Range: Why Generalists Triumph in a Specialized World

by David Epstein

In Montana’s 1949 Mann Gulch fire, made famous in Norman Maclean’s Young Men and Fire, smokejumpers parachuted in expecting to face a “ten o’clock fire,” meaning they would have it contained by 10 a.m. the next morning. Until the fire jumped across the gulch from one forested hill slope to the steep slope where the firefighters were, and chased them uphill through dry grass at eleven feet per second. Crew foreman Wagner Dodge yelled at the men to drop their tools. Two did so immediately and sprinted over the ridge to safety. Others ran with their tools and were caught by the flames. One firefighter stopped fleeing and sat down, exhausted, never having removed his heavy pack. Thirteen firefighters died. The Mann Gulch tragedy led to reforms in safety training, but wildland firefighters continued to lose races with fires when they did not drop their tools.

In four separate fires in the 1990s, twenty-three elite wildland firefighters refused orders to drop their tools and perished beside them.

Weick found similar phenomena in Navy seamen who ignored orders to remove steel-toed shoes when abandoning a ship, and drowned or punched holes in life rafts; fighter pilots in disabled planes refusing orders to eject; and Karl Wallenda, the world-famous high-wire performer, who fell 120 feet to his death when he teetered and grabbed first at his balance pole rather than the wire beneath him.

“Dropping one’s tools is a proxy for unlearning, for adaptation, for flexibility,” Weick wrote. “It is the very unwillingness of people to drop their tools that turns some of these dramas into tragedies.”