Rookie Learns the Meaning of Mopping Up : Fire: Nearly 700 work to douse hot spots in wake of 1,325-acre blaze near Piru. Crews carve ring of breaks seven miles in diameter.

“Mopping up.” Such a tidy phrase.

And such a nasty job, as rookie Ventura County Firefighter Keith Helm was learning Wednesday while shoulder-deep in cactus spines and smoldering tree stumps.

Helm and county Fire Capt. Bill Shirk joined nearly 700 firefighters swarming over the scorched hills north of Piru on Wednesday afternoon to douse hot spots from Tuesday’s 1,325-acre arson wildfire--the season’s largest so far.

By midday, hand crews like theirs had carved a ring of firebreaks around the burn area seven miles in diameter and were attacking the last few twisting columns of smoke.

As they worked, investigators were still trying to learn who used a timed fire-starting device to spark the fire that briefly threatened to blow through the tiny town of Piru.

A wind shift from hot Santa Anas to cool sea breezes late Tuesday helped firefighting crews get a firm grip on the fire earlier than expected, said Sandi Wells, spokeswoman for the Ventura County Fire Department.

The fire had caused only minor injuries among firefighters--a twisted ankle, two injured knees and two cases of heat exhaustion--and no property damage. Flames had passed harmlessly over the only structure within the fire zone--a barn more than 40 years old.

Yet the fire could not be allowed to burn unchecked across the rugged, empty land north of Piru, Wells said. While the brush that burned Tuesday and Wednesday was only 15 years old, there were spots in Blanchard Canyon, north of Piru, where brush had not burned in 60 years.

“There isn’t any reason to let it burn,” she said. “The wind is so erratic, it could burn out of control. If the wind changed at all, the whole town could be lost.”

The mop-up was going smoothly, and fire officials said they hoped that all the hot spots would be extinguished by this morning--before the wind can rise up, fling old sparks into fresh brush and send new fires roaring across Piru residents’ homes.

“The potential is here,” Battalion Chief Kevin Nestor said. “It’s just a matter of buttoning up the lines and getting rid of these ‘smokers.’ ”

That job fell to firefighters like Shirk and Helm.

And while veteran Shirk had seen more than 20 years of fire, Helm--on his second fire--began to learn the true meaning of “mopping up.”

It means blasting smoking tree trunks with a hose so powerful that it could knock you over if your feet were not planted right.

It means slogging around on steep, rugged slopes coated with a slippery mud made of ash, dust and hose water.

It means hearing your boss grunt and snarl as he rips limbs off a downed tree to ferret out smoldering hot spots for you to drench, then seeing him bloody his lip in the process.

And it means dragging 100 feet of waterlogged hose through a dense thicket of paddle cactus just to stop the stubborn slow burn of one small patch of brush beneath.

Bright yellow fire suits offered no protection against cactus needles, Helm said, and the best the men could do was hack down the thorny plants to make a path.

But Shirk coached Helm while they soaked the hot spot: “If I don’t put it out now, I’ll be here for two days.”

So the two shouldered the hose and fought to keep from toppling onto the spines, doggedly showering the area until the smoke died down.

Meanwhile, Helm spotted more curls of smoke snaking up from a creek bed and pointed out the hot spots to his captain. “We’re gonna have to take the hose line down here, we got hot spots everywhere,” he said.

And they were off again, back to the truck for more hose, then back to the smoldering brush for more work.