Bruce Laabs, of Grove City, recalls harrowing two weeks fighting wildfires out west

Feb. 11—GROVE CITY

— It was a little bit deceiving when Bruce Laabs arrived near Casper, Wyoming, last summer. The mountains had the look of one of those light-up Christmas villages, all sparkling in the dark. But what Laabs was seeing wasn't twinkling lights; it was something incredibly dangerous, especially in the dry grasslands of the American West.

"It was fire," Laabs said.

That night was probably the scariest of the two weeks that Laabs, a trained wildland firefighter from Grove City, spent helping the

Bureau of Land Management

battle wildfires across Wyoming and Montana in late July and early August.

Laabs spent the night going from building site to building site, looking for ways to protect property from the incoming flames. It was dark, and the rushing fires were only a mile away as Laabs worked by the light of his headlamp, cutting down trees, removing flammable material and creating fire breaks.

"When those fires start out there, they race," Laabs said. "The rate of spread of those fires out there, it is scary."

Laabs has been an emergency on-call firefighter

with BLM for nearly seven years. While his day job is a mechanic at Atwater Ford — along with raising crops and black Angus cattle with his father near Grove City — being a firefighter is something Laabs does for both himself and his country. He also serves as a volunteer firefighter and emergency medical services provider with the Grove City Fire Department and an instructor with Blue Fire Training.

"I really enjoy it," Laabs said.

Out of high school, Laabs tried to enlist with the United States Air Force, following in the footsteps of other family members who served in the military. But he was turned away three times due to a learning disability.

"I've never had the right credentials any type of agency has been looking for," Laabs said, but with hard work and perseverance, Laabs believed there was a way for him to achieve his goals. "Just because one door said you can't do it, doesn't mean it is not obtainable. You have to find another door and go that way."

After discussions and emails with other agencies such as the state Department of Natural Resources and BLM, Laabs decided to become a trained wildland firefighter. It was not only a way he could serve but also an opportunity to work closely with the land in a way he felt passionate about.

"Just hard work and apply myself," Laabs said. "Pursue that with a level of zeal that would probably make other people exhausted."

The training to become a wildland firefighter isn't easy, and Laabs had to pass numerous requirements and courses. This includes physical fitness tests, to make sure a potential firefighter has the ability to do the job — including being able to get oneself out of danger if needed.

"If you think you are in shape before you do a thing like that, you're not," Laabs said.

Over the past seven years, while serving as an emergency firefighter, Laabs has mostly been deployed around the Upper Midwest in places such as the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness. Last summer was the first time he was asked to serve in the western states. Firefighters such as Laabs are called to serve when the full-time crews are unable to keep up.

As an emergency firefighter, Laabs' duties included attending to smaller blazes, creating firebreaks to stop fires from spreading and mopping up after a blaze has already gone through.

"Going around where the fires went through and make sure the trees are out," and the fire can't reignite, Laabs said.

The traditional wildfire season in Wyoming runs from June through September, and Laabs found himself in the middle of it. Fire season is no joke out west, where summer can be extremely dry and the millions of acres of pastureland make prime feed for hungry fires.

"If there is lightning, there is going to be a fire," Laabs said. "Even the sparks from a vehicle coming down the highway is enough to light a fire in a road ditch."

Laabs spend 14 days out west, working shifts that were normally 16 to 18 hours long in conditions that could be 112 degrees one day and snowing the next, depending on his location. And when he did have a chance to sleep, it wasn't in a bed. For the first few days, Laabs would just clear a patch of dirt and lie down, trying to avoid snakes, wolf spiders and the prickly pear cactus.

"It would be an embellishment, calling it camping," Laabs said.

He was first stationed around Casper, Wyoming, where he served with a BLM fire crew helping to put out small fires and protect property. It is imperative that those small fires are suppressed as soon as possible or else they might turn into the next massive fire that consumes thousands of acres of land and destroys homes and businesses.

Laabs then headed northeast to Sundance where a large fire had formed. That fire eventually grew to be considered a Type 1, and federal resources were brought in to assist the firefighters who were deployed to the area. This included large trailers that housed cafeteria, medical and washing facilities.

"Type 1 fire is the biggest you get," Laabs said. "Everything gets trucked in. It is basically a military base."

Laabs estimated there were probably about 2,000 firefighters serving, all from different backgrounds, states and perhaps even countries. Those differences didn't seem to matter, though, once you were out in the field, trying to stop a fire from spreading. It was that sense of team and camaraderie that Laabs really enjoyed and why he would go back to serve again.

"It empowers you a bit, it makes you want to try harder and do the next thing," Laabs said.

Laabs admits he is not what you would call a "tree-hugger." For him, protecting life and property is more important than conserving a patch of prairie or tree.

"If we need to tear the tree down to save property and life, I will tear down the trees," Laabs said. "Yes, I love the land, but there are people we have to help, too."

That is not to say he doesn't think conservation is important. He just wants it done in a way that allows people to still thrive and prosper. He thinks humans need to find better ways to live with the land and the natural order of things.

For example, fire is actually a very good conservation tool because it burns away dead underbrush that can help fires spread faster and grow larger. It restores ecosystems such as prairies, and some plants such as the giant sequoia trees actually need fire to reproduce.

"The land is here for us, but we have to protect that and we can't take advantage of that," Laabs said. "Don't go out of your way to destroy it. Protect the land and it will take care of you."

As a farmer himself, Laabs said he was able to relate to many of the community members he met in Wyoming. He said he understood their priorities, like making sure they had enough water for their animals or that their pasture fences not be cut unless absolutely necessary.

The support the firefighters were given by the communities was something Laabs had never really experienced before.

"The local support you see out there is enough to make you tear up," Laabs said.

He recalled one afternoon when the wife of a rancher came out with sandwiches and a thank you.

"It was the best bologna sandwich I've ever tasted," Laabs said. "That will be one thing I'll never forget. She was so sincere of how appreciative she was."