One of the unique things about being assigned to Engine 15 is the occasional need to support Rescue Squad 3 in their technical area of expertise: trench and collapse rescue. We’re expected to know more than the average bear about the various tools and concepts within the scope of these topics, and to be able to assist the squad guys with various aspects of each while on the scene of an actual incident.

Sure enough, I found myself back at the Training Academy on a dreary mid-week morning, slogging through the mud and dragging various lengths of lumber around.

It’s an entirely new set of skills (and a language that goes along with it, to boot) that I have yet to learn. Although from what I saw during this drill, I think it’d be something I would enjoy—hell, I’ve always loved building things, so combine that with some ropes, a bit of math, and a whole boatload of physics? I’d be a happy guy.

(Haha, you’ll have to forgive the weird vignetting on some of the photographs. I’m using a digital camera from 2004—which makes it electronically ancient—and the shutter leaves over the lens get stuck sometimes. I think it’s kinda cool, actually.)

/RL

This was our view on approach as the third-due engine company. E15 brought the 400′ through the front door and backed up first-due E32. Photo uncredited; http://engine15rescue3.com/fullstory.php?107294

As you can see in the previous picture, the fire/smoke damage extends all the way up the side of the house.

An exterior close-up. As we examined the front room after the fire had been knocked, we saw that all the exterior bars had been cut except for this one set of white bars, looking like they were installed by the homeowner after the house was completed. Despite the fact that the window was laddered on our arrival, the bars would have made it damn near impossible to use this window for egress had we needed it.

Interior damage. When we left the scene, there was no official word on what started the fire.

E19 had a hoseline burst on them while they were operating in the basement. E25 brought another line in to back them up.

This wasn’t the last of it. The engine and squad stayed busy, running two more fires (one in E30′s area, and another in E27′s area) before the tour was over.

This past Friday, I was given the distinct pleasure of accompanying Recruit Class 362 to the Fire Boat for their class picture. They seemed excited and appeared in good spirits, seeing as their graduation is just over two weeks away.

(We all remember how that felt, don’t we?)

Long story short, they seem like a great group of recruits and I’m excited to attend their graduation later this month. Keep it up, guys—you’re almost there!

/RL

As everyone boarded the boat, I heard a voice from somewhere in the crowd: “Huh. I should probably learn how to swim.”

We couldn’t have asked for a more gorgeous day; I wish we could have stayed out longer!

The recruits had an admittedly great idea for their photo, so they all piled onto FB 1 and puttered off into the river.

I, meanwhile, headed out on the water aboard FireBoat 2.

After a little “umm… more to the left… can he back up some? uh… now can you go forward?”, we finally had it. Many apologies to Blake, the (probably) greatly-annoyed pilot on my boat… photographers can be a real pain in the ass, but he stayed patient with me.

The end result.

Many thanks to the instructors for a) letting the recruits out of their cage for a few hours and b) allowing me to come with them.

(Lastly, in true fire department fashion, what would an attempt at a nice portrait be without a shameless prankster?)

Expecting another “food on the stove” box alarm or “nothing found” gas leak (like the last two had been, at 2 a.m. and 3:30 a.m., respectively), I grumbled as I peeled off my sweatshirt. My feet stung from running across the bay floor in socks, so I welcomed the feeling of tucking them sleepily into my boots.

“Oh come on… do you see what time it is? Where the hell is our relief?” It had been a long night already, and my question was lost in the wail of the siren as I pulled on my hood and coat.

Next to me, Bobo snapped on his radio and listened to the tactical channel for a minute.

“Basement fire!” He grinned as he turned back to the window, searching outside for smoke or any other indicators that we weren’t running around out here for nothing.

We were assigned to the rear as the second due company, and quickly found ourselves past 19th Street and pulling around the side.  Bobo had laid out the supply line and met me at the wagon; I grabbed a crosslay and turned to find a dizzying array of chain-link fence that blocked my path to the end-unit townhouse with smoke pumping from the concrete basement stairwell.

After three sharp turns and one poorly-hopped groin-level fence (ouch), I was masking up on the stairs as a guy from the Rescue Squad forced the door open. In we went, to find the damned tightest basement—if you could even call it that—I’ve seen yet. Maybe fifteen feet long by about seven or eight feet wide, the packrat of an owner had shoved all sorts of junk on either side of a very narrow walkway. Now imagine some Squad guys and the backstep of an engine company trying to cram into it; maneuvering my hoseline through and around that mess to get water on the fire was quite a process.

Nevertheless, Engine 15 got the knock while Engine 19 held the first floor above us. We hung around while the investigators did their work and Truck 7 did some overhaul, then we picked up and went home.

As I pulled all my stuff off the wagon, I smiled at the guys hauling their gear across the bay floor to relieve us.

Sometimes, late relief can be a good thing. Two fires in four tours—who could complain?

—————

There’s a bit more information available here at E15/RS3′s website; you’ll notice that the second picture is one of mine. I’ve added a few more below.

This was the entryway at the bottom of the stairs; once inside, we had to make a sharp right and then navigate a walkway even narrower than this.

The only place to maneuver is to the left of this table of junk. The window you see on the right is barely accessible from the interior unless you start climbing.

Coconuts! (There were some really random items in here.)

]]> http://raisingladders.com/2010/04/caught-another-one/feed/ 1 http://raisingladders.com/2010/04/two-tours-one-fire/ http://raisingladders.com/2010/04/two-tours-one-fire/#comments Tue, 06 Apr 2010 11:00:40 +0000 raisingladders http://raisingladders.com/?p=480 As I walked out of the locker room, I saw my officer traversing my field of view in a big hurry.

As I walked out of the locker room, I saw my officer traversing my field of view in a big hurry.

I was on the phone at the time, and my attention was drawn to his form crossing the bay floor. This must be something important.

My curiosity was answered a moment later, when I heard a voice echoing from the watch desk: “1212 Eaton St! First due, first due!”

“Shit, we’ve got a box. I gotta go.”

Before I even finished the sentence, I tossed my phone in my pocket and broke into a full sprint from the back of the bay. I weaved my way through and around the boat, the tactical support truck, and the other pieces of Special Operations apparatus that stood between me and the engine.

I turned to Antoine as we pulled on our coats and remarked that I knew we’d end up in this neighborhood tonight. As I remember from my mentoring days, we routinely run into the notorious neighborhood of Barry Farms at least a few times a tour—but tonight, on only my second tour back at 15, I had no clue that we’d be getting a first-due fire.

Seconds later, we turned the corner to Eaton St and started looking around—nothing yet. A quick right turn later, we had hopped a curb and pulled up in front of a two-story end unit with fire coming from the second-floor window.

The first half of the crosslay smoothly found its way onto my shoulder; I spun and took off, pulling the remainder of the hoseline into a neat pile next to the wagon.

The Lieutenant and I pushed up the stairs until we could no longer see; we masked up at the top of the stairs and made a U-turn towards the fire room. Just inside the doorway, I parked myself off to the side and opened up into the ceiling.

It was quick work, since it was only a room-and-contents; thankfully, with the Squad and Engine 25 pushing right up behind us, we got it quick and were able to knock it within a few minutes.

The aftermath. Fire was showing from the window directly above the front door.

—————

“Hey, rook!”

I was outside, replacing my SCBA bottle. I looked up through my mop of sweat-soaked hair to find one of the squad guys ambling towards me.

“Didn’t take you long to earn your shirt, huh?”

I cocked my head quizzically.

“You can’t wear 15 Engine colors until you get a fire.”

He paused as I made the ah-ha! face.

(I should have known it was coming.)

As he turned away, he laughed over his shoulder:

“The hard part is over. Now all you have to do is hurry up and finish your probation, ya dumbass.”

We were second due on a reported basement fire, and we had seen smoke as we pulled up. The wagon had come through one of the legs in an H-shaped alley, and the house was dead smack in the middle of the crossbar. We grabbed the 400′ and took off, Sgt. McAllister yelling his unique brand of high-volume inspirational messages behind me.

With a hundred feet of hose on our shoulders, we stopped dead as we turned to look towards the house. In front of us stood a seven-foot cinderblock wall, blocking the backyard. The officer reached for his radio and snapped off a quick transmission:

“Truck, we need some ground ladders back here to gain access to the rear.”

We could see Truck 11 already starting towards us with ladders from the other end of the alley; the few moments it took them to throw it felt like forever, especially when silhouetted by the smoke we could see emptying into the sky.

Still trying to keep the hose piled on my shoulder in a reasonably-organized bundle, I climbed up the ladder and side-stepped onto the top of the wall.

“There’s a bit of a drop here…”

The jump to reach the grass on the other side didn’t look like much; however, I’m not much of an Olympian in shorts and track shoes, much less with all my gear and a hoseline. I didn’t have much time to think about the whole process… better to throw myself into oblivion than have my officer pissed at me for holding up progress.

Whump!

One muffled thud and a sharply-uttered curse later, I found myself on the ground. The scramble up the grass was slow going (it was steep as hell; how do you even get a lawnmower on an angle like that?) but we would have had a bear of a time gaining access to the basement regardless of our situation; every window and door was barred, and there wasn’t a saw in sight. The truck was laddering and ventilating upper-level, non-barred windows, and we heard another company getting a knock on the fire. Less than a minute later, the tillerman came around and cut the bars for us, but it was too late.

As it turned out, the building layout was such that the “basement” was just slightly lower than the two stories visible in the front, and the first-due company was able to make their way to the fire without much difficulty. We, however, simply had to pick up and go home.

(I almost took a spill going back over the wall to bring the hose back. Note to self: if a ladder is bridging a gap between elevated ground and the top of a wall, don’t step on the side of the ladder that’s past the wall—yes, I’m a dumbass. I think the officer on E22 was a little disappointed that he didn’t get to see the rookie do something hilariously stupid…)

—————

It appears that my time in the 1st Battalion has come to an end. Last week, I was transferred to E15 in Anacostia (where I did my mentoring several months ago), and my first shift is on Sunday.

Through good times and bad, I learned a lot from the guys at Engine 26 and Truck 15; I wish you all the best and I’m certain I’ll see many of you again. Take care, and be safe.

/RL

P.S. – I still owe you all a probation dinner—you didn’t think I was just gonna skip out on that, did ya?

]]> http://raisingladders.com/2010/03/obstacles-and-farewells/feed/ 4 http://raisingladders.com/2010/02/photo-compilation/ http://raisingladders.com/2010/02/photo-compilation/#comments Thu, 18 Feb 2010 15:55:41 +0000 raisingladders http://raisingladders.com/?p=365

I’ve been gearing up for Ireland and redesigning RaisingLaddersPhotography.com, so I haven’t had much time for writing lately.

I do, however, have a few gems that I made a while back tucked away for just this occasion—enjoy the photos!

They’re quite the throwback to Academy days—a strange mixture, but I think that’s what makes them fun. You’ll find the remainder of them in a new gallery here. Some of the images contain explicit language, so be forewarned.

/RL

P.S. – the two above photos were from an early morning fire in the 1300 block of Trinidad Ave; E10 held the fire at the stairs, while E8 (second-due) got the knock on the basement fire. WUSA9 has a quick tidbit here about the fire.

Oh, 358. We were… interesting.

Enjoy the rest of the posters.

I used to like playing in the snow, stomping through it… snowball fights, snow angels, the whole nine wintery yards.

But after working in all this?

I’m kicking the head right off of the next snowman I see (and see them I will, because it’s dumping snow right now and I’m working tomorrow).

So many streets were impassable, even with snow chains. Many of our calls involved parking the engine and ambulance way down the block and hiking our equipment through the streets to get to the patient’s house—which may or may not offer us a shoveled walkway for access.

Image © meischc

I lost count of how many times we had to dig the ambulance out. The engine became stuck a few times, too—and without fail, as soon as we dig ourselves out, here comes a shout from down the street: “Hey, can you guys come give us a hand?”

Why you’re out here at this ungodly hour of the night, trying to make headway on an unplowed street in a little-ass sedan, I have no idea. But never mind that, intelligent citizen. We’d be happy to assist you in your time of need. *grumble*

Image © theqspeaks

A few funny moments:

• Walking back down the street—carrying the med bag, cardiac monitor, and O2 bottle—I slipped and landed, cartoon-style, right on my ass (I only wish the oxygen bottle hadn’t fallen between my legs at that exact instant). A few concerned folks who were out shoveling their sidewalks sharply stifled their laughter and asked if I was okay. Ah, everything’s okay here; my pride broke my fall.
• Warning: not all packed snow is as sturdy as you might think. Standing on what used to be a sidewalk, I was asking questions to a patient outside. Suddenly, I found myself three feet lower than I was before. I’m sure it was quite comical (including my awkward climb out of the thigh-deep snow): “So sir, how long have you been FOOOM—uh, dammit.”
• “Hey rookie! Why don’t you climb up front and see how the engine handles in the snow.” Shit. As I hauled myself into the driver’s seat, I experienced a horrible recurring dream that always ended with me typing a very long letter: “Dear Fire Chief…”
• Calls delayed dinner until 8pm; calls further delayed my cleaning duties, such that I was still mopping at midnight. (Being a rookie; ain’t it grand??)
• 1:30 a.m. – “Ma’am, how long have you been experiencing this headache?”   “Since July.”
• 4:20 a.m. – resetting a fire alarm at a large garbage facility, slogging through (what I hope was) water as we contemplated what time our relief would arrive.

I folded up my sheets and pillow at 4:45 a.m., having not even climbed into bed once.

Image © triotriotrio

—————

As far as keeping up with changing weather conditions, Twitter can prove extremely useful.

DC Fire/EMS (@dcfireems):

DC Dept. of Transportation (@DDOTDC):

Maryland State Hwy Administration (@MDSHA):

They’re perfect for mobile updates, so you can keep updated whether you’re out and about or stuck inside.

I’ll be out there tomorrow, and I’m looking forward to another fun-filled tour on the Northeast streets…

Stay safe, everyone.

/RL

“It’s off! This one’s off!”

The other back step guy and I looked at each other.

What?

We just left the firehouse…

…we’re nowhere near the address…

…do you see… I don’t… there’s no smoke in the sky…

…nobody’s said anything on the radio…

Nevertheless, as our brains struggled with how in the hell he knew that, we simultaneously reached back to turn our SCBA bottles on. Wayne may joke about many things, but this is not one of them. (Incredibly, he would tell us later that he knew about the fire so far in advance because of a “different cloud pattern”—his words, not mine—in the sky towards where the call was.)

We double-checked our gear, and I tightened the last of my harness straps as we made the turn onto 25th Place.

First thought: Ohhhhh yes.

Second thought: Hey dumbass! Quit staring… you have stuff to do.

As I laid out the supply hose and the wagon took off, I saw bright red paint disappear into a haze that enveloped the block. I ran to catch up to the rest of my crew, and I saw that the lineman was already masking up at the front door. I dropped to put my mask on, made sure his hose was flaked out well enough behind him, and headed inside.

What in the name of… Christmas?

Trampling through the living room and working our way towards the stairs, we found ourselves walking over an unbelievable amount of Christmas decorations. Reindeer, nutcrackers of varying sizes, tinsel, rope lights, string lights, extension cords, wrapping paper… anything you can think of, it was in our way (yes, that is Santa and his sleigh in the first picture).

The first floor had a little bit of fire going in the bathroom and kitchen (to our left and right off the small hallway, respectively). My lineman whipped the nozzle around in each room as I fed him more and more line to advance. Our ultimate goal laid in getting up the stairs to the second floor, so we knocked the first floor fairly quickly and prepared to go upstairs.

There was only one problem, which I had been warned of in the Academy (I can still hear VanHagen’s voice): “…yeah, you might have a minute or two to do your own thing, but just know that pretty soon you’re going to have about twenty other [expletive]ers coming right up your ass. If you’ve got something, it’s gonna get real crowded—real fast.”

And such was certainly the case. The third due engine company hoping to steal our fire with their own hoseline; the rescue squad trying to muscle past us to do a search…

God only knows who else was crammed in that hallway, but there wasn’t a whole lot of room to move. To top it off, it felt like every person behind us was standing on our damned hose—an unfortunate reality of being in a narrow hallway. After some pulling, some shoving, and a good deal of yelling, we had finally freed up enough line to make it up the stairs (which were rapidly turning into the world’s nastiest Slip-n-Slide made of soot, water, and melted plastic Christmas crap).

At the top of the stairs, Truck 15′s bar man was hooking the walls in front of me, and my lineman was working his way around to the left. We could see the orange glow just past the landing, and we wanted nothing more than to get in there and hit it. A few minor fires jumped up around us, sometimes beside us, sometimes behind us. George was smashing walls with his halligan bar and finding little pockets of fire; each one we extinguished put us closer and closer to the seat of the fire, as we moved inch by inch. The second floor was fully involved, and we approached the middle of the room to find the entire ceiling glowing. I sidled up beside Tate, anchoring the hose with my body so he wouldn’t have to fight as hard against the nozzle pressure. He knocked down the left side of the room, and was even nice enough to give me a minute or two on the line to knock down the right side—seeing as it was the first real house fire both of us had ever had, I was pretty damned appreciative (much to my chagrin, however, he was sure to snatch the nozzle back real quick. It was, after all, mostly his fire).

We heard the truck working around us, their saws opening up the roof and their hooks breaking out the windows. The smoke that had once surrounded us with a soupy blackness transformed into a thinner gray, and began to clear out.

And just like that, most of it was gone. We were ordered to be relieved by another company—and were running low on air anyways—so we made our way down the stairs and outside as the next engine sprayed down what little licks of fire were left.

Outside, we all peeled our masks off. Our coats were steaming, our faces were sweating, and our gear was fully soaked with dirty water.

But we had done it.

Engine 26 had fought the beast, and we won—and we had a kick-ass time doing it, too.

We cleared that call several hours later—after the inevitable and exhausting overhaul work of tearing stuff up, shoveling it into buckets, and piling it in the front yard—with soot on our faces and pride in our hearts.

Sounds corny, doesn’t it? Well, it’s true. The two of us spent the rest of that tour smiling, having finally done something that many people only dream of as a small child in a Halloween costume. Anyone older and more jaded experienced than I will probably say I’m just a young excited kid, still wet behind the ears and with much to learn—and they’re absolutely right. I’m still far too young on this job to know my ass from my elbow, but I’m having way too much fun for anyone to damper my spirits.

Say what you will, gentlemen—critique to your heart’s content, if you wish. But remember that you, too, had a first fire. It may not have been perfect, it may not have been a big story in the local paper. But it was yours, and it was your first.

I’ve got some great guys around to teach me and plenty of time for them to do so; for now, congratulations—here’s to Engine 26 gettin’ it done!

Proudly,

/RL

P.S. – My apologies to the big dude from Truck 6. Give me a call and I’ll buy you a beer.

Image © available upon request, used with permission.

1. I wanted to leave the Nikon Festival instructions up for a while, so visitors could make sure to see them (be sure to vote if you haven’t already, and tell your friends/coworkers about it!);
2. I’ve been keeping busy by helping a recently-graduated recruit class with photography;
3. I wanted to finish processing all the photos before I posted any of them here.

Anyways, most of that is boring stuff you don’t care about. Let’s get to the pictures!

Some context: Recruit Class 360 invited me along on a special tour (i.e. not the one that the general public gets) tour of the Capitol Building, so the first four photos are a few shots from our chilly winter trek to downtown D.C. They also took one of their official class photos there.

They liked my work, so they asked me to come along to their graduation on December 31st, in which public speaker and Pro Football Hall-of-Famer John Riggins was the guest of honor—the remaining photos are some of my favorite frames from the ceremony.

Mayor Adrian Fenty stopped by to deliver his remarks, and then shook the hand of each member of 360.

Mr. Riggins was given a ceremonial helmet, signed by the recruits from 360, as well as a new pair of boots for working around his farm.

This last frame is my personal favorite from the entire day. Mr. Riggins’ daughter was present at the ceremony with him, and I caught her just as she was trying on Dad’s new helmet.

The full sets of both the Capitol Tour and the Graduation are available through my other site, RaisingLaddersPhotography; there, you’ll find all of these pictures and more, plus all the “hold your certificate and grin at the camera” shots that are inevitable at any ceremony. They’re cheesy but necessary—tell your mother to buy a few!

Just a quick note: All of my photos are my exclusive property, and should not be used, printed, or displayed without my express permission… *ahem*  Engine 6 / Truck 4, I’m looking at you! (source). I’d be more than happy to agree to the use of my photos, I just want to know if you’re doing it.

All the best to the new Probationers from Recruit Class 360; one of them is coming to E26 on the shift after me, so I’ll be seeing him more than a few times; to the rest of you, thank you for the wonderful opportunities to be a part of your graduation. Take care, and good luck!

/RL