“He got to live his dream,” said Ms. Longanecker, barely bothering to watch. “I’m envious of that sometimes. How many people get to live their dream?”
Thump.
So ended jump No. 896 — one final shock to the skeleton, one final perfect parachute roll, a practice run with no more reason to practice. Last month, Dale Longanecker turned 57, the mandatory retirement age for firefighters employed by the United States Forest Service. Friday was his last day on the job, and his was
not just another retirement.
Mr.
Longanecker has spent 38 years as one of the most elite of his kind, a
smoke jumper. He has parachuted out of airplanes into some of the most
remote wildfires in the West carrying little more than a shovel, a
gallon of water and a bottle of ibuprofen. He was 19 when he made his
first jump, and the Forest Service says his 896 jumps — 362 of which
were into fires — are a record that may never be broken. Sometimes, he
might stay in the woods for a night to fight a fire. At others, he
would be gone for two weeks, off all but celestial grids. “Honey,” he would inquire via satellite phone, “did you check the sprinklers?”
He grew up here in eastern Washington, where the Cascade Range gives way to the dry hills of the Methow Valley. His father was a beekeeper.
His mother raised him and his five brothers and sisters. He said he was 8 when he decided on a career.
“When
I was growing up there was the mill, the fish hatchery and other
stuff like that,” Mr. Longanecker said. “And I remember going, ‘I
think I want to smoke-jump.’ ”“In the long run I think it’s the way to do it,” he said, “because if there were no humans here, it would burn.”
But he said he would not be surprised if policy shifted again, because humans are here: “If we let it burn, it will all burn.”
He says he has seen climate change up close, from shrinking glaciers to expanding fires and fire seasons. The summers are hotter.
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