Ralph On Fire - Shower Tents

I saw it coming and ducked. It barely missed my head. Not everyone was as lucky. I heard the thud followed by the words, “Ah, crap!” It was happening again. . .

Our fire crew sat in the back of a military truck returning to camp, another long day on the fire line had ended. The dirt road we were on was heavily rutted and the driver was going just fast enough we were being bounced around. To make matters worse, dust from the military truck ahead of us was starting to cling to our sweaty bodies. Not that it mattered; we were filthy and had been for several days.

Pulling into fire camp, one of the crewmembers let out a yell followed by the words “We got a shower tent!” Hopping out of the truck everyone was smiling and staring at the tent setting majestically out in the field. Forest fires have a way of bringing you back to the basic elements of life – food and water. On any given fire if you had a good caterer and a shower tent that was all you could hope for.

I had to go to a debriefing so Alan went to see what hours the shower tent was available. Shower tents had a schedule. Certain hours were set aside for women, certain hours for men, not that they were always followed.

When I returned, Alan was waiting with a shaving kit, towel, and a semi clean change of clothes. On a fire like this one, semi clean clothes were all you could hope for. I grabbed my gear and we headed off to be clean for the first time in days.

Shower tents were functional not stylish. They were army tents with PCV pipe running overhead fitted with make shift showerheads. The floor consisted of wooden pallets, which after the first day always sank into the mud. These tents could hold thirty or so people at any one time. Modesty has no place in fire camp.

Entering the tent, we heard whooping and hollering, everybody was happy to finally be clean. I found an open showerhead and got under it. Even lukewarm, the water felt great. I was washing my hair (yeah, I had hair back then) when it started. I sped up my shower thinking I might be able to avoid it, but that was not to be.

It narrowly missed me. Then there was the distinct thud followed by the words, “Ah crap!” Turning around I saw it was a direct hit. He stood there with a freshly moistened cow pie clinging to his chest. For those not familiar with cow pies, they are irregular shaped objects four inches to over twelve inches in size. Colors ranged from a dull green to a dingy brown depending on how long they aged. They are commonly referred to as cow turds.

Alan saw the same thing. Acting in self-defense, Alan flicked a cow pie back across the tent with his foot. A flurry of pies started crisscrossing the tent. Another fire - another cow pie battle.

Finally, I heard Alan say, “I’ve had enough of this crap.” Yeah, he was right, time to rinse off and go.