Oct 29

FL04 AVAILABLE
FL05 AVAILABLE
FL06 AVAILABLE
FL07 Unavailable

We also have available through Frontline Medical....
3000gal Potable Water Tenders Ryans Water Services
Gray Water Vacuum Trucks Ryans Water Services
Handwashing Stations Ryans Water Services, Exceptional Fire Support
Shower Units BrookStone
Tents InTents, Brookstone
Laundry Service Exceptional Fire Support
Low-Boy Equipment Haulers Ryans Water Services
Drivers with 1 Ton 4x4 and Trailers H and H Constructors
Air Traffic Control Trailers Stockdale Fire Support, BrookStone
Copy Service / GIS Fire Dawg
Other Overhead Positions - MEDL, RESL, STAM, RCDM, DIVS, FBAN, INCM
(all OH positions can be requested through Plumas National Forest - Graeagle Fire - or contact Frontline Medical)

Robert W. Service, 1874-1958

The Cremation of Sam McGee
There are strange things done 'neath the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold.
The arctic trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold.
The northern lights have seen queer sights
But the queerest they ever did see,
Was that night on the marge of Lake LeBarge
When I cremated Sam McGee.

Now Sam McGee was from Tenessee
Where the cotton blooms and blows.
Why he left his home in the south to roam
'round the poles, God only knows.
He was always cold, but the land of gold
Seemed to hold him like a spell,
Though he'd often say in his homely way
That he'd sooner live in Hell.

On a Christmas day we were mushing our way
Over the Dawson trail.
Talk of your cold, through the parka's fold
It stabbed like a driven nail.
If our eyes we'd close, then the lashes froze
'til sometimes we couldn't see.
It wasn't much fun, but the only one
To whimper was Sam McGee.

And that very night while we lay packed tight
In our robes beneath the snow,
And the dogs were fed, and the stars o'er head
Were dancing heel and toe,
He turns to me, and "Cap" says he
"I'll cash in this trip, I guess.
And if I do, I'm asking that you
Won't refuse my last request."

Well, he looked so low that I couldn't say no,
Then he says with a sort of a moan,
"It's the cursed cold, it's got right hold
'til I'm chilled clean through to the bone.
Yet tain't being dead, it's my awful dread
Of an icy grave that pains.
So I want you to swear that foul or fair,
You'll cremate my last remains."

Well, a friend's last need is a thing to heed,
So I swore I would not fail.
We started on at the streak of dawn,
But, God, he looked ghastly pale!
He crouched on the sleigh, and he raved all day
Of his home in Tenessee,
And before nightfall, a corpse was all
That was left of Sam McGee.

There wasn't a breath in that land of death,
And I hurried on, horror stricken.
With a corpse half hid, that I couldn't get rid,
Because of a promise I'd given.
It was lashed to the sleigh, and it seemed to say,
"You may tax your brawn and your brains,
But you promised true, and it's up to you
To cremate these last remains."

...to be continued....