REPORTER’S NOTEBOOK:

Donning the firefighter turnouts, known as their suits, stepping into the storage container with nothing between me and the 1,200-degree flames would be a cinch the second time around, I thought. I did this training last year and know what to expect.

But as Costa Mesa Fire Department Capt. Herb Ohde walked the newest class of Newport firefighters through the realities of flashover, that twinge of nervous, what-did-I-get-myself-into fear crept right back up my spine.

Even in a controlled setting, there is nothing calming about training with fire, he told us. With veterans, a hose and eight new department hires there to keep the situation under control, I still couldn’t help but tense up as the ceiling of smoke descended, and the flames disappeared out of sight, into the darkness. That’s what I had to deal with Monday night when I joined firefighters for flashover training.

A “flashover” in a fire is when all the gas and material released from the flames — the black smoke — reaches its ignition point at the same time, turning what is a smoke-filled room into a container of fire instantaneously, and killing anyone in there with it too. Smoke is essentially just unburned fuel for the fire, the department told me.

As Ohde explained to the recruits and myself, you just need an enclosed area, thick, dark smoke, extreme heat and oxygen to create a deadly situation. Monday night, they created one.

Sitting in the back of the custom-built container, I watched as a small barrel packed with wood on the other, raised end was lit. There were about 15 of us in there. Slowly, the fire grew and the smoke did too. With the doors closed, the vents above shut, we sat and watched a ceiling of black gas spread to all corners, darken and eventually lower. I’m not talking about the kind of smoke you get if your forget to open the flue on your fireplace. This is blinding if you’re in it, and moves in a steady wave, like a sheet hung out to dry.

At the top, it’s more than 600 degrees. That’s what Ohde wants. It’s time to give the fire what it wants. He orders the recruits to crack open the doors and vent.

The flames, which I haven’t been able to see for at least five minutes but know are there only by the crackling of the wood in the distance, light up the room as if pulling open the curtains. They’ve grown from maybe two to three feet, to double that, and they’re licking the ceiling and headed toward all of our heads. This is the makings of a flashover — the extreme heat, uncomfortable even in the turnouts — and now the oxygen to turn that ceiling of smoke into a fire. It’s eerie, kind of creepy like the slow build up to a scream in a scary movie. The flames at the other end gracefully and steadily, crawl their way over our heads, no more than two to three feet above like white-hot fingers reaching for more food.

If your first thought is “spray it with water!” you’d be wrong, and painfully so, Ohde explained. You have to “pencil” the inferno, meaning you spray the ceiling at the hottest points, cooling the atmosphere. As methodically as the flames crept over us, they methodically returned to the rear. If they didn’t do that, the room would have basically turned into one giant flame and I wouldn’t be here. And if you just let loose with the water like a cowboy, watch out. That water turns to steam, and it smothers you and everyone with you like a searing gas.

Fortunately, that didn’t happen because I was with guys who knew better. In a real situation, with that kind of heat (it was more than 170 degrees where I was, and that was the cool area) firefighters wouldn’t be there. They would have evacuated and attacked the blaze in a different way. But they have to know how to deal with it just in case, Ohde explained. As for me, I think I’ll stick to sitting in the back, in the cool spot.

Reporter JOSEPH SERNA may be reached at (714) 966-4619 or at [email protected].