LOS DIABLOS:
Fuego no Puede
106 N. 3rd St. ● Alpine, TX 79830 ● manager@alpinetexas.com
(432) 837-2326 ● www.alpinetexas.com
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by Phyllis Dunham
Wanted: Forty or so men to do dangerous physical labor
in harsh conditions and remote terrain. Must be in top phys
ical condition and ready at a moment’s notice 24 hours a
day, 365 days a year. Must be able to leave home and fam
ily for weeks at a time and sleep on the ground in all weath
er. You will not know when or where you will be deployed
until you are deployed. There is no pay unless you work, and
there is no guarantee of work. NO BENEFITS.
O
CITY DRUG STORE
Alpine’s Country Drug Store
Now a HealthMart ® Pharmacy
R
X
Dale Dyda, R. PH.
432-837-2252
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8
bviously, this is not a situation for just any-
one. However, an extraordinary constel-
lation of circumstances make this neces-
sary work in the Big Bend and the perfect job for
the Diablos, the Mexican wild land firefighting
team that many experts regard as one of the best
ground crews in North America.
In the early 90s Big Bend National Park offi-
cials realized that the park’s remoteness necessitat-
ed utilizing local resources to fight fires. They
needed to look no further than right across the
Rio Grande, where they found a readily available
pool of potential firefighters with all the qualities,
if not yet the skills, to fit the niche. And if you’re
wondering why Mexican nationals were tapped
for these jobs instead of Americans, just re-read
the posting above.
Legend has it that the Diablos acquired their
name because they told park officials that, if they
were given this chance, they would fight fire “like
devils.” And that they have done – to great
acclaim and to the pride and the well-being of
their families and communities.
With names like Rosillo, Eleasar, Adrian,
Osbaldo and Chuy, the Diablos hail from the
remote villages of Boquillas, San Vicente and
Santa Elena just across the river from the park.
These villages are solar-powered and self-sustain-
ing. They have to be. The border villages are clos-
er to Terlingua than to interior towns in Mexico,
and the roads and country that separate them
from the interior are rough, rocky and inhos-
pitable. The Diablos’ families have lived here, in
many cases, for generations. Their ties to the not-
quite-equally remote ranches and towns of South
Brewster County are strong.
Farming and ranching, making wax from can-
delilla plants and catering to the tourists and park
personnel who routinely crossed the border to get
a bite to eat or a cold refresco or cerveza sustained
the people of these villages for decades. The bor-
ders were fluid, and people crossed in both direc-
tions routinely in order to work or recreate or visit
with family on the other side. When fighting fire
for a living became an option, many of the best
men on the Mexican side joined up for training
that would change their lives and bring prosperi-
Cenizo
Second Quarter 2011
ty to their out-of-the-way communities.
Now that those communities are even further
isolated by border closings after the 9/11 attacks,
fighting fire has become almost the sole source of
income for the riverside villages. Restaurants,
cantinas and ferry boats were forced to shut shop.
When firefighting became the only game left in
town, the Diablos continued to protect resources
in a country that simultaneously needed them
and barely knew of their existence.
This is hardly country for the soft and pam-
pered, and therein is the heart and soul of this
unique wild land firefighting program. Not just
anyone can do what the Diablos do, especially the
way they do it. They are known for their work
ethic, their hardiness, their skill and even their style
– so much so that when ground teams are needed
fast in California, Washington or Wyoming to
fight big fires, the Diablos are often invited.
J.R. Sullivan is a veteran firefighter who has
worked with the Diablos almost since the begin-
ning and is back in the Big Bend this year work-
ing as a Diablo crew boss. He says that it isn’t just
that the Diablos are so good at what they do, it’s
also their dedication and their willingness to work
on the ground and very close to the fire that set
them apart from and above other ground crews.
In wild land situations where ground crews need
to work steady, hard and fast to keep fires con-
tained, the Diablos play a critical role.
According to Rawls Williams, a former fire
management officer with the national park, a
timely deployment of “six grunts who can get in
the black” can make all the difference between
containment and disaster. He tells of seeing the
Diablos work steadily in 117 degree weather for
days at a time without accident or injury and, fur-
thermore, without whining. The Diablos them-
selves, as Williams tells it, bring peer pressure to
the table that promotes good values and an
impressive esprit de corps. It’s one of the many
reasons that “people just love ’em.”
Their sense of pride and style no doubt con-
tribute to their welcome wherever they go. Most
seasoned American wild land firefighters go back
to town at the end of a shift, dirty and smoky. It’s
part of their wild-man culture. But not so for the
Diablos. No matter how rough and dirty the con-
ditions, each of them keeps a clean yellow fire-
fighter’s shirt stashed with his gear to change into
for the trip back into town. It’s a difference you
can’t help but notice when you’re having dinner
with your family at a local restaurant and the
Diablos walk in. It gets quiet. Respect is in the air.
Bruce Balderston with the national park’s fire
management office had never seen anything like