The ThunderBlogs

At the intersection of Main and Powell streets stands the busiest firehouse in Vancouver, Fire Hall 2, distinguishable by the wall-sized mural on the building beside its parking lot that depicts different fire engines since Vancouver was incorporated in 1886. Today this station, which straddles Vancouver’s downtown, its desperate Downtown Eastside and its port, answers more medical calls and calls overall than any of the other 21 firehouses in the city.

The junior firefighter at the firehouse is Chris Wingert, a thick-armed fellow with hair just thicker than crew-cut. On a recent Saturday he said that his time in the downtown hall has dulled his normal notions of excitement.

“I’m pretty desensitized to everything,” he said.

Going out on multiple overdose calls for the same person on the same night wears on the responders, he said. The worst night in his stint there came on the last night of summer fireworks, when the station responded to some 30 calls – mostly medical – during the 14-hour overnight shift.

Calls to the port, while rare, require the trucks to pass through the same security inspection that a civilian vehicle would face. Most of the contact with the port, Wingert said, comes when tourists unpack some cruise ship and stop in for directions after wandering near and through some of Vancouver’s roughest neighborhoods. “That happens all the time,” Wingert said.

On a quiet afternoon, the firehouse’s three vehicles stand shoulder-to-shoulder: the engine, the rescue truck (which has only enough water in it to put out a Dumpster fire or similar), and the quint, which carries a ladder and a massive jaws of life in its rear, replete with its jackhammer-sized cutter and spreader.

In the rear of the house, behind the trucks, the firefighters’ work-worn turnout gear hung from a rack of low hooks along the wall: helmets, jackets, boots, gloves, balaclavas. On the adjacent window sill sat three kettlebells, and on the floor before them stood a ping-pong table with two swaths of duct tape running horizontally to serve as a net.

Wingert said he’d never played ping-pong in more than a year at the firehouse. “Everyone sees stuff on TV,” he said. “It’s not like that. We’re not just sitting around waiting for something to happen.”