When every cell phone at the Incident Management Team dinner rings at exactly the same time, it is never a good sign.
That happened to me on July 1, 2012.
Our team had been working the Dakota Fire near Sheridan Lake Recreation Area on the Black Hills National Forest. For me, the assignment had felt almost like a homecoming. I had started my career on the Pactola Ranger District in 1983, which later became part of the Mystic Ranger District. I had seen old friends, received unexpected hugs, and remembered the early years of my fire career.
Then the phone rang.
Pat, my Public Information Officer lead, was on the line. One of our air tankers had gone in for a drop and had not come out. Local residents had filmed the plane going in. They had already called it in. The crash site was in the middle of an active fire.
I got in my rental car and drove toward Edgemont, South Dakota, about ninety miles away. I could see the fire column for miles. The fire was moving hard, and from what I could see, getting into the crash site would not be easy. The White Draw Fire would eventually burn thousands of acres, but at that moment, the acreage did not matter as much as the people in that plane.
We still had a fire to fight. Homes, livestock, power lines, and other critical infrastructure were threatened. At the same time, we were trying to understand what had happened, begin notifications, and coordinate with agencies that now had a role in the crash.
The aircraft was a MAFFS plane, a C-130 fitted with the Modular Airborne Fire Fighting System. That meant the Air Force would lead the crash response, while the Incident Management Team and Forest Service supported where we could. The situation was moving fast. News stations had footage. The Air Force had to be notified. Families had to be protected from learning the worst news through television.
In the middle of that chaos, a man on a motorcycle pulled up. He introduced himself as a lieutenant colonel and assistant commander from Ellsworth Air Force Base. I told him what had happened. His entire manner changed in seconds. He began making calls, bringing in resources, and coordinating the military response.
Sometimes help arrives exactly when it is needed.
Crews were still trying to reach the crash site. A helicopter was able to locate the plane from the air once the wind eased enough to fly. The aircraft was surrounded by fire. No one could yet see movement. We were waiting for information, but the world outside the incident was already beginning to know.
Eventually, we learned the truth.
Four men had died: Lt. Col. Paul Mikeal, Master Sgt. Robert Cannon, Maj. Joe McCormick, and Maj. Ryan David. Two crew members survived and were flown to Rapid City for medical care.
The investigation later pointed to a microburst, a sudden and powerful weather event that pushed the aircraft down as it was descending into its drop. Firefighters understand that weather can change everything. Still, knowing the cause does not take away the grief.
What many people do not understand is that when tragedy happens on a fire, the fire does not stop. The incident does not pause so people can process what they have just heard. Operations continue. Decisions still have to be made. Crews still need direction. Homes may still be threatened. The press still wants answers. Families still need to be notified.
Grief often has to wait, but it should never be ignored.
That was one of the hardest parts of White Draw. Some people still believed in the old way of handling trauma: suck it up, keep working, and do not talk about it. I have never agreed with that. People who walked into that crash site needed professional help. People who heard the details needed help. People who had to carry the news needed help.
Counseling is not weakness. It is survival.
I know this because I have lived with PTSD. I have seen terrible accidents. I have found burned bodies. I have dealt with suicides and fatal incidents. I know what trauma can do when it is not processed. I also know that writing helps me work through what I have carried.
There is a difference between trauma and PTSD. Trauma is often tied to an event, something life-threatening or deeply distressing. PTSD develops when the mind and body cannot fully process trauma, especially when trauma builds over years. Firefighters, law enforcement officers, military members, dispatchers, medical responders, and many others know this truth far too well.
I write about fire because I know its beauty, its danger, and its cost. My stories are rooted in the people who stand on the line, the families who wait at home, and the scars that remain after the smoke clears.
The White Draw Fire is part of me. So are the names of the four men we lost that day. So are the people who survived. So are the lessons we should never forget.
If you are carrying something heavy, ask for help. If someone you love is carrying it, listen. No one gets through this life alone, and no one should be expected to carry trauma in silence.
On the fireline, we depend on one another to survive.
Off the fireline, that should still be true.