Nanomónestôtse Box Canyon

It was too late.  There was nothing he could do.  As a spotter on the ridge he watched in horror as the nineteen man firefighting crew went into Nanomónestôtse Box Canyon and did not come out.  Nothing but smoke remained along with the husks of cottonwood and mesquite trees that were still smoldering.  Helicopters hovered over the last place the crew had been seen alive before the distress call went out.  

He cried out to the gods who didn’t listen as the fire swept through the canyon at a speed pushed by the howling wind.

All gone, the entire crew from the chief to Ronnie, Hania’s best friend.

“This is base, can you read me.” The radio squawked in Hania’s hand.

“This is Spotter One.” Hania pressed the transmit button.

“What the hell is going on out there?” The voice demanded.

“Sir, the crew is gone.” His voice caught in his throat.

“Gone?” 

Pause.

“What the hell do you mean gone?” The voice was frantic.  That was the best word for it, frantic.

It was a routine fire.  Common out here in the Great Empty before you get to the Navajo Reservation.  Hania remembered how fingers pointed on a map to where the fire was and crews were sent in to settle matters. Routine. Each man had been signed off on their training card except Hania who was still missing some of the boxes on his card which is why Chief Chayton would not allow him to join the Navajo Firebirds, one of the most elite firefighting units in the area.  Many of the members had jumped from slow moving C-47s and C-130’s without a single hesitation.  

“We are the fire jumpers.” Elu once bragged, but then Hania found out Elu had been a paratrooper in the army.  These men were heroes to Hania and he longed to be one of their crew.   

A box canyon presents certain challenges to the crews, because the canyon surrounds the crew on three sides and if the fire managed to get behind them as it had just an hour ago, there would be no way out for the crew.  

It was a lightning strike according to the command center.  A desert was an arid place to begin with especially late in the summer after the monsoons and there were places that did not get any rain for years at a time.  Lightning could spark quite a fire and with the Navajo Reservation so close, it was imperative that the crews would stop the fire as soon as they could.  The first thing the command post did was close down the western part of the road leading into the reservation.  Next they sent a crew in to start laying down a fire line.  

If the wind picked up things could get really bad really quickly.  This late in the season, it was not uncommon for a wind to rush in off the mountains in the west separating California from Arizona.  When the Firebirds arrived on scene, the commander told them that the fire had been raging in Nanomónestôtse Box Canyon.  Chief Chayton took his crew to a briefing room where he had an enlarged map of the canyon. 

“I used to hunt with my uncle out near that canyon.” Elu shrugged.

“So you know the area?” The chief seemed pleased that one of his crew was familiar with the area.

“Yeah, pretty much.” Elu said, smiling.

There was no fear.  There was no sense of the impending doom that would befall them several hours later.

“We have to be careful since this is a box canyon and we know what can happen if we are not paying attention.” Chief Chayton pointed out running his finger along the box canyon on the map.

“Has the fire line been put into place?” Ronnie asked sitting on his haunches with his hands folded in front of him.  Ronnie's grandfather had been a Code Talker during the war which automatically made him a celebrity, but Navajo culture does not celebrate celebrities like the rest of the country outside the reservation.  No one ever spoke about his grandfather and he never brought it up unless someone asked him.  To Hania, Ronnie Spotted Horse was like an older brother.  His smile, his smooth style, his braided hair and his athletic ability on the basketball court made Ronnie a god to Hania.  

“Ronnie and Elu, I want you two to spearhead the crew.” Chief Chayton pointed to both of them.  Each of them answered with an affirmative nod. “Plenty of water.  Temperature is over one hundred and it’s only nine in the morning.”

Walking outside, the air was already thick with smoke and the smell of cresol lingered in the air from the burning trees.  Ashes came down from the sky like a new fallen show, but some of these snowflakes were still a blaze.  The crew would take three vans into the canyon, each carrying six fully equipped firefighters plus a command vehicle carrying Chief Chayton and Hania.

The terrain is very rocky and rough.  The ride is very jolting, but after a while you get used to the bone joggling ride.

“You will be on Lookout Point.” The chief  told Hania. ”You will have a radio and binoculars.  I will also give you a red flag you will wave if something goes wrong.  I don’t expect anything drastic to happen, but you can never be too careful.”

It was all routine.

The night before Hania went to shoot some hoops with Ronnie and his younger brother Dale who was closer to Hania’s age.

“We are the Code Talkers.” Ronnie cried out as they went up against another team who felt they could take on the Code Talkers.  This was what Ronnie lived for and with a hoot and holler, the game began.  It was a blood match with one of Ronnie’s old rivals.  Playing point guard, Ronnie directed his team to use the old pick and roll, but when Hania missed a pick resulting in his opponent stealing the ball and laying it up for an easy bucket, Ronnie came unglued.  Later, after the game was over Hania sat drinking a can of Coors.  Ronnie came sauntering up.

“Just wanted to say I’m sorry, bro.  Sometimes I take all this too seriously.  No hard feelings?” He shrugged.

“No hard feelings.” There was a fist pump followed by a can clink.  All was forgiven as it always was with him.  They sat together on the bottom row of the bleachers finishing their beer when Ronnie’s sister Selma came over and sat by Hania.  Even though nothing had been said, they were going steady.  She was beautiful with her cheekbones and her mocha colored skin.  Tall and lanky, Selma seemed to be all legs at time which made Hania feel like the luckiest man alive.

The wind blew and the acrid odor of burnt stuff made Hania gag, because he knew down there in that canyon were the remains of his best friend.  Was it his fault?  Did he let his opponent slip away from him at a critical moment. Did nineteen Firebirds, nineteen men he knew well, parish in the fire because of his mistake?  There would be an inquest and he knew how these things could go with a dead crew with one survivor.

Worst fire disaster in history was the word from command.  There was a fire in 1949 where a crew of thirteen died in northern Montana.  One of the search and rescue teams found fourteen bags covering the remains of the crew.  There were still five to go or maybe by some miracle they managed to escape.  

The bags were a fireman’s last resort in fighting a wildfire.  Made of asbestos, these special bags could protect the fireman up to about five hundred degrees, but this monster was a whole lot hotter than that which meant their protection would eventually fail as it had for fourteen so far.  

“If I go.” Ronnie once said at a dance where he had been drinking Jack Daniels straight, “I want it to be in the mouth of the firebird.”

“Why?” Hania asked, holding Selma’s hand.

“Die like a warrior.” He hooted and danced a drunken jig Indian style. 

“Ronnie, I don’t wanna hear you talking like that.” Selma scolded him sternly. 

“Sis, there may come a time when I have to face the Firebird.  I want to look him in the eye and let him know I am not afraid of him.” He explained. He held up his Salako necklace.  Salako was the Kachina of fire and would protect the wearer from fire.

“You are nothing but talk when you are drinking.” She stormed off as Ronnie laughed, throwing his head back. Hania followed her to where she sat sobbing.

“My brother is such a blockhead, sometimes.” She put her head on his shoulder as they sat together listening to a cover band play some Willie Nelson.

“He’s one of the bravest…” Hania started, but she removed her head from his shoulder and looked at him as if he was a mouse running from an eagle.

“Are you serious?  All that macho crap he talks.” She sniffed, “You know he’s scared to death?  Wakes up screaming sometimes, you know.” 

“No, I did not.” Hania shook his head.

“That’s why I love you, Hania, because you are so gentle.” She put her head back on his shoulder.  He did not want to tell her that he was also scared to death of facing the demon fire.  Some fires cleaned out all of the dead stuff left behind, but then there were other fires the Firebirds called Demon Fires that would destroy everything in their paths.  So far in his five years with the crew, he had never seen one of those fires.  Secretly he hoped he never would.  With the scarcity of plants and trees, most of the fires in this part of the world did not have a lot of fuel to sustain the energy needed for a Demon Fire. 

Ronnie was drunk.  He grabbed a few of his buddies and started singing Karaoke to whatever song the band was singing.  

“Absolutely awful.” Selma grimaced and Hania could not disagree.

During his training, Hania had seen a video of live footage taken from previous wildfires.  There was no way to describe it.  The fire would come to a point when it was no longer inanimate, when it had breathed enough oxygen to come to life.  The path of destruction was immense.  No wonder the crew had adopted the Firebird as its mascot.  You had to be as strong as your enemy in battle and from what he saw, there weren't a whole lot of things stronger than a fully conflagrated wildfire.

Once he had actually been in a wildfire.  When it was over, he was sitting next to Ronnie.  With face smudged in black soot, he drank a whole liter of cool water and said, “Man, that was really something, eh?”

Ronnie laughed, pouring the rest of his liter over his head, “That was a match compared to some of these fires out here.”

The way he said it kind of hurt Hania’s feelings.  He so wanted to be a part of the crew, but Ronnie seemed to mock his best efforts.

“One day, bro, you will see a fire.  It will have a face.  And from that awful face, you will hear it laugh at you as all you have is a pick and shovel in your hands.” Ronnie's expression changed to one that was more somber, “There have been times, I swore it was just playing with me like a cat before it kills the mouse.” 

“Fifteen.” The radio crackled that Hania was holding in his hand.  Another one of the Firebirds had been found. 

“Remember men, treat every fire like it wants to kill you.” Chief Chayton said at the briefing this morning before taking his crew into the canyon. The other men all nodded in concurrence.  There had been some close calls.  Everyone had been in a fire where someone was almost killed.  The one he remembered the best was one of the Firebirds who was using a bulldozer to reinforce a fire line when the fire crowned over him.  When a fire crowns, it means that the fire had taken an overhead path through the tops of the trees. As it burns its way down, it sucks all the oxygen from the area. With nowhere to escape the fire, he managed to get underneath the bulldozer.  For the next ten minutes, the firefighter felt as if he entered Hell complete with a sign that read, “Abandon hope all ye who enter here.” It sounded like a train as the fire sucked out all the oxygen over the bulldozer.  Putting his face to the dirt, the firefighter managed to find some oxygen the fire had missed.  Walking out a few minutes later to the apocalyptic landscape left behind, he saw that the top half of the machine had melted in the intense heat of the fire.

“Sixteen.” The radio crackled again making Hania jump.  

“Are you the lookout?” A man dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt asked.

“Uh-huh.” Hania answered still shaken from the radio confirmation. 

“Jack McConnell from the Department of the Interior.” He held out his badge, “Care to tell me what happened?” 

Where would he start?  It happened so quickly and before he was able to press the button on the radio, nineteen firefighters were gone.

“We have reports that the entire crew was killed.” His face did not change expression.  With a chin and cheeks carved from granite, Jack McConnell stood there with a pad in one hand and a pen in the other.

“Firebirds…” He managed to croak.

“Firebirds?  The Firebirds?” He scowled.

“Yessir.” He nodded.

“My God.” He shook his head.

“They went into Nanomónestôtse Canyon…”

“Nanomónestôtse?” 

“It’s Navajo for peace.” Hania explained.

“Sort of ironic.” He mumbled.

“Wind swept up behind them, trapping them in the box canyon.” He pointed down to the scorched earth where nothing was left standing.  “They didn’t have a chance.” 

Tears began to flow.  The shock was wearing off and now the raw emotion was settling on him along with the reality of what had taken place in this forgotten corner of the world. People were gathering at the command center that Hania could see from his vantage point.  Some would be reporters and some would be family members.  Ronnie’s wife Pricilla would be among them and Selma would be with them.  

He felt ashamed that he had not died with them.  He and he alone had survived this horrific tragedy.  There was something shameful about a warrior who did not die alongside his brothers in battle, but there was nothing he could do about it now.  They would question why he had survived while the others had not.

“Seventeen.” The radio crackled once more and Hania realized that his slim hope that some had survived was vanishing.  Jack McConnell was taking pictures and with each click, he would take a step closer and change the angle. 

“Hania Silver Coin why do you want to be a Firebird?” Chief Chayton asked him as he handed in his application.

“Because I believe I will be an asset to the crew.” Hania answered.  Chief Chayton laughed immediately.

“C’mon don’t feed me that crap.” His smile made Hania stop and think.  There seemed to be a lot of reasons why he wanted to join the Firebirds.  Ronnie was always talking about the brotherhood of the firefighters and there always seemed like there were a few hanging out like Elu or Chester Manfighter.  “Why do you want to join my crew?”

“Because of the brotherhood.” He answered.

“Much better.” The chief smiled, “We are a brotherhood and we look after each other.”

“Yessir.” Hania nodded.

“I will vouch for him.” Ronnie put his hand on Hania’s shoulder and at that moment for the first time in his life, Hania felt the spirit of the warrior fill his soul.  

Helicopters hovered over the canyon.  Large transport planes dumped fire retardant over the new hot spots springing up.  

Hania walked down from his vantage point still carrying the radio and binoculars as the radio squawked again, “Eighteen.”

He turned the radio off as he neared the command center which was a beehive of activity.  News trucks were parked haphazardly around the large army tent canopy.  No one stopped to talk to him.  He felt that would change soon enough.  

This story is fiction, but I wrote it in memory of the Yarnell Hotshots who died June 30, 2013 in the worst loss of life wildfire disaster in United States History.  Started by lightning, the crew entered a box canyon as the fire threatened the small community of Yarnell, Arizona which is northwest of Phoenix.  The crew was one of the most famous and best trained firefighting units in the state as nineteen of the crew of twenty died on that day.  There is a memorial commemorating their valiant efforts at the canyon where they were taken by the wildfire.