Captured by Fire - Chris Czajkowski

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plywood over the open entrances to two sheds and moved loose hay away from all outbuildings—raking the ground to bare soil. We removed wood from our woodsheds. We moved equipment, vehicles and fuel containers out of the buildings and onto the meadow where they had less chance of being consumed. Piles of fire-hazard debris were randomly scattered over our once tidy meadows. The meadows would normally be drying out at this time to encourage second growth, but we had to leave the irrigation ditches open to provide water for the pumps.

      The barn remained our biggest concern. We had been happy to have baled the first crop of hay early and to have it nicely stored in the loft, but now it presented our biggest fire hazard. The loft was consciously well ventilated by a slab cladding with many open spaces. These spaces were an invitation for hot embers. We did not want to remove all our hard-gotten hay but we did not want to lose the barn either. We elected to leave the hay, and Hoss and I set to work stapling tarps and plastic over the gable ends to cover the openings. As we neared the apex of the north end, a barn swallow flew out of a large gap. We would have to be very unlucky for the fire to find this spot—it would have to arrive from the opposite direction—and we left the opening so the swallows could continue to feed their fledglings.

      We had been dazed since the beginning of this ordeal. Our brains were in a fog thicker than any smoke we would ever experience from the fire itself. In fact, on some days you would not even know that the fire was out there. We were on a steep learning curve. With legs of rubber we climbed the curve, unsure of where the crest of the hill would be.

      As topsy-turvy as our routine became, our emotions were more so. We felt gratitude for all that was done for us, but I was also confused. I was still very shaken by the fact that David J had wanted to take the pressure pump even though he continued to work diligently at the Taylor Ranch and Red Roof House. I felt inadequate, overwhelmed by all the decisions that now faced me and the various opinions regarding evacuation, structural protection and forest firefighting. I just wanted to be left alone rather than be confronted by conflicting ideas and loyalties. Monika was the opposite. She embraced all the help. She smiled from ear to ear when she heard a helicopter coming in. She rushed out to the edge of the meadow just beyond the swirling grass, anxious for any news. I dragged a little behind but usually joined her by the time the propellers stopped.

      Our next helicopter brought bad news. There had been problems flying the structural protection equipment into Bella Coola. The truck and container were too big to fit into the military transport plane that had been designated for the job. Everything would be delayed for another day. However, they had contracted Rob, a seasoned pilot with a mid-sized helicopter, to begin bucketing the fire. Monika and I had been reluctant to take pictures of the helicopter Mark and Arlen had flown in on. We felt that doing so would be intrusive to their work that we were so grateful for (and a bit embarrassed about). We watched as Rob prepared to bucket the fire. He seemed a bit standoffish, barely pausing to wave as he rushed around the helicopter unloading line, bucket, net and retardant, then leaving quickly with bucket in tow. He began drawing water from a lake less then a kilometre from the blaze, making swift one-and-a-half-minute returns to the fire’s front.

      Many friends had heard of the fires through Chris’s blog or Pat Taylor’s and others’ Facebook posts. We had maintained a Facebook page for some years but had in fact rarely put anything on it. On July 12, I wrote: “I guess it’s time we said something. No pictures though. It is tough to send a picture of a wall of smoke. That is all there has been for three days now. Each morning we look into that wall trying to determine where the monster is—no flames, just more smoke. But it stays away from us. The air quality is actually quite good for most of the day.

      “We have had lots of support. Friends from Anahim Lake have supplied equipment and well wishes, and the Wildfire Service drops in twice a day to give us a report and provide us with infrastructure to protect what we can.

      “Each day that the fire has stalled has given more time to prepare. We have more worry than fear. When I asked Monika how she was feeling she responded, ‘I feel like I would just before a big exam.’ It rang so true. That sinking feeling low in the stomach right down to the intestines. Have I studied enough? (Have we done all we can to protect the buildings?) What questions will be asked? (From which direction will the fire approach?) We are hoping that classes will be cancelled.”

      On Thursday, July 13, almost a week after we reported the fire, the Comox Fire Rescue team drove down our bumpy tote road and gave our structural protection a major overhaul. They replaced some of the sprinklers that Arlen had installed. They made loops of hoses around the house and greenhouse. Gord explained that sprinklers placed within a circuit would have equal water pressure. The house and greenhouse now each had five sprinklers protecting them. More were added to the chicken house, snow machine shed and Monika’s cabin, an exquisite little two-storey structure next to a channel of the river we call the creek that runs through our property. It has two rooms on the lower floor and an upstairs bedroom over one half. Monika had done most of the construction herself. It had taken her over three years to complete and we were very proud of it.

      Monika sheepishly showed Gord how we had put plastic on the barn’s gable ends. Gord smiled and showed her the roll of plastic inside their pickup. “That is exactly what this is for. You have done a good job.”

      When they placed a powerful Wajax pump next to David’s I felt a pang of mixed emotions—we had gone from the possibility of having no pump to having a backup. The pumps were set side by side. With a simple transfer of the mainline we could use either one.

      I liked David’s: it had a Honda four-stroke engine that I was familiar with—they do not require a mix of gas and oil and are very easy to start. Its drawback was that it did not have enough power to drive all the sprinklers at once. This limitation had been overcome by running half the system at a time. The powerful Wajax could easily power the whole system but we were warned that it was not easy to start and had to be fed a mix of oil and gas drawn from two gas cans. One of the structural protection people began dramatically pulling on the cord and fiddling with the choke and throttle, but was unable to get it going. A second crew member gave it a try—he squeezed a suction bulb situated between the gas cans and the pump in addition to pulling the cord and fiddling with throttle and choke. The engine sputtered but did not start. A third person finally brought it to life. David’s pump looked more desirable to me with each passing minute.

      Our place became a hub of activity with two helicopters flying in and out and structural protection people buzzing around. I began to embrace this new energy. By late afternoon the Comox crew left, promising to come back the next day to work on the Taylor Ranch and the Red Roof House.

      Fred works with the two pumps. David J’s is on the left, the Wajax on the right. Drawing by Chris Czajkowski, from a photo by Monika Schoene.

      After they left, the west wind picked up, clearing some of the smoke from our valley and blowing it toward Anahim Lake. At times I felt that my gloom was related to the amount of smoke as much as anything else. The afternoon was clear and hot. But VA0778 never let us enjoy a sunny afternoon for very long. There were soon dramatic plumes of smoke across the western horizon. Rob constantly dumped water by helicopter in front of the part of the fire closest to us, keeping it cool and slowing it down. As Arlen would say, “We want it to bubble but not to boil.” The plumes of an afternoon run were frightening but they were also beautiful—greys and blacks were mixed with yellow and deep orange as the sun descended behind them. By evening the fire—and the smoke—settled, resting for the night. We ran the sprinklers for half an hour to make sure I could start the Wajax—assurance so we would sleep better.

      Flight

      Chris

      Kleena Kleene, July 10–12

      Both Miriam and I, driving along the road in our separate vehicles, realized we had been foolish to leave when we did. When the sun went down, the wind died, and the smoke dropped with it, shrinking into a brownish fog over the fire site. It was as calm and safe an evening as one could wish for. We could have spent a comfortable night in our own beds.

      We drove into Tweedsmuir Air’s

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