Downtown difficulties aside, other areas afford their own set of troubles to us. It seems like this city is always under construction; ask any firefighter you know, and I’m sure each one will have their own “…well, they closed off this street,” or “…they just put in too many damn speedbumps on that road!” story.

The heat doesn’t help any, either. “Man down” is a popular call; as are the “unconscious” or “heat emergencies.” As the humidity and temperature climb, the calls certainly won’t stop coming. The elderly, pediatrics, perfectly healthy individuals; nobody is excluded. Mother Nature has no mercy, and takes its toll evenly on both the patients and the responders. (It seems that these days, the @dcfireems Twitter account has a rolling reminder to stay hydrated; excellent advice, if only people would listen!)

Lastly, the reason for the season: fireworks. Last year, I was working in Southeast on July 3rd, and I had my own mishaps while we were looking for the source of smoke in a sub-basement (long story); I’m sure somebody will have a good story from this holiday.

Let me know in a few days if anyone encountered anything interesting from the 4th; other than that, be safe this weekend—both on duty and off!

With an uneasy creak, the spools began to move.

The chains could be heard pinging as they tightened and eventually held fast—little by little, the heavy wrecker began to lift the mammoth monolith of masonry that lay before us in a jungle of weathered stone and twisted rebar.

Yes, it’s drill time again; however, instead of going down into a trench, we’re going up in the air. E15′s collapse drill focused on shoring up ceilings, breaching concrete, and using our behemoth of a heavy rescue crane/wrecker to elevate the chunks of concrete that are piled haphazardly behind the Training Academy.

I have not yet attended the Collapse Rescue class that is afforded members of my firehouse; however, I have always found the physics principles that are inherent in technical rescue fascinating.

That’s right. I’m a classical physics and engineering mechanics dork at heart. Reading about formulas put together by the Army Corps of Engineers is one thing, but applying them in a real-world situation and seeing the results happen in front of you is entirely another.

Today was certainly no exception to my eager thirst for geeky science stuff; pictures, as always, can be clicked for a larger size.

Our concrete jungle, complete with… all sorts of junk.

The big bad boy wrecker. The boom itself is rated for 60 tons, and each of the two cable spools is rated for 16,400 lbs.

Rigging our strangely-shaped concrete tube of choice.

The Captain looks on…

Success! Yes, this is what I did at work today. I love my job.

My tags: significantly more beat-up since the last time we saw them.

Yes, that’s right. The title says it all; not only have I completed my probation, but I’m willing to share all the stupid stuff I did while I was in that period. Some things are more serious than others, depending on where you’re assigned. Take each for what it’s worth to you.

While I was a Probationer/Rook/Sh*tbag/Stupid-ass Rookie/Probie/Hey-what’s-your-name/Dumbass-F*ckin’-Rookie-Paramedic, I have done all of the following:

• Fallen asleep at the watch desk, several times.
• Napped at work (yes, during the daytime, both in the sitting room and in the bunkroom; I was sneaky).
• Watched all sorts of TV before 8pm.
• Sat on the bench in front of the firehouse, usually a privilege reserved for those who have completed probation.
• Screwed around on YouTube, Facebook, Hulu, etc.—sometimes at the behest of coworkers, sometimes not.
• Washed my car in the middle of the day, ignoring the phone and everything else I was supposed to be doing.
• Simply refused, for whatever reason, to wear my god-awful polyester shirt and red-tag combination that is the signature garb of a rookie.

I’m sure there’s more; certainly that can’t be everything that happened between Academy graduation in early ’09 and now. However, I suppose it will suffice to bolster my list of pleasant memories from probation, of which there are (surprisingly) quite a few—once you figure it out, it’s actually not so bad.

But now that it’s over, I can’t help but think that it’s kind of like having a birthday: people ask you: “So, do you feel any different?”

The answer’s always the same: ehh, not really.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad it’s over, but as far as anything drastically changing? I’ll still study, and mop, and do dishes. I’m okay with that. It’s part of this job. I just have a few more freedoms now.

It’s been a good ride thus far, and I only see it getting better. Just another milestone…

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?)

I’ve finally put together a Facebook page for the photography business; with the increasing functionality of FB’s pages for services/businesses, it’s almost like you don’t need a home website anymore (don’t worry, I won’t be discarding RLP.com—I’m always wary of FB crashing and burning as it becomes too Big-Brother-esque for its own good).

Become a Fan/Like It here, and browse around a bit if you haven’t already seen the photos from the main RLP site. The NikonFest video I made is also up there—damn you, Facebook, for being so versatile.

I’ve created an ad, as well, so keep an eye out for that in your sidebars while you mercilessly stalk your friends and coworkers.

—————

FDIC 2010 is just wrapping up in Indianapolis; Saturday is the last day, and I regret that I was unable to attend. I will, however, be looking to head out to wherever they hold it next year with my fellow FireEMS bloggers; sorry I couldn’t meet up with you guys! A quick search reveals a whole menagerie of posts on FireEMSBlogs about Indy and FDIC; a few of note come from Backstep Firefighter, FireCritic, and Tiger Schmittendorf (with my vote for the most clever “I’m at FDIC!” title I’ve found yet). He was also the one who was kind enough to use my photos in his presentation—more on that later.

Edit: Damn, I knew I’d miss some cool stuff! Not the least of which is this sweet podium designed to look like the tip of an aerial ladder, captured nicely by FireGeezer (original page):

—————

Last but not least, Gizmodo had a neat tidbit on a new firefighter’s mask that they found; did anyone see this at FDIC?

Designed by Jason Swartzentruber (and featured on the concept technology website Tuvie.com), all these features like GPS trackers, a rotating cylinder harness, and a voice amplifier are supposed to make us safer and more effective as firefighters.

Any thoughts? To check it out even further, you can find more pictures on the Tuvie site (also accessible by clicking the photo above).

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?

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