Obituary Earl Cooley

[davidlayne 5]

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/obituaries/6753780/Earl-Cooley.html

Earl Cooley, who died on November 10 aged 98, was the first of America's "smokejumpers" – forest firefighters who parachute into inaccessible areas to tackle blazes before they rage out of control; 70 years after his pioneering mission, smokejumpers are now regarded as firefighting's elite, and the practice is credited with saving tens of thousands of acres and millions of dollars each year.

Candidates for smokejumping are today required to pass rigorous physical examinations and undergo years of training. But when, on July 12 1940, Earl Cooley stood ready to jump from a small TriMotor aeroplane as it buzzed at 1,500ft over Martin Creek in the Nez Perce National Forest, Idaho, procedures were altogether more improvised. "Our training consisted of a man saying: 'This is your parachute. You know what fire is. We jump tomorrow'," he recalled later.

Such rudimentary preparation seemed to invite disaster – and it duly arrived, as the lines of Cooley's parachute got tangled and it failed to open properly. His fall was, however, cushioned by the upper branches of a spruce tree and he – and the art of smokejumping – survived. Dusting himself down, he and his partner, Rufus Robinson, located the equipment and provisions that had been dropped in their wake, and made their way to the fire. Over the next 12 hours they successfully put it out.

Dousing the flames solely with water was not feasible for the lightly-loaded smokejumpers, but several other tactics were at their disposal. These included chopping down trees to create firebreaks, digging trenches, and starting controlled fires to deprive the wildfire of fuel. In this way conflagrations could be corralled before they exploded into blazes that stretched over hundreds of acres.

All such techniques were second nature to Cooley, who had spent almost his entire existence out of doors. Indeed, to him and his fellow firefighters, the challenges and dangers of quelling flames, once safely on terra firma, were completely normal. It was the parachuting that was new, though Cooley came to relish the thrill (after the breathtaking jerk of the 'chute opening) of floating gently towards the smoke.

In a dangerous job, adding an extra element of risk carried with it a certain perverse kudos, and he enjoyed recounting the assessment of one forester: "The best information I can get from fliers is that all parachute jumpers are more or less crazy – just a little bit unbalanced, otherwise they wouldn't be engaged in such a hazardous undertaking."

He was born Earl Everett Cooley on September 25 1911 to parents who led a simple life on the land at Hardin, Montana. One of 11 children, he went to school until he was 12 before being summoned away to help with family farming and hunting duties. He had a particular love of stalking elk and deer and returned to Corvallis High School only in time to graduate aged 19.

His outdoor upbringing made him a natural candidate for the US Forest Service, which he joined in 1937, graduating from the forestry school at the University of Montana four years later. By then he had made his pioneering jump, and smokejumping was becoming an accepted technique to tackle fires which broke out far from roads or trails.

Depending on the skills of the pilot and the weather conditions, the smokejumpers would jump from between 1,200 and 2,000ft, aiming to get a good "read" of the fire as they circled overhead.

Those next to Cooley in the plane were often men he had trained himself, and included Quakers and, during the war, conscientious objectors who sought non-combat service. Cooley himself was regarded as an expert at locating safe "dropzones" from which the jumpers could hike to the fire.

Sprained ankles and the odd broken bone were standard fare. But Cooley was proud that in the early years, despite its apparent dangers, smokejumping had not claimed a single life.

That all changed on August 4 1949, when a lightning storm passed over the Helena National Forest, Montana. In view of the dry weather, the Forest Service had rated the fire threat as "explosive". The following day three small fires were spotted at noon and it was decided that a team would be sent in.

Cooley was not to be one of the jumpers, but it was his job to choose a safe landing spot. Despite heavy turbulence, the team made it to a place he had identified known as Mann Gulch – a cleft in the land which shielded them from the fire – by 4pm. Their two-way radio, however, had been destroyed after its 'chute failed to open.

A few minutes later, and against all Cooley's expectations, the wind changed direction and the fire leapt across the gully – trapping the men. The 16-strong team retreated as fast as it could, dropping gear and fleeing, but the pace of the 50ft flames, which covered 3,000 acres in 10 minutes, outstripped the men.

The crew's foreman, R Wagner "Wag" Dodge, knew then that running was useless, and told his team to stop. He lit a new fire, as a break, in front of him.

Two others, Walter Rumsey and Robert Sallee, found a nook in which to shelter. The others continued to run from the flames, then just 100 yards away. Dodge, Rumsey and Sallee were the only survivors.

The event profoundly marked the Forest Service – and Cooley, who was initially plagued by fears that he had made an error in choosing the drop zone. But an inquiry cleared him. "I am sure I did the right thing that day, but I still look at that map and have thought about it every day since then," he said 45 years after the event.

Mann Gulch remains the most lethal disaster to have struck smokejumpers on active service. In a later simulation, the Forest Service was unable to reproduce the unique conditions which allowed the flames to cross the gully and kill the jumpers.

Cooley's own career as a smokejumper lasted 22 years, during which he was a district ranger in the Nez Perce National Forest. He was named smokejumper base superintendent in Missoula, Montana, in 1958. There he recruited, trained, and dispatched some 150 smokejumpers wherever they were needed.

"He was always friendly and helpful and put up with a lot," noted Tom Kovalicky, who was a jumper at the time. "Smokejumpers had a playful streak and liked a drink, which kept Earl on his toes." Cooley became an equipment specialist in 1971 before leaving the service in 1975.

In retirement Cooley, an easy-going but hands-on manager who commanded respect from his fellows, founded the National Smokejumper Association and was its first president. "Like a lot of us he loved the excitement and the difficulty of becoming a smokejumper," said the current president John Twiss. Today, such demands mean there are still only a few hundred active smokejumpers. Last year they made 1,432 jumps for the Forest Service. "They're viewed within the community as unique – the special forces of firefighting," said Twiss.

Earl Cooley is survived by Irene, his wife of 68 years, and five daughters.

After the Mann Gulch fire he made crosses for the dead men and installed one where each had died. He continued to make the steep climb to maintain them until a few years before his death.

I don't care how many skydives you've got,
until you stepped into complete darkness at
800' wearing 95 lbs of equipment and 42 lbs
of parachute, son you are still a leg!

[skyh2omedic 0]

Thanks for posting.

"You can't teach what you don't know and you can't lead where you won't go"

[steve1 5]

Another smoke jumper who helped Cooley spot that load, into the Mann Gulch Fire, was Jack Nash. He was assistant jump master that day. Jack was the oldest Smoke Jumper to ever train at Missoula. He too is dead.

Jack became a master rigger. I trained under him to get my senior riggers ticket. He was a real character and outdoorsman.

There is a lot of history surrounding the early day Smoke Jumpers and their base in Missoula. Johnson's flying service supplied the aircraft back then. Bob Johnson started this flying service in Idaho and expanded to Missoula. There are a few books out on Bob Johnson and his flying service.

My Dad lived with Bob Johnson during the 40's and later learned to fly co-pilot on tri-motor's and travel-airs. He had many interesting stories of dropping cargo and smokejumpers (including conscientious objectors during the war).

We used to skydive out of Johnson's D.C.-3's and twin beeches during the 70's....

I've driven past where the Mann Gulch Fire happened. It is a very steep, bare, hillside. It would have been very hard to outrun a wind driven fire on such a mountain. You had to admire those early day smoke jumpers....

[MrPeapit 0]

Quote

You had to admire those early day smoke jumpers....

Amen to that. I would conscientiously object to jumping into a fire. I've only known one smoke jumper in my day. He just took the extra danger in stride as part of the job.
They were cut from a different cloth than the rest of us. Definitely not F-111.

1st jump August 6, 1977.
Last jump July 8, 2006.

[steve1 5]

Growing up in the Missoula area, I met many different smoke jumpers. It seemed like all of them got hurt, if they did that job for very long.

You wouldn't believe some of the places they jump.

I'd think that breathing smoke and dust, year after year, would have a real negative affect on their lungs too....

[mjosparky 3]

Over the years the lessons learned at Mann Gulch were forgotten or ignored. In 1994 14 more were lost on Storm King Mountain in Colorado. It was almost the same set of circumstances.

Sparky

My idea of a fair fight is clubbing baby seals

[steve1 5]

There are some real "Ding Dongs" that often get in charge, on fires. Some fire bosses have tons of experience, and always put the safety of their fire crews first. While others are really short on common sense.

The biggest rule in firefighting is, don't get above a fire that can burn uphill. That can be a real killer.

In California I knew a guy who was a squad boss. He had a group of Job Corps kids working under him. They were told to work above a fire by some idiot in charge. The fire started working it's way up the hill toward them. Then the wind kicked up.

There was no way to out run this fire. It was coming up the mountain too fast to outrun. Now this squad boss had a cool head. He was an ex-marine fighter pilot, who had over a 100 missions in Vietnam.

They made their way up the mountain to a road. He had everyone pop their fire shelters. The fire burned over the top of them. Everyone survived, thanks to him.

He then went down to the head honcho's tent and chewed out some bosses. There was no excuse for a mistake like that.....

[mjosparky 3]

Steve,

+1

I spent 30 years fighting fire in So. Cal.

Sparky

My idea of a fair fight is clubbing baby seals