I am quietly doing what I do, standing under a shady tree taking photos of firefighters.
They are trailing hoses in and out of the smoke billowing from a grass fire near Tarras.
There are two appliances and six or eight firefighters. It looks like a pretty hot job.
They are dragging their hoses up a slope, across the slope, and down the slope, chasing new fire fronts that leap from the long, sun-scorched grass.
Then, a firefighter notices they have an audience.
I cannot hear the exact words, but it sounds like an invitation to get involved.
''Who? Me?''
I have photos to file and a story to write on the dinky keyboard of my new smartphone.
But the fire is heading back in the direction of the house.
And the firefighters have already had at least an hour of blazing heat from sun and flames.
How heavy can a hose be?
Well, quite heavy, really, when you are running up and down a slope through smoke.
The hose is dirty black, the ground is rough, and every step sends up a cloud of soot.
The firefighter at the front of the hose is focused on the flames, and expects some slack when he moves. He doesn't care that I'm in sandals and it's hard to breathe.
The only time he stops is for a coughing fit in some clear air.
I chase him around, providing slack, until the most immediate threat is under control.
There are plenty of flames still to fight but now more appliances are rolling in.
Someone offers me a drink of water, shakes my hand - and my 15 minutes of flame is over.
