When the World is on Fire…
Thursday, September 10, 2020
As I write this half of Oregon is on fire. I am at a campground just outside of Mt. Rainier National Park, backed up to the Ohanapecosh River. It’s peaceful and quiet, the only sounds a squawking jay, the river running 100 yards from my site and the occasional black hawk helicopter flying overhead, I imagine heading to fight the fires in my state or out spotting new ones in this area.
I pulled into the campground and got Olive out to walk around and look for an open site. Imagine my surprise, when I saw a group of twenty-something tent campers with a fire in their firepit. “Are fires allowed?” I asked, with perhaps of a bit of astonishment in my tone. They told me the camp host said they could have a fire as long as they kept it small and within the metal pit.
I was kind of alarmed. The whole Northwest, actually, the whole West Coast is a tinderbox right now. My departure from a Portland visit was delayed due to a windstorm that came through. I’d heard the news and weather reports, predicting a severe fire situation with the coming high winds. Fifty mile an hour winds were headed our way. Hot temperatures and low humidity were a perfect set-up for wildfires.
I stayed parked one more day, knowing that Squeaky does not do well on a breezy day, let alone a wind storm. And I hoped that the predictions were a lot of hype—like the many Portland snowday forecasts that never come to fruition.
Right about 5pm, as predicted, the winds picked up and the skies turned an ominous grey—not from clouds or rain, but from the smoke blowing into town from fires already burning in Central Oregon. I’ve lived in Oregon for 25 years and I have never seen a windstorm of this type in the summer. All night long, it was constant and strong. Wednesday morning some parts of town looked like a hurricane had come through. Trees down, branches and debris covering the streets, sidewalks and yards. A fence at Kenton Park had so many leaves and fir branches stuck to it, it looked as if it they had deliberately been placed there as decoration.
But the downed trees and power outages were things that could be cleaned up and turned back on. The real devastation was the fires. New fires were started by downed powerlines or sparks, fueled by the dry grass and timber and pushed along by the fierce winds. Thirty five fires are now burning in Oregon.
Silver Falls State Park, where I spend the month of August was evacuated. The towns of Silverton, Stayton, Aumsville—all little towns I’d visited while stationed at Silver Falls were either burning or being evacuated. The McKenzie River area and Detroit Lake are all burning. My special and favorite place to camp on the Clackamas River, where I’d just spent a night before coming to Portland, is likely in flames.
I’m devastated and heart broken. Friends who recently bought a home on the Clackamas River escaped to a hotel in Portland. The skies are dark in the middle of the day. Whole communities are burned to the ground. Lives are lost. Animals displaced.
I had already planned to come up this way, even before the fires started in Oregon. Actually, I was planning to go to California, but well, that’s on fire too. So, I came up to Washington, a state that is also on fire—just not exactly where I am. I’m sitting here in my campground, listening to the river. I just saw a coho salmon swim by. It feels strange to be away from cell service—I don’t know how much worse things have gotten. Did Portland get evacuation orders? How are my friends? Even though it’s peaceful where I am, I feel a bit anxious.
Friday Update:
I left the campground early this morning. As beautiful as it was, it just felt uneasy to be out of cell reception. I drove a few miles up the road to explore a little bit at Mt. Rainier National Park and then headed back down the mountain to my friend’s property in Randle, WA.
Sure enough, as soon as I got into range, my phone started pinging will all the voicemails and text messages I’d received from friends and family checking in on me. Plus I wanted to check in with friends who live in or near evacuation zones and friends who live alone.
It was hazy as I drove through the small town of Packwood. The hills surrounding my friend’s property were not visible. It got worse as and worse throughout the day. I am two, plus hours away from Oregon and the smoke feels like the fires are right here. I dug out my N95 mask. In Portland, the air quality was worse than anywhere else in the world. Folks were being encouraged to stay indoors. I don’t have that option living in my van. Olive didn’t want to walk. I didn’t force her. This must be hard on her old lungs.
I’d probably start driving East right now, if I didn’t have plans next week to travel around with a friend. So many of my friends are displaced. I feel fortunate that I have everything of importance with me and that I’m here with friends and I am safe.
