Queer and young, he’s part of a generational shift in wildland firefighting

For Kyle Trefny, wildfire work this time of year usually happens in the glow of his laptop.

He spends hours reading policy reports and combing through data as a researcher with the University of Oregon’s Ecosystem Workforce Program and as an advocate for people who work in wildland firefighting.

In the summers, his hands are more likely on a Pulaski than a keyboard, as he is part of a Eugene-based wildland firefighting contract crew. Those long days led to a desire to transform how people relate to the land — and each other. 

In an interview with Lookout Eugene-Springfield, Trefny recalled spending 41 days on assignment in Montana. It was 2021, when major fires in California and Oregon stretched national resources thin. His crew ended up being one of the few available to support what became the Divide Complex, a cluster of fires scattered across the Helena-Lewis and Clark National Forest.

It was there he held a drip torch for the first time during a back-burn — a tactic that sets a low-intensity fire to burn off fuels before a wildfire engulfs it. 

In the pocket of his Nomex pants, he kept a small notebook. During breaks, he sketched what surrounded him: tree canopies, butterflies, crew members sitting in the dust. 

That season is nostalgic for Trefny, a time when he bonded closely with his crew. But he also learned not everyone on the fireline was as welcoming. 

“There’s not a lot of queer men in the fire space, but there is a kind of culture that can be described as patriarchal or militaristic or even like promoting toxic forms of masculinity that aren’t good for anybody,” said Trefny.

“I experienced this a bit as far as being harassed for my queer identity, facing other forms of discomfort, as well as feeling, on the other hand of that, finding other queer people in this space who made me feel safe,” he said.

“We are trained on the physical safety components of not getting burned in a fire, to understand fire behavior, etc., but we’re not trained on the interpersonal safety components. There’s not standards, or even times there’s often not reporting systems to uphold accountability for how we treat each other.” 

While he has faced adversity, he also calls out his privilege as a white, often straight-passing queer man. That awareness shapes his work as part of a broader movement alongside those who have faced systemic barriers, including women and people of color. 

Trefny points to the case of Brian “Hakiym” Simpson, a Black firefighter imprisoned after a racially charged fight in southern Oregon. The FireGeneration Collaborative, an organization Trefny co-founded, and other environmental justice groups have called for Gov. Tina Kotek to exonerate him. 

Reimagining fire culture

At FireGeneration Collaborative, known as FireGen, Trefny and director Ryan Reed — a cultural fire practitioner from the Karuk, Hupa and Yurok Tribes — are reimagining fire culture to support a more diverse workforce while centering Indigenous leadership. Fire has long been a cultural practice for Indigenous peoples and a tool used for thousands of years, until federal policies removed tribes and replaced their land management practices. 

Together, Trefny and Reed helped organize a youth expert panel to advise the U.S. Department of Agriculture’s Wildland Fire Mitigation and Management Commission. The 50-member commission, chartered by Congress, initially had no young voices at the table. FireGen recruited eight young people from across the country to share their experiences and draft recommendations.

Five of those recommendations made it into the commission’s final report, including measures expanding hands-on education for young people and improving workforce conditions. But their most direct proposal — mandatory interpersonal safety training addressing sexism, racism and homophobia — was softened in the final language, said Trefny. 

“It said something like: ‘It’s important our workforce represents the nation’s diverse communities,’ and that it’s a ‘welcoming and inclusive space.’ That’s good, but it doesn’t get to the lever that we actually need,” he said. “It’s been interesting to navigate, especially amid growing federal backlash on creating safe spaces for people of marginalized identities.” 

Trefny is now digging into U.S. Forest Service archives, where fire management notes from the 1970s and 1980s make clear that these problems were documented long before his time. He believes historical honesty can inform solutions.

“It really is an intergenerational thing, and it has been a really important and challenging part of the fire experience for lots of people, for generations, and for decades,” Trefny said. 

Apocalyptic orange skies during major West Coast fires in 2020 — from the San Francisco Bay Area to Oregon — inspired Trefny to join this generation of firefighters. Alongside the interpersonal conflicts he has faced, he has also dealt with the instability of contracting, especially this summer, when his crew went long periods without calls for work. 

Trefny doesn’t know why his crew saw so few assignments this year, but he suspects it may be tied to federal cost-cutting measures. Policy leaders don’t deny reform is needed, but say it should be research-driven, thoughtful and inclusive of diverse voices — including Trefny’s.

He also supports broader efforts to shift the fire workforce from seasonal, unstable jobs to long-term livelihoods. He has helped secure more than $350,000 in grants to support FireGen’s role in that transition.

Those efforts are already being recognized.

The New Leaders Initiative, a program of the nonprofit Earth Island Institute, named Trefny one of this year’s Brower Youth Award recipients, which honor emerging environmental leaders.

And his work is only beginning, a spark carried by either flame or screen light.