JOSHUA ARMSTRONG
Associated Press
FORT WAINWRIGHT, Alaska - Bob Schober hears the same question a lot.
"Why would you jump out of a perfectly good airplane?"
Schober, a 16-year smokejumper with the Alaska Fire Service, has a standard response: The plane isn't perfect. It's missing a door _ the open hatch for parachuting.
Schober is one of the 70 Alaska Smokejumpers who began training this month in preparation for summer fires. The federally funded daredevils drop hundreds of feet to suppress wildland fires with minimal tools.
On Monday morning, three planeloads of smokejumpers parachuted from a cloudy sky onto a open patch of dead grass on Birch Hill. It was the second practice for this year's second training group.
By smokejumpers' standards, the landing spot was fairly easy to hit. There was about a half a football field of space surrounded by leafless trees, and the slope was gradual.
As the week goes on, they will face increasingly tough landing spots that feature steep slopes and plenty of ways to get "treed up."
Though it is based on Fort Wainwright, the Bureau of Land Management operation is staffed entirely by nonmilitary personnel and its only connections with the Army are its location and an agreement to fight fires on post.
Most jumpers battle about 10 fires per year and jump 15-20 times per year, including practice.
They are trained to be suited up and inside the plane within two minutes of the base's alarm sounding.
The goal is to have the plane loaded with an eight-man unit and in the air within six minutes of an alarm, unit supervisor Matthew Corley said.
On busy days, such as during lightning storms, the base can go from bustling with 70 firefighters to empty. The Alaska Fire Service has four planes, and sometimes they all are airborne in a few hours.
Once the jumpers hit the ground, it's all about preparation. As a general rule, smokejumpers are thinking three days ahead, Corley said.
Schober likes this kind of work. It's hard, for sure, but it has perks.
"We can be dispatched anywhere," he said. "It's a great way to see the state."
The company is a plus, too. Because smokejumping is a seasonal gig, the springtime training is like a reunion, said Amy Duning, who is beginning her fourth summer as a smokejumper and shares the profession with her husband, Eric.
"The first day, it's so funny; just high-fives all around and we hear what everyone did over the winter," she said. "There's a lot of barbecues, too."
Because the nature of the job calls for a unique breed, there's usually plenty to share after a months-long hiatus including stories about international travels and winter projects like building cabins.
Though it's nice seeing old friends, Duning bemoaned the fact that there are no rookies this year.
Because of a tight budget, the program hasn't had a rookie since 2008, which Corley said is somewhat detrimental to the squad. Some fresh faces keep things interesting - as if smoke jumping wasn't interesting enough - and training consistent.
"We've missed that now for two years," he said.
That doesn't mean that training exercises like Monday's are pointless.
It takes some time to get back in the groove, and Porter McQueary of Reno, Nev., said the two-week training period does the trick.
The former Marine and fourth-year smokejumper agreed with many of his colleagues _ the thrill of falling hundreds of feet and fighting wildfires doesn't dull with time.
"It's not getting boring, though there's a little more excitement to it in fire season," he said.
Smokejumping first became a firefighting tactic in 1940, and Alaska has had the aerial advantage since 1959.
Until the 1980s, smokejumpers nationwide used circular military-style parachutes. After that, today's square canopies were tested and proven in the Interior.
The BLM base on Fort Wainwright is one of just two in the United States. The other BLM base in Boise, Idaho. The National Forest Service has smokejumpers at seven locations.
There are 70 jumpers in Fairbanks, but that number could balloon to 120 early in the summer as "boosters" join the Alaska jumpers because the state's fire season begins earlier than in the Lower 48. The opposite happens later in the summer, when Alaska fires die out and Lower 48 blazes are still a danger.
According to a report by the Alaska Interagency Coordination Center, the state had 527 fires in 2009, burning slightly more than 2.95 million acres; 511 of the fires began before September.
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Information from: Fairbanks Daily News-Miner,
http://www.newsminer.com
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