An excerpt from Out of the Fire, Year 9, by David Hobbs
[This happened on a fire up in Idaho in Aug. 1974, and more than any other single thing convinced me that God was real, that He was involved in this world’s affairs, and that He had enough power to respond to any situation.
It was the 2nd day of the fire, after we were exhausted from digging the longest underslung line we had ever dug. . . .]
. . . That evening, after eating supper, we went back to our camping area and were lounging on our sleeping bags, savoring a few moments of rest before night fell.
Then one of the fire overhead personnel came into our camp and started talking to Dale (our foreman). He said the wind had come up at the higher elevations and was fanning the fire, especially on top of the mountain. The fire had jumped the line one place in particular and was heading into new ground. They were asking us to pull a double shift and go up there and stop it.
I suppose we should have felt flattered that they called on us when they really needed help, but to tell the truth, we were all tired and really looking forward to crawling into our sleeping bags. But this was our job. So there we were, some grumbling, some pumped up for glory, and some just resigned: but all heading up the hill again in the fading daylight in the back of a National Guard troop truck, feeling the chill in the air now that the sun was down.
The scene that greeted us at the top of the mountain was wild pandemonium. The wind was howling over the ridge and the fire was being fanned as if by a giant bellows. Every bit of fire was burning with incredible intensity. The noise level from the wind and fire and chain saws and people shouting was deafening. The only way you could communicate was by screaming at the top of your voice. There was a handful of Forest Service people already there with pickups and chain saws, but though they were running around in a frenzy, they seemed to be accomplishing nothing. They were trying to build a new line through a brush patch, but that looked hopeless: the line was only half built and the wind-whipped flames were already upon them.
After quickly scouting the situation, Dale had most of us drop back and start building a line through a stand of young fir trees beyond the brush patch. There was not much undergrowth or duff there, just a light carpet of pine needles, so building the line would be easy. Yes, building it would be easy, but holding it...? The sawyers he sent on ahead to where the forest began, to start cutting the trees and undergrowth for our line when we got there. Others he sent deeper into the thicket beyond our fire line to scout for spot fires from the sparks that were continually blowing over our heads from the fire.
From the very start, it was a valiant but losing effort. Even as we were getting our line built through the young fir trees, spot fires were springing up around us. Each spot fire, when it flared up, had the same wind-fanned intensity of the main fire. We didn't have the manpower to stop building line and fight these spot fires which were constantly springing up. Instead we tried to relocate the fire line out around them, to get them back within the line. Thus we were continually being driven back.
Then a hair-raising thing happened--a spot fire started up in one of the fir trees, about 20 feet off the ground! I had never seen this happen before--a green tree, with no fire under it to dry the branches, starting to burn from one spark and continuing to burn with no help from any other source. Green trees aren't supposed to burn that well! But this one sure was burning, and high enough that we couldn't reach it with anything to put it out.
We had to call a sawyer back to cut the whole tree down. But as the tree was falling through the canopy to earth, the wind from its fall fanned the fire into a roaring conflagration. By the time it hit the ground there was no question of putting it out—half the tree was going up in flames! So again we had to fall back and rebuild the line beyond the tree.
"This is not working," I thought. "The fire is going to keep pushing us back. There's no way we can stop it." Still, gamely, we pressed on.
Things were getting strung out now. People were spread thin all up and down the line. Each one had some crisis to deal with. Some were shouting one thing; others were shouting another. All order and cohesiveness was breaking down under the noise, the confusion, and the rapidity of the unfolding events.
Again the fire spotted in the top of a tree. Again we had to call a sawyer back. Again the tree he cut, as it fell, exploded in flames. Again we had to relocate the line around it.
Then suddenly, unexpectedly, the whole situation changed. The fire stopped threatening the line. It stopped spotting over the line. We tied in our newest line to the old line, burned it out, and it was over—"The Battle of the Bulge" was won!
The crew started celebrating like crazy. "We did it! We did it!" they screamed. If we had had guns we would have been firing them into the air. People were shouting, laughing, and hugging each other. "We're the best in the west! We're the greatest! Etc. etc.”
But I wasn't joining in the celebration. I was puzzled. What had happened? We hadn't stopped the fire; we couldn't stop the fire. We'd been working up here like crazy for hours without making any progress at all toward stopping the fire; the fire was unstoppable.
Then what had stopped the fire?
As I was pondering this question, I heard how Mike Harris had almost been killed by a tree falling on him. In the noise and confusion, he had walked right under a tree being cut by the other saw team. The sapling had hit him on the head, on the back of his hard hat. Right on the saying, "I Belong to Jesus," the whole back of the hat was smashed in. Undoubtedly the hard hat had saved his life.
The next day, after the emotional frenzy had passed, I found Mike alone and went up to him and asked, "Mike, what happened up there last night to stop the fire?" I narrowed my eyes and looked at him suspiciously, "You didn't say a prayer up there or something did you?"
And Mike told me this story. "Dave, you know, last night... well for awhile I hadn't felt the presence of the Lord. It's like I've been walking afar off. Spiritually things have been hard and dry. When that tree hit me, it knocked me down to the ground and knocked me out for a moment or two. As I was lying there dazed on the ground, all of a sudden I felt the presence of Jesus very close again, just like before.
"Sensing His love and closeness I began to pray, 'Lord, we can't stop this fire; you know we can't. It's too much for us Lord. I pray you would stop the wind that's pushing this fire and keeps us from controlling it.' Within one minute, Dave, the howling wind died down completely. Then it started blowing gently back the other way."
"Wow, that's it!" I exclaimed. I hadn't noticed the wind dying down. That's why I couldn't figure out what made the fire stop. "Of course! That's it! You prayed and Jesus stopped the wind and the fire lay down."
I was utterly in awe. I had just seen a miracle with my own eyes. I had seen the Almighty Eternal God intervene in time and space in our own world in response to prayer.
. . . That evening, after eating supper, we went back to our camping area and were lounging on our sleeping bags, savoring a few moments of rest before night fell.
Then one of the fire overhead personnel came into our camp and started talking to Dale (our foreman). He said the wind had come up at the higher elevations and was fanning the fire, especially on top of the mountain. The fire had jumped the line one place in particular and was heading into new ground. They were asking us to pull a double shift and go up there and stop it.
I suppose we should have felt flattered that they called on us when they really needed help, but to tell the truth, we were all tired and really looking forward to crawling into our sleeping bags. But this was our job. So there we were, some grumbling, some pumped up for glory, and some just resigned: but all heading up the hill again in the fading daylight in the back of a National Guard troop truck, feeling the chill in the air now that the sun was down.
The scene that greeted us at the top of the mountain was wild pandemonium. The wind was howling over the ridge and the fire was being fanned as if by a giant bellows. Every bit of fire was burning with incredible intensity. The noise level from the wind and fire and chain saws and people shouting was deafening. The only way you could communicate was by screaming at the top of your voice. There was a handful of Forest Service people already there with pickups and chain saws, but though they were running around in a frenzy, they seemed to be accomplishing nothing. They were trying to build a new line through a brush patch, but that looked hopeless: the line was only half built and the wind-whipped flames were already upon them.
After quickly scouting the situation, Dale had most of us drop back and start building a line through a stand of young fir trees beyond the brush patch. There was not much undergrowth or duff there, just a light carpet of pine needles, so building the line would be easy. Yes, building it would be easy, but holding it...? The sawyers he sent on ahead to where the forest began, to start cutting the trees and undergrowth for our line when we got there. Others he sent deeper into the thicket beyond our fire line to scout for spot fires from the sparks that were continually blowing over our heads from the fire.
From the very start, it was a valiant but losing effort. Even as we were getting our line built through the young fir trees, spot fires were springing up around us. Each spot fire, when it flared up, had the same wind-fanned intensity of the main fire. We didn't have the manpower to stop building line and fight these spot fires which were constantly springing up. Instead we tried to relocate the fire line out around them, to get them back within the line. Thus we were continually being driven back.
Then a hair-raising thing happened--a spot fire started up in one of the fir trees, about 20 feet off the ground! I had never seen this happen before--a green tree, with no fire under it to dry the branches, starting to burn from one spark and continuing to burn with no help from any other source. Green trees aren't supposed to burn that well! But this one sure was burning, and high enough that we couldn't reach it with anything to put it out.
We had to call a sawyer back to cut the whole tree down. But as the tree was falling through the canopy to earth, the wind from its fall fanned the fire into a roaring conflagration. By the time it hit the ground there was no question of putting it out—half the tree was going up in flames! So again we had to fall back and rebuild the line beyond the tree.
"This is not working," I thought. "The fire is going to keep pushing us back. There's no way we can stop it." Still, gamely, we pressed on.
Things were getting strung out now. People were spread thin all up and down the line. Each one had some crisis to deal with. Some were shouting one thing; others were shouting another. All order and cohesiveness was breaking down under the noise, the confusion, and the rapidity of the unfolding events.
Again the fire spotted in the top of a tree. Again we had to call a sawyer back. Again the tree he cut, as it fell, exploded in flames. Again we had to relocate the line around it.
Then suddenly, unexpectedly, the whole situation changed. The fire stopped threatening the line. It stopped spotting over the line. We tied in our newest line to the old line, burned it out, and it was over—"The Battle of the Bulge" was won!
The crew started celebrating like crazy. "We did it! We did it!" they screamed. If we had had guns we would have been firing them into the air. People were shouting, laughing, and hugging each other. "We're the best in the west! We're the greatest! Etc. etc.”
But I wasn't joining in the celebration. I was puzzled. What had happened? We hadn't stopped the fire; we couldn't stop the fire. We'd been working up here like crazy for hours without making any progress at all toward stopping the fire; the fire was unstoppable.
Then what had stopped the fire?
As I was pondering this question, I heard how Mike Harris had almost been killed by a tree falling on him. In the noise and confusion, he had walked right under a tree being cut by the other saw team. The sapling had hit him on the head, on the back of his hard hat. Right on the saying, "I Belong to Jesus," the whole back of the hat was smashed in. Undoubtedly the hard hat had saved his life.
The next day, after the emotional frenzy had passed, I found Mike alone and went up to him and asked, "Mike, what happened up there last night to stop the fire?" I narrowed my eyes and looked at him suspiciously, "You didn't say a prayer up there or something did you?"
And Mike told me this story. "Dave, you know, last night... well for awhile I hadn't felt the presence of the Lord. It's like I've been walking afar off. Spiritually things have been hard and dry. When that tree hit me, it knocked me down to the ground and knocked me out for a moment or two. As I was lying there dazed on the ground, all of a sudden I felt the presence of Jesus very close again, just like before.
"Sensing His love and closeness I began to pray, 'Lord, we can't stop this fire; you know we can't. It's too much for us Lord. I pray you would stop the wind that's pushing this fire and keeps us from controlling it.' Within one minute, Dave, the howling wind died down completely. Then it started blowing gently back the other way."
"Wow, that's it!" I exclaimed. I hadn't noticed the wind dying down. That's why I couldn't figure out what made the fire stop. "Of course! That's it! You prayed and Jesus stopped the wind and the fire lay down."
I was utterly in awe. I had just seen a miracle with my own eyes. I had seen the Almighty Eternal God intervene in time and space in our own world in response to prayer.
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