Hidden Wounds
AN HOUR OR SO BEFORE DAWN in late July 2015, just south of the California-Oregon border, Danny Brown turned off the highway into the Modoc National Forest and headed toward a menacing glow of flames to the west. As he drove through a labyrinth of dirt logging roads, the smoke thickened in the beams of his headlights. At 46, Brown had been a wildland firefighter with the Bureau of Land Management for 14 seasons. He was a leader, reliable and steady. Within hours, all of that would change.
Brown was not scheduled to take charge on the Frog Fire until later that morning, but he headed there early because Dave Ruhl, his friend and fellow firefighter, was missing. Ruhl had been one of the first on the scene, and when a change in the wind caused a sudden blowup, his team lost radio contact with him.
Brown and Ruhl had known each other for 12 years, crossing paths on fires across the Western United States. But it wasn’t until they were both detailed to the Modoc with the Forest Service that summer that they became close. They worked out of separate guard stations, but on slow days they’d each drive an hour to meet up somewhere in the woods and have lunch.
When Brown reached the fire, he parked his truck near a group of pale green Forest Service fire engines huddled in the darkness. The fire was raging, so Brown and others searched its edges, shouting Ruhl’s name over the roar of burning timber. At first light, they fanned out in the devastation left behind by the blowup. Just after 9 a.m., some young firefighters from Arizona called out: They had spotted the charred remains of Ruhl’s body.
By the time Brown reached his friend, the others had headed back to their crews. As he stood there alone, waiting for the ambulance and law enforcement, something inside him snapped.
He had seen death before. Wildland firefighters are considered “all risk” emergency responders because of their extensive and versatile training; on previous calls, Brown had responded to a car accident, a plane crash and a suicide. But it wasn’t the sight of Ruhl that uncoupled some vital gear in Brown’s brain, turning him into a jumpy, irascible man for years afterward. It was the surprisingly sweet smell. Brown hadn’t eaten since the night before, and the scent of the seared flesh made his
