It was early June 1974, and we were on our initial fire with the Tahoe Brigade, California's first wildland fire crew with women on it. We were transported by military half-tracks to an area near the fire and walked out to it along with an all-Hispanic crew. It was an open area steaming with heat, and the acrid smell of burned wood filled our lungs. We were near a thirty-foot hill, and both crews lined up and covered the area slowly, taking one glove off and feeling for heat with the back of a bare hand. Glancing at Sarah and Linda, I thought, This fire is a piece of cake with frosting. The fire gods had a different message for us.