A decade ago Philip Connors left work as an editor at the "Wall
Street Journal" and talked his way into a job far from the streets
of lower Manhattan: working as one of the last fire lookouts in
America. Spending nearly half the year in a 7' x 7' tower, 10,000
feet above sea level in remote New Mexico, his tasks were simple:
keep watch over one of the most fire-prone forests in the country
and sound the alarm at the first sign of smoke.
"Fire Season" is Connors's remarkable reflection on work, our
place in the wild, and the charms of solitude. The landscape over
which he keeps watch is rugged and roadless--it was the first
region in the world to be officially placed off limits to
industrial machines--and it typically gets hit by lightning more
than 30,000 times per year. Connors recounts his days and nights in
this forbidding land, untethered from the comforts of modern life:
the eerie pleasure of being alone in his glass-walled perch with
only his dog Alice for company; occasional visits from smokejumpers
and long-distance hikers; the strange dance of communion and
wariness with bears, elk, and other wild creatures; trips to visit
the hidden graves of buffalo soldiers slain during the Apache wars
of the nineteenth century; and always the majesty and might of
lightning storms and untamed fire.
Written with narrative verve and startling beauty, and filled
with reflections on his literary forebears who also served as
lookouts--among them Edward Abbey, Jack Kerouac, Norman Maclean,
and Gary Snyder--"Fire Season" is a book to stand the test of
time.
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