STEVE INSKEEP, HOST:
The words of this next story can put a picture in your head - the image of standing in a high tower, an old fire tower looking out over the woods in New York's Adirondack and Catskill Parks. Every year, people light up these towers like lighthouses to honor fire watchers. NPR's Brian Mann went along.
(SOUNDBITE OF FOOTSTEPS)
BRIAN MANN, BYLINE: Jake O'Connell and Scott Sabo head into the woods at dusk near Newcomb, New York, a tiny mountain town north of Albany. Their headlamps pick out roots and rocks as the shadows deepen over the steep trail. In their backpacks, both men carry big lamps and jugs of fuel.
JAKE O'CONNELL: We've got our good old-school Coleman propane lantern - relatively bright. So this is how we've been doing it here.
MANN: O'Connell's a young guy with a big mustache who works for the state forestry school. Scott Sabo also boasts a mustache and a quick grin. He's the New York forest ranger who patrols this wild corner of the Adirondack Park. Sabo says for half a century, New York's fire towers saved lives.
SCOTT SABO: Their time staffing the towers - legitimate fire danger, mainly from poor logging practices.
MANN: Fires in the 1900s were big and frequent, scorching whole mountain ranges, burning homes and businesses. When watchers on these mountains spotted smoke, they used radios to raise the alarm. After an hour of climbing, O'Connell and Sabo reach the summit on Goodnow Mountain.
(SOUNDBITE OF LANTERN CLANGING)
MANN: The fire tower built here in 1922 still stands, unused now. It rises overhead while they prepare their lamps.
SABO: We don't staff fire towers, but it's still our past, and it's still the ethos of work. You know, being lonely on the mountain - hard work in the backcountry. So that's still a tenant of us.
MANN: The men climb again up the tower's steep wooden staircase. It's a warm night, but there's a fierce wind. Sixty feet up above the tree line, the view opens, and O'Connell stops to take in the last trace of daylight.
O'CONNELL: Really beautiful sun kind of setting - just little bits of pink through the sky. And we can see a couple of mountain ranges still, with some storm clouds and fog behind them.
MANN: The height is dizzying, wildness stretching in every direction. You can feel how isolated the fire observers were keeping vigil here. A decade ago, volunteers organized this ritual to remember them, gathering on a single night to illuminate dozens of remaining towers.
(SOUNDBITE OF LANTERN RATTLING)
MANN: In this tower's little cabin, O'Connell and Sabo kneel out of the wind making final preparations. It's fully dark now. The stars have come out. It's time.
O'CONNELL: All right?
SABO: Yep.
(SOUNDBITE OF LANTERN GAS HISSING)
MANN: They light the lamps, and a warm glow pushes back the darkness.
O'CONNELL: So, you know, it's tradition to read some of the names of previous fire tower observers.
MANN: O'Connell takes out a slip of paper and leans into the light.
O'CONNELL: William Bailey would have been the first fire tower observer, followed by John Kays, George Shaughnessy.
MANN: After the names are read, the men shield their eyes from the light and peer out, spotting the glow of two other towers lit by volunteers on other mountains.
O'CONNELL: Well, Blue is going to be to our south.
(SOUNDBITE OF WIND BLOWING)
O'CONNELL: Blue and Owl's Head (laughter).
MANN: New York's fire towers were all decommissioned as new technology and new firefighting techniques came in. But on this night, they glow again, a chain of light in the darkness at the end of summer,
Brian Mann, NPR News, on Goodnow Mountain in the Adirondacks.
(SOUNDBITE OF CRAIG DUNCAN'S "HARD TIMES") Transcript provided by NPR, Copyright NPR.
NPR transcripts are created on a rush deadline by an NPR contractor. This text may not be in its final form and may be updated or revised in the future. Accuracy and availability may vary. The authoritative record of NPR’s programming is the audio record.
