POWELL (AP) - Gunbarrel Fire Hotshot Clay Yazzie is in tune with nature and his teammates.

Yazzie and his fellow San Juan Interagency Hotshots out of Durango, Colo., are the cream of the firefighter crop. The very best nationwide interagency fire management has to offer.

Yazzie is tough, in tiptop shape, and smart. The American Indian - one-half Navaho and the other Pueblo - feels a kinship to nature.

He respects the earth and fire. Before eating, he sprinkles a bit of food on the ground.

"When we feed the earth," Yazzie said, "we feed those that have passed on."

Firefighters belong to an exclusive club. Most are friends and know one another from past fires.

When things get hot, and the fire is breathing down your neck, you best know that teammates have got your back. They aren't just pals to Yazzie.

"I consider everyone to be a brother or sister in the firefighter world," Yazzie said.

Hotshots are equal-opportunity, 20-person teams. This season, one woman is on Yazzie's team, and there have been women on his crews in the past as well.

"I encourage them (women) if this is something they want to do," Yazzie said.

For an entire season, members of a Hotshot crew are one. They travel, eat, battle fires and play together.

When any firefighter is hurt or killed, it shakes the entire firefighter community, from the Hotshots to the fire command to the support staff - they all mourn the loss, Yazzie said.

"We become a family," Yazzie said, "a close-knit family."

At 32, Yazzie is in his prime. He is tall and athletic. In the offseason, he loves to snowboard and knows he will be welcomed at any Hotshot's house when he visits a particular ski area.

Like carpenters who realize their handiwork will be known and admired, Hotshots take great pride in their work. When a Hotshot unit rotates out for R and R - rest and recreation - or to another fire, other crews will recognize their work.

"Our name is stamped on our section of the line," Yazzie said.

It entails endless hours running a pick or chain saw, hiking or flying into volatile situations where one false step could mean death or injury.

What makes these guys tick?

"What it comes down to is inner drive," Yazzie said.

Yazzie is sitting in the camp mess tent after dinner. He is a handsome, amiable, down-to-earth guy, but behind those dark eyes, a fire burns.

Yazzie has been fighting fires from coast to coast since 2001. In 2003, he became a Hotshot. Following rigorous training to qualify, a hopeful Hotshot must hike three miles in 45 minutes with a 45-pound pack.

A story floats around fire camps of an individual who missed the deadline by two minutes. The want-to-be Hotshot was out.

Someday, Yazzie, who has a bachelor's degree in forestry, plans to enter fire-management operations.

Intrepid, no doubt. But Yazzie also trusts his team and God's wisdom and purpose.

"If it is my time to go, it is my time to go," Yazzie said casually.

"It's not for the average Joe," Yazzie said. "That's why I said we're kind of crazy wanting to do this stuff."

Crazy, courageous - when the deployment call comes, Yazzie and his teammates are fired-up.

"When it is time to go, you turn up the volume."

Yazzie's Christianity is supplemented by his American Indian beliefs. Perhaps that is a practical trait, making the man more mindful of his potent and unpredictable antagonist.

"You have got to respect the fire," Yazzie said. "It's living, too."

Hotshots began in southern California in the 1940s. They work eight to 12 hours per day or more. When they go to a fire, they carry all their gear, including food and water for at least a day.