In the summer of 2017, wildfires dominated the headlines in British Columbia. As a low pressure weather system continued to cause lightning strikes, starting new fires, strong winds fanned the existing ones. Over two hundred fires burned in the province and nearly ten thousand people in or around the towns of 100 Mile House, Ashcroft, Cache Creek, Princeton and Williams Lake received the instruction YOU MUST EVACUATE NOW . But not everyone left. Captured by Fire alternates between the dramatic first-person accounts of wilderness dweller Chris Czajkowski and homesteader Fred Reid, who both ignored the evacuation order and stayed to protect their properties, animals and livelihoods. Living in a remote area, they knew that their homes would be of low priority to officials when fire fighting resources were deployed. Over the course of the summer, as alerts fluctuated and even the firefighters pulled out, both had to decide: when is it time to go?
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Chris Czajkowski. Captured by Fire
Captured By Fire
Contents
The Strikes
Day Two
The Precipice / Stillwater / Hotnarko Fire
Fire Smart
Evacuation
Preparing for the Fire
Flight
The Battle Begins
Back up the Hill
Back Burning
The Fascination with Firefighting
The Soaker
A Helicopter-Crazy Day
The Chilcotin Warriors
A Second Back Burn
A Short Reprieve
Rank Five
The Fire Is Guided Past Us
Evacuation Order Again
Our Personal Fire
We Begin to Explore the Fire
Lockdown
Living Within the Fire
Big Stick Lake
Transition to Area Command
The Spruce Bog Fire
Windstorm
The Ground Battle Starts in Earnest
Calm
The Three Sisters
The Meeting
Mischief with the Fire
The Trip to Town
We Venture Out into the World
Visiting the Precipice
Mopping Up
Afterword
Acknowledgements
Отрывок из книги
Chris Czajkowski and Fred Reid
Surviving British Columbia’s New Wildfire Reality
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The place had already been ramshackle when I had first come across it thirty-five years ago, and though owners had come and gone since, not much had changed. Half a set of horse hames worked as a handle for the heavy door, and a clattery cowbell announced entry. Inside, despite the roaring, rattling fan, the place reeked of years of ancient grease. A new flat-screen TV blared and the coffee was execrable—but the baking was superb. I can no longer eat wheat or sugar without regretting it, but was always tempted by what had to be the best carrot cake in the world. I often complimented the baker—bent over with arthritis, she was unable to stand upright—and she shyly acknowledged my praise. “You know,” she confessed one time, “I hate making it.”
I would also stop there for a caffeine boost to cope with the last slog homeward after a long day in town, and if I had passengers, we would get something to eat. It was the only place along our journey that could be relied upon to serve meals late in the afternoon. Miriam and I had looked forward to having a break there.
