Rap! Rap! Rap! Sleepy-eyed, I wake up to the sound of the fire crew leader shaking our two-person dome tent. It’s 5 a.m. and it’s time to start another long and tiring day.

I roll over in my sleeping bag and check to see if my buddy Greg, aka “Cope,” is waking up. He, too, is just returning from slumber. I dig around my bag and look for a clean undershirt. The smell of clean laundry after about eight days is a welcome one. I pull on my sweat-stiffened pants and shirt and I pull my boots over my sore, swollen feet.

The 18 of us file into a line and load everything onto the bus. The breakfast that was barely edible when we first arrived is now consumed in vast quantities as we swallow down the usual four cups of scalding coffee. Eventually, we make it to the bus. It’s about 5:45 a.m.

Various stories about what everyone is going to do when they get home swirl around the bus like a fire whirl. Everyone is talking about home-cooked food and their significant other.

A few minutes pass and Howie steps onto the bus. Howie is our crew leader. He stands about 5-foot-6, probably just breaks 130 pounds, and is recovering from pneumonia. But he’s tougher then nails, and can still out-hike just about everyone on our U.S. Forest Service firefighting crew. He reads off our orders and makes sure everyone is watered up and has their bottles filled. The bus ride is about an hour long. The stories continue, and those who aren’t telling stories are capturing a few more minutes of valuable shuteye.

Before I knew it, we were back to where we were yesterday: Section G. Section G was the eastern facing slope of a mountain range in the burn area. It was also about a two- mile hike on one of the dustiest roads I’ve ever been on. I grab my gear and my camel back. Then I situate the 80 pounds of gear on my back before clicking in all the various straps and clasps.

The three-mile walk is something of a meditation period. I always remember the start and the end, but the middle is pretty gray. It is filled with images of home -–memories of good food and a warm bed (which I’d most likely still be in if I was, in fact, still at home).

Finally, we reach section G. I sit and take a breath. We are given exact orders as to what we are going to do. Our task for today will be to eliminate any hot spots in the black area. We split into two squads. My squad ascends up the side slope, switch-backing the slope, trudging in ash a foot deep. Everyone spreads out about 10 feet apart, turning over ash and stirring it, checking to see if it’s still hot to the touch.

After about an hour of looking and clearing out hot spots, a call comes over the radio for myself and one other person to hightail it up the mountain and meet Howie at the top.

My squad leader, Boogie, and I get going. Little do I know that I’m in for an exciting ride that I will never forget. We start heading up, running through ash and hot coal. Dodging burnt snags and large ash holes, we start to zigzag between two sides of a canyon. Then I hear a large crash, but we continue to head up the mountain at full speed.

A few seconds later, crossing over to the other side, I look up just in time to see a large piece of burning tree rolling toward us. I jump back, quick as quick can get, bumping into Boogie. We both look at each other like our lives had just flashed before us. My heart was pounding and the sweat was starting to roll into my eyes, but we continue up.

When we finally reach the top, we find what we had been called for. The main fire had jumped over the line and had started burning in the green. As Boogie and I crest the top, we hear the roar of the beast. Embers the size of golf balls are being tossed 200 feet into the air.

A crew is already up there, battling the beast with everything they have. Axes and chain saws are flying through tree and bush. Taking no time to breathe, Boogie and I hop in it, tying up the end of the line. I start at it, swinging my tool hard and heavy, dragging dirt back and throwing it on any flames coming close.

My face burns, like I was putting it on a hot barbecue. Adrenaline surges through my body. There is no thirst. There is no pain. There is only my foe in front of me. My goal is to defeat him and I would stop at nothing to do so.

We fight the beast for the better part of two hours. When all is said and done, the whole lot of us sit down and take time to reflect on what we had just done. We hadn’t just put out a fire, we had defeated a monster.

For some strange reason, this feeling of victory was energizing.

After lunch, it was back to digging up hot spots. Howie told me that I should work the ridge and stay up there while the rest of the crew came up. Putting out hot spots isn’t the most rewarding part of being a wildland firefighter, but you’ve got to do what you’ve got to do. Or so I thought.

There was a tree stump I found that had some heat coming off it, so I started to dig around and see what was burning. Just as I started, my foot broke through the top crust and down about eight inches into hot coals.

Once again, fear came over me. I quickly tried to take my foot out, only to have the other fall in. As I frantically tried to get back on cooler ground, I could feel my boots heat up. Within seconds I smelled the burning rubber of my soles. My boots were on fire.

I quickly stamped out my now-smoldering and flaming boots and threw dirt on them. My feet were blazing. I ran over to the firebreak and started to unlace my boots. My feet were slightly blistered and my boots were still smoking. I took what little water I had left and poured some in my boot to cool it off.

After looking at my feet, I decided that I wasn’t going to get carried out of there. I was going to finish what I had started. I laced up my boot and went back to work. After about a good three hours, I had dug out the entire root system of the tree. The hole was about 30-by-40 feet and ranging from 2- to 4-feet deep in some places.

The whole crew was covered in soot. You could tell by the way they leaned on their tools that they hadn’t had it any better. We were ready to go home.

The order was given to start back down the hill and look for hot spots on our way down. I took one more look at the slope I had battled earlier. The warm rush of victory surged through my body. My last glance was the sun beginning to set. Even though we couldn’t see the sun, it was starting to turn the sky a brilliant red and orange.

Walking out, I could see the canyon and mountainsides; they looked like a bomb site. In training they told us we might see moonscaping, where the fire burns so hot that it leaves white ash everywhere. There was nothing but piles of ash where great trees had once stood.

After hydrating and taking a quick nap, we came back into town. We stopped at the local AM/PM and got gas. Everyone ran inside to buy any small snack available. Eighteen dirty, smelly, sweaty firemen were in there when a woman in her late 50s came in. She gave a smile to all of us and told the cashier that she would pay for us. Her eyes welled up and she told us how we had saved her ranch and her horses. It was all she had.

She said this was the least she could do for saving her life and property. Now I don’t know if our crew had any direct part in saving this lady’s property, but to me, that one moment alone was worth the whole 14 days of service.

People ask me why I do what I do, what attracts me to firefighting. My answer is simple: there isn’t another job out there where I get to battle such a powerful enemy. I almost think that fire is alive. Fire creates, it destroys, it breathes, it eats, it is born and it dies.

No matter how often you fight fire, it is always different. It is the modern-day dragon. I save people from this dragon. That is why I do what I do. I am not a knight in shining armor, but in yellow and green nomex. My steed is a forest-green bus.

I am a wildland firefighter. That is my job.