THE FIRE TOWER CHRONICLES

This is an introduction to a collection of writings I made while working in fire towers over the course of several summers in Montana.

Hope is a word like a snowdrift. –  Jack Kerouac, Desolation Angels

I hated the idea of beginning with such an obvious connection to Jack Kerouac, the publisher inside me sees a world of error in attempting such a bold connection from the outset, but as I sit here, nearly ten thousand feet above the sea, thousands of feet above the rest of the floating world below, above the power lines and phone poles, above the pavement and diesel emissions, above the human voices, above the reach of the human hand, I am staring out into the melting snow of the high country, wind pelting the windows like rain, wondering about it all, the Vastness, the Void, watching it drift past in slow moving time.  I am sitting behind a wall of glass in a glass tower, nearly ten thousand feet, at St. Mary’s Peak Lookout, wondering not only what I am doing here, but what we are all doing here.  Jack Kerouac is an obvious place to start as he is the one that got me into this.  He and Jackie.  Jackie from my NOLS course.  I had a crush on Jackie something fierce and when she told me about life in a fire tower, I knew I wanted it.  Same with Kerouac. When Kerouac told me about sitting alone staring into the Void, I knew that I had to do the same.  I want to see the Void, face to face.  I want no distractions.  I want to see the Void.