Carson Long, a firefighter with the Alaska Smoke Jumpers, uses a drip torch to light a low-intensity planned ignition on the Tsah Creek Wildfire near Fort St. James, B.C. With the fire threatening Highway 27, fire crews used a combination of machine-built fire guards reinforced with planned ignitions like this one to help contain the fire.
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Al Ritchie has been a firefighter for nearly a decade. He actually quit for a while, and went into private business with a buddy. But now he’s back, working for the Princeton Sierras’ Unit Crew.
“I missed it too much,” he says, as he carefully hones the teeth on his chainsaw blade after a day on the fireline south of Vanderhoof, B.C.
The Sierras are one of the BC Wildfire Service’s rare live-on-base unit crews. That means for most of the summer, the team of 20 firefighters live and work together nearly 24 hours a day for weeks on end. They’re often tasked with holding the line against fires that have grown too large for the more nimble initial attack teams. It’s dirty, difficult and often unglamorous work, but the bonds they form are nearly as tight as their carefully-rolled shirt sleeves.
As one of the Sierras tree fallers, Ritchie specializes in assessing and cutting down dangerous trees to allow other members of the crew safe access to work areas. Even more than flames, falling trees are one of the biggest risks crews face: two Canadian firefighters have been killed this year by tree strikes.
As B.C. faces its worst wildfire season ever — and the worst in Canada — crews like the Sierras are being tested like almost never before. Resources are stretched thin, and thousands of firefighters have been called in from around the world. The Canadian military has been called out to help.
A spot fire burns near the fire guard around the Tsah Creek Wildfire, outside Fort St. James. Wildfires are mercurial beasts — they can smolder innocuously for days or weeks. But when temperatures rise, humidity decreases and wind picks up, they can stand up and run. Spot fires ignited by embers on the wind ahead of the main fire, or outside containment lines, are common, and must be chased down quickly.
Last year at this time, crew member Connor Clouston says, the Sierras were just rolling out on their first fire. This year they’ve already seen four deployments, including to Alberta, and are expecting to see seven or eight before the season is over.
In mid-July on the Bulkley Nechako fire complex near Vanderhoof, there were firefighters from at least four different nations: the BC Wildfire Service crews, as well as firefighters from Mexico, Australia and both hotshots and smokejumpers from the U.S.
Backed up by contract firefighters, heavy equipment operators, helicopters, air tankers and a buzzing operations and logistics centre, the battle against the Bulkley Nechako fires is just one small front in a much larger campaign across the province. And at only mid-July, there is still plenty of fire season left to go.
A BC Wildfire Service firefighter carries bundles of hose along a machine-built fire guard while a piece of heavy equipment works nearby.A firefighter uses a hose to douse hot spots along the containment line of the Tsah Creek Wildfire outside Vanderhoof. Knocking down spot fires quickly is key to keeping a wildfire from escaping containment lines.A BC Wildfire Service firefighter from the Columbia Unit Crew stands on a ridge, working as a look out for the rest of her crew near the head of the fire. Lookouts are critical for crew safety, watching for spot fires and changes in fire behaviour.Fletcher Yancey, a firefighter with the Alaska Smoke Jumpers, eats pizza during a brief break in the action on the Tsah Creek Wildfire near Fort St. James. Nearly two weeks after being declared a wildfire of note, triggering tactical evacuations from a nearby bible camp and threatening to close Highway 27, the fire was brought much closer to being considered “held,” or unlikely to spread beyond containment lines — thanks to the work of Yancey’s unit and two B.C. unit crews.Steve Lozano (left) and Tyler Moylan — both firefighters with the Alaska Smoke Jumpers — race to extinguish an ember-caused spot fire ahead of the main fire front on the Tsah Creek Wildfire near Fort St. James.Alaska Smoke Jumper Jake Murie high-fives B.C. parattack firefighter Jacqueline Cowley while working on a planned ignition on the Tsah Creek Wildfire near Vanderhoof. Murie and Cowley’s units — both firefighters who parachute into hard-to-reach fires — were combined into one quick-attack resource for the fires near Vanderhoof.Cowley laughs while trying to quell an unruly fire hose that sprung a leak during a planned ignition on the Tsah Creek Wildfire near Fort St. James.Cowley follows Alaska Smoke Jumper Eli Seligman as they use drip torches to set a planned ignition along a control line on the Tsah Creek Wildfire, near Fort St. James.Alaska Smoke Jumpers Fletcher Yancey (left), Tyler Moylan (centre) and Aaron Schumacher (right) look on from a machine-built guard as a planned ignition takes off at night no the Tsah Creek Wildfire.A soot-stained fire shirt belonging to a Mexican firefighter sits atop their tent at a fire camp in Vanderhoof. At one point, there were firefighters from four nations working to contain the Bulkely Nechako complex of wildfires. On deployment, firefighters will often live in tents based in fire camps for two-week stretches before taking mandatory time off, then being redeployed to another fire wherever they are needed.Medics from Tactical Medical Service share a tent and watch a movie after a day deployed to a wildfire outside Vanderhoof. Life deployed to a wildfire can sometimes be described as hours of boredom punctuated by brief moments of excitement.Princeton Sierras unit crew member Connor Clouston gets treatment from athletic therapist Kerri Dunsmore at a fire camp in Vanderhoof. In the past few years, as demands on fire crews have increased, the BC Wildfire Service has implemented programs like athletic therapy to better support its firefighters.Firefighters collect their breakfast from a caterer at a fire camp in Vanderhoof. Unlike some work camps, fire camps in B.C. have a reputation for serving decent food. This week’s servings included steak cooked to order, a full turkey dinner and roast chicken.Firefighter Al Ritchie shaves using his truck mirror before heading out to the fire line for the day. Ritchie says he worked eight years as a firefighter, before quitting to run his own business. But he missed the lifestyle so much he decided to come back.A firefighter from the Princeton Sierra’s unit crew passes the time with a Rubik’s Cube in his truck after a day spent working to get trails built and hose lines set around a wildfire south of Vanderhoof.Firefighters from the Princeton Sierra’s unit crew discuss strategy for safely evaluating an area with fire-compromised trees. Two firefighters have died in Canada so far this season from tree strikes. Falling trees, especially in fire-compromised areas, is one of the biggest safety risks firefighters face on the job in Canada.Firefighters from the Princeton Sierra’s unit crew work together to dig a hotspot out of the deep forest floor on a fire south of Vanderhoof. Because fires can burn deep into organic matter and root systems, they can smolder for weeks or months if not detected. The process — called “cold trailing” — involves digging up the area and feeling for hotspots and heat with bare hands.Princeton Sierras’ unit crew members Paul Ciulini (left), Dylan David (centre) and Mike MacLean (right) eat lunch in a swamp while working on a wildfire south of Vanderhoof.Princeton Sierras’ crew members Dylan David (left), Rhys Jobbitt (centre) and Paul Ciulini compete to see who can chug a bottle of water the fastest while working on a wildfire south of Vanderhoof.Firefighters roll hose after dousing an area along the fire’s edge on a wildfire south of Vanderhoof. Despite being seemingly out, fires can smoulder underground for days or weeks, flaring to life again when the wind and conditions are right.Princeton Sierras’ Al Ritchie sharpens his chainsaw after a day spent falling trees in a dangerous area of a wildfire burning south of Vanderhoof.The Princeton Sierras are one of the live-on-base unit crews in British Columbia, meaning the crew members live together both on- and off- the fire line. The bonds they form are nearly as tight as their carefully-rolled shirt sleeves.
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Carson Long, a firefighter with the Alaska Smoke Jumpers, uses a drip torch to light a low-intensity planned ignition on the Tsah Creek Wildfire near Fort St. James, B.C. With the fire threatening Highway 27, fire crews used a combination of machine-built fire guards reinforced with planned ignitions like this one to help contain the fire.
Like a kid in a candy store
When those boxes of heavily redacted documents start to pile in, reporters at The Narwhal waste no time in looking for kernels of news that matter the most. Just ask our Prairies reporter Drew Anderson, who gleefully scanned through freedom of information files like a kid in a candy store, leading to pretty damning revelations in Alberta. Long story short: the government wasn’t being forthright when it claimed its pause on new renewable energy projects wasn’t political. Just like that, our small team was again leading the charge on a pretty big story.
In an oil-rich province like Alberta, that kind of reporting is crucial. But look at our investigative work on TC Energy’s Coastal GasLink pipeline to the west, or our Greenbelt reporting out in Ontario. They all highlight one thing: those with power over our shared natural world don’t want you to know how — or why — they call the shots. And we try to disrupt that.
Our journalism is powered by people just like you. We never take corporate ad dollars, or put this public-interest information behind a paywall. Will you join the pod of Narwhals that make a difference by helping us uncover some of the most important stories of our time?
When those boxes of heavily redacted documents start to pile in, reporters at The Narwhal waste no time in looking for kernels of news that matter the most. Just ask our Prairies reporter Drew Anderson, who gleefully scanned through freedom of information files like a kid in a candy store, leading to pretty damning revelations in Alberta. Long story short: the government wasn’t being forthright when it claimed its pause on new renewable energy projects wasn’t political. Just like that, our small team was again leading the charge on a pretty big story.
In an oil-rich province like Alberta, that kind of reporting is crucial. But look at our investigative work on TC Energy’s Coastal GasLink pipeline to the west, or our Greenbelt reporting out in Ontario. They all highlight one thing: those with power over our shared natural world don’t want you to know how — or why — they call the shots. And we try to disrupt that.
Our journalism is powered by people just like you. We never take corporate ad dollars, or put this public-interest information behind a paywall. Will you join the pod of Narwhals that make a difference by helping us uncover some of the most important stories of our time?
Your access to our journalism is free — always. Sign up for our weekly newsletter for investigative reporting on the natural world in Canada you won’t find anywhere else.
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