What It’s Like to Be a Woman Fighting Wildfires

This story is based on an interview with the editors of The Doe.

I have always loved working outside. I love the way it makes me feel to do labor jobs and work with my body. I had heard about the Forest Service's Wildland Fire program and I knew a couple people who did it. I was in my mid-twenties and doing outdoor seasonal work. I was looking around for my next move and I thought, Why not? I'll try it out. I put in an application, and the first call I got, I was offered a job in a rural area.

There were a couple of other women at this job. My supervisor assured me that he wanted to create an inclusive, welcoming module. So that was reassuring to me. But even so, I wanted to just be one of the guys. I was thinking, I have brothers. I know I can do this. Nothing is going to get to me. Before I got into fire, I had worked with so many women in the outdoor fields who were really badass and inspiring, and it was a big, empowering feminist community. So I don't even know where the “one of the guys” thing came from, other than it’s instinctual to want to fit in with a group.

The jokey comments started out small, like “You’re being a pussy,” or “Don’t be a little bitch,” or “Look at that woman over there, she’s so hot.” And I would laugh, because I didn’t want to be that girl who made an issue out of things. I would even make jokes at my own expense, like “I can’t pick up this rock—it must just be because I’m a woman!” I convinced myself that if I was making these jokes, it wouldn’t hurt when other people made them.

But what I came to learn is that when you talk about yourself that way, you’re giving other people permission to do it, too. When one small thing is okay, the next joke is going to be a little bit worse, until eventually you look up and you're like, “What the fuck is going on?” All of a sudden there are rape jokes, and jokes really sexualizing women, and jokes that are racist and homophobic. Stuff I would be truly embarrassed to be around in my personal life. One guy touched me inappropriately and I rationalized it like, “Oh, well, everybody was drinking. It wasn't serious.” Then a guy tried to kiss me, and again I was like, “It was just a joke. Everyone was drunk.”

I told myself the harassment wasn't a big deal. I fit in, and they liked me.

I told myself it wasn’t a big deal. I fit in, and they liked me. I didn’t report it because the fire world is small, and I didn’t want to hold myself back from getting other jobs. I wanted to just move on. But if it's really not a big deal, then why am I keeping all this to myself? Why am I not talking to my friends? I knew if I told them what was going on, they would have been like, Are you kidding? 

Slowly I realized that working with multiple women was not the norm. Eventually, I was the only woman on that module. One day—I don’t know why—I was no longer on the inside, and that was not a good feeling. I was on the outside, experiencing things that maybe those other women experienced when I was on the inside. I started to see why they didn't come back.

I didn't feel like I belonged anymore. I would walk up to a group, and they would walk away. It was so painful. Honestly, I wished they were making rape jokes, because at least they would be talking to me.

After that, I decided to switch to a different forest. More than 10 years later, I still have not experienced that same level of isolation and harassment. But I am still the only woman, and it’s weird. Even when the guys are very nice to me, I’m still not getting invited to get a beer after work. It sucks. I’m wondering, Are they talking about me? Do they secretly hate me? I don't know, because I don't have personal relationships with them.

The job of fighting wildland fires is hard for everyone, but it can be especially hard when you are the only woman on back-to-back, weeks-long assignments. At one point you realize, “Oh, cool. I haven't talked to another woman for three or four weeks because there's no other women on my crew.” Men, specifically white men, can’t wrap their minds around looking around and not seeing anybody like them. At home, it’s not so bad when you can go home at the end of the day and see your significant other or your friends outside of work. But you don’t get that when you’re out on an assignment—your job is your life. It’s all-encompassing when you’re in the field. 

During those assignments, it can sometimes feel like you are representing all women. On hard shifts, people sometimes go down. You can’t do it anymore, you’re tapped out. That will happen throughout the season, but I personally have never worked with a woman who’s tapped out. You just know you can't do that. You have to perform.  

But in another way, working on the fire line isn’t as isolating, because when you’re working 16-hour days then going straight to bed in a tent, you’re immersed and you’re just in it. There are other times when you’ll be sitting around in areas with high fire danger, and people will be playing cards or shooting the shit—that’s when there’s time to get into your own head. Physical training, or PT, can also be tough if you’re a woman. At a CrossFit gym, for instance, there's a recognition that men’s and women's bodies are different. But it’s not like that when you’re doing workouts with your crew. If you can't keep up, you’ll start thinking: I’m weak. I’m a liability. Why am I even here? Even though you know you can run a chainsaw, dig line, or hike just as well as everybody else, during PT you’ll say to yourself, “Oh, I'm shitty and I don't deserve to be here.” 

Thankfully, there’s a sisterhood network that exists under the radar. Maybe I don't work with any women directly, but if I ever encounter another woman on a fire, I’m going to talk to her. There’s an online community that connects us, too. It reminds you that what you’re experiencing is not unique, that other women understand. We’ll also warn each other, like “Oh, that guy? He harasses women.” Or, “That forest? They don’t hire women.” These women are the ones that have helped me stick it out all these years. They will encourage me to keep my head up or shake something off. When I was starting out, I would see a more senior woman and be like, “Wow, look at her. She has gone through all these years, and she's still here.” As I advance in my career, I feel an obligation to be that same model for other women starting out.