*apologies to Ricky Martin
As I write this, the first lightning bust of the season is forecast for tomorrow here in SW Oregon. We’ve been spending the weekend putting our lightning plan into place – ordering resources, coordinating with neighbors and cooperators about what they have or might need, making bro deals, bringing Agency Administrators up to speed, chasing always-elusive (for us) aircraft resources. It’s been nearly six months since the COVID-19 pandemic changed all our lives and how we work, do our jobs, fight fire. And now it’s our turn to put the plans and lessons learned into practice. As not only the Duty Officer but the Fire Staff Officer, I hear that little voice whispering in my year, “Have you thought of everything? What have you missed? Have you done enough? Are you ready?”
Okay, I’ll admit it. I was one of the people who originally didn’t take the Corona virus seriously, but only in the very early days. I was in denial because I didn’t want to face the loss of many of the things I really love; travel (work and personal), live music, a draught beer with friends, humanity. And as someone who is an extrovert, single, and lives alone the prospect of teleworking was something I just did not want to confront. But, being a woman of science, I soon accepted the reality of the pandemic quickly descending upon us.
I was appointed my forest’s Pandemic Coordinator by the Forest Supervisor and Deputy which pretty much meant I had to read everything COVID-19 related that passed through my inbox. This was so I could track the latest guidance coming from all directions and then communicate that to our Forest Leadership Team (FLT). I had to send daily reports to the Regional Office with all our numbers – how many employees total, how many teleworking, how many in isolation, how many in quarantine, how many recovered. What major issues facing the forest? I had to synthesize all the information facing the forest not just that related to fire. You’ve heard the saying “drinking from a fire hose?” Well, as tired as that cliché might be, that’s what it was like. I tried my best to only forward the important and relevant information. That took some time on my part to read at least some of it first. But I knew there was no way people could keep up with everything and I didn’t want them to not read anything, so I had to dive in.
Initially the task to put the numerous COVID-19 plans into place felt completely overwhelming. Quarantine plans, housing plans, on-boarding plans, the myriad of risk assessments for just about everything work related. I kept waiting for the higher levels (national, regional) to provide some plans, some guidance. But all I saw and heard was that Agency Administrators were being given “decision-space” to adapt their plans to their own situations. Non-fire managers were now using the word “doctrine,” which until this year only seemed to be used, and fully understood, by those of us in fire (or those employees who were in the military). “We’re applying ‘doctrine’ to this situation.” “We don’t want to be prescriptive; we want to give you flexibility.”
Now, I’m a big fan of wildfire doctrine. I embraced it early on in fire in the forest service back in the mid-2000s. Some people dismissed it as another buzz-word-laced initiative that didn’t mean anything. I’m not a “everything is black or white” person; I love to live in the gray. I know my policies, I’m pretty well-versed, but when situations warrant a different approach, based on good, sound judgment and experience of the person or people in the thick of it, I liked being able to apply doctrinal principles in making decisions. And I liked the people in my charge being able to do that as well, to know they could make decisions based on their situation, to defer to the experts. The guy who brought doctrine to the forest service from the military said, “Some people like to cloak themselves in rules, and they are the ones who don’t like doctrine. But this is for the thinkers, the problem-solvers, the people at the pointy end of the spear who just might have a better idea.” I liked that. Wildland firefighters are notorious for our “can-do” attitudes. We’ve been both lauded and vilified for that attitude. Punished and rewarded. Doctrine came to us as our culture was just beginning to shift from blaming to learning.
But if ever there seemed a situation to not use a doctrinal approach, figuring out how to prepare for fire season pandemic was it. It did not seem like the time for everyone to “roll their own.” How could we all do things differently when at some point in time we’d be fighting fire somewhere else or hosting large fires with off-unit resources who all did something different back home? I kept waiting for policy, guidance, direction from the Washington Office. And if not from there, surely from the Regional Office. As we began onboarding our seasonal firefighters there was CDC workplace guidance recommending one person to a vehicle. Our hand crews typically have nine to 22 crew members. For numerous reasons it was not feasible for each person to have their own vehicle. This would create other issues and challenges; logistical, funding, safety — what those of us in the risk management business call ‘trade-offs.” And when one looks at risks, one must also look at the tradeoffs for performing the hazardous work (or not). Is the risk acceptable? Sometimes the juice is worth the squeeze and other times it is not. For the vehicle issue I tasked our local Captain’s group to come up with a proposal for all the modules – engines and hand crews. I told the Chair of the group to use common sense that didn’t cause other less acceptable risks. They did a great job and came up with a solid plan that us managers adopted with no changes. This was one example of where I felt like our Regional Office should’ve developed a plan, using subject matter experts like our regional Captain’s group. It finally came to a point where we could wait no longer and so developed our own. And don’t get me started on the whole “who pays for testing” discussion. That is a separate essay all its own (that I won’t likely write). Yes, I am fully aware I work within a bureaucracy, but still, why does it take months to make decisions that err on the side of advocating for our employees, our first responders? Some say “better late than never,” but that is not the right sentiment for me. I say, what took so damn long?
*
Going into this I thought I had a pretty good handle on operational risk management. Those of us in fire live in a world of risk. The job is inherently risky, often times quite dangerous. Early on in the pandemic, sometime in March, I came face-to-face with the true spectrum of the risk of COVID-19. Just as we were bringing firefighters off of telework and into the office for critical training, one crew member asked to sit the season out. He did not feel the agency truly had his well-being at heart. He didn’t trust the agency to take care of him, or his family, if he got sick with COVID-19. To be honest, at first, I was disappointed in his reaction. I love being a wildland firefighter and a fire manager. For me it’s not just a job or even a profession. It is a calling. I accept the job and all its risks and feel it is my duty to do the job. But I also understand I’m 30+ years in, very close to the end of my forest service career, and I’ve had a lot of life and work experiences that shape how I view all of this. And as mentioned above, I’m single and live alone. I don’t have to worry about bringing the ‘Rona home with me and passing it on to my roommates or loved ones. My family, two of whom are high risk, are clear across the country, so I don’t have to worry about infecting them. I had to take a step down off my high horse and place myself solidly into this young man’s fire boots. He has a wife and kids. And like a lot of our firefighters, the ones who are out there day after day on the fireline (not comfortably sitting in an air-conditioned office like I am), he hasn’t always felt valued by the US Forest Service for the work he does. I was really glad he spoke up, because I needed to know that. His crew supervisor, the district ranger, and the DFMO had a good discussion with him. They listened to his concerns, explained what plans and processes were in place (or soon would be) to help manage/mitigate COVID-19, but they also didn’t blow sunshine up his rear end. They were honest in telling him which answers they, we, didn’t have. But they assured him that they, and the rest of us on the forest, would help him make the right decisions for him and his family. He decided to stay with the crew. And he sent a nice email to his ranger saying he felt heard and understood, and that had gone a long way in his decision to stay. It illustrated for me the very broad spectrum of risk tolerance/acceptance as it’s related to COVID-19. That we have employees on every single point along that spectrum, and that we owe it to them to acknowledge that it is okay no matter where they fall.
On one of our fire management calls after that I told folks that I had to really shift my thinking about these new risks we were facing. And that while I feel like I’ve always taken my responsibility as a fire manager seriously, knowingly sending folks into hazardous environments, that never before have I had to send people into an environment where I knew they could bring the hazard home with them. I admitted that I was struggling with that. I told them we might have people take a pass from firefighting this season, maybe forever. My expectation of all of them was that no one belittle or shame anyone for making that decision based on their own, or their family’s, refusal to accept this new risk that we were still learning more about every day.
We’ve come a long way since those chaotic days in March. We have our plans in place. My immediate staff and the fire managers and module leaders at the districts have done some stellar work in being creative and figuring out the “yes” when others were pretty happy with telling us “no.” I’m really, really proud of them. Other regions have been in their fire seasons “guinea-pigging” the best management practices, sharing their lessons learned (good and bad), helping the rest of us adapt our plans based on what seemed to “work” and what didn’t. I was able to take a Duty Officer assignment to New Mexico where I got to be in the thick of it as not only an observer but a participant. I learned a lot – some things falling into the “what not to do” category and some solidly in the “good stuff, let’s do that” category. Some great fire management leaders are emerging from the pandemic, people filling the gaps and finding creative ways to meet logistical challenges, stepping up and figuring out how best to take care of our firefighters and support staff. I am in awe of them and honored to be in the same profession.
And so here we are, on the threshold of Dirty August. Depending on what we get out of this lightning (which is starting in Northern CA and working its way north) we could find ourselves at Regional or National Preparedness Level 4 or 5 in the next few days. We could soon see what the worst-case scenarios of COVID-19 and wildland firefighting actually look like. I hope it’s not as bad as some of the experts fear. But hope is not a plan. We’ll keep moving forward and put our plans to work, adjust and adapt as needed, look for the gold nuggets, but be mindful of the weak signals. What do I think the rest of fire season and the ‘Rona hold for us? Ask me in November.
Upside, inside out
She’s livin’ la vida (covid)
She’ll push and pull you down
Livin’ la vida (covid)…
…She will wear you out
Livin’ la vida (covid)
Livin’ la vida (covid)
She’s livin’ la vida (covid)*
*from “Livin’ la Vida Loca” by Ricky Martin
