Sundance

The job was a blast, it just couldn’t last, time to drag up and go,

  my future was cast, no money amassed, I’m just an out of work schmo.    

On a hot August day, I drew out my pay, said farewell to the rail-welding crew,

  had to be on my way, ‘cuz I couldn’t stay, farewell, adios, sayonara, adieu.

Loaded my car, stopped by the bar, finally headed for home,

  gotta’ go far, watch for radar, might need a shave and a comb.

Rolled into town, troubles to drown, for the Saloon I am bound,

  Jim’s got a frown, looks sorta’ down, says there’s no work around.

Idaho’s on fire, hands they require, there’s work for you and for me,

  situation is dire, maybe they’ll hire, first come, first serve is the key.

We came up with a plan, and loaded the van, then headed out to the west,

  our troubles we’ll ban, the Rockies we’ll span, we’ll show them all we’re the best.

At Bonner we stop, the ferry to hop, Trapper’s Peak is wholly ablaze,

  There’s no work to drop, we hit the blacktop, Sand Point is covered with haze.

A crown fire there rages, it’s one for the ages, they tag it Sundance,

  for one who engages, they’re paying good wages, could this be our chance?

But it’s getting dark, we sleep in the park, employment office by morn,

  our quest is no lark, as the time we mark, soon we are hired and sworn.

The Crew Boss just scoffs, at all the castoffs, he deserves better than us,

  the Wino just coughs, his bottle he quaffs, he sure is a ruddy old cuss.

The Kid looked too young, for the ID he brung, once he cried half of the day,

  the Preacher he sung, as verses he slung, keeping the Devil away.

Two from Dakota, one from Mendota, they’re tired of farming they say,

  a real-life Lakota, the Boss makes his quota, of fellers who’ve drifted astray.

A feller named Brady, was a little too shady, he showed off his prison tattoo,

  the office girl Sadie, was three times a lady, though she wasn’t part of our crew.

Bussed to the fire, in hard hat attire, a Pulaski is handed to each,

  it’s all we require, to put out the fire, there really ain’t much left to teach.

Just keep your head, two are already dead, watch for the fire to crown,

  there’s a lake ahead, if the fire should spread, just make sure you don’t drown.

Then up on the line, in the tall pine, we’re scraping out a small trench,

  the brush and the vine, on the incline, the fire’s a thirsty old wench.

Hungry and tired, we do what’s required, comes to the end of the day,

  the line is backfired, our work is admired, dinner’s a back woods buffet.

A meadow’s our camp, good it ain’t damp, sleep on the cold hard ground,

  no ashes to tamp, we sit ‘neath a lamp, still hear that crackling sound.

Hope the fire don’t grow, in the moonlight glow, tomorrow we’ll hit it again,

  next morning we’ll go, to fight with our foe, the war between fire and men.

Helicopter ride, above the divide, land by a hollow old crater,

   the burn field is wide, toward it we do stride, old Sundance can’t get much greater.

We toil and we sweat, our defenses are set, we watch the wind and the smoke,

  it’s a surefire bet, we’ll work ‘til sunset, meanwhile we’ll laugh and we’ll joke.

When the wind doesn’t blow, the fire will slow, maybe we goof off a bit,

  the Crew Boss don’t know, to sleep I go, or he’d be having a fit.

And away up high, slurry bombers fly, hoping to drown out the threat,

  the days whisk on by, then opens the sky, the rain so precious and wet.

Sundance is drowned, they don’t need us around, they pay us all for our time,

  for Sand Point we’re bound, in a bar we are found, trying to spend our last dime.

We weren’t all that brave, we just tried to save, the mountains, the bears and the woods,

  the two in the grave, with all that they gave, beat all of our coulds and our shoulds.

LDT July 17, ‘22

     This poem is dedicated to the memory of Luther Rodarte and Lee Collins who died on September 1, 1967 in the Sundance fire. High winds had propelled the fire 16 miles in a single day as it crowned through the tops of the dry timber.

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