LET'S NOT FIGHT FIRE- I still don't understand this plan.
Greetings! Last week, I went to a chimney fire and was reminded of a little problem that we have with some neighboring fire departments and the differences between us. The problem is that other departments seem to have SOP's or directives which make it so that they either cannot or will not fight fire. (See generally my earlier post about the "playbook"). This chimney fire, while generally unremarkable, sent my mind back to another call and another cluster-F situation...
The reason that I got sent down memory lane was pretty simple. I was assigned to drive the ladder truck, and we get woken up out of bed at about 0100 for the report of a chimney fire. It is a long way away, but we are the nearest truck, I guess. Riding officer with me is my friend David, who like me is semi-retired, which is to say that he has twenty years in the department and has decided that it is more fun to ride on the firetrucks than to work as an assistant chief. As I have written before on this blog, David is the finest of firemen. As we go out the door, it is apparent from radio traffic and computer updates that this will be a "real" chimney fire, as opposed to the more common "bullshit" chimney fire. In the world of chimney fires, it seems that in the last twenty years, things have calmed down significantly. Chimney fires occur when improperly used and/or poorly maintained chimney flues build up a layer of flammable gunk, which eventually catches on fire. In a "real" chimney fire, this results in a huge flame column shooting out of the top of the chimney and the sound of a jet engine or rocket motor. Good times. In a "bullshit" chimney fire, this results in a roof with a bunch of charred shit in a corona around the chimney, and a little bit of glowing material inside the flue. Bummer. In both cases, chimney fires are strange because with rare exception, they are not exceptionally hazardous to the building (which is not to say that they are non-hazardous), and are accordingly considered among firemen to be a nuisance-type call.
So we drove a very long way to get to this fire, and when we got there, there was some fire and sparks coming out of the chimney. My assessment was that we had missed most of the fuel burn off and we were seeing the end of the fire. I put up the bucket of our truck to get my guys access to the roof (which was really unnecessary except that the bucket has 1500 watts of lighting, and a ground ladder doesn't). David went inside, and the guys in back went up on the roof. An engine company was also on the roof with them. No one on the roof was doing anything. I went inside the house to see if David needed anything else, and it was there that I found a little surprise. The crew from the first due engine was inside, and had pulled a wood stove away from the fire box. OK, that's pretty normal. What was wierd was that they had a fireproof blanket out and they were holding it up with their hands on the top and standing on the bottom, using the blanket to block off the box from the rest of the house. It was like a big patch on the wall. They were making no effort to do anything about putting the fire out. David was busying himself making sure that there had been no fire spread to the house, which there hadn't, and talking to the homeowner. The homeowner said that he had had a prior chimney fire 20 years ago, and that in response, he had a stainless steel flue liner installed. This meant that there was nearly no chance of the fire spreading from inside the chimney to the rest of the house, no matter what we did.
See, there is really only one danger to working on a chimney fire. In a house with a ceramic or masonry chimney, if you put too much water on the fire too quickly, there is some chance of cracking the liner and allowing fire to escape the chimney, thereby putting the structure at risk. In our department, we address this risk by limiting the amount of water we put into play on a chimney fire. Ordinarily, spraying a couple of cups of water onto the fire in the fireplace or in the woodstove puts out the fire in the flue. Water expands by a factor of approximately 1700 times when changed from the liquid state to the gas state (steam), so spraying a little bit of water into a fireplace, generating a little steam at the bottom, converts into a very impressive high-pressure steam bath for the length of the chimney. This will put out most chimney fires in no time flat. The department whose area we visited this evening didn't subscribe to this theory, choosing instead to wait it out and let the fire run its course. When we were finally done, we got back into the rig, and David said something to the effect of "different strokes for different folks, I guess we'll play by their rules on their turf", to which I responded: "I do not understand this whole 'let's not fight fire plan'", which is a direct quote from my brother J from a fire a number of years ago.
A number of years ago, we were sent on our engine and ladder to a structure fire on (what was then) a rural road that connected two more developed areas. It was at nighttime and in either the late winter or early spring. The wind was howling, blowing thirty or forty mile per hour sustained and gusts much higher. We arrived on scene to find an abandonded old house that was fully involved. Becasue of hose in the road, we had to park some distance away and somewhat uphill from the building, and we were able to get a really good look at things as we walked down to the fire. The first-due engine (from the department referenced in the "playbook" post) had pulled into the driveway, and was pointing its deck gun/deluge set at the building. This deck gun had a "stack tip" smoothbore nozzle attached, and we arrived just as the driver was getting ready to send water. I noticed three important things during the walk down. First, that pumper was parked directly under some power lines. Second, the thermal column coming off of the house (like the visible heat disruption you see looking across a barbecue grill) was being blown right across the power lines. Third, sparks, flaming brands and other debris were being carried by the wind into a neighborhood of new and occupied homes and causing small fires all over the place. Suffice it to say that this was a big-time emergency and nothing was being done about it.
The very first thing that I did was to go up to the driver of the first engine and tell him (quite loudly and not very politely) that he needed to move his rig right away and get out from under the power lines, because he was at serious risk of having those (quite live) lines fall on his pumper. He didn't listen. He went about opening up the gate on his deck gun, sending about 250 gallons per minute (GPM) in the direction of the fire. While I have to admit, it was nice to see someone try to put water on the fire, the wind was blowing so strongly that the stream didn't make it to the building. It was readily apparent that he needed to shut down, remove all but the biggest tip from his stack tip smooth bore, and try again (with a thicker stream and more water). Meanwhile, our crews were working on getting hand lines in place to try to do a more conventional attack on the fire. We were then ordered by their chief (whom we all respect, but who leads a bunch of knuckleheads) to stop what we were doing and wait for the deck gun to knock down the fire first, and then hit it with our hoses. After a few minutes of deciding that we were right about using a larger stream to defeat the wind, the re-formatted deck gun was tried again, and again had no effect. Meanwhile, flaming debris continued to fall in the brand new residential neighborhood across the way, and there were now several brush fires threatening occupied homes. There was then this moment of odd quiet, as our men were chomping at the bit to go at this house and the standing order on the fireground was to do nothing.
We had no illusion that there was anything to save about this house. It was an abandonded wreck when the fire started, and it was a total loss before anyone got there. I think that we on our crews had the benefit of seeing the larger scene and knew the context of what was really going on, and some of those other guys didn't. My brother J was the officer on our engine, and he was right in the chief's ear, pleading with him to give our guys some water and a chance, all the while pointing out that if we didn't hurry, we would have a series of other fires to fight. We were literally in a "surround and drown" position with three or four hand lines right up against the building, and with an order not to do anything until the deck gun/master stream issue had been resolved. Once the big stream had been denied by the wind twice, someone of greater rank than me realized that the pumper was underneath the power lines and exposed to a bunch of heat. The new plan became that they would move the pumper closer to the house, out from under the lines, and try the deck gun again. Once this became apparent, we all began to question the chief about why we couldn't take a stab at the building. This might seem like a breach of discipline or a break in the chain of command, but in this instance, we had a whole gang of senior officers on our crews (like captains and up), who had all worked with this chief for a long time, and he usually respects our opinons on tactics.
J made the rounds of the various positions and talked to the not-doing-anything hose crews, and then walked up to the chief while I was standing with him, and said "Chief, I do NOT understand this whole 'wait, let's not fight fire plan', and if we don't do something now, we're going to burn down that whole fucking neighborhood". Finally, this got things moving, and the driver of that first-due engine was directed to let us have our water.
Then began the comedy...We got water to one 1 3/4" hose line, which was being operated by an angry-ass 19 year old kid with a born knack for extinguishment. His name was Mike, and our department has since lost him to some better-known fire department up in New York City where he now is a ladderman in Harlem. Mike stepped right up to the front porch of the now-partially-collapsing house and began an almost crazed fire attack. He put water through the door, under the eaves, through the windows, up the stairwell, all over the place. In the minute or so before all of the other lines got going, Mike had the bulk of the fire knocked down and was working on getting the rest. It was amazing. His entire body posture was "aggression". And the lesson? In this situation you can turn one motivated kid with a hose loose and you can do as much good (or even more) as the biggest weapon you carry on your rig. In the end, we spent about an hour or two getting the whole thing out-out-out and rendered non-hazardous, but the "fighting" part of the "firefighting" was over in a few seconds.
J's complaint to the chief became the stuff of legend. I am 100% certain that no one who was lucky enough to see that exchange and then to watch the result as Mike put out an entire building in a minute will ever think of firefighting in the same way again. I was an officer for years, and I always told my crews what I had been taught as a boy: "You can put out a whole lot of fire with one engine company". After this, I always told them the same thing, only knowing in the back of my head that you can put out a whole lot of fire with one man, so long as your plan is "Let's fight fire", rather than "Let's not fight fire". Aggression must always be balanced against our "culture of safety", but in the fire service we must always be mindful that aggression in doing our job can result in the quick conversion of a dangerous and out of control situation into a safe and easily controlled situation. It is what our customers expect of us, and as long as we can operate without taking unnecessary risk, it the way things should be done. I just wish that our neighbors would pick up on this plan.
So, riding home from last week's chimney fire, David and I, both of whom were witnesses to J's moment of genius, had a good laugh at the expense of our neighbors to the west. Maybe someday they'll learn.
Post a comment to let me know that you read this far, and to let me know if you think I'm crazy. I'll be back again soon.
DTXMATT12
The reason that I got sent down memory lane was pretty simple. I was assigned to drive the ladder truck, and we get woken up out of bed at about 0100 for the report of a chimney fire. It is a long way away, but we are the nearest truck, I guess. Riding officer with me is my friend David, who like me is semi-retired, which is to say that he has twenty years in the department and has decided that it is more fun to ride on the firetrucks than to work as an assistant chief. As I have written before on this blog, David is the finest of firemen. As we go out the door, it is apparent from radio traffic and computer updates that this will be a "real" chimney fire, as opposed to the more common "bullshit" chimney fire. In the world of chimney fires, it seems that in the last twenty years, things have calmed down significantly. Chimney fires occur when improperly used and/or poorly maintained chimney flues build up a layer of flammable gunk, which eventually catches on fire. In a "real" chimney fire, this results in a huge flame column shooting out of the top of the chimney and the sound of a jet engine or rocket motor. Good times. In a "bullshit" chimney fire, this results in a roof with a bunch of charred shit in a corona around the chimney, and a little bit of glowing material inside the flue. Bummer. In both cases, chimney fires are strange because with rare exception, they are not exceptionally hazardous to the building (which is not to say that they are non-hazardous), and are accordingly considered among firemen to be a nuisance-type call.
So we drove a very long way to get to this fire, and when we got there, there was some fire and sparks coming out of the chimney. My assessment was that we had missed most of the fuel burn off and we were seeing the end of the fire. I put up the bucket of our truck to get my guys access to the roof (which was really unnecessary except that the bucket has 1500 watts of lighting, and a ground ladder doesn't). David went inside, and the guys in back went up on the roof. An engine company was also on the roof with them. No one on the roof was doing anything. I went inside the house to see if David needed anything else, and it was there that I found a little surprise. The crew from the first due engine was inside, and had pulled a wood stove away from the fire box. OK, that's pretty normal. What was wierd was that they had a fireproof blanket out and they were holding it up with their hands on the top and standing on the bottom, using the blanket to block off the box from the rest of the house. It was like a big patch on the wall. They were making no effort to do anything about putting the fire out. David was busying himself making sure that there had been no fire spread to the house, which there hadn't, and talking to the homeowner. The homeowner said that he had had a prior chimney fire 20 years ago, and that in response, he had a stainless steel flue liner installed. This meant that there was nearly no chance of the fire spreading from inside the chimney to the rest of the house, no matter what we did.
See, there is really only one danger to working on a chimney fire. In a house with a ceramic or masonry chimney, if you put too much water on the fire too quickly, there is some chance of cracking the liner and allowing fire to escape the chimney, thereby putting the structure at risk. In our department, we address this risk by limiting the amount of water we put into play on a chimney fire. Ordinarily, spraying a couple of cups of water onto the fire in the fireplace or in the woodstove puts out the fire in the flue. Water expands by a factor of approximately 1700 times when changed from the liquid state to the gas state (steam), so spraying a little bit of water into a fireplace, generating a little steam at the bottom, converts into a very impressive high-pressure steam bath for the length of the chimney. This will put out most chimney fires in no time flat. The department whose area we visited this evening didn't subscribe to this theory, choosing instead to wait it out and let the fire run its course. When we were finally done, we got back into the rig, and David said something to the effect of "different strokes for different folks, I guess we'll play by their rules on their turf", to which I responded: "I do not understand this whole 'let's not fight fire plan'", which is a direct quote from my brother J from a fire a number of years ago.
A number of years ago, we were sent on our engine and ladder to a structure fire on (what was then) a rural road that connected two more developed areas. It was at nighttime and in either the late winter or early spring. The wind was howling, blowing thirty or forty mile per hour sustained and gusts much higher. We arrived on scene to find an abandonded old house that was fully involved. Becasue of hose in the road, we had to park some distance away and somewhat uphill from the building, and we were able to get a really good look at things as we walked down to the fire. The first-due engine (from the department referenced in the "playbook" post) had pulled into the driveway, and was pointing its deck gun/deluge set at the building. This deck gun had a "stack tip" smoothbore nozzle attached, and we arrived just as the driver was getting ready to send water. I noticed three important things during the walk down. First, that pumper was parked directly under some power lines. Second, the thermal column coming off of the house (like the visible heat disruption you see looking across a barbecue grill) was being blown right across the power lines. Third, sparks, flaming brands and other debris were being carried by the wind into a neighborhood of new and occupied homes and causing small fires all over the place. Suffice it to say that this was a big-time emergency and nothing was being done about it.
The very first thing that I did was to go up to the driver of the first engine and tell him (quite loudly and not very politely) that he needed to move his rig right away and get out from under the power lines, because he was at serious risk of having those (quite live) lines fall on his pumper. He didn't listen. He went about opening up the gate on his deck gun, sending about 250 gallons per minute (GPM) in the direction of the fire. While I have to admit, it was nice to see someone try to put water on the fire, the wind was blowing so strongly that the stream didn't make it to the building. It was readily apparent that he needed to shut down, remove all but the biggest tip from his stack tip smooth bore, and try again (with a thicker stream and more water). Meanwhile, our crews were working on getting hand lines in place to try to do a more conventional attack on the fire. We were then ordered by their chief (whom we all respect, but who leads a bunch of knuckleheads) to stop what we were doing and wait for the deck gun to knock down the fire first, and then hit it with our hoses. After a few minutes of deciding that we were right about using a larger stream to defeat the wind, the re-formatted deck gun was tried again, and again had no effect. Meanwhile, flaming debris continued to fall in the brand new residential neighborhood across the way, and there were now several brush fires threatening occupied homes. There was then this moment of odd quiet, as our men were chomping at the bit to go at this house and the standing order on the fireground was to do nothing.
We had no illusion that there was anything to save about this house. It was an abandonded wreck when the fire started, and it was a total loss before anyone got there. I think that we on our crews had the benefit of seeing the larger scene and knew the context of what was really going on, and some of those other guys didn't. My brother J was the officer on our engine, and he was right in the chief's ear, pleading with him to give our guys some water and a chance, all the while pointing out that if we didn't hurry, we would have a series of other fires to fight. We were literally in a "surround and drown" position with three or four hand lines right up against the building, and with an order not to do anything until the deck gun/master stream issue had been resolved. Once the big stream had been denied by the wind twice, someone of greater rank than me realized that the pumper was underneath the power lines and exposed to a bunch of heat. The new plan became that they would move the pumper closer to the house, out from under the lines, and try the deck gun again. Once this became apparent, we all began to question the chief about why we couldn't take a stab at the building. This might seem like a breach of discipline or a break in the chain of command, but in this instance, we had a whole gang of senior officers on our crews (like captains and up), who had all worked with this chief for a long time, and he usually respects our opinons on tactics.
J made the rounds of the various positions and talked to the not-doing-anything hose crews, and then walked up to the chief while I was standing with him, and said "Chief, I do NOT understand this whole 'wait, let's not fight fire plan', and if we don't do something now, we're going to burn down that whole fucking neighborhood". Finally, this got things moving, and the driver of that first-due engine was directed to let us have our water.
Then began the comedy...We got water to one 1 3/4" hose line, which was being operated by an angry-ass 19 year old kid with a born knack for extinguishment. His name was Mike, and our department has since lost him to some better-known fire department up in New York City where he now is a ladderman in Harlem. Mike stepped right up to the front porch of the now-partially-collapsing house and began an almost crazed fire attack. He put water through the door, under the eaves, through the windows, up the stairwell, all over the place. In the minute or so before all of the other lines got going, Mike had the bulk of the fire knocked down and was working on getting the rest. It was amazing. His entire body posture was "aggression". And the lesson? In this situation you can turn one motivated kid with a hose loose and you can do as much good (or even more) as the biggest weapon you carry on your rig. In the end, we spent about an hour or two getting the whole thing out-out-out and rendered non-hazardous, but the "fighting" part of the "firefighting" was over in a few seconds.
J's complaint to the chief became the stuff of legend. I am 100% certain that no one who was lucky enough to see that exchange and then to watch the result as Mike put out an entire building in a minute will ever think of firefighting in the same way again. I was an officer for years, and I always told my crews what I had been taught as a boy: "You can put out a whole lot of fire with one engine company". After this, I always told them the same thing, only knowing in the back of my head that you can put out a whole lot of fire with one man, so long as your plan is "Let's fight fire", rather than "Let's not fight fire". Aggression must always be balanced against our "culture of safety", but in the fire service we must always be mindful that aggression in doing our job can result in the quick conversion of a dangerous and out of control situation into a safe and easily controlled situation. It is what our customers expect of us, and as long as we can operate without taking unnecessary risk, it the way things should be done. I just wish that our neighbors would pick up on this plan.
So, riding home from last week's chimney fire, David and I, both of whom were witnesses to J's moment of genius, had a good laugh at the expense of our neighbors to the west. Maybe someday they'll learn.
Post a comment to let me know that you read this far, and to let me know if you think I'm crazy. I'll be back again soon.
DTXMATT12
posted by DTXMATT12 at 9:42 PM
1 Comments:
Great story.
It's comforting, in an odd way, to know that no one company has a monopoly on goat-fucks, but it still just drives me nuts.
sj
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