Originally published Nov. 4, 2008
One of the more memorable stories I covered in my newspaper days was a forest fire in northern Wisconsin. Well, not really a fire, given that the flames were out before I could get from south to north with pad and pen in hand, so in order to salvage the assignment I decided to interview a forest fire observer, which was a perfect plan until it occurred to me I would have to climb his tower to see him.
It was beyond nervous-making. When I arrived at the tower I realized it would be a 100-foot climb, hand over hand up a 10-story ladder with no safety wrap-around. Lord, it was frightening. The first time I cleared the treetops and felt the wind in my face I chickened out and went right back down to terra firma and hollered up, asking my interviewee what time he would be done. But he would have none of that. He finally talked me up, reminding me over and over to look straight out, not up or down, and keep climbing. Somehow, I made it, and after about 15 minutes my knees stopped shaking enough to enjoy the experience. Of course, then I had to get back over the hold in the floor of his shack, get back on the ladder and return to earth. It’s hard to say whether up or down was worse, but I lived to tell the tale.
Maybe that’s why I notice when fire towers made news. And when the latest newsletter of the Wisconsin Historical Society arrived the other day there was a tower in the news – the Mountain Fire Lookout Tower in Oconto County has just been added to the National Register of Historic Places. In my case that was historic in a personal way. I climbed that one, too, on another story some years back, and if you would be so inclined you can, too. The Mountain Fire Lookout Tower, located a few miles outside of the little community of Mountain, has been rehabilitated as an interpretive site and open to the public.
The Mountain Fire Lookout Tower, one of two remaining towers of the 19 that once served the Nicolet National Forest, is not as scary a climb as the one I described above. For starters, there are stairs from bottom to top, so there are handrails for comfort and security, but be forewarned that anyone who is altitude-averse won’t have an easy climb of it. The reward, though, is standing about 10 stories over a magnificent forest and looking out for miles of northern Wisconsin landscape. Surely that’s worth a little knee-knocking.
The Mountain fire tower was used from 1935 until the last fire was called in on April 25, 1970. Fire watching now is mostly an aerial pursuit, but it’s good a few original towers are being preserved to remind us of what those days were like. The tower was originally located a few miles from where it stands today; it was moved by a crew of Civilian Conservation Corps workers in 1935. Corps enrollees also fought fires, manned the tower and did other construction projects in the forest, which adds yet another layer to its historic importance.
Wait, though. Did I say manned? In fairness it should be noted that not every fire observer who manned a tower was in fact a man. Two years ago I wrote yet another newspaper story about the Fifield Fire Tower, in the Chequamegon-Nicolet National Forest (that’s the one pictured above), which was also being added to the National Register. As part of the research for the nomination park officials collected the remembrances of former fire observers, including brother and sister Manny Stein and Betty Murnik, who served at three locations during their years of service, including the tower near Fifield. I couldn’t help remember my own shaky climb when I read Betty’s account of one fall day:
“It was cold – there as no way of heating up there – some of those windows opened, so when it got cold and the wind was blowing, it came in. And the geese – there was rain mixed with snow one day, and the geese were flying between me and the ground. “
I liked Manny’s description of working during lightning storms, too, sitting on a stool with glass insulators on the bottom: “There would be a big bang – just like a canon going off. Then when it hit, you’d think, ‘What am I doing in this job? I don’t need to be in this job.
“Oh my, that was scary.”
I can only imagine. These days I’m happy keeping the geese overhead.
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