As the helicopter approached, I braced against the powerful winds sent by the rotor downwash, whipping a wave of snow crystals into my face.
The giant metal dragonfly, contracted by the Ontario Ministry of Natural Resources to fly fire rangers into fight forest fires this summer, was now so close I could stand up and touch it.
With thousands of pounds of gleaming metal hanging in the air right above me, I struggled to push down my fear and imitate what I had seen the other recruits doing: stand up, clip the cargo net to the hook on its underside and yank to signal to the pilot that the load was attached.
Marco Chown Oved got certified as a wildland firefighter to understand Ontario’s growing wildfire crisis and what it takes to be prepared for the frontlines.Marco Chown Oved got certified as a wildland firefighter to understand Ontario’s growing wildfire crisis and what it takes to be prepared for the frontlines.
Then the helicopter dipped noticeably.
It was hard to believe what had just happened: I had literally pulled a helicopter out of the sky by a few inches. This powerful machine, a miracle of modern engineering, was also so fragile, so delicate, that a little tug seemed to be able to send it crashing to the ground.
I had come to learn how to fight forest fires, but at that moment, I couldn’t help but think that the real lesson is that no matter how sophisticated our society has become, we’re still extremely vulnerable to disaster.
‘The most adaptable people on the face of the earth’
Steel-toed boots and appropriate clothing for the weather. That was the packing list for the SP-100 wildland firefighter training course — the entry-level certification all Ontario fire rangers must have.
The FireRanger program is understaffed and over budget, increasing the risk that each new blaze may break containment and threaten lives.
The FireRanger program is understaffed and over budget, increasing the risk that each new blaze may break containment and threaten lives.
The photos and videos online show orange-shirted crew members bathed in sweat and coated in soot. But in Sault Ste. Marie in March, I would end up chipping ice off my car and pulling fire hoses through the snow.
To better understand the growing threat of wildfires fuelled by climate change, and what’s being done to address them, the Star dispatched me to learn the basics of forest firefighting.
Unlike urban fire departments, where jobs are hypercompetitive and recruits must take a yearlong college course, all I would need to fight forest fires is a five-day class, a basic first aid certificate and a fitness test.

Wilderness firefighter student Isaiah McIntee starts up a Mark-3 gasoline-powered water pump during a training session.
MARCO CHOWN OVED / TORONTO STAR
Also, in contrast to urban fire departments, which offer generous pay and benefits and are staffed entirely by career professionals, Ontario’s FireRanger crews are largely made up of summer students on six-month contracts being paid $25.38 an hour.
The conference room tables at the Quality Inn were lined with young men and women in their teens and early 20s, each with a thick manual outlining everything from how to maintain a water pump to how to get in and out of a helicopter.
Many of the 32 aspiring rookies already had job offers — conditional on their successful completion of the course — from one of the 14 regional Fire Management Headquarters scattered across the province, from Haliburton, through Chapleau and all the way out to Sioux Lookout and Red Lake.
Each year, the Ministry of Natural Resources hires around 200 rookies who will battle the fires on the front-line. Shoulder-to-shoulder with crew leaders with more experience, they’ll fly into active wildfires in a helicopter, lay hose from a lake or river, and then support the nozzle operator attacking the fire’s edge.
Ontario’s approach to fighting forest fires is unique. In the rest of Canada and the United States, wildfires are fought with axes and shovels, creating firebreaks by hand to stop the flames from spreading. In this lake-covered province, there’s almost always a water source close by, and fire crews consider a gasoline-powered pump and several hundred meters of hose a far more effective way to beat a fire back.

Instructor and former Ontario Fire Ranger John MacDonald laughs during a training session.
MARCO CHOWN OVED / TORONTO STAR
“We’re known as the plumbers of the forest,” said John MacDonald, a retired incident commander with the province’s Aviation, Forest Fires and Emergency Services (AFFES) branch and one of the course instructors.
Every fire ranger crew flies out with 24 hours of food and at least four boxes of fire hose — nearly 500 metres long, connected end to end. They’ll set up a pump at the edge of a lake, river, stream or even swamp and bring water to a fire’s edge. There, using a high-pressure stream of water, they “knock down” the flames and start “wrapping” the perimeter of the fire to stop its progress.
“For the first few days, we’re working our butts off to stop that fire from spreading. After we get it under control, it’s mop up — that’s when we put it out,” said instructor Dave Bronson, a retired fire ranger with 35 years of experience.
But when the fires get too big, even hoses and high water pressure aren’t enough.
“It’s like trying to stop a hurricane with a garden hose,” he said.

Instructor and former Ontario Fire Ranger Dave Bronson.
MARCO CHOWN OVED / TORONTO STAR
In those cases, crews retreat until water bombers can cool down the edge of the fire enough so they can get back in there. Sometimes, however, fires are moving so quickly that crews light smaller fires to “back burn” a firebreak in its path before it arrives — starving the fire of fuel, and stopping it in its tracks.
Over the five-day course, we were taught to make firebreaks the traditional way, swinging a Pulaski, or fireman’s axe, to dig a trench in the ground — or the snow, in our case. But the real emphasis was on working with the pumps and hoses.
In groups, we learned to apply the strangler to cut off the water long enough to add a new length of hose. We practiced how to blast the ground with a stream of water to make a trench — a mini fire break — all the way down to non-flammable mineral soil, like clay or sand, that lies beneath the organic layer of dirt.
We were shown how to troubleshoot a water pump in the field and how to jury-rig it in case it broke. We studied how to set up longer hose lines and use more than one pump to deliver the right volume of water at the right pressure to the fire line, where crews could be facing flames up to two and a half meters high.
“Firefighters have to be the most adaptable people on the face of the earth,” said Bronson. “Nothing isn’t going to change.”

Star reporter Marco Chown Oved uses a Pulaski, or fireman’s axe, to dig a trench in the snow.
TORONTO STAR
The front lines for the coming firestorm
A small amount of climate change has a dramatically large impact on forest fires.
The temperature only has to rise by a degree or two to dry out everything from the soil to the underbrush to the tree canopy, reducing the humidity in the air and significantly increasing the conditions for fire ignition and spread, said Mike Wotton, a research scientist with the Canadian Forest Service and a professor at University of Toronto’s Fire Lab.
“It’s basic physics,” he said. “The models are all predicting a shift to more fires and more intense fires in the future.”
Beyond a certain intensity, fires can’t be fought by fire rangers on the ground. Beyond another intensity threshold, you can’t even attack them with water bombers, he said.
“When we look at these future climate change scenarios, that’s one of the things we look at: how many days are we expecting to be over these critical thresholds,” said Wotton. “And we tend to see an increase of 50 to 100 per cent in terms of those really extreme days.”
These “monster” fires are the ones that cause virtually all the damage, entering towns and cities and burning for months on end.
“Once you get a really big fire on a Canadian landscape, (and you can’t deploy firefighters) for the most part, you’re waiting till the end of the season, for the rain and snow to really extinguish it,” said Wotton.
Big runaway fires are responsible for 98 per cent of all forest area burned each year. As our instructors kept telling us: this is why it’s essential to get to a fire early and put it out before it grows too big.
“Keep me away from the big fires,” said Bronson. “Give me a two-hectare fire in the bush. I’d go in there with my crew, set up my pumps, lay my hoses and I’d be a happy camper.”
No longer a vocation
When I walked into the classroom, I immediately felt out of place. I was clearly not an instructor — the wizened guys at the front of the room — nor was I a typical recruit, most of whom were under 25.
“Who’s the grey beard?” said Jason Cosette, a student from Ottawa, who spent the course sleeping in his car.

Student Jason Cossette uses a fire hose to blast a firebreak in the ground.
MARCO CHOWN OVED / TORONTO STAR
Recruits used to hail overwhelmingly from northern Ontario, typically from families working in the forestry and mining industries. But as employment in those sectors has waned, the FireRangers began recruiting more heavily from “the south” — the GTA, Ottawa and Southwestern Ontario regions.
More and more recruits are also attending university and treating firefighting as a summer job, not a career. Even among those who want to stay in firefighting long-term, many end up making the jump to urban fire departments, where the pay is better and the work is year-round.
For these people, being a fire ranger isn’t a vocation. It’s a resumé builder.
While I heard some grumblings about the job being used as a stepping stone, Bob Hurley, Fire Management Supervisor at the Haliburton base, put a positive spin on it.
“We see so many people mature here,” he said. “The fact that they’re doing an emergency service career because they started out as a fire ranger is still a win for us.”
Until recently, being a fire ranger meant being in the bush and out of contact for virtually the entire summer. In an effort to appeal to Gen Z, Starlink stations are being brought into remote fires so Rangers can check social media and text with friends and family at the end of the day.
“I was a crew leader before the internet came into effect,” said course instructor MacDonald. “The big thing you’d miss on a fire is maybe a ball tournament or a wedding.”
“But now it’s a lot different. People are plugged into the world. There’s always something going on that they feel that they could be missing because they’re stuck north of Highway 17 somewhere on a fire.”
‘The plumbers of the forest’
On the frozen shores of the St. Marys River, fire ranger recruit Kaden Bulmer wades out into the frigid water to position a pump intake hose deep enough to operate.
It’s a job no one is jealous of. The snow overhangs the banks and breaks off into the water under our weight.

Samantha Bernardo applies a strangler to cut off the flow of water in a fire hose.
MARCO CHOWN OVED / TORONTO STAR
As soon as we get the pump going, things take a turn for the worse. Plastic nozzles and wye’s that connect hoses together snap in the cold, sending water spraying everywhere, soaking our jeans, which soon begin to freeze.
“Where’d you get these cheap things, Amazon?” said Samantha Bernardo, a recruit from Scarborough.
MacDonald laughs and says: “I’ve never seen a nozzle break like that before.”
“Don’t worry, though. As soon as you’re on the fire line, you won’t be worrying about the cold. It’s the heat that will get you.”
This story is Part 2 in The Coming Firestorm, a three-part series on the growing risk of wildfires fuelled by human-induced climate change.
Coming Monday in Part 3: Why computer models are failing to predict “impossible” wildfires, and what that means for Southern Ontario.