In the middle of the afternoon, Joan called, “There's a forest fire right across the lake from us.”
        A pillar of greasy grey-green smoke rose out of the trees on the west side of the Okanagan Lake. As we watched, the first of the water bombers came sideslipping down out of the skies. It dumped its tons of red-orange fire retardant, and vanished into the blinding pall of smoke.
        Watching through binoculars as the planes edged in lower and lower along the precipitous hillside, it seemed that their wingtips must be almost brushing the treetops beside them.
        The tankers were followed by the helicopters. The flitted in and out of the smoke, dipping into the lake for water, then dashing back into the dragon's raging maw. From a distance, they looked like fragile hummingbirds, hovering. Or perhaps like exceptionally agile moths dancing around a candle flame.
        I found myself overcome with awe at the skill of those pilots.

Mixed motives
        They made me wonder what it's worth risking one's life for.
        Certainly not jaywalking in the middle of a busy block, because you're too lazy to go down to the crosswalk.
        I'm also skeptical about skydiving, climbing sheer rock walls, and bungee jumping. I've no doubt they offer thrills. But only for entirely selfish purposes. No other person – indeed, no other thing – gains any benefit from such acts of derring-do. In fact, the effects are mainly negative – on the environment, on themselves, on others…
        But those pilots risked themselves for a better purpose.
        I'm not naïve enough to think that they did it out of pure altruism. I have absolutely no doubt that for these pilots each fire generates a huge rush of adrenalin, the thrill of staring death in the face and coming out alive.
        When I lived in Prince Rupert, I sometimes got rides in bush planes, flying into isolated inlets or river villages. I flew with one of the best, a young man called Hong Mar, shortly before he crashed trying to turn in a too-narrow valley.
        Mar was proud of the service he offered. But he was also proud of his own skills, his abilities, the sheer joy of making a complex flying machine respond to his slightest input.

Pure altruism
        The Dalai Lama sometimes speaks of pure altruism as the highest virtue.
        I don't know anyone who acts purely out of altruism. Even doctors, dentists, and ophthalmologists who spend part of their vacation providing services to impoverished villages in Guatemala or Tanzania describe it as a wonderful experience, a glorious adventure.
        Perhaps there's no such thing in human life as pure altruism. And perhaps that's okay.
        Maybe there is always an element of self-interest in our behavior. Selfless acts make us feel good. Our example may encourage others to reciprocate. We're creating a better world for our descendents…
        Whether those pilots put out the fire because of a motivation to serve others, or because they loved flying, doesn't really matter that much. What matters is that they brought a fire under control.