Caught in a lit canyon

We literally fled the 2014 Slide Fire in Oak Creek Canyon with only the clothes on our backs.

The Slide Fire. | Image: Jason Coil, Sedona Fire District, courtesy Coconino National Forest

The sound was louder than thunder.

The wailing siren startled Vicki and me during our post-hike lunch on the patio of the Indian Gardens at Oak Creek Market. We looked at each other, knowing instinctively that on a warm and windy day in May, that sound could mean only one thing.

FIRE!

Lovely day for a hike

On the morning of May 14, 2014, Vicki and I set off to hike the West Fork Oak Creek Trail in Oak Creek Canyon, Arizona. It was a bright sunny day in the canyon, and we thought nothing of the moderate gusts of warm air that stirred the grasses and trees along the pathway. The trail follows and crisscrosses the creek that winds its way through the Coconino Forest, below towering red cliffs and cerulean blue skies. Near the end of our trek, we walked in the middle of the stream, calf deep in cold water and buffeted by breezes squeezed through the narrow canyon.

By the time we reached Oak Creek Market, dusty and damp, we were ready for one of their signature deli sandwiches and a cold one. It was while we feasted and rested our weary bones on the shady patio that the warning siren at Sedona Fire District Station #5 began to blare. After a moment of puzzlement, we regained our wits and exited the patio post haste. As emergency vehicles raced up the canyon, sirens screaming, someone in the parking lot filled us in on proper protocol in response to the siren: “Get out now!”

And, we did.

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Up to half the kingdom for clothes

We crawled down the canyon on Highway 89A in a heavy stream of evacuation traffic through Sedona across 10 miles of arid desert to Cottonwood, where we found a Walmart. Hot and sweaty—and cut off from our Airbnb located on 89A above Fire Station #5—we had only the grimy clothes on our backs and a few spare personal items in our orange Kelty day pack. Inside Walmart, we purchased “emergency” outfits, including Levi’s, t-shirts, underwear, and socks, and began to cobble together Plan B.

Being “homeless” in an area soon to be declared a Federal Type-1 incident, locating shelter for the night was Job One. We found a room at the Marriott in Flagstaff and booked it. By early evening, we were northbound on I-17 skirting the eastern flank of Oak Creek Canyon. The scene was apocalyptic. What would come to be known as the Slide Fire engulfed the mountains fed by plentiful fuel and hot winds. Periodically, we saw the navigation lights on the copters used by the Hotshots and other first responders as they battled the flames.

Waiting game

We rode out the rest of our vacation in Flagstaff, hoping against hope to be allowed back into the canyon to retrieve our belongings from the rental unit. My laptop and tech gear, our clothing, food, and other belongings were behind the cordoned-off fire lines. For all we knew, our stuff had already been reduced to ashes. We never made it back to the Airbnb.

We returned to Southern California, still wearing our Walmart refugee gear and convinced we’d seen the last of our personal belongings. One bright spot: the Airbnb landlord refunded part of the rental amount to compensate for the days the fire devoured. The following Monday, I returned to work not well-rested and somewhat unsettled.

Deja vu

Two weeks later, we made a return trip to Oak Creek Canyon to retrieve our stuff. The owner of the rental unit informed us that the Hotshots and other firefighters overcame the strong winds and dry brush to contain the blaze, but only after it had consumed more than 21,000 acres. His house was spared.

It was a strange feeling to re-enter the canyon, heading for the small cluster of vacation homes located so close to ground zero. The smell of smoke was intense. Charred hillsides and denuded trees presented a stark reminder of what can happen in the canyon on any given day.¹ Dotting the roadway, on fences and posts, impromptu signs made by canyon residents proclaimed their gratitude to the fearless Hotshots, often the first on the scene of a wildfire, and always the bravest. Our hearts echoed the sentiment.

At the rental house, we collected our things and counted our blessings. I shudder to think what the outcome might have been had we begun our hike an hour later, the day of the Slide Fire.

Lost and found

Several weeks after we got home (again), I read that an archaeological team surveying the burn area found the remains of an abandoned cabin from the pioneer days. The structure had long ago been reclaimed by what is believed to be the world’s largest Ponderosa pine forest.

A couple of short stacks of logs that appeared to be intersecting at a right angle caught the eye of a firefighter battling the Slide Fire in Arizona. An archaeologist with the crew confirmed what the firefighter suspected: The blaze had uncovered the ruins of a cabin at least a century old.

Local authorities believe that a long-ago wildfire ravaged the cabin, which was eventually reclaimed by dense forest. I can only imagine what it would have been like to be in the canyon in the early 1800s, a pioneer alone in the dark as the roaring flames closed in.

Triggered

This Spring, western North Carolina’s forested mountains were ravaged by wildfires. The force multiplier was thousands of downed trees and dry brush courtesy of Hurricane Helene’s visit last September. Several weeks of dry weather had rendered the Blue Ridge a tinderbox, and fires raged in multiple locations unabated. Rugged terrain made it impossible for firefighters to move heavy equipment into the hills and hollows to create fire breaks and bury embers.

For several days, our beautiful development was immediately adjacent to the mandatory evacuation zone. Only the asphalt strip of I-26 stood between us and a looming order to vacate our property. We watched the appalling news reports of homes wiped out by the flames, of animals fleeing, of people who escaped with a few photos and the clothes they wore. It brought back memories of our Oak Creek Canyon “baptism” by fire.

We prepared our go-bags, watered our yard, and prayed.

Heroes

Near the end of March, in a last-ditch effort to keep the flames from hopping the interstate, light and heavy fixed and rotary wing aircraft pummeled the hills with retardant nonstop. The daring of the pilots—who flew very low, contending with poor visibility and hill country—underscored the desperation of the moment. Brave people, in the air and on the ground, fought long and hard to save homes and lives. We found some new heroes.

Finally, the weather changed, bringing long-awaited rainfall. Embers died, and smoke vanished. We thanked God for the grace that spared us.

We put our go-bags back in the closet.

Ain’t too proud to beg, sweet darlin’, if you read me, let me know …

1. Oak Creek Canyon runs generally north-south, its walls bracketing route 89A, uphill from the city of Sedona to Kachina Village and then Flagstaff, some 29 miles north. The creek flow weakens significantly in the dead of Summer as the Arizona desert sucks up moisture like a water addicted vampire. When the wind blows, the narrow canyon becomes a natural chimney. One careless cigarette butt can spell disaster in an instant, as we found out.