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Chris

Kleena Kleene, July 10

Katie Hayhurst and Dennis Kuch are friends from way back living at Stuie in the upper part of the Bella Coola Valley. They’d had their fair share of fires to deal with and were cognizant of my situation. They had already emailed me with an offer to go down to their place. They live in what had been a resort, and there were several old cabins on the property. I had stayed in one or another of them many times.

I checked the internet first thing the following morning. It was still not functioning. I tried the phone (there is only a land phone here; no cell phone service) but it was dead as well. Suddenly we were cut off from all information except whatever we could deduce with our eyes. Fine as long as we could see, but if the smoke got worse…

I have lived in the bush for nearly forty years. At first I had no power at all, and my sole communication tool was a very unreliable, battery-operated radiophone. It has only been in the last fifteen years that I have been able to afford the internet. I didn’t miss what I didn’t have, but now I don’t know how I’d live without it. With its sudden cessation in this time of potential disaster, I felt vulnerable and powerless.

Miriam and I had planned to fly to Nuk Tessli from the float plane base at Nimpo Lake. Tweedsmuir Air had a different internet provider, and the pilots, with their eyes in the sky, might also have some information, so it seemed a good idea to go there. Nimpo Lake is forty minutes’ drive west.

When we turned up, the owner of the float plane company, Duncan Stewart, asked us if we were going into the mountains. Nuk Tessli was well out of the fire zone, but I certainly did not want to be up there and then find that my home had been burned while I was away. I had already emailed details of the road closures to the new owner of Nuk Tessli, but he had not yet experienced a bad fire season and replied something to the effect that things might change in the five days before the clients were due. “Good luck with that one,” I thought.

Nimpo Lake had both phone and internet. We caught up on email, checked the fire sites (not huge changes at Kleena Kleene and the Precipice but a veritable chaos farther east) and made a few calls. Katie and Dennis in the Bella Coola Valley were glad to hear from us.

There had been a thin haze of smoke when we left home, but now the wind was freshening. As so often happens, the stronger breeze cleared the air. The lake beside the float plane base was blue and sparkling, and the low, snow-streaked mountains over which one would have to fly to reach Nuk Tessli were sharp and smoke free. A strengthening wind would likely stir up the fires, but as the winds varied tremendously from valley to valley, there was always hope it wouldn’t amount to much at home. But as we turned back south we could see the smoke beginning to build over Kleena Kleene. We drove on past my driveway and called in at the Terra Nostra Guest Ranch to give Christoph and Corinne the information we had gleaned while in Nimpo Lake. They told us the good news that the internet had just come back on.

Our internet provider is a local husband and wife team. They had set up a tower on Tatla Hill as a hub to bounce signals in several directions. This tower acquired the internet from the Telus phone line, a fibre-optic cable that had been strung on the same poles as the power lines. When the poles burned, the wires all lay on the ground. It was found, however, that the fibre inside the phone cable was still functioning; the only reason the internet was down was that the power source was out. When our local providers discovered this, they rounded up extra solar panels—and we were back online.

The Terra Nostra Guest Ranch looked over Clearwater Lake toward the burning ridges. Black plumes of smoke were beginning to roll, and we could see more smoke pouring from the Colwell Creek Fire. “If only,” said Corinne exasperatedly, “they had dropped retardant on it yesterday! Just one plane load—what a difference that would have made!”

I just laughed. Corinne and Christoph had bought Terra Nostra three years ago and, like the owners of Nuk Tessli, had yet to experience a serious fire season. “I bet that’s what at least ten thousand people are saying about their own fires right now,” I said. “I’ve seen a lot of this stuff over the years. Any available personnel and machinery—and that won’t be a lot at present—will be concentrated around the cities. And with so many lightning strikes all at once, it must be chaotic in the fire centres. I bet it will be a couple of weeks before we get much outside help.”

Christoph was worried about his horses. “They are so quiet with people but some of them have never been boxed. I would never be able to take them out of here.” Terra Nostra was much closer to the fire than my place and, being south of the river and highway, they did not have these barriers to protect them. They had the lake, but it was not that big, and given the right wind, a fire could whip around the edge in no time. “The Williams Lake Tribune had an online article I looked at when I was in Nimpo,” I said. “Ranchers are opening gates and cutting fences to let their livestock have a better chance out there. I guess if you have to go, that’s what you will need to do.”

Before we went home, we drove down to the hayfields. Huge towers of black smoke now poured into the sky. We plunged under the smoke. Below it, the thick black shadow was a stark contrast to the hot, bright world outside. The state-of-the-art irrigation system stood tucked against the highway fence. “Why isn’t he running the sprinklers?” Miriam asked. I wasn’t sure at the time but of course the system needed electricity; besides, the owner lived an hour and a half east and he had his own fires to deal with.

The power of the fire close up was terrifying, even though I knew this one was comparatively small. We saw trees flare sporadically within the black smoke. There was no wall of flame like the one I had witnessed in 2004, when being evacuated by float plane from the Lonesome Lake Fire. Then, each lake had a tree-high ribbon of fire burning along its shore, and the front of the fire was many kilometres long.

A red-tailed hawk was perched on the phone line (which was still standing here). Predators know that animals will flee from the flames and this behaviour is standard practice for hawks at such times.

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.

An RCMP officer serves me an evacuation order on July 10. Photo by Miriam Koerner.CRD Evacuation Order

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.

This is the scruffy evacuation order that was handed to me by the RCMP on July 10. Photo by Chris Czajkowski.YOU MUST LEAVE THE AREA IMMEDIATELY

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.