鈥檚 ProLite听Sleeping Pad ($95)

Made with a 50-denier ripstop polyester, the strikes a good balance between tough and packable. At 11 by 4 inches in the stuffsack, it left space in my duffle for other gear, and听weighing in at just over one pound, it鈥檚 Therm-a-Rest鈥檚 lightest self-inflating mattress for women. Most important, though, it didn鈥檛听pop a hole or break a seam in four years of heavy use, including many nights of sleeping atop it听on rodeo-arena floors, soccer fields, and rocky ridgelines deep in the backcountry.

Sea to Summit Aeros Premium Pillow ($43)

Probably the best $43听I鈥檝e ever spent, the听听gave听me a comfortable听place to lay my head in the buggy on the way to fires, and it provided听an added cushion听for the months I spent听on the ground. It鈥檚 incredibly light (2.5 ounces)听and packed听down small enough to shove听into any open corner of a duffle听bag (or my carry-on while traveling). I dig the plush outer lining鈥攊ts听surface was听much warmer and cozier than the bare polyester versions I鈥檝e used in the past, which听were only a small improvement compared with听using a bunched-up rainjacket for a pillow.听Sea to Summit doesn鈥檛 recommend machine-washing the Aeros,听but I slept听on it听with a dirty face and unwashed hair, so I cleaned听it by hand after every fire assignment for two years. After听dozens of washings, I haven鈥檛 noticed听holes or听substantial wear and tear or had any issues inflating it.

Suncloud Cinco Sunglasses ($50)

I鈥檓 a terrible sunglasses owner. I always seem to lose the ones that fit my face perfectly or break the ones that cost a quarter听of my paycheck. That鈥檚 why practicality and affordability are now my biggest priorities when I鈥檓 shopping for a new pair.听At just $50, 听vastly exceeds what you鈥檇 expect from midrange听shades. The lenses are polarized (which isn鈥檛听necessary for fire work听but is very helpful for fishing on my days off), and the frames are made of a durable nylon material called Grilamid, which is more flexible than plastic. Unlike some of the gas-station options听I鈥檝e used in the past, the Cinco听never fogged when听my face was听soaked in sweat. They鈥檝e withstood a whole gauntlet of mistreatment, such as听regularly wiping them with dirty leather gloves, accidentally sitting on them, and, worst of all, placing them in the same pocket as my knife.

Arc鈥檛eryx Atom LT Hoody ($260)

If there鈥檚 one piece of gear that has turned me into an insufferable gear bragger, it鈥檚 the . I鈥檝e spent six years with it and adore it more than any piece of apparel I鈥檝e owned. It kept听me comfortable on cold mornings at fire camp and serves as听the perfect听midlayer while skiing. The 100 percent听nylon shell (which has听light waterproofing for drizzly days) is still听durable enough to withstand a few knicks while sharpening a chainsaw. Its听synthetic insulation maintains its warmth when wet, and the stretchy fleece side panels along the torso and under the arms lend more breathability than you鈥檇 get from a down jacket鈥攁nd that means听less sweat when the temperature rises or the hike gets steeper. It stuffs into its own pocket听for easy transport, and听while the price might be a deterrent for some, I鈥檝e never had a more apt use for the phrase 鈥淏uy it nice or buy it twice鈥� than I have with this hoodie.听

Drew鈥檚 Boots Women鈥檚 10-Inch听Brown Roughout ($399)

There are many fire-boot builders, but Drew鈥檚 is my personal favorite and go-to brand. The has a听narrow听footbed, so it鈥檚 sized truer听to the shape of a woman鈥檚 foot听and not simply converted from a men鈥檚 sizing chart. Drew鈥檚 boots are also made of a softer leather than other popular fire boots, which amounts to a听quicker break-in time and fewer blisters. One consequence of this build is a shorter life span鈥擨 usually get two fire seasons out of a pair of Drew鈥檚 before the footbed blows out or the Vibram sole wears听down. That said, a huge benefit of buying hand-built leather boots is the听ability to have them听resoled at a substantially lower cost than a new pair would ring you.听

Fits听Tactical Socks ($24)

You鈥檇 be hard-pressed to find a wildland firefighter who doesn鈥檛 have a very strong opinion about socks. My pick? The听. Good socks are crucial when wearing a rigid leather boot like Drew鈥檚, White鈥檚, or Nick鈥檚. With fire boots like these,听it鈥檚 often said that it鈥檚 not the boot that gets broken in but your foot, so a durable pair of socks that fit well is sometimes just as important as the boot itself, especially when it comes to avoiding blisters. I鈥檝e ruined a lot of socks in my time as a firefighter鈥攂y听breaking in boots, logging long miles, or succumbing to heel slippage鈥攂ut I have yet to blow a hole in a pair of Fits. Credit its tough wool-polyester blend听and the extra padding in the heel, toe, and arch.

SaltStick Plus Salt Capsules ($30)听

Sometimes听no amount of goo, bars, tabs, or glorified sugar water will replenish all the听electrolytes you鈥檙e losing听as you hike, use a chainsaw, or swing a tool in extreme heat for up to听16 hours straight for many days in a row. On high-output days, salt pills are the ticket. But听 aren鈥檛 traditional salt pills; each has听a relatively low dose of sodium (190 milligrams, which is only 8 percent of your recommended daily amount), along with magnesium, calcium, and potassium to cover your other electrolyte needs, plus caffeine for a little energy boost. Though not recommended for people with high blood pressure, kidney issues, or anyone听not dumping loads of sweat every day, salt pills鈥攁long with copious amounts of water, of course鈥攌ept me feeling well-balanced and hydrated amid听some of my hardest, longest, and sweatiest shifts.

The post The Durable Gear One Wildland Firefighter Swears By appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.