Longe-Côte and the Canadairs: Kristin Espinasse on Summer in Provence
A passing aerial firefighter sparks memories of wildfire and rescue for Kristin
I was returning from a wedding, cruising along the turquoise coastline, when a familiar red-and-yellow aircraft swooped into our bay. Cars slowed. Pedestrians stopped. Even swimmers paused to watch the spectacle. I lowered the passenger window and began snapping photos, following the scene through my phone screen just as I had moments earlier at the wedding. Having just scooped seawater from the bay, le bombardier d’eau rose into the sky trailing a shimmering veil of mist.
A Canadair in action
PHOTO OF THE DAY
Delighted with the image, I immediately prepared to post it to Instagram when a guilty thought struck me: what about the bride? If my goal is one photo a day – not to bombard friends with pictures – then which image should make the cut? Which was the better photo du jour? La mariée? Ou… le bombardier? A bride is beautiful, but a Canadair – c’est un sauveteur. Both inspire awe when passing by, but only one will risk its life for you. This I know.
the blushing bride
Twenty-some years ago, when we lived in a medieval village in the Var, a fire roared through the pine forest above our house. We were entertaining guests when smoke drifted past the windows. My husband shouted for us to evacuate while he and a friend began hosing down our home, hoping to protect it. Their efforts seemed but a drop in the bucket against the advancing flames. Then suddenly – VROOM! – the first Canadair arrived, dumping 6,000 litres of seawater over the fire and turning the tide. Our home and our neighbourhood were saved.
Today, only 12 Canadairs serve all of France, and la flotte – now roughly 30 years old – is ageing. Yet age didn’t seem to matter that day. I’m not sure how many avions it took to extinguish the fire threatening our neighbourhood, but I have never forgotten the relief that accompanied the roar of their engines.
Kristin and her mother with the model plane
Years later, my mom fell for a model Canadair in a local boutique here in La Ciotat. Its cheerful red-and-yellow colours almost contradict the danger the aircraft represents. Bright against the blue Mediterranean sky, the little plane instantly brings back memories of the real ones skimming the sea before racing off towards smoke-covered hills. The model now hangs in Mom’s studio, perpetually in flight. And every time a Canadair passes overhead, we stop to watch its familiar white plume across the sky – like the flowing white train of that beautiful bride.
