What I Will Miss

 


Everyone who works in television knows that it's a job of extremes. So there are many, many... many days you think, "why am I doing this?" But there are also days when you get a little spark of excitement, call it a burning passion for what you are doing.

My recent assignment was one of those days. I was covering the Yuba Fire. Thousands of acres burned, two homes destroyed and hundreds of families were evacuated. My photographer Josh and I drove up into a quaint foothills town called Dobbins. We made an entrance in our large, not made for off-roading satellite truck, loudly splashing our news station's call letters.

The day started off good. We met a family who after being evacuated for several days was going to be escorted back to their home to gather up more stuff. The father was a principal, the mother a teacher, and their daughter a student. All were starting their first day of school the next day. They were kind enough to talk to us and then let us into their home to watch them pack up. It was a great little nugget for our story. But still, we needed flames.

Just as we were about to get some flame footage, we heard the call on a firefighter's radio. A house had burned to the ground, and there was an 11-44, a fatality.

So we took off, 45-minutes along windy mountain roads shrouded in smoke, our satellite truck taking the sharp turns much too fast. We turned down a dirt road and stumbled upon the scene. But it wasn't what we expected. A mobile home burned down, there was no fatality and the wildfire was not to blame. We called back to the assignment desk with the information. They responded to the news that no one had died with a disappointing "oh". And we still had no flame video.

At the advice of some firefighters we drove to the only street where a view of the flames was possible. To say this street was a dirt road would be too kind. It was the kind of road you needed a monster truck on, not a satellite truck that could barely handle a rock under it's tire and squirmed every time a tree branch hit the satellite dish on top. We made our way as far as we could, and then I started the hike. I just wanted to make sure we weren't missing a good vantage point. So I hiked. My legs were burning and so were my lungs as I inhaled the smoke that caked itself into this ridiculous vertical trail. Still, no flames.

So, we started our journey back to the other side of the mountain, even though the time to our deadline was pressing closer. But half way there, another obstacle. I had to pee. I mean, I really had to pee. And once I realized I had to pee, I had to pee more. Josh pulled over to the side of the road, right next to two Highway Patrol officers. I knew I had to venture into the wilderness to avoid them seeing me. So I hiked up a little grassy hill to try and find a good tree to hide behind. The problem was, all the good trees were behind a barb wire fence. But when you have to pee the way I did even a barb wire fence won't stop you. Somehow I managed to find a clandestine enough spot I knew no one could find me. And I peed. I mean I really peed. I honestly think that I could have put out the Yuba Fire with the amount that I peed. But the problem is, once I was done, I couldn't figure out how to climb back over that fence. Luckily, I eventually found a tree to climb half way up and then jump back over the barb wire.

It was at this point a firefighter finally escorted us into a canyon to get shots of flames. The only problem was, the heat of the day was over and the fire subsided, so we still didn't get flames. But we set up our satellite truck and the smoke set up camp inside our truck and our lungs. We became very close with the smoke, good friends.

Here is when we ran into yet another problem. Our cell reception was a little fickle. So while Josh edited my story, I stepped out of the satellite truck to try and find a pocket of cell reception. But it was dark, and I just assumed that if I walked forward there would be a road in front of me. Wrong assumption. I walked just a few steps while holding the cell phone up in the air, and as I put my foot down, there was no road. At first I thought I had fallen off the mountain. Then I realized I was lucky. I fell into a drainage ditch. And then the pain set in. I could feel the swollen bump starting to elevate under my newly ripped jeans. But it was funny, I couldn't deny it was funny. And neither could Josh. We managed to get through the live shot. There was a slight glow from the mountains behind me, but no flames.

We finally hopped back into the satellite truck to drive an hour and a half back to the station. The smoke also decided to accompany us. But I guess we were kinda used to it at this point.

It was also at this point I realized that I was going to miss this. Because we may have not gotten shots of a raging inferno, but the challenge of roughing it added flame to my day.