The Fire’s All Around Us
Stay Wild
Somehow you found the last fire lookout tower available in all of the western United States, if not the world. So we went. Drove from Portland to Montana and back over a three-day weekend. Of course the AC went out. And we had to bring your big dopey, ferocious dog Bear with us. Oh, and there was the fact that we had to go in secret.
First we stayed in a tiny cabin in Coeur d’Alene, Idaho. At Safeway, I managed to spend $200 on cheese and hummus and crackers and fruit and wine. Only to find out you didn’t like picnics. And then in the hot summer sun on our next stint of driving, it all went bad in the cooler. Then we stayed in a teepee run by a french man named Jacques. In the teepee, we slept in individual cots that we pulled together as close as we could. We got drunk on our red wine and whispered stories in the light of the lantern, and cursed our separate beds. Along the way we stopped at Glacier National Park, which was stunning—“Glacier National Park’s got nothing on you, baby,” you said, but sadly forest fires obscured most of the views and Bear wasn’t allowed on the trails.
Our final stop was the lookout tower. We got lost on the way there. I remained skeptical we’d ever find it, until you did. The view was smoky but beautiful. You threw a plastic mattress down from the tower to the ground below and we fucked on it in the open air, the sun on our skin, like wild animals. We set up shop on the top of our very own mountain and enjoyed the view, which was growing more and more smoky. But we didn’t care—we were finally alone, together. We watched the sun set from the balcony of the tower. We took pictures, embraced.
As night closed in we turned on the solar-powered lanterns I had brought and you put on a Spotify playlist of love songs. We made love on the sleeping bag as Prince came through the speaker—”Purple Rain.” For dinner, we only had crisps and chocolate. So we sat on a bare mattress and ate our junk food to our hearts’ content. I don’t remember what we talked about. Probably were in amazement of our love, how far we’d come and all that there was to experience yet. We were like kids then. So fucking innocent in our sin. Thought we had felt pain, but so much pain was still to come. But in that moment it was absolutely perfect. The saddest dinner was the most romantic either of us had ever had.
In the background, the fires grew closer. We were actually watching fire in the distance from the fire lookout tower. We called the hotline every so often to check the danger of our zone. Googled how fast fire moves. I wasn’t once scared. I put my trust completely in your hands. Before we went to sleep you decided to set an alarm for every two hours.
At 2:00 a.m. the alarm went off. I sat up, groggy. You were already standing. I looked up at you and then all around us. Smoke surrounded the lookout tower. “Let’s go,” you said. We gathered what we had brought quickly without speaking. Then we were in the truck driving as fast as we could on the rough dirt road. The fires followed us in Idaho, and when we were finally back to Portland, we just made it before they closed the highway to the Eagle Creek fire.
I spent most of that trip sweaty with my hair smelling like smoke and my eyes burning. It seemed that something managed to go wrong at every turn. But when I look back now, it’s not what I remember. That trip with anyone else would have been a disaster, but with you it was an adventure to be by your side. It’s amazing what love can do to transform your perspective. I will always remember what a blast we had—despite the fire in our wake.