It's hazy. The Frankland Spotter is heading over to check fire report in Wellington, I hear. Flying time, 90 minutes. Bunbury, to pick someone up.
It's kinda nerve wracking and boring all at once. It's a bit like being at sea: long periods of boredom followed by brief, intense excitement. Of course I want to spot fires before the pilots do. (Doesn't everyone?) Eagles fly beneath me and I can see the patterns atop their wings.
'Walpole Office this is Frankland Tower,' I say.
'Go ahead Tower.'
'Weather. Winds south south west at 12 km per hr. Vis is 1,1,1,2. Temp 20 degrees. Relative humidity 83.'
'Copy that Tower.'
So ... my radio name is Tower now. How cool is that? I lock up the tower at the end of the day and climb down past ancient karris, jarrahs and tingle trees. The last bit is a sedate walk. That smell of the forest. I watch out for snakes. At the car park, I realise I feel amazing. At the end of a day's work at the service station I am quite fucked. But not today. Today I've been on the best job since I was fishing for a living and this job is pretty freaking good. It's making me feel better.