Notes taken from:

Ghosts of the Fireground
Echoes of the great Peshtigo Fire and
the calling of a Wildland Firefighter
-Written by Peter Leschak-

Ab encourages people to buy Peter Leschak's book Ghosts of the Fireground.
We are trying to contact him so as not to violate copyright.


Consider this from William James: "It's only by risking our persons from one hour to another that we live at all."

One of my classroom sermons emphasizes that we consume most of our precious training time on techniques and technology, and we offer little guidance about how fallible humans should handle decision making under pressure; situational awareness in confusing, dangerous environments; and the acute stress of facing injury, loss, and death. We demonstrate the use of tools and tactics, but what about the psychology of "combat"? What about mind and emotions? Clever gadgets are useless if human hands and minds are paralyzed by fear or bullied by doubt.

Stress can make you sick. Hell, stress can kill you. Fortunately, there are effective ways to manage it, but people must be convinced of their innate powers of the mind. Under stress, attitude is paramount, and attitudes aren't accidental; they're generated by the individual. We program our responses. Fear is a natural reaction, but we can easily nurture it into a demon. Anxiety is contagious. It's why I preach to rookies that firefighters must cultivate as much cool as they can-not only for themselves but also for the sake of their comrades. Your mind is your best survival tool. Positive control over your mental and emotional state is the key factor to your survival. And also to leadership. That is why it is critical to keep your crew exercising, mentally as well as physically. It is important that we possess the realization that it is possible to function in an atmosphere of almost crippling dread. The key is to think beyond the moment at hand. It's a traditional religious concept. Look ahead to the consequences-to reward or retribution. Exercise foresight. And take a few deep breaths.

We are often thrust into the intimate company of strangers amid hazard and trial, and we rely on a hopeful faith that they know what the hell they are doing. Few other occupations require taking such chances, and veteran wildland firefighters understand that they must trust themselves first, must possess confidence in their own knowledge and ability before they can offer a measured, sometimes forced, trust in others.

We start "doing time" at birth, and memory is our holy ghost. To love, we need only act for good. To learn, we need only explore with an open mind. To laugh, we need only love and learn. And what infuses it all with zest is the certain prospect of death. I cherish working fire because there is no escaping the gritty verity of action and life. Fire is brash in your face. It demands attention. It punishes apathy and ignorance. It kills. It's real.

Walker Percy wrote, "Why is man apt to feel bad in a good environment, say suburban Short Hills, New Jersey, on and ordinary afternoon? Why is that same man apt to feel good in a very bad environment, say in a hotel during a hurricane?" One answer lies in the natural exhilaration people often experience when a decisive action is not merely desirable but absolutely necessary. When the stakes are life or death. Firefighters know the feeling. We train in order to attain this state of mind on demand. We don't always succeed. Leaders have a mission beyond personal survival, and, as often happens, that is exactly what has saved so many in perilous situations. It's why fireground leaders-crew bosses, helicopter managers, incident commanders-have an advantage over their firefighters. They're officially charged with thinking about the welfare of others. It's not that most line firefighters don't take care of their comrades; they do. But wearing the mantle of command is like being attired in the vestments of a priest. You are recognized as, and are expected to be, a shepherd to the flock. Concern for others is a powerful anecdote to paralysis. If a leader acts decisively to save his or her crew in the face of flames, it's not so much courage as it is wielding one fear over another. Perhaps that's what courage is. Beware of the foolish firefighter who claims he's afraid of nothing. From where will he snatch courage when he needs it most?

Many times it seems we are caught normalizing the risk: we have been through a similarly dangerous situation and emerged just fine. It's a paradoxical aspect of firefighting that often it's the veterans rather than the rookies who sink themselves into trouble. If you've tallied a lot of experience in dangerous, iffy environments without significant calamity, the mental path of least resistance is to assume it was your skill and savvy that told the tale. But it is also possible, if not probable, that you were just damned lucky. No big deal, we'll be all right. Been there, done that. A Coast Guard Officer once stated to the public, "Good judgment is based on experience, and experience is frequently based on bad judgment." The underlying concept is called decision space. When determining a course of action in tense circumstances, the goal is to retain as much room for maneuvering as possible. How much "space" you have is based on time, options and resources. As you run out of those three, your decision space shrinks.

A common by-product of burning, carbon monoxide has 250 times greater affinity for hemoglobin than does oxygen and is thus more readily absorbed into the bloodstream. We teach firefighters that a .05 concentration Is normal, just from background pollutants, and in doses as little as 1 to 5 percent, cognitive abilities are compromised-time interval discrimination, visual activity-and also muscle coordination. Symptoms of poisoning such as headache and dizziness are not apparent until the 10 to 20 percent range, so we stress that when firefighters are sucking smoke, they need to be aware they might not be as quick and smart as they are in clean air.





In the wake of the fourteen firefighter fatalities at Storm King Mountain in 1994, the U.S. Forest Service conducted a workshop focusing on firefighter behavior during crisis. It was noted that some of those who died trying to outrun the flame front might have succeeded if they'd dropped tools and packs. Why are firefighters so reluctant to jettison their gear in a run-for-your-life situation? Not surprisingly, studies demonstrated you could hustle 15 to 20 percent faster without your equipment. The conclusion was that when a firefighter drops the pack and the hand tool or chain saw, it's a tacit admission that he or she is no longer a player but a victim. The mission has deteriorated from the noble cause of beating the fire and saving natural resources (or houses or lives) to an ignoble affair of frantic personal survival. Nobody wants to be a victim.

Just the proper dollop of self-satisfaction is essential to the health of a fire crew, so long as it's not the kind of hubris that slays someone. Pride is one of the seven deadly sins, and the ideal dosage is relatively small and easily exceeded. Better to lose the fire than kill a colleague. Sounds like a no-brainer, but in the heat of battle, simple concepts can wander off into the smoke and be forgotten. As a fire leader I once was emphatically told, "You are now in charge of a sacred trust"-that being a human life. "You must not allow undue pressure, expressed or implied, to influence your judgment during the performance of this sacred trust." Of course, in my somewhat reluctant role as a fire chief (in years prior) I understood that sheer knowledge and experience were two of the keys because they led directly to confidence, self-respect and the respect of others. But it was not enough. I knew several firefighters with a wealth of savvy and years on the fireground who actually avoided the leader's part, content to advise-or often criticize and complain-from the safety of the ranks.

(In regards to the refusal of an extraordinarily dangerous assignment) He was obviously an experienced, competent firefighter and had organized a reasonable operation under difficult circumstances. But in the fever of command he'd lost his perspective. His focus had narrowed to beating the fire. His people had become tools, weapons-chess pieces. It's not an uncommon syndrome of incident commanders under stress. It's simple and natural in the can-do meritocracy of the fire service to home in so tightly on the contest that you downplay or neglect basic safety. That's why rookies are taught to "just say no" if ordered to act in a manner that inordinately compromises their security or life. Fact is, few ever do. In the firefighting culture it's often onerous to say no.

Jesus says, "No man is worthy of me who does not take up his cross and walk in my footsteps. By gaining his life a man will lose it; by losing his life for my sake, he will gain it."

Ab encourages people to buy Peter Leschak's book Ghosts of the Fireground.
We are trying to contact him so as not to violate copyright.