Chris Czajkowski and Fred Reid
Captured By Fire
Surviving British Columbia’s New Wildfire Reality
To Katie and Dennis—as always, a port in every storm. —Chris
To Monika. —Fred
Copyright © 2019 Chris Czajkowski and Fred Reid
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without prior permission of the publisher or, in the case of photocopying or other reprographic copying, a licence from Access Copyright, www.accesscopyright.ca, 1-800-893-5777, [email protected].
Harbour Publishing Co. Ltd.
P.O. Box 219, Madeira Park, BC, V0N 2H0
Cover photos by Chris Czaikowski (front) and Fred Reid (back)
Cover design by Anna Comfort O’Keeffe
Edited by Emma Skagen
Text design by Shed Simas / Onça Design
Printed and bound in Canada
Harbour Publishing acknowledges the support of the Canada Council for the Arts, which last year invested $153 million to bring the arts to Canadians throughout the country.
Nous remercions le Conseil des arts du Canada de son soutien. L’an dernier, le Conseil a investi 153 millions de dollars pour mettre de l’art dans la vie des Canadiennes et des Canadiens de tout le pays.
We also gratefully acknowledge financial support from the Government of Canada and from the Province of British Columbia through the BC Arts Council and the Book Publishing Tax Credit.
Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Title: Captured by fire : surviving British Columbia’s new wildfire reality / Chris Czajkowski and Fred Reid.
Names: Czajkowski, Chris, author. | Reid, Fred, 1951- author.
Identifiers: Canadiana (print) 20190144815 | Canadiana (ebook) 2019014484X | ISBN 9781550178852 (softcover) | ISBN 9781550178869 (HTML)
Subjects: LCSH: Czajkowski, Chris. | LCSH: Reid, Fred, 1951- | LCSH: Wildfires—British Columbia—History—21st century. | LCSH: Evacuation of civilians—British Columbia.
Classification: LCC SD421.34.C2 C93 2019 | DDC 363.37/9—dc23
YOU MUST EVACUATE NOW.
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.
Close all windows and doors.
Shut off all gas and electrical appliances other than refrigerators and freezers.
Close gates but do not lock.
YOU MUST EVACUATE NOW!
—West Chilcotin Search and Rescue, automated phone call.
The Strikes
Chris
Kleena Kleene, July 7
It was early afternoon on a hot, rather dull day. I was sitting in a mechanic’s office in Williams Lake, British Columbia, while some work was being completed on my van. I was told that the van was OK for now, but it was going to need a brake job soon. That, however, could wait until the next time I came to town. I was not sure when that would be. Williams Lake, population 11,150, is the nearest place to my home that is big enough to boast a bank, a supermarket, traffic lights, a bus station, a full-time mechanic, and cell phone service. But my home is three and a half hours’ drive away.
Normally I would be out of town earlier, but that day I had to wait until 4:30 p.m. as a friend was arriving from Saskatchewan by bus. I was half dozing in the muggy heat and staring idly through the open door of the mechanic’s office. The shop is in a light industrial area; the buildings across the street are unattractive and utilitarian. Behind them climbs a steep-sided slope covered in coniferous forest.
Traffic on the road in front of the garage was busy and noisy, and it all but drowned out a few rumbles of thunder. Nothing particularly loud; most people never heard it. I was staring straight at the hill when the lightning struck. Three broad stabs of white light, one after the other. Bang. Bang. Bang. There was a wind up there, and within minutes black smoke was roiling into the heavens.
I have lived for nearly forty years in this dry, flammable country—long enough to have considerable experience with forest fires. My first instinct was to run. To get away from potentially panicky crowds. But Miriam’s bus wasn’t due for another couple of hours. It takes days to travel from Saskatchewan by bus and I could not abandon her.
People coming into the office were hyped up and talking.
“108 Mile is burning,” some said. (About an hour south of Williams Lake. The bus would be coming through there. Would it be delayed?) “It started there yesterday.” “Rumour has it that some kids were shooting at targets in a quarry.” “Doesn’t take much of a spark to set things off in these conditions.” “It is already out of control and the community is being evacuated.” People seemed oblivious to the smoke above their heads. The drama, for them, was elsewhere; they had not yet registered that it was also in their backyard.
The bus indeed was late. Smoke continued to boil from the hill east of the city. Finally, the Greyhound coach eased in behind the bus station, and there was Miriam, shouldering her backpack. She excitedly showed me pictures she had taken on her phone of the 108 Mile fire. I barely looked at them. I wanted to be gone.
“I just need to go to the supermarket,” she said. “I have everything I need for our backpacking trip except food.”
Hanging about to shop was the last thing I wanted to do. “I have plenty of suitable food at home,” I told her. “We
