I've just finished reading last Friday's column by Nancy Thornburg. It was an excellent, objective, and matter-of-fact account of the Acorn fire in 1987 and its aftermath. That fire was one of the worst wildland fires in Alpine County, ever. If it hadn't escaped initial attack, you might never have heard about it.
The column prompted me to reflect on the many fires I became familiar with, either during my 26 years with the U.S. Forest Service or while living here in Alpine County.
Some have been covered well by the news media. Some news reports were no more than a list of statistics: acres burned, structures burned, numbers of people, tractors, air tankers, helicopters, and engines on the fire.
Some were never even mentioned in the news reports. But there is a story underlying every fire, even those not mentioned. I'll tell you about one of them that never made the papers.
On July 7, around 7:30 p.m., a fire began next to the Carson River Road near Woodfords in Alpine County and climbed quickly up slope to a low ridge while at the same time spreading north along the slope, carried by a steady breeze from the south. It was on some of the same terrain that burned during the Acorn fire, and the brush that had grown back was dry as dust. Here's how it went for me, up close and personal, in real time:
The evening meal is over. Dishes stacked for washing. But my wife and I choose to go for a stroll around the place and enjoy the evening breeze. Ten steps later, off to the east, we see the smoke.
Fifteen foot tongues of flames are lapping up and over a long length of ridge that overlooks the West Fork of the Carson River. A quick assessment tells us that the wind direction will move the fire front toward the north, away from us, but the west flank is moving directly towards us and the neighbor's place below us. The sound of a siren from the highway to the west of us tells us that the fire has been reported; but there is no sign of anyone being on the fire yet. It's only a few hundred yards away and is advancing steadily in our direction.
An Alpine County sheriff's deputy arrives and says "Yours is one of places we need to protect." I thank him and point out the easiest route for engines to take to get to this side of the fire. He goes off to check it out. Carole and I hook up some hoses just in case, but I'm not one to stand and wait.
I think I can slow the advance of the flames near the tail end of the fire, so I don my boots and old forest service hardhat, grab a shovel and set off. As I'm making my way across acres of brush to the fire line I see someone well ahead of me, on foot, running toward the fire. I guess it's someone from my neighbor's, down slope and south of our place. I'm not running. Flinging shovels full of dirt at flaming grass and brush is hard work and I don't want to arrive at the fire line all tired out. Nearing the flank, flames burning high and hot, I'm able to get the attention of the fellow who got there first.
"Come with me to the tail end of the fire!" I shout and he does. We then hurry to the tail of the fire dragon and commence tossing dirt. The taller brush is spaced out enough that we can stop the spread of the fire by squelching the low flames of the grass and shrubs between. We're steadily moving along, but from where we're working, we still see no one else on the fire. Two light retardant planes show up and circle the fire to determine the best line of attack.
We back off to avoid being bowled over by the force of the aerial drop. Zoom and zoom. The single engine craft shoot through the smoke and lay down strips of pink goo.
At nearly the same time, a yellow shirted and helmeted fireman appears from down the slope, dragging hose and flushing the flames away as he came. I back off, call my erstwhile companion to do likewise, and let the engine crew carry on. Having parked their engine on the road below, they have been working their way up the slope, hosing down the fire, with the wind at their back. It's not the time to get in front of the fire. Work the tail and the flanks, pinch that baby down.
In minutes, other engines arrive, some crunching their way cross country to the high side of the fire line by way of the cleared pathway under the nearby power line. In a short time, the fire is corralled and the crews are mopping up, working from the edges in. The sun has set. I walk around the fire area, chatting with the crews. The smell of a wet-down fire hasn't changed.
One yellow-shirted gal, a bandanna holding her hair under her hard hat, says she just loves her job. I can tell from her expression that she really means it. Later she and others will dig a hand line completely around the fire to prevent anything hot from creeping under the surface to the unburned fuel outside the fire line. They'll be there all night until they're sure the fire is controlled. I return home, smelling of wood smoke and pleased with the thoroughness and professionalism of the firefighting force still on the fire.
Back home, I meet some of the men from the Markleeville Volunteer Fire Department who, with their engine, had been assigned to stand by at our place in case they were needed to protect our house. Another engine and crew from Markleeville are standing by at a neighbor's house to the north. The neighbors weren't home. They've missed all the action.
An epilogue of sorts: The fire burned about five acres, small in relation to the conflagrations of the past in this area. That's a tribute to the speed and effectiveness of the firefighting force, but the work was not done. The engines had to be made ready for the next call. There were water and gas tanks to refill, fresh crew members to bring on, hoses to clean and dry, tools to clean and sharpen, clothing to air out and wash, trash to dispose of, and reports to fill out.
On that fire were a dozen engines and crews from the U.S. Forest Service, the Bureau of Land Management, the East Fork Fire District, Nevada Department of Forestry, and the Woodfords and Markleeville volunteer fire departments. The Alpine County Sheriff's Department handled road controls and provided other support.
Dave Easton of the forest service was the incident commander. Together they controlled the fire in the initial attack. They weren't about to allow another Acorn fire. By writing this column, I'm tipping my old hardhat to them all.
