Wild forest floor

I grew up on Vancouver Island, in the northwest coastal forests, dense, lush, and silent, only marginally tamed along the edges. Across a creek that ran under my bedroom, a creek we crossed on a fallen tree, crawling (me) or dancing (my brothers) according to our sense of balance and scorn of danger, and through a hollow log that traversed a salmonberry thicket, we came out onto a fern- and moss-blanketed cathedral: unlogged Douglas firs, yards across at the base, towering high into the rainy clouds overhead. My brothers would race on through; I tended to find a dryish log and sit there a while, just listening.

On the Ridge Trail, I followed a sort of trail off the main trail; a deer track, maybe, looking for mushrooms. There were none visible, and I didn't want to disturb the moss, but stepping carefully around mossy roots and huge ferns, I got a brief flashback to my childhood wanderings. This was the forest floor I knew of old.

Healthy forest, mixed evergreen and deciduous, probably third-growth, after two or more loggings.

The trees on the ground are as essential to the health of the forest as the standing timber; they provide nutrients and shelter to new growth and the animals that make it their home. The moss on top soaks up the rain, releasing the moisture slowly to the thin layer of soil underneath; these forests sit on rock, sometimes barely under the surface duff. Without the moss, they would dry and burn with the first lightning stroke.

Evergreen fern.

It's not an ecosystem hospitable to humans, my brothers notwithstanding; any human trails are made with chain saws, constant monitoring, frequent traffic. Abandoned for a year or two, they disappear.

Sometimes I wonder at the early explorers who made their slow way across the continent, following ridges like this one, rivers like the one in the valley below, clambering at every step over slippery logs, stumbling into hidden holes, sinking through wood that seemed solid and turned out to be mostly wet rot, trying to find a dry, flattish spot to sleep after an exhausting day. Or at today's firefighters; at least they have helicopters and chain saws, but it's still a daunting task.

Much of Vancouver Island is logged off now, sometimes repeatedly. Entire mountain sides lie open to the sun and wind, the moss dry and brittle, the ferns dying. With the added burden of a warming climate, they are a bonfire waiting for the first match. I'm not looking forward to our next fire season.

Sun lover

Here in the Pacific rainforest, most of our native plants like wet feet, shade, and plenty of rain. In this dry, hot, too bright summer, many of them are already shedding their leaves, turning brown, looking baked. One, though, loves the light and the heat; fireweed.

Left to right, green seed pods, flowers, buds. As long as the sun shines, fireweed will keep on going.

Fireweed loves logging slash, scraped roadsides, vacant lots, leftover construction debris, and, especially, the blackened remains of last year's forest fires. These were growing along an abandoned gravel track across a wide clearing behind the beaver pond. Background vegetation is mostly red alder and hardhack, both colonizers of recently cleared land.

A pioneer species, Fireweed appears wherever the earth has been scraped, or especially burned, leaving exposed soil and an open canopy letting in lots of light. Its rhizomes can extend to about 45 cm. deep, knitting and holding the soil, preventing erosion while other more slowly growing vegetation can become established. The rhizomes are so tenacious they often survive forest fires.(The Nature of the Hills)

The seeds can lay dormant in the soil for years, and spring into life after a good burn clears away the shade plants. For a few years, the fireweed ties down the soil, and provides shade for the replacement seedlings, the trees and forest shrubs that will form the next rainforest. Once the trees rise above the fireweed, it dies; it doesn't appreciate the shade. But it leaves its seeds behind, (80,000 per plant - Wikipedia) waiting for the next fire.

Delicate flowers. I never realized before that the pollen is pale blue.

Just remembering

... when the skies were blue.

And I needed a jacket.

I needed that.

Four new fires have started today, just south of me, here on the Island. The sun was red, glaring angrily through the smoke; it's hard to breathe, outside.

Up north, at Kleena Kleene, people who had returned to their homes have been evacuated again. The highway is closed. There's a fire out of control just out of the Bella Coola valley. My daughter is somewhere in that mess.

The fire near Bella Coola was started by lightning, but our local fires, says the BC Wildfire Service, were started by people. Carelessly lighting bonfires, or tossing cigarettes, probably. Why? Why? Why?

We're all hoping for rain.

Fire in BC, 2017

BC is burning again.

Some part of the province burns every year; the forests renewing themselves, killing off the beetles that mine the bark, bursting the cones that hold the next generation of seeds, clearing and fertilizing the soil. Without the fire, BC wouldn't be so green.

But.

This year, with more than 220 fires going at the moment, covering, so far, 230 square kilometres, a large number of those fires are interface fires.

Firefighters distinguish between "interface fire" and ordinary forest fire. The interface fire is one where the forest comes close enough to populated areas for the fire to spread from one to the other. These fires are attacked with every means available. They are the ones that generate newspaper stories and evacuations. "Pure" forest fires, on the other hand, are controlled with little fanfare, or sometimes left to burn themselves out. (From my post, back in the 2010 fire season)

Forest fires have become city fires. Williams Lake, Kelowna (pop. 127,500), Princeton, Ashcroft, Kamloops (90,000), Alexis Creek, Cache Creek, 100 Mile House (pop. 2000), 150 Mile House, ... so far, over 7000 people** have been evacuated*. Many have lost their homes. Williams Lake residents (25,000 people) are being told to stay put, as there is no safe route out of the city.

BC has declared a state of emergency, the first since 2003, as thousands of firefighters race to keep up.

My photo from 2010, near Alexis Creek. It's on fire again this week.

And the weather continues hot and dry, becoming hotter. We still have two months of summer to go. Even here, on the island, in our green rainforest, it's dry.

In deep forest, dust hangs over the road. At least it's not smoke. Near McIvor Lake.

In comparison, in the fires of August, 2010, with 400 active fires, only 3 had caused evacuations.

Our area has suffered major fires, with the city of Campbell River threatened by fire on the outskirts, and 470 square kilometres burning, but that was long ago, in 1938.

The Canadian Red Cross is accepting donations to provide financial assistance, family reunification services, as well as cots and bedding for those forced out of their homes.

*Some of the evacuees are friends and family; they are all safe at the moment. A few friends are trapped in Williams Lake. Another friend reported watching from her deck as trees "candled" just across the lake. But she and her family are safe, so far.

Candling or Torching: a single tree or a small clump of trees is said to “candle” or “torch” when its foliage ignites and flares up, usually from bottom to top. (Wildfire Rank, BC Gov.)

Rain. We need rain!

** Update, Monday: 14,000 people now.

Fires in BC; final glimpse

One more post about the fires, before I move on to other things.

Friday, I drove back from Bella Coola, crossing the burning zone in daylight. This is what I saw:

Somewhere between Tatla Lake and Alexis Creek. Looks like an interface fire.

As I approached the fire zone, I came to the end of a long line of parked cars and trucks, and a flagger. The helicopters were dropping retardant on the road, he told me; we would have to wait. About an hour, he said.

Eventually, the all-clear was given, and we all drove on into the smoke.

The blackened remains of a forest, with fires burning behind the next hill.

Another burnt area, the fire doused before it finished off the trees. They're dead, though. The fire is now following a side road along the ridge.

Scenic drive. Once.

Smoke from the next still-green patch.

Another line-up; another flagger. This time, we had to wait for an escort through Bull Canyon. After a while, a police car emerged from the smoke, with a string of cars behind it. The policeman saw them on their way, parked and consulted with the flagger. She waved us forward then, and instructed each one of us as we came up: "You can go on alone, but drive fast, don't slow down, don't stop, don't wait to take photos. It's hot down there!"

Down that hill is Bull Canyon. And the flagger, just around the corner.

I behaved. I so wanted to take photos; the scene was indescribable. Fires, smoke, helicopters swinging through the smoke, trailing round bags of water and retardant. Machinery and more fires, small and tall. A stage setting for Dante.

Beloved Bull Canyon, where I have so often stopped for the night, for the pleasure of listening to the river in the dark, of seeing the stars overhead as though I could reach up and pick one to take home, of watching the pistachio-green river in the morning light; now the trees are gone, the hill scorched and bare. I got a brief glimpse of the river; a muddy orange colour, half ash, half red retardant.

I remembered the pair of sassy chipmunks who stole the Rice Krispies bars we were saving for the kids' desserts; how they raced away along the fence, but soon came back to see if there was more. The present generation will be their great-great-grandkids. I wondered what happens to them in a quick fire? Do they burrow into the soil? Do they race up the trees only to be trapped, to be cooked or to suffocate? Do they run to safety? Is there safety?

Birds can fly out of danger; bears can cover an amazing amount of territory; so can the deer. I would like to think the chipmunks have a way to escape. I doubt it.

The Chilcotin is a harsh environment, beautiful but deadly, with baking summers, vicious winters, stony soil, alkali water, hordes of famished mosquitoes. And fires. I love it, but I could never live there. I greatly admire those who have the guts and strength to endure and even prosper on this land.

~~~~~~

Next: greenery and flowers. Cool rivers. Not on fire.

Fire in BC: the wisdom of the elders

Thursday evening. It's starting to rain, just a sprinkle. We sit outside under a pair of old cedars, talking about fire and smoke. The Bella Coola old-timers reminisce about previous years' rounds of fires, compare notes: fewer fires this year than last, but more area burning now; lightning strikes, burnt zones, helicopter drops; where the smoke is worst this week, where it's raining, what roads to avoid tomorrow.

Fire is an old neighbour for residents of BC's forested zones. A grumpy old neighbour, tolerated from long acquaintance, sometimes appreciated for those little acts of kindness on his good days, sometimes even relied on for jobs we can't handle on our own.

Firefighters distinguish between "interface fire" and ordinary forest fire. The interface fire is one where the forest comes close enough to populated areas for the fire to spread from one to the other. These fires are attacked with every means available. They are the ones that generate newspaper stories and evacuations. "Pure" forest fires, on the other hand, are controlled with little fanfare, or sometimes left to burn themselves out.

One of the men under the cedars mentioned that about 400 fires are burning right now in BC. That is out of an average of around 2000 for the year, 1200 already this year, a bit more than half caused by lighting. Of these, only 3 have caused evacuations this week. Firefighting crews are working on about 100 of the fires; the others will be fine on their own.

The worst problem for most of BC, even the urban centres, is the smoke. It doesn't just hang around over the fires. It spreads everywhere. Air quality is down; people with health risks (which includes Laurie, with lung problems) are being warned to stay indoors, near their air purifying systems. Vancouver is rated "moderate" at level 5; Williams Lake, where I had planned to stay last Monday, is off the chart (1-10) at 11, or "very high". I don't think I'll stop there tomorrow, either.

I'll be driving home again, over the fire zone. The only "interface fire" I will be seeing is the Alexis Creek/Bull Canyon one. I don't think it threatens homes, but the firefighters try to keep it off the road. The other day when they called a closure, it was to allow helicopters to dump loads of fire retardant on the road itself.

Crews have been hard at work along the rest of the road, clearing dry brush and trees too close to the fences along the sides, piling it in widely-spaced mounds, making, with the road in the centre, a fire break, a boundary that fires are unlikely to jump.

Brush pile and "Chilcotin" fence

But the fire, within its limits, is a good thing. Remember the beetles? They survive the severe Chilcotin winters, well protected under the bark of the trees they will attack in the spring. Cutting out the dead wood and hauling it away only spreads the infection.

"... in recent years, more than five times as much timber has been lost to insects and disease than has been consumed by wildfire." (Prescribed Fire)

Burning kills the beetles. It kills most of the trees, too, but there's an up side even to that.

Burned-off forest, Heckman Pass. 2009 fire.

A pine tree grows to maturity, and produces a crop of seed-bearing cones. Some hang on the trees, some the squirrels eat, some fall to the ground, with or without the tree itself.

Dry cones, dry earth, dead tree. Waiting for the fire.

"Fire is the mechanism by which the forest is continually regenerated," ... Fires consume dead, decaying vegetation accumulating on the forest floor, thereby clearing the way for new growth. Some species, such as the jack pine, even rely on fire to spread their seeds. The jack pine produces "seratonous" (resin-filled) cones that are very durable. The cones remain dormant until a fire occurs and melts the resin. Then the cones pop open and the seeds fall or blow out. (Evolving in the Presence of Fire, NASA)

That bare, blackened stand of dead trees? That was last year's fire, left to burn itself out. Next year, it will be brightened up by a thick stand of fireweed, and hummng the songs of many happy pollinating insects. Indian paint brush and dwarf lupins will line the banks of rivulets; mosses will round out the shapes of fallen trees, trap soil for the next crop of trees.

Fireweed, Coquihalla highway.

The next year, the fireweed will shelter tiny evergreen seedlings. By the time the last of the burnt wood has fallen, the fireweed will have moved on, and the new forest will be head-height. And there will be no pine beetles.

Through fire and water

We had 29 major fires going when I was ready to pack the car Sunday night, so I checked the highway report before I took the suitcase out. There was a problem; the highway that I would have to take, the only road west, was closed because of fire. I unpacked a few things and stayed home.

Monday morning, an update announced a detour, with a flagger at either end. This, I could handle; I loaded the car and started off.

Usually, when I get past Hope, at the end of the Fraser Valley, I notice a difference in the air. Vancouver smog lifts and disappears. Not this time; up into the mountains, over the Coquihalla highway, the sky was grey and distant hills were hidden behind smoky clouds. Over the summit, the smoke thickened and became acrid, choking. The fire was far to the west, beyond the mountains, across the river; I hadn''t expected it to be a problem on this highway.

Smoke over the green Nicola Valley

Sunshine forcing its way through the smoke

Near Williams Lake, the sun turned blood red, blazing through the smoke. Ahead was another source of redness: under a billowing black cloud, a lick of flame along the hill tops.

Fire ahead. South of Lac La Hache

I had thought of staying over in Williams Lake, but the smoke was too thick; I took the Bella Coola highway west, barely stopping for gas. To  my left and to my right, the hills smoked. Night fell; the blackest night I have ever seen on the Chilcotin, where usually the northern sky sends up a faint shimmer behind the treetops, even on moonless nights, and where the stars hang overhead, almost close enough to touch. Not this night; it was like driving through black velvet, the world reduced to the cone of my headlights, where moths and flies risked and lost their lives. At intervals I passed a homestead with one or two lights still burning; they were quickly swallowed up in the smoke. And every few turns of the road, I saw a dull red glow to the south.

Fire beyond the hills

Lee's Corners, where I had hoped to find shelter, was closed. A tall flame burned on the hill behind. I phoned Laurie from the pay phone, since there's no cell coverage on the road. (It was just about 10 PM.) I drove on into the night. In Alexis Creek, a policeman told me the road was open again; I could go straight through to Tatla Lake.

Straight through the fire, that was; on either side of the road for miles, large fires burned, some feeding on mounded piles of slash, pushed away from the trees by firefighters, some crawling along the ground from tree to tree to tree, still untamed. The nearest fires were close enough to toss a stone from the road into.

Halfway to Tatla Lake, it started to rain. Lightning had been flashing off and on all night, but now the storm broke. The water came down in bucket-loads. I couldn't see the road, and had to creep along, following the line of grass at the edge. (In Nimpo Lake, to the east, campsites were flooded, roofs sprung leaks, hail battered tents.) I crawled into Tatla at 1 AM, found the motel open, had to describe my journey to the men playing poker in the common room, and holed up for the night.

In the morning, the air was clear and fresh, the sky blue, clouds white. My car, however smelled of smoke.

Tatla Lake, from Graham's Inn, where I had breakfast.

Next; more about forest fires; what we do about them, and some - yes - benefits.

Fire in BC; the culprits

Every summer, our BC forests burn. Not all of them, of course; the mountains are still green, our logging trucks still carry wood to market. But there are always fires.

My daughter and son-in-law arrived yesterday in Bella Coola from a motorcycle exploration with a new sighting; a lightning-struck tree, the dead wood at its foot fuel for a spreading flame. They had separated the pieces, stomped out the fire, covered it with earth. But there was a branch higher up, on fire and perilously close to a beetle-killed tree.

Here, as soon as he got his gear off, s-i-l phoned it in, with the GPS coordinates. It will be taken care of, like the other 29 major, dozens of minor, fires.

Lightning is usually the match that starts the fire going. Once, during a lightning storm, we saw a tree on the opposite mountain face suddenly burst into flame. A couple of minutes later, as the rain pounded down, the fire sputtered and went out.

If lightning usually brings rain, why, then, do our forests continue to burn? Blame it on the beetles.

Beetle-killed tree

Mountain pine beetles lay their eggs under the bark of pine trees. The larvae hatch, and eat their way through the inner bark, where the sap that feeds the tree runs. Enough beetles, and the tree turns dry and brown, then dies.

More beetle kill

The next generation of beetles lays eggs in a neighbouring tree; the plague spreads rapidly. Some of our forests are sprinkled with beetle-kill; here and there, whole hillsides, whole mountain sides, even, are dead or dying. The wood is dry, the needles oily; a tiny flame can turn a whole tree into a torch. Underneath, dead wood and bone-dry needles litter the forest floor.

Forest floor, West Chilcotin

On top of that, BC's interior is naturally dry country. So summer after summer, we send out the firefighters, prepare to evacuate, warn older people and people with lung or heart problems to stay inside, and hope for rain. Lots of rain, not just a sprinkle here and there.

My adventure, next. When depends on my internet connection.