Engaged

With baited breath, we waited for the results of Josh's application. Weeks passed without notice and we knew it wasn’t good news, he hadn’t gotten the permanent job for the 3rd year in a row. We were crushed, Josh was completely deflated. All that hard work for nothing.

Disappointment fueled our idea to explore openings with other crews and agencies. A permanent position for which he definitely qualified was going to be announced not too far away in Western Colorado. He'd plan to go back as a seasonal with his UT crew in the meantime until we'd find out. His supervisors provided him with amazing guidance and supported him entirely throughout his endeavors to advance. Another testament to the kind-heartedness, caring, and boosting each other up like family, which is often discovered within the wildland firefighting crews and community as a whole.

There was one major difference about the Colorado job, the position was with the BLM (Bureau of Land Management) as opposed to the USFS (US Forest Service). Luckily, these two organizations work closely together, allowing candidates to ‘lateral over’ with their position. This meant that perhaps Josh could gain permanent status with the BLM, then transfer back pretty seamlessly to the USFS in the future. Maybe he could come back to his old crew next year, we thought.

Before that 2014 season kicked off, we made plans mid-April to spend a romantic weekend in the mountains. A remote yurt, high in the Uinta Mountains, was waiting for us. We would have to drive over an hour to a trailhead and then snowmobile 5+ miles into it. Easier said than done...

The snow was crap. The sun had been hitting it for a while now in an attempt to summon spring, causing it to melt and morph into a sloppy mess. Our sled was heavy, carrying both of us against the manufacturers recommendation, along with our supplies. A 30-rack of cheap beer was strapped atop a plastic kiddie sled dragging behind us, the cardboard box had already begun to deteriorate from the wet snow accumulating on top.

We didn't make it far before our snowmobile sunk down, again, swallowed by the slushy mess and indiscernible trails. After we climbed off, I can remember Josh groaning loudly as he gripped the black handle tightly and heaved with all his might. The yellow sled had barely budged, it was buried. We had managed to drag it out twice already in an attempt to find the aforementioned trailhead.

With every tug Josh roared audibly and slowly inched the sled to the side, freeing it just barely from the deep rut. His legs were buried beyond his knees as he post-holed around the back of the machine toward the side compartment to reveal the engine. A defeated look crossed his face, he hung his head and uttered something along the lines of ‘you’ve got to be kidding me’.

‘What’s wrong?’, I asked him from my spot about ten feet away planted atop a snow packed bush, my own comfy little chair from which I was no help.

‘The belt is blown’, he stated.

I didn't really know what that meant, but thankfully we had a spare that day. While Josh worked to replace it, I looked towards the sky and noted that it was getting darker. Ominous gray clouds were headed our direction, a wall of rain underneath it. I kept this observation to myself, Josh was already stressed enough about getting the sled fixed so we could get moving again.

After he fixed the belt, we took another look at the map together, a tiny screenshot on his phone. I had no idea what he was pointing at, or what trail he was talking about. He'd been there before but was having difficulty figuring out the correct route in those sloppy late-season conditions. So many trails looked real, but would come to a frustrating dead-end. We'd already tried a handful of directions, and I remember thinking how many different ways could we possibly go?

Josh was convinced he knew the way, so we climbed back aboard the ski-doo and set off again. In order to stay on top of the snow and prevent getting stuck again, Josh had to gun it. He blasted us in the direction he thought was right, he did his best to keep us moving quickly while avoiding trees and deep areas that might have sucked us back in.

After only a few minutes of clumsily motoring along we arrived at an opening in the trees. We both glanced to our right and our eyes widened. It was the parking lot again! How the heck did we do that?, I thought. Josh brought the sled to a halt as we stared at our white car in disbelief, not 50 feet away from us. We must have gotten ourselves so turned around that we still hadn’t even made it half a mile from our starting point. We had been searching for the trail for almost 3 hours now.

As if things couldn’t get worse, the dark clouds rolled upon us and began raining down cold wet drops of moisture. The day was officially getting late, much later than we had planned for, things started looking grim. Shivering and damp, I blurted out ‘let’s bag it babe, it’s getting dark and rainy I think it’s a sign’.

I could see defeat written all over his face, he wasn’t ready to give up on our plans. While I found our predicament comical, Josh was less impressed with the nature of our awkward situation.

‘No worries, we can just go back to the house and drink these beers in some warm pjs. Let’s build a fort, it’ll be like we are still camping!’ I added, trying to lighten the mood. A small smile marked his face yet he remained quiet and contemplative. What’s the big deal, I thought to myself, let’s get this show on the road and get outta here!

Josh solemnly agreed after some time and got busy with loading the sled onto the trailer, while I unloaded our cargo and hucked wet bags into the back of the car. I thought about how miserable we would have been if we did make it, everything was sopping wet! It would have sucked to get a fire started and our sleeping bags were drenched. The rain continued to drip on top of us as we finished strapping down the ski-doo together.

Ripping into the floppy cardboard box, Josh grabbed us two beers. My teeth chattered as he handed me one. "Can I borrow your jacket?", I asked. With a little hesitancy, Josh swooped around awkwardly and took off his black North Face filled with warm down feathers. He handed it to me as I thanked him and quickly put it on. Josh waltzed around the trailer and checked on the sled, setting his beer down he tugged on each strap to ensure they were tight. While his back was turned, I noticed something bulged out of his back pocket and let him know ‘hey babe, something’s falling out of your pocket’.

‘Oh….uh…..it’s flagging. I brought it just in case we needed to put it up to find our way back’ he replied. I shrugged in agreement. Ok I guess that made sense. I chuckled out loud and told him ‘it could be worse, we could be lost in the dark or stuck somewhere even farther with no spare belt’. I could sense his anxiety and disappointed that we didn’t make it, and wanted him to cheer up. Big deal though, I thought, what was up with him? He was acting all quiet and weird.

Suddenly, Josh turned back around and grabbed the object from his back pocket. He swiftly dropped to one knee.

Oooooh, now I get it!

After Reciting my full name he popped the question right there next to the car ‘will you marry me?’.

Elated and baring a toothy grin, he slowly slid the ring on my finger as I replied with a resounding ‘Fuck Yes!’. I dropped to my own knees and wrapped my arms around him. Dirty and wet, we embraced and kissed each other in the parking lot, still 5 miles from our yurt.

Josh’s perfect plans had been foiled, but he ‘still had to go through with it’, he told me. He had packed a bottle of champagne along with a vision of a romantic weekend in the mountains. The cherry on top would be the perfect proposal. Despite the universe’s attempt to thwart his plans, we drove home happier than ever that day. I was fully committed to this life with my wildland firefighter.

A re-creation of 'the proposal'

News of our engagement brought excitement to our families and friends back on the East Coast. And we had more good news, Josh got the permanent position with the BLM in Colorado. He was in. He could start working towards a retirement plan, he was guaranteed a paycheck for a certain number of months, and his job would always be there waiting for him next year. It was a huge relief, but also oddly a disappointment.

While I was elated for him and for our future, we were looking at the start of another fire season that would take him away to another state. Here we go again, long-distance. It was hard to know how to feel. We had only just moved in together and now we were engaged. We didn’t have much time to soak it all in before he'd be gone to Colorado to start his new position. I'd stayed back in Utah to work and live alone. We'd been dating for about 2.5 years at this point, but only had spent a little over a year of that actually, physically, together in person.