Every summer, at some hot and windblown moment, I find myself standing on my back deck, watching an arm of smoke lift from the mountains—a wildfire burning somewhere close by. Yesterday was that day for this summer. Only this time, the fire flared to life on the ridge directly across the lake from me.
Close.
The closest one yet.
The smoke was white—thankfully—an
indication the fire was just getting started, feeding only on grass and small
shrubs.
Dark smoke is solidly ungood.
Firefighters swarmed the ridge within
minutes. Rigs and crews rolled in from the far side while, above them,
helicopters wheeled and swooped, dropping loads of water onto the flames. From
my deck, I could see the choreography unfold.
And within a couple of hours, they
had the fire tamped down.
I even managed a few photographs of
the helicopters at work—a sobering thing to witness from my deck.
—Mitchell Hegman
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