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.

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.)

The gallery collection is organized alphabetically by team, and can be reached by clicking here or on any of the photos below. Enjoy, and thanks to all the participants for some great hockey!

/RL

]]> http://raisingladders.com/2010/05/hockey-tournament-pictures-still-up/feed/ 0 http://raisingladders.com/2010/05/recruit-class-362-quick-photo-set/ http://raisingladders.com/2010/05/recruit-class-362-quick-photo-set/#comments Tue, 04 May 2010 21:14:09 +0000 raisingladders http://raisingladders.com/?p=529

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?

]]> http://raisingladders.com/2010/03/obstacles-and-farewells/feed/ 4 http://raisingladders.com/2010/03/dcfd-hockey-tournament/ http://raisingladders.com/2010/03/dcfd-hockey-tournament/#comments Thu, 18 Mar 2010 21:16:49 +0000 raisingladders http://raisingladders.com/?p=467

Quick note: I’ve been re-building my photography website and creating promotional materials for several upcoming events, so that’s been taking up the majority of my spare time recently. In a similar vein, however, I will be photographing the DCFD Hockey team’s tournament, which takes place in mid-April. Teams are traveling from all sorts of places across the country to attend—past participants have informed me that it’s usually one hell of a good time. More information is available on the team’s website; be sure to keep an eye out for a couple of action photos posted in the near future!

A voice rang out from down the hallway, with it’s owner appearing around a corner seconds later.

“Hey! We’ve got a call near the Liffey!

Glenn turned his head from us and cursed quietly.

“Are we goin’ swimming?” he asked, tentatively.

“Nah, I don’t think so.”

Glenn’s head lolled back towards us with a sheepish grin.

“Oh, thank God for that. I’m on the back step tonight, and that river’s dirty as hell.”

Glenn Delves is 29 years old and has been with the Dublin Fire Brigade for seven years. Currently assigned to the Tara Street station (which also serves as Brigade headquarters during the the day), his role as a firefighter, paramedic, and swiftwater rescue technician is nothing unique to the 40-some other firefighters in the house with him.

“Oh yeah, we’re all paramedics… and it just makes sense for most of us to be SRTs, since the river is right nearby and we go in there pretty frequently for all sorts of stuff.”

Waitaminute, back up. Forty firefighters?

“It’s the biggest house in Dublin. Even after HQ shuts down for the day, we still have a lot of people here.”

Almost as if he anticipated the question (probably by the incredulous look on my face), he added:

“Oh, and kitchen duty is horrible.”

The tour of the firehouse was brief but fascinating. The station opened at the intersection of Tara and Pearse Streets was opened as DFB headquarters in April of 1908—the old brick watchtower still stands, and is a historically protected structure by the city of Dublin. Today, it exists as an open-air station with canopy covers for the apparatus and multiple floors for bunkrooms, the mess hall, administrative offices, and “Control Room” (the call-taking center for the entire city as well as many surrounding counties, staffed 24 hours a day by full-time Brigade personnel).

Unfortunately, our trip was cut short by Glenn and the rest of his crew headed out on calls—with approximately 133,000 calls annually, the Dublin Fire Brigade must balance the average 364 daily calls amongst twelve full-time (and three on-call or “retained”) stations. However, with locations like Tara Street staffing two engines, two ladder trucks, one tower ladder, two ambulances, a Haz-Mat Unit, and a District Officer, the workload seems pretty well spread-out.

It was a wonderful trip, and I can’t express my gratitude to the DFB enough. If there’s any Dublin Fire personnel reading this, I sincerely appreciate your hospitality and wish you all the best in your careers—take care and stay safe, brothers.

Oh, and if you ever need a place to crash in D.C., drop me a line and I’d be more than happy to help out.

/RL

Glenn Delves, a seven-year veteran of the Dublin Fire Brigade, opens compartments on the fire engine and describes the equipment contained within.

As Swiftwater Rescue Technicians (SRTs), the crews of the Tara Street station keep their river rescue gear ready on the apparatus at all times.

The Dublin Fire Brigade utilizes Dräger breathing apparatus; three SCBA packs line the rear wall of the bench seat for the firefighters “on the back step” for that shift.

I think it’s universal: DFB personnel dislike their ambulance rotations just as much as their American counterparts do, it seems.

(I can just hear Dave Dennis now: “That suck-ass rookie paramedic would go to an Irish firehouse and take pitchurrs of a ambalance!” Yep—go ahead, Dave, have your fun.)

This button from the DCFD Emerald Society is older than I am. There’s quite an impressive wall of patches just inside the entrance to the station—incidentally, one of Glenn’s coworkers is now the proud owner of a classic E26/T15 “Foghorn Leghorn” patch.

(I bet they hate the sound of their printer winding up, too.)

After Firefighter Delves (unfortunately) stated that he disliked his appointed nickname of “Glennsy,” the jokes compounded until his gear was permanently branded with “Glennsy Delvesy” in permanent marker. Much to his chagrin, he discovered it just as he was escorting these visitors through the facilities.

The distinctive markings on this helmet indicate the rank of “sub-officer;” personnel advance from Firefighter to Sub-Officer to Station Officer to District Officer and beyond, receiving increasing responsibilities with each promotion.

We arrived just in time for evening shift change, so we were witness to the daily equipment checks; it would appear that DFB ladder technicians get to ride in comfortable style while operating the turntable.

(I would be remiss if I didn’t include something about “raising” a “ladder”, no? Terrible joke, I’m sorry.) Both DFB aerial ladders within the Tara Street Station reach 100′ in the air when fully extended. “There aren’t too many high-rises throughout the city,” say Firefighter Delves, “but we’re downtown. The business district around us has the highest buildings you’ll see in Dublin.”

All hose carried on the apparatus is kept rolled. At a fire, the equivalent of the American lineman’s position would get off the piece, unroll a section of hose, connect a nozzle, and then advance to the structure; the Dublin Fire Brigade does not utilize pre-connected lines.

The DFB operates on a 39-hour work week, across four shifts (designated A through D). The spacious accommodations of Tara Street are more than enough to feed and house approximately forty personnel per shift, from firefighter through the on-duty District Officer.

—————

On a non-fire department note: a little bit later, I’ll add some pictures from the highlights of the remainder of my vacation. I know it’s not particularly relevant to RL as a whole, but it’s a beautiful country, and I would highly recommend Ireland for anyone who enjoys traveling.