“That's a funny cloud.” I said to Joe as the Turtle Van climbed up the mountain toward camp. A few more feet showed us it wasn't funny at all. Smoke billowed up the hillside to meet us, just a mile or so from our mining camp. Instant adrenaline, the smell instinctively dangerous, the sight makes your belly tighten up and your heart race.
For a moment the logical brain rebels against reality, it insists this must be a bonfire or a controlled burn or perhaps part of the restoration project in the area --but lizard brain is right this time, and puts the stunned, stammering, useless logical brain down. This is real, an actual emergency, and driving forward is definitely wrong.
As we stop the van we hear the helicopter rotor and see it on the ground, out of place, another sign we are in the heart of a wildfire, just beginning. The helicopter lifts and we see the reason it is down, it drags a bag of water on a long rope from the pond at a nearby ranch and carries it, streaming mist and vapor, at desperate speed toward the smoke.
The stunned logical brain tries to wake up and process a meaningful plan. Most of what we own is back at camp, this was just a water and grocery run, mining and camping equipment is ahead, but the lizard brain insists we should run. A quick discussion and we move toward the fire, careful on every corner, expecting fire engines any moment, but the road back to Mayer is long, narrow, and primitive, they have not had time to get here.
On the downside of the hill we can see the fire, it is definitely upstream from our camp--perhaps a mile or two--it's black cloud already blowing back toward the pine flat ranches and town. Two rangers are parked in the road, and they answer that yes it is a wildfire, and we can go no further.
It looks small, but furious, and it grows before our eyes, logical brain finally becomes useful in the crisis, and reminds us that we have all we need: each other, our dog, and our home – all can drive to safety. Things are things, and they will be there or they will be gone, and life is what matters now. As we drive out towards town we see others evacuating, and firefighters driving in. By the time we find a place on the edge of town to park the van 3 helicopters are picking up water and the sun is setting.
Ranchers bring out trailers of what livestock they can, miners and campers who have not been seen in weeks congregate (against their nature) and even speak to one another on the edges of the forest they love. Those with homes in the forest have the most to lose, and we speak in hushed tones our hopes their land is spared. The officials that speak to us have fear in their eyes, their voices also low, this solidifies the feeling of dread.
There is a period of waiting, watching, and worrying while an emergency becomes a disaster. Every single person we meet is doing all they can, exactly what they should, responsible and brave, and yet nothing stops this progression. The smoke plume grows until it dominates the sky. As it gets dark the glow of the flames is visible--it shifts, waxes, wanes, but in the end only grows larger.
We have seen disaster spawned, seen it take its first few tottering steps, and already it was too late to stop it. There is only time to flee with what you can save. We retreat in steps, staying close until the fire pushes us out – evacuated three times now-- but it is still flight, we are running in slow motion, unsure if we are still miners or now only campers with literally not a pot to piss in.
We wait at Copper Basin. A kindred spirit ranger spent a little time helping us, but the advice is painful. Wait for the summer monsoons to start, that may be all that can stop this fire now. 1% contained means the fire is choosing its own course. We must choose ours. Logical brain – get on that.
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