It wasn’t until we reached the open space around my house that we were presented with the awful sight of my home backed by a massive wall of boiling brown smoke. It was not, however, blowing directly toward us. Equidistant between the fire and my place is the hill that now holds the Kleena Kleene internet tower. The hill is on the same side of the highway as my house but on the far side of the river. It was to become a marker for me; if I could see it, I had two kilometres of visibility. If flames ever reached it, my place would likely be toast.
I emailed Katie to let her know the internet was working but we still had no phone. I checked the fire sites—not a lot of change, but it would take a few hours to register anything on most of them. The billowing smoke was frightening and we packed with greater urgency. I ticked off last-minute items on my list. But still we hung in there. Was it really necessary to leave? Christoph and Corinne were going to stay.
Then one of my dogs barked—but only the old one, Badger. This meant a vehicle was coming; if a wild animal or range cow had been close, both dogs would have made a racket. Sure enough, a Suburban appeared, nosing its way along the dusty ruts of my driveway. As it drew into the yard, we could see that it was embellished with the colours of the RCMP. It would be from the detachment at Anahim Lake, half an hour north of Nimpo. My heart sank. I knew what they had come for. The policeman was accompanied by a Fisheries officer. Police are shuffled around every couple of years and few know the area, so the passenger was acting as a guide. I had met him before. The policeman handed me a slightly grubby piece of paper.
Kleena Kleene One Eye Lake Area
Monday, 10 July, 4:00 p.m.
Pursuant to the BC Emergency Program Act, an Evacuation Order has been issued by the Cariboo Regional District.
Due to immediate danger to life safety due to fire [Who writes these things?], members of the RCMP or other groups will be expediting this action.
The Evacuation Order is in effect for the following areas… Map attached...
WHAT YOU SHOULD DO:
You must leave the area immediately.
Follow the travel route provided, and register at the ESS Reception Centre at Williams Lake Secondary School or the ESS Reception Centre in Prince George at the College of New Caledonia, west entrance.
If you need transportation assistance please advise the individual presenting this notice or call 250-398-(****).
Close all windows and doors.
Shut off all gas and electrical appliances, other than refrigerators and freezers.
Close gates (latch) but do not lock.
Gather your family. Take a neighbour or someone who needs help.
Take critical items (medication, purse, wallet, keys) only if they are immediately available. [How can you leave if you don’t have your car keys?] Take pets in pet kennels or on leash.
Do not use more vehicles than you have to.
Do not use the telephone unless you need emergency services.
For more information contact: CRD call center/info line at 250-398-(****)
—CRD Chair
“We’re pretty much ready to go,” I said to the cop. “We can be out of here within the hour.”
He repeated the information on the paper: “You have to go east to Williams Lake and then north to Prince George.”
“Nope,” I said. It was my first rebellion against the fire authorities. “I’m going west. To Bella Coola.”
“You won’t find any accommodation there,” the officer warned tiredly. He was parroting what he had been told to say, but without conviction. I was likely not the first person who had countermanded his edicts. The Fisheries officer had a very tiny smile on his face.
“Oh yes, I will,” I retorted. “A friend has already offered us a cabin.”
The cop shrugged resignedly. Before he left, he tied a piece of red flagging tape to my house. “It means you have left,” he said. “Yellow means the place has been visited but no one was home”—I told him that the neighbours beside the river were not living on the property at the moment—“and blue means people are staying. We’ll put these symbols on the house numbers by the highway as well.” “Well,” I thought. “That’s good news for looters.”
I emailed Katie and informed her we had been told to leave. I wrote that it was now getting late so we would probably spend the night at Stewart’s Lodge in Nimpo Lake, where the float plane company is based. Duncan likely wouldn’t mind under the circumstances. Still no phone. Duncan is not a happy user of the internet so I didn’t bother to contact him. I packed up the computer stuff and put it on the van’s seat. I shut the greenhouse vents and door, and screwed a piece of plywood over the dog door. Strong gusts of wind sometimes flap it open and sparks could fly inside. All windows were fastened tight. I even locked the door, which I very rarely do, even if I am away overnight. But who knew when I would return?
Our last job was to nail and staple a tarp over the opening to my porch that surrounds the main door. Scraps of useful wood are stacked in there; if a spark got among them it would have a field day.
The sun was going down as Miriam started the truck and began to move along the road. The dogs were already inside the van. I jumped out to take a few last photos. The garden, which was just starting to produce nicely, looked fresh and innocent beside the house. Without water, it would die. Then there was that small hitch, that small lurch of the heart that was now familiar to me. Would I ever see this house again? All the bits and pieces I had saved were conveniences, but amounted to nothing. The house was a different story. For my whole life I have been short of money. I have lived without power and conveniences in cramped, rough-built cabins. Over a period of many years I scrimped and saved and I had finally built myself a decent home. I don’t enjoy building, but have spent a quarter of my life doing it. I was now seventy years old. If this house was destroyed, I would have neither money nor energy to start again.
I could not dwell on such thoughts and I pushed them away. Miriam was already disappearing around the first corner. I climbed into the van and turned the key. For the third time in my life I was running from a fire.
Preparing for the Fire
Fred
Precipice, July 10–14
I turned my back on the fire in some form of denial, angry with myself that we were so unprepared for such an event, living as we were deep in a forest so dependent on a cycle of fire. Evidence of past burns was all around us. Evidence that we had ignored. The densely packed pine we hiked through on outings to Crazy George Lake, a small lake we named after a hermit who had lived in the bush near our valley in the seventies, was regrowth from a fire seventy years ago. The charred remains of logs along the ridges of our hikes, and the darkened bark of the mighty Douglas fir that grow at the very edge of our meadows, stared us in the face at every turn. How could we have ignored these warnings?
In the afternoon Arlen flew in with two Initial Attack crews (IAs) of three firefighters each, a handful of sprinklers bought at the hardware store in Bella Coola, and some two-centimetre hoses that would be connected to the mainline. Arlen explained that they were not trained for structural protection but felt it was necessary to do whatever they could, because if the winds picked up, the fire could reach us in a day. The Bella Coola Forestry field office had limited resources on hand but expected