October 3rd, 2024 wasn’t just any day. In fact, for fire ecology experts and enthusiasts alike, it happened to be the perfect day. Just the evening before, my email pinged. It was the message I had been highly anticipating this fall, from Pisgah's Volunteer and Intern Coordinator, Jared Tarr. 

It was go-time: prescribed fire was to be implemented the morning of Oct. 3rd, on the east side of Howard Buford Recreation Area.

The Road to this Point

The morning of the expected burn, Jared coordinated with a team of volunteers who would be acting as ‘Trail Sentinel’, or a team of enthusiastic supporters who would monitor the trails and ensure that any park goers would not interfere or otherwise accidentally wander into the prescribed burn area. And I was one of the enthusiastic volunteers, acting as Trail Sentinel. As someone with a background in fire suppression (wildland firefighting), I was thrilled to experience firsthand efforts in fire restoration. 

It was a bright, clear-skied fall day, with a hint of a breeze. Burn attempts had already been delayed due to inclement weather, and I wondered if the onset of wind would stampede out further burn efforts. 

After receiving my coordinates and instructions for the day, I made my way through the park to my assigned post. This section of the park is marked by oak savanna habitat: rolling grassy hills flecked with oak trees and some woody plants. This type of habitat has been burned since time immemorial by Indigenous people throughout Oregon. And in the last 200 years, fire suppression regimes have all but wiped out the remaining 2% of the Willamette Valley oak savanna habitat.

This type of habitat is fire-dependent, meaning it needs fire to restore and regenerate. Fire in oakland savanna habitat is cleansing, as it burns with low intensity and slowly roves through the grassland, clearing out woody vegetation and doug firs that creep in, competing with the oak trees. Here, fire also stimulates germination, allowing for the oak trees to regenerate and providing more readily available food for human and animal kin alike.

The Burn

I was situated in a prime location to watch as fire crews roved around the open field, engines following closely behind. Oregon Department of Forestry firefighters were clad in traditional yellow and green Nomex, hardhats, and sported heavy backpacks. I watched from afar as they flecked the hillside, carrying hand tools, drip torches, and yelled out commands to each other.

Within a couple of hours, I noticed a change in the air. Swirls of white smoke lifted off of the hillside, and the smell of burning material filled my nostrils. I thought that in all of my time living in the Willamette Valley, this fire is unlike any other that I have witnessed. First, the smoke was light in color - it was not heavy and dark and angry in the way that wildfire smoke can be. This is because the fire is low intensity, only burning grass and some woody shrubs. The smoke particulate was not filled with heavy metals, treated wood, and other bits of building material that are traditional in urban wildfires. 

As I watched the smoke intensify, and witnessed heat waves rising up from the earth, I felt a tug of primal fear in my gut. I wondered if I was too close to the fire, even though I was perched safely behind a 10 foot wide dozer line. Considering my fearful thoughts, I began to ask myself where those feelings were really coming from. Is it instinct, or was I just taught to fear fire my whole life?

The Aftermath

An hour or so later, the fire pittered out and the smoke cleared from the sky revealing a bright fall day. The burn had successfully creeped across this patch of earth, leaving behind charred remains of plant debris and some hot, smoldering pockets. A tanker truck mosied around the perimeter of the blackened patch, ensuring that the fire would not unexpectedly rear up again.

The future for prescribed fire seems hopeful. As the Northwest Forest Plan is being amended for the first time in 30 years, the fire revolutionaries can only hope that prescribed burning will be more legitimized and backed by good fire policy. Additionally, it is essential to integrate Indigenous traditional ecological knowledge into policy, ensuring that Indigenous stewardship is prioritized in land management planning. While fire is a natural force, our approach to using it is still evolving. There’s much work ahead to fully restore fire’s role in our landscapes and to build a more inclusive future in fire management—one that respects both the land and the wisdom of those who have stewarded it since time immemorial.