Matt Voegtle's two sons don't tell him everything. That's why Voegtle hated to see what at first looked like a campfire-sized plume of smoke growing to the west of his home in Windsor.
Voegtle has a little adventure in him. He grew up a Boy Scout. He has waterskied and hunts. But he doesn't thrive on it. He's mostly an unassuming car salesman. He's proud of his two boys -- really proud -- but he can't relate to their jobs as wildland firefighters. So because he's a father, and because it's hard for him to know exactly what goes on out there, he worries.
Brandon, stationed in Craig, fights fires all over the country, and even Matt, who is stationed as a hotshot with the Roosevelt National Forest in Fort Collins, tends to be away, and Voegtle likes it that way. It's much easier not to worry when the fires are far away. They won't even make the local news that way.
That plume of smoke, however, came from the High Park fire in the Poudre Canyon, one of the worst wildfires in Colorado's long history with them. Matt, Voegtle's oldest, was on the line leading crews almost every day during the battle to put it out. His son knew he'd get called to it as soon as he saw the plume while washing his car. Sure enough, Matt was soon fighting what many days was a hopeless, discouraging battle.
What made things worse was Voegtle sold cars for Markley Motors in Fort Collins, so he had to drive toward the plume and the haze that leaked from it every day. The smoke did more than sting his eyes and burn his throat. It reminded him that his son was smack in the center of the heat and flames. It killed him.
"It was awful. Awful. Awful," Voegtle said. "I know that's what they do. But it was just awful."
His sons don't tell him everything, but they've told him enough. Brandon, 27, had a squad boss die when a tree fell on him. As a rookie in 2006, Matt, 30, once came within a millimeter of running off a cliff after a fire blew up and chased him up the side of a mountain. His sons aren't blowhards. They tell their father some of the stories because, hey, if you can't tell Dad, who can you tell? Brandon enjoys the sense of adventure, sort of, but he and Matt both don't do it for the adrenaline rush. Matt, in fact, called the High Park blaze one of the most back-breaking he's worked on. There was, at times, no stopping it.
"We were up next to the fire edge every day, trying to save homes, and most of our efforts were unsuccessful," Matt said. "I would say wildland firefighting can be satisfying and enjoyable. But 'fun' is not the right word."
Voegtle moved to Windsor in 1982, and both boys grew up there and graduated from Windsor High School. As we said, Voegtle's not afraid of a little adventure, but he still wonders where not one, but both his boys, got their extreme love for the outdoors. Matt and Brandon both got into firefighting because it was seasonal, which allowed them to pursue snowboarding.
Brandon works full-time for the Bureau of Land Management, and he's more of a career firefighter who teaches snowboarding at Steamboat. Brandon might hit more fires, Matt said, because he's on more initial attack crews. Matt's job as a hotshot is to drop in when the fire gets bad. Matt's more of a career snowboarder. He'll spend his winter in Beaver Creek as an instructor, trainer and certifier.
"That's what I love to do," Matt said. "That will never change."
But other things may change. Matt's wife, Kristen, stays home with their son but will receive her teaching degree soon, and Matt's contemplating a career change as a result. He graduated at the top of his class at Mesa State University with a physics degree and promptly went into snowboarding, but that degree gives him options. He's away from home a lot. He works 16-hour days, and this was one of the busiest summers he's had. It could be just as busy next year if the drought doesn't improve. He has a family. He's still debating.
Although it seemed to take a long time, almost forever, High Park's plume did dissipate. It was hard for Voegtle to see it every day. But Voegtle got to see Matt a lot more this summer as a result. That time was precious. It always is, when you're a proud but worried father who knows a little bit about adventure and probably too much about what it means for his sons to be thrown into the fire in this hot, dry summer of drought.
Copyright 2012 - Greeley Tribune, Colo.
McClatchy-Tribune News Service
