It could have been worse. A lot worse. But the Trout Fire was bad enough, affecting many of us in ways we still haven’t realized.
I can start by remembering places that are probably burned and blackened. For example, if you go to the end of Meadow Creek Road and hike back over a ridge or two, there’s a very nice swimming hole that you have to climb over rocks to get into.
Imagine sitting in that pool and seeing blackened grass and brush all around. I doubt few of us will be hiking there for a while.
I have a painting by local artist Craig Wentz showing a pool of water with pebbles disturbed by radiating ripples. I’ve been to that place on Meadow Creek, and places much like it. Do I only have the painting to remember the scene?
Some of the places that will never be the same: Pine Flats, Lake Roberts, Wild Horse Mesa, Sapillo Creek, Signal Peak Road, Camp Thunderbird — all changed.
I can tell stories about many of those places, but I imagine my stories are tame compared to the stories of elk and deer hunters who have tramped the area. What’s hunting season going to look like this year? Where are those elk and deer now? And what about the black-tail rattlesnakes, packrats and spiny lizards? They can’t outrun a fire.
Thru-hikers heading south on the official Continental Divide Trail will go right through the burn scar. I suspect that the Gila alternate route, which avoids the burn, will be popular this fall.
The last struggle a couple of weeks ago was on the slopes of Black Peak. It’s one of several peaks where I’ve found colonies of ladybugs. Look it up — ladybugs gather on the tops of peaks so thick you can hardly walk without stepping on them. But can they survive fire?
I saw videos made by firefighters showing the fire burning along the bottom of forests and leaving the tops of the ponderosas untouched. Monsoons may turn that blackened grass bright green in a few weeks. But there were also areas where the fire crowned, leaving blackened poles. Fire may be a natural process, but it doesn’t look natural.
I was depressed for a couple of weeks, checking every time the Fire Watch app buzzed on my phone. How close was it to my vacation rental property north of Pinos Altos? Should I go up and remove everything of value? If I waited too long, they would close the road and turn off the electricity. But if I went too soon, I might do (and later undo) work for nothing.
I didn’t go, but firefighters visited my property and removed every bit of brush within 30 feet of the houses. They were obviously in a hurry, and the results looked like a one-minute haircut with dull scissors. My houses are much safer for the next fire, but not so attractive. Cleaning up the mess will be up to me. Thanks, firefighters. I guess.
People in the Mimbres Valley would just laugh at my unrealized fear compared to their real losses. Most of them had to leave their homes. Imagine the stress if you know firefighters are starting backfires in your backyard.
I kept a close watch on the fire perimeter, but at some point, I figured out that the map perimeters didn’t distinguish between controlled backfires and the wildfire. So maybe the fire edge wasn’t as risky as it looked. Still, I worried about how many miles of forest would burn if the fire jumped over N.M. 35.
People like me don’t really understand how fires and firefighting work. We can’t help worrying about whether the professionals know what they’re doing, but it’s not productive to second-guess them from ignorance. Meanwhile, everyone is united in appreciating the young people doing the dangerous work.
And then there were the indirect effects. I know someone who needed to see his doctor, but couldn’t get an appointment because the doctor’s home was at risk. A family I know in Bayard moved temporarily to Silver City because of smoke — even though Bayard wasn’t evacuated. At least we won’t have any shortage of landscaping wood chips for a while.
There were good things to remember about the fire: the awe of a jetliner dumping tons of red retardant on smoking hills; the beauty of a giant plume of smoke looking closer than it really was; the community feeling that we were all in this together.
And now it’s over, except for what isn’t over. We’ll be feeling the side effects for a long time.
