Alberta’s Forest Guardians
While he can talk at length about the controls and cockpit of the plane and the facility, his respect for the pilots of these huge craft are what really inspire his dialogue.
“When this plane is loaded it probably takes both pilots pulling hard (on the yoke, or steering wheel) to get this plane airborne” he says, referring to the feathering, or pivot, of the props required for thrust.
“I have a lot of respect for these guys. It’s hot in here, you can’t open the windows (due to the smoke), you can barely see through the smoke, and the plane is heavy.” Just standing in the cockpit while the plane is parked is hot. Now imagine flying this dutch oven directly above a 1,000 C fire.
Quick tours inside the plane’s fuselage reveal a strictly utilitarian interior, devoid of any niceties, meant to cut down on weight. All the control wiring and cables are exposed for this same reason. There are no peanuts or drinks, no in-flight movies.
With a payload of over 5,000 litres of water, or 6,000kg of chemicals, these giant aircraft are well suited to the task at hand. “Skimming” a two-mile stretch of water can fill the two tanks and provide room for takeoff. They have been known to deliver up to 125 loads in a day, beating back our forests’ worst enemy. With a wingspan of nearly 30 metres and powered by a pair of shoulder-mounted Pratt and Whitney R-2800 radial engines (capable of driving the plane to 290Kph), these are no hobby aircraft.
Himself a pilot, Hughes knows of what he speaks.
“Every time these planes land they will have burned and leaked around five gallons of oil,” It’s the cost of doing business with these massive, aging planes.
A reservoir of retardent chemical is added to the water tanks by controlled dilution. It is essentially a detergent that allows the water to become sudsy, allowing the payload to spread and stick better on the target area. The two water tanks appear tiny centered inside of the massive cabin, until one considers the weight involved in carrying water.
Over the next couple years, these planes will be traded up for the next-gen version, the CL-415. Its bigger, faster and more capable, but it lacks a certain element that only a pilot can truly appreciate.
“Nothing beats the sound of these older radial engines,” Stephen muses. “The new turbines are faster and more efficient but they are whiny.”
Much to his chagrin, only the pilot and co-pilot can fly in these tankers, but this has not dampened Hughes’ spirit. Like a kid working in a candy store, he can satisfy himself looking out onto the tarmac. Just working with the planes daily is his reward.
An old urban legend tells of a hapless diver that was scooped up by a watertanker and found, charred by fire, dangling in a tree. According to Hughes this is patent nonsense. He dispels the myth by pointing to the four-inch square intake nozzle, and states, “The only damage to a diver would be a serious headache.”
Touring the newer spartan offices, Hughes points to the map detailing the service area that his pilots work. It is an enormous area and an enormous responsibility. The Slave Lake Wild Fire Management Area stretches just north of Loon River, south to nearly Edmonton, and west to High Prairie and east to Athabasca. Pinholes throughout the map indicate past problem areas, and are synonymous with human activity. Unfortunately people are still the major cause of fires. Alert codes tell the control personal and pilots the state of the union. A Blue alert is the most casual, allowing for one hour and three minutes to get from the base to airborne, en route to the fire. A Red Alert is serious business, requiring the pilots to be on the base and responding (ie in the air) within five minutes. This year alone, 160 fires have been responded to, all of them contained.
It can be a high-stress environment no doubt, but no one at the base is complaining about a relatively quiet summer. The perpetual calm-before-the storm feeling is always tempered by the ever present threat of fire. That they are ready to respond in full force at a moments notice is a testament to their professionalism. This is an environment they are obviously comfortable with.
But there is very little grey area to work in this business. They are either in full battle mode, or in consideration of it.
The three tankers, along with the ‘bird dog’ plane comprise one group. And while the bird dog lacks the grandiosity of the tankers, it’s got some tricks going for it too. Equipped with a FLIR sensor (Forward Looking InfraRed) in the form of a black ball mounted to the bottom of the plane, this cool little tool senses heat by projecting a beam at a target. The responsibility of the bird dog crew is to co-ordinate the flight plans for the tankers by relaying information about hot spots in the fire. They try to pinpoint the root of the problem. And where the tankers are cumbersome and bulky, this lithe little plane is fast and agile. Imagine a hummingbird playing “Catch me if you can” with three Canada geese.
The bird dog does more than lead the tankers to fire. It helps them fight it too. It directs and monitors the dumping of the payloads, suggests co-ordinates, watches for safety hazards and more. Like the proverbial bird on the elephant, they have a symbiotic relationship. Without the information from the bird dog crew, the big tankers productivity would suffer. The people that work in the Slake Lake Wild Fire Protection Area perform a stressful job in unimaginable environments. It’s tough, demanding and dangerous work fire notwithstanding. They deserve the utmost respect and thanks for protecting one of our most precious resources.
