Introduction to Fire in California: Second Edition 9780520976566

Citation preview

Introduction to Fire in California

California Natural History Guides PHYLLIS M. FA BER AND BRUCE M. PAVLIK , GENERAL EDITOR S

Introduction to Fire in California SEC OND EDITION

David Carle

UNIVER SIT Y OF CALIFORNIA PRE S S

University of California Press Oakland, California Although the University of California Press and the author have made every attempt to ensure that the information in this book is accurate, they are not responsible for any loss, damage, injury, or inconvenience that may occur to anyone as a result of using this book. Following the advice in this book does not guarantee protection against fire risk. You are responsible for your own safety, as well as the safety of your home, property, and belongings. © 2021 by the Regents of the University of California Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Carle, David, 1950– author. Title: Introduction to fire in California / David Carle. Other titles: California natural history guides. Description: Second edition. | Oakland, California : University of California Press, [2021] | Series: California natural history guides | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: LC CN 2020053088 (print) | LC CN 2020053089 (ebook) | IS BN 9780520379138 (hardback) | ISBN 9780520379145 (paperback) | I S BN 9780520976566 (ebook) Subjects: LC SH: Wildfires—California. | Forest fires—California. | Fire ecology—California. Classification: LC C S D 421.32.C 2 C 38 2021 (print) | LC C S D 421.32.C 2 (ebook) | DD C 634.9/61809794—dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020053088 LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020053089 29

28 27

10

9

8

26 25 24 7

6

5

4

23 22 21 3

2

1

Previous pages: Low water pressure was a major problem during the Laguna Beach fire in 1993.

The first edition of Introduction to Fire in California was for G R E G, former fire captain; for Ed, former fire chief; and in memory of HAROLD BISWELL , a pioneer in prescribed fire. This second edition is for naturalists and scientists NICK , RYAN, AND JE SSIE.

And in memory of DORIS BROUGHTON.

Contents

Acknowledgments xi Introduction xiii

The Nature of Fire

1

What Is Fire? 1 The Fire Triangle 5 Oxygen: Fire Breath Fuel: Fire Food

6

8

Heat: Fire Energy

12

Ignition Sources 12 Fire Behavior 20 Weather 20 Wind

23

Topography: Lay of the Land 26

Fire and Life across California

30

Fire Regimes 30 Seeds, Sprouts, and “All of the Above” 36

Vegetation Types and Fire 41 Chaparral Shrublands 42 Conifer Forests 53 Oak Woodlands and Savannas

79

Sagebrush Shrublands and Pinyon-Juniper Forests 81 Deserts 87 Grasslands

90

Wetlands and Riparian Woodlands

92

Wildlife 95 Soil, Water, and Air 100 The Climate Crisis 105

The Flames of History

110

California’s Light-Burning Debate 110 The Big Ones 122 Extremes after 2010 129

Burning Issues

137

Fighting Back: Tactics and Weaponry 137 Making Peace: Restoring Fire 143 The Chaparral Dilemma 149 Logging versus Thinning

154

Fire Policy and Plans 158 A Fire-Safe Power Grid 159 Public Safety Power Shutoffs: Do They Increase Safety?

159

Getting Ready: Life on the Edge

164

Wildland-Urban Interface 164 Becoming a Fire-Adapted Californian 168 Before the Fire, Be Ember Aware 168 During the Fire 179 After the Fire

182

COVID-19 Pandemic Impacts on Wildfire 183 Kindling Change 186 Online Fire Resources 191 Glossary 193 References 197 Art Credits 205 Index 209

Acknowledgments

Two books that were published by the University of California Press in 2006 were particularly timely and helpful resources as I prepared the first edition of this book: Fire in California’s Ecosystems is a comprehensive textbook, coedited by Neil G. Sugihara, Jan W. van Wagtendonk, Kevin E. Shaffer, JoAnn Fites-Kaufman, and Andrea E. Thode; and Introduction to California Chaparral, by Ronald D. Quinn and Sterling C. Keeley, is in the California Natural History Guides series and devotes attention to the role of fire in chaparral and the challenges for humans living in that environment. My sincere thanks to UC Press editor Stacy Eisenstark, project editor Kate Hoffman, and copyeditor Lou Doucette, and, for helpful suggestions by Dr. Jan van Wagtendonk, research forester at the U.S. Geological Survey Yosemite-Oakhurst Field Station; Dr. Connie Millar, U.S. Forest Service scientist at the Pacific Southwest Research Station in Albany; Dr. James K. Agee, emeritus professor in the School of Environmental and Forest Sciences at the University of Washington; Dr. Neil G. Sugihara, U.S. Forest Service regional fire ecologist; Tom Higley, retired U.S. Forest Service silviculturist; Sally Gaines; Dr. Rick Kattelmann (who also provided five photographs for this book); and, always, Janet Carle, my wife and first reader.

[ xi ]

Introduction

Pile some kindling and small logs in a fireplace so that the paper underneath will send its heat up into them after it is lit. Strike a match. Quickly tilt it so that the flame burns up along this tiny bit of fuel between your fingers, so the match flares strongly enough to pass fire to the wood. Or to the charcoal in a backyard barbecue. Or to the pine needles and twigs within a circle of rocks forming a campfire ring. Or, perhaps, simply to a candlewick, which flares, flickers, and then persists. Light emerges from wick and wax, energy suddenly made visible. Heat also appears, which had been trapped within that fuel, hidden until that moment. Light and heat are basic attributes of the familiar process of fire. Flames can be comforting and useful when tamed to our will. But this is a wild force, too, one that can roam across the landscape, transforming matter, returning often enough to shape adaptations by plants and animals, and sometimes delivering unstoppable destruction to human communities. Need it even be said that fire is neither bad nor good, in itself? It is one of the natural, inevitable processes of this earth. We, too, are creatures shaped by fire, using it more purposefully than any other species.

[ xiii ]

Fire, as our tool, melts, reshapes, cuts, heats, cooks, emits light, and propels us over the ground or through the air. Obvious fires burn in furnaces and smelters, welder’s arcs and acetylene torches. More subtle uses trap fire out of sight in our internal combustion engines, or where small pilot lights hide beneath gas water heaters and stoves, waiting to awaken heating elements and burners. So many examples in our lives reveal our special relationship with fire. Homes, factories, and business buildings may be equipped with fire extinguishers, smoke alarms, and overhead sprinklers. Career firefighters staff fire stations with specialized fire engines and fire gear. Where communities are too small for that extravagance, volunteer fire departments are organized to fill the need. By the start of each year’s fire season, seasonal wildland firefighters are hired and trained as hotshots and smoke jumpers, hand crews, and hose crews. Dozer operators and highly trained aircraft pilots are put on call. Though preparation for fires permeates our lives, when they finally arrive, it is usually a shock, as if our secret thought all along was fire will never happen to me. A woman who lost her home in the wildfire that raced through the Oakland Hills in 1991 exclaimed, “We had sidewalks! The way people talk about the fire area, you would think I was Little Red Riding Hood living in the forest!” (Sullivan 1993, 23). Her amazement, after learning that modern urban life could be so disrupted by wildfire (fig. 1), illustrates the importance of knowledge about fire in California. Over eight million Californians live at similar risk, near the edge of wildlands subject to periodic wildfires (map 1). They need to understand this aspect of their environment. Ignorance about fire, as the population has grown and sprawled, has contributed to increased structural damage losses and lost lives from wildfires.

[ xiv ]

INTRODUCTION

FIGURE 1. One of the Oakland Hills houses burned in the Tunnel fire of 1991.

This book is meant to help humanity understand its place in the California landscape as another one of many fire-adapted species in this state. Introduction to Fire in California was first published in 2008 as part of the California Natural History Guides series. Most of the first edition remains accurate, but this second edition addresses increasingly extreme temperature and wind events and the relationship of wildfires to global climate warming. Why have “superfires” driven by high winds become so prevalent? California’s eternal wildfire challenges intensified from 2010 through 2020, when the deadliest and most destructive wildfires in the state’s history ignited. The number of wildfires started in those years and the total acreage burned were actually not far outside of historical norms. Before the California gold rush, natural ignitions and fires purposely set by the native population had touched about

INTRODUCTION

[ xv ]

Fire Threat Extreme Very high High Moderate Nonfuel

N

0 0

50

100 miles

100 kilometers

MAP 1 . Statewide fire threat.

4 million acres each year. But comparing historical statistics with recent fire totals did not capture essential changes: a few massive holocausts, particularly in 2017, 2018, and 2020, began racing across the landscape, driven by extremely high winds, and in those years, wildfire killed far too many people. The Rim fire that burned wildlands from August 2013 to October 2014 in Stanislaus National Forest and Yosemite National Park

[ xvi ]

INTRODUCTION

impacted 257,000 acres and exhibited extreme fire behavior. In 2017, 2018, and 2020, fire impacts flung Californians into a frightening and deadly “new normal” pattern. In 2019, power shutoffs intended to reduce utility-caused fires added a controversial tactic felt by millions of Californians at once. For weeks, preemptive blackouts broadened the impact of the wildfire threat beyond the fewer people directly in the line of fires. And yet, downed transmission lines did ignite several fires that year. Adding insult to the prospects of future injury, some insurance companies stopped offering homeowners fire coverage in locations considered to have fire risk. In response to wildfire disasters, California Governors Brown and Newsom each declared emergencies, and though a plan was quickly prepared in early 2019 that was intended to improve readiness before the next onslaught, Santa Ana and Diablo winds once again drove uncontrollable fire behavior that autumn. In August 2020, an extreme weather event produced more than 14,000 lightning strikes and ignited 700 fires in Northern California, including megafires that soon dominated the “biggest fires in California history” list. “The Nature of Fire” opens with the question “What is fire?” A detailed answer includes the aspects of the fire triangle: fuel, oxygen, and heat. Almost all fires are ignited either by lightning or by human activities. The many ways that California Indigenous peoples used fire are explained, as are ways that weather and topography influence fire behavior. Fire ecology is the focus of the next chapter, “Fire and Life across California,” detailing adaptations to fire regimes affecting California’s variety of vegetation types and wildlife, and its soil, water, and air resources. Impacts of the global climate crisis on relationships between fire, weather, and the landscape are a major topic in this second edition of Introduction to Fire in California.

INTRODUCTION

[ xvii ]

During the last century, California events played central roles in shaping national fire policies and attitudes about wildfire. “The Flames of History” tells about the state’s “light-burning” debate early in the twentieth century. Threats to West Coast forests during World War II helped bring Smokey Bear into being. An overview of major wildfires in California history includes those that burned the most acres and houses, or were most deadly to people up through October 2020. In “Burning Issues,” missions, responsibilities, tactics, and weaponry of firefighting organizations and land management agencies are followed by policy changes aimed at “Making Peace” by restoring fire to the landscape with prescribed burns, where feasible. Timber harvest versus a mix of thinning and burning to reduce fire risk remains a current contentious issue. State and national fire plans aim at solutions to the growing challenges of deadly wildfire. Extreme fire behavior and recent controversies about “A Fire-Safe Power Grid” are addressed. The “Getting Ready” chapter emphasizes new state construction policies with a focus on “hardening” structures to resist flying embers. Problems and solutions when insurance policies are canceled, offer too little coverage, or have become unavailable for residents in high-fire-threat areas are explained. “Getting Ready” then shifts to personal responsibilities of Californians living on the edge of wildlands, with suggestions about what to do before, during, and after fires. Finally, “Kindling Change,” the concluding essay, anticipates our future with wildfire and recommends that Californians confront the Earth’s human-made climate crisis and, at last, stabilize the state’s population.

[ xviii ]

INTRODUCTION

My interest in these topics took root, as it has for many Californians, because of a personal experience with the drama and tragedy of Southern California wildfires. In my senior year in high school, our family home was one of dozens destroyed during a large, Santa Ana wind–driven wildfire that swept across the hills of Orange County. Is it just coincidence that a brother became a fire captain with the city of Los Angeles, a brother-in-law was the fire chief of El Cajon, and one of my sons staffed a Forest Service fire lookout tower during summer fire seasons? Though a member of a small community’s volunteer fire department, I was never employed as a firefighter. Training in fire ecology and experience with prescribed burns came with a career as a California State Park Ranger. For several years, I led guided walks for the public and for school children through recently burned areas in the Sierra Nevada foothills, where oak trees, grasses, and shrubs revealed their survival and recovery tactics. In 2002, my environmental history book, Burning Questions, was published, covering the last century’s debates over national wildland policy and prescribed burning. The first edition of Introduction to Fire in California was in a subseries of the California Natural History Guides that focused on “Californians and their environment,” along with books on water, air, and earth (soil and land). They are concise natural history summaries of complex subjects that recognize the overwhelming role of humanity in California’s environment. This second edition has been reformatted to larger pages that better display maps, figures, and the many compelling photographs. In a 1980 speech by a pioneering fire ecologist at the University of California’s College of Natural Resources, Dr. Harold Biswell made suggestions to help us appreciate our place on a long list of

INTRODUCTION

[ xix ]

fire-adapted species in California: “Keep in mind that fire is a natural part of the environment, about as important as rain and sunshine. Fire has always been here and everything good evolved with it . . . [so] we must work more in harmony with nature, not so much against it” (Biswell 1980, 1).

[ xx ]

INTRODUCTION

The Nature of Fire

For flame is par excellence Fire: but flame is burning smoke, and smoke consists of Air and Earth. A r i s t o t l e, 350 b .c ., Book 2, Part 4 Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold. w i l l iA m bu t l e r y e At s, 1921

What Is Fire? Though a familiar presence throughout our lives, the essence of burning still seems mysterious. What is happening as flames quietly crackle or, sometimes, roar with the powerful voice of energy unleashed? What is this thing called “fire”? To Aristotle and other ancient Greeks, fire was an agent that imposed forms on the remaining fundamental elements: earth, air, and water. Though we no longer think of fire as an “element,” the idea that it is a transforming agent is very familiar to modern fire ecologists. Fire on the California landscape has shaped evolutionary adaptations of both plants and animals.

[ 1 ]

Combustion, another name for fire, is an energy-releasing chemical  reaction  that,  once  initiated,  can  become  self-perpetuating.  When  enough  heat  is  generated  to  make  the  fire  “contagious,”  nearby fuels are dried and their temperature increases. At the ignition temperature, chemical bonds between carbon and hydrogen  break. It is vaporized molecules, rather than the solid fuel, that actually ignite in flaming combustion as the gaseous fuel cloud reacts  with oxygen in the air. That oxidation (yet another name for burning) produces carbon dioxide and water. Much slower oxidation burns within the cells of plants and animals,  whose  aerobic  metabolisms  break  down  food  for  cellular  energy. Rusting metal is yet another example of oxidation occurring too slowly to give off noticeable heat. The heat generated as wildlands burn reveals how much sunlight energy was captured and stored by plants during photosynthesis.  Though  the  maximum  potential  yield  is  never  achieved  (because wildfires do not produce complete combustion), and significant energy always goes toward evaporation of water, phenomenal heat releases still occur. Flames that tower 100 feet into the  sky visually suggest that scale (fig. 2). In wildfires with just 12-foot  flame lengths, every yard along the leading edge of the fire may  generate 4,000 kilowatts of heat energy, the equivalent of 4,000  single-bar electric heaters stacked on top of each other. Another  domestic example is revealing: the energy in one cord of dry firewood can equal that in 160 gallons of gasoline (a stacked cord is   4 feet wide, 8 feet long, and 4 feet high). Fire is one way that vegetation energy and molecular complexity succumb to the second law of thermodynamics. According to  that law of physics, energy tends to disperse from where it is concentrated, and randomness, ultimately, increases. Since fire breaks 

[ 2 ]  T h e  N a T u r e  o f  f i r e

figure 2. A wall of flame burns through desert shrubs and Joshua trees as a California Department of Forestry and Fire Protection (CAL FIRE) truck monitors the Sawtooth Complex wildfire of 2006.

complex molecules down to simpler forms, it is a type of decomposition, releasing and recycling nutrients. In fact, in dry climates like those found across much of California, fire has been the primary agent of decomposition. Flames are the visible evidence of fire (fig. 3). Their glowing light comes from particles of soot—unburned carbon—heated to incandescence. The particular colors that are radiated depend on temperature. In most wildland fires, yellow and orange predominate, with more red appearing as the fire cools. White and blue flames are hottest but more often are seen outside wildland settings in fires stoked with bellows or when flammable liquids burn. A pattern of colors corresponding to energy levels is similarly apparent in rainbows, which reveal the spectrum of energy levels in white light: lowest-energy bands are red, and energy

T h e N a T u r e o f f i r e   [ 3 ]

figure  3 .  Flame is the visible evidence of fire.

increases through progressive color bands toward the blue and violet ranges. Smoke commonly appears with flames because combustion is  never complete. Soot rising away from the hottest parts of the fire  in heated air is visible as black smoke. Smoke (fig. 4) that is whiter  includes steaming water evaporated from the fuel.

[ 4 ]  T h e  N a T u r e  o f  f i r e

f igu r e 4 . Different colors of smoke reflect different moisture levels and types of burning fuels.

The gaseous flaming phase eventually collapses back onto solid fuel, and then heat can continue gnawing away at a log as glowing combustion. Ash residues (fig. 5) of noncombustible materials, such as silica, are another sign that the burning process is never completely efficient. Ashes can pile up and smother fires, putting them out if they block access to oxygen. So, we stir campfires as they burn down and must regularly clean ashes from fireplaces and woodstoves.

The Fire Triangle The basic requirements for fire are often summarized as a triangle whose three sides are oxygen, fuel, and heat (fig. 6). Firefighters are taught to put out fires by eliminating any side of the triangle.

T h e N a T u r e o f f i r e   [ 5 ]

f igu r e   5.  Ash  builds  up  as  a  fire  smolders,  because  combustion  is  never  completely efficient.

They can shovel dirt onto flames to smother them, depriving them  of oxygen, for example. Often they will scrape a line down to bare  soil in the path of a fire to deprive it of new fuel. Or, they might use  water to cool a fire down below its ignition temperature.

Oxygen: Fire Breath Though the predominant gas in Earth’s atmosphere is nitrogen, the  21 percent that is oxygen gas is key in processes that cycle energy.  The oxygen molecule, O2, is very reactive. Not content to stay in  that form, it is always ready to react chemically with other molecules it encounters. That reaction is called oxidation.

[ 6 ]  T h e  N a T u r e  o f  f i r e

EN

FUE

L

G OXY

20/08 02/08

HEAT f igu r e 6. The fire triangle: fires require heat to work on fuel in the presence of oxygen.

Scientist James Lovelock has speculated that oxygen concentrations above 25 percent would make everything flammable, even damp wood; but if the level fell below 15 percent, not even the driest twigs would burn. If oxygen levels were too low, there would not be enough to support the metabolic respiration required by living things, but if the levels were too high, the reactive nature of oxygen would destroy living cells. The atmospheric concentration of oxygen is maintained partly by life-forms in an elegant balance between respiration and photosynthesis. Through photosynthesis (literally, “making with light”), green plants use solar energy to transform carbon dioxide and water into glucose. That product is then used by plants to ultimately build the complex carbon molecules of stems, leaves, flowers, and roots. So, photosynthesis transforms light energy into

carle-f000 T h e N a T u r e o f f i r e   [ 7 ]

reservoirs of chemical energy. Oxygen gas is a waste product for  plants, released to the atmosphere during photosynthesis. Respiration, by both animals and plants, reverses the photosynthesis equation. Oxygen reacts with complex carbon molecules,  releasing carbon dioxide, water, and energy. You are reading these  words  and  turning  the  pages  of  this  book  by  utilizing  chemical  energy from metabolic respiration. Breathe in oxygen, exhale carbon dioxide, and participate in the elegant balance. Fire also reverses the photosynthesis equation, but more rapidly than metabolic respiration, with energy from fires released as  heat and light.

Fuel: Fire Food Fuels are anything that can burn. Much of fire ecology and firefighting focuses on the character of fuels and on fuel treatments  (fig. 7). Moisture levels are one key to fuel flammability. The size of  fuel  pieces  and  their  vertical  arrangement  are  other  important  factors. Wet  or  damp  wood  is,  of  course,  not  the  fuel  desired  when  building a campfire. Before it will burn, all the fuel’s moisture has  to be evaporated away. Nor can a fire be started by applying a tiny  match to great big logs. Success comes from working with small  kindling, whose increased surface area dries out faster and makes  it easier to heat to its ignition temperature. Once kindling is ignited,  larger pieces can be added, generating more heat as the fire grows,  until it eventually becomes self-sustaining. In the same way, fine, light fuels on wildlands lose moisture  more quickly to the air than do thick, woody fuels. Increased surface area also exposes more area to oxygen, letting those fine fuels 

[ 8 ]  T h e  N a T u r e  o f  f i r e

figure 7. Scraping a fire line to remove fuel.

ignite readily and burn more intensely. In California, chamise (Adenostoma fasciculatum) (fig. 8), a widespread chaparral shrub, is commonly used to calculate fuel moisture levels. Fuel moisture is a measure of water content relative to the dry weight of the fuel. Samples are weighed, then dried and weighed again. A 100 percent measurement means the water in the stems equaled the dry weight of the fuel (or 50 percent of the sample’s initial weight). If twothirds of the weight of the fuel is water, the fuel has a 200 percent moisture level. In California’s pattern of wet winters and dry summers, live fuel moisture readings of 160 percent in June can drop to 40 percent by September. Dead fuel readings might be less than 3 percent. Fuel moisture monitoring is important when calculating daily fluctuations of fire season danger levels and is a key when conducting prescribed burns. Fire professionals also classify and monitor so-called time-lag fuels, based on the way different fuel diameters

T h e N a T u r e o f f i r e   [ 9 ]

figure 8.  Chamise, the most widespread chaparral shrub in California.

respond to moisture changes in the atmosphere. In this system,  1-hour time-lag fuels are small branches, forest litter, or detritus  from zero to a fourth of an inch in diameter that react to hourly  changes in humidity; 10-hour time-lag fuels are a fourth of an inch  to 1 inch in diameter and respond to day-to-day changes in moisture levels; 100-hour time-lag fuels have 1- to 3-inch diameters and  take several days to change; and 1,000-hour time-lag fuels are 3 to  8  inches  or  more  in  diameter  and  can  take  a  whole  season  to  respond to humidity changes. Vertical arrangements are another way to characterize different wildfire fuel categories (fig. 9). Ground fuels burn with slowly  moving fires that smolder in the duff and litter (fig. 10). Surface  fuels feed fires that travel through “dead and down” woody materials,  grasses,  and  shrubs  on  the  surface.  Ladder  fuels  are  tall  shrubs or small trees beneath the taller forest canopy that will carry  fire up into the canopy and lead to crown fires. Crown fuels burn  [ 10 ]  T h e  N a T u r e  o f  f i r e

08 08

Ground fuel

Surface fuel

Ladder fuel

Crown fuel

figure 9. Fuel types: ground, surface, ladder, and crown.

figure 10. Ground litter builds up and becomes fuel for fire.

within the canopy overstory of forests or shrub fields; a crown fire can burn into the top of a single plant or move actively along through the forest or shrub canopy. While this section has focused on wildland fire fuels, homes and other human structures are also potential fire fuel. We T h e N a T u r e o f f i r e   [ 11 ]

ca

transform trees into lumber, a dry, dead, and flammable form of  vegetation. Ways to reduce that flammability and risk are covered  in “Getting Ready: Life on the Edge.”

Heat: Fire Energy Heat can be transferred via conduction, radiation, or convection.  Conduction passes heat energy along from molecule to molecule,  as when the heat of a fire moves along a branch or a fireplace poker,  or a hot woodstove surface passes heat into a teakettle. Radiation  energy travels as a ray or energy wave across space to heat wildland  fuels ahead of a flaming front or to warm someone close to that  woodstove. Convection is the movement of heated molecules, usually upward, to where they transfer their energy. Convection sends  heat from the stove up toward the ceiling and causes smoke to rise  through the stovepipe, and steam to waft from the spout of a boiling teakettle (fig. 11). Fires will go out if the heat element of the fire triangle is broken  by  cooling  fuel  down  to  below  its  ignition  temperature.  Water  works particularly well for this, since water molecules absorb so  much heat before changing from liquid to vapor. At 212°F, the boiling point of water, steam forms and carries away the heat it has  absorbed. Steam can also smother fires by displacing oxygen in the  air close to the fuel.

Ignition Sources Whether fire is started with a match, by lightning, or by a volcanic  eruption, an ignition source must first dry out any moisture in the  fuels  and  then  heat  the  fuels  to  their  ignition  points.  Chemists 

[ 12 ]  T h e  N a T u r e  o f  f i r e

f igu r e 1 1 . Heat is transferred from a woodstove fire to a teapot and fire poker by conduction, up the stovepipe and out the spout of the pot by convection, and into the room by radiation.

Annual Lightning Strikes per 100 square kilometers

0–5 6–10 11–20 21–25 26–30 31–35 36–40

N

0 0

50

100 miles

100 kilometers

map 2 .  Lightning-strike frequency patterns across California.

describe that initial energy requirement as the activation energy  needed to get the chemical reaction of burning under way. Lightning is a natural ignition source that is unevenly distributed across this state (map 2). From 1985 through 2000, over one  million lightning strikes were detected in California (fig. 12). Nearly  half of those struck in the southeastern deserts. Lightning strikes  peak in the interior mountain ranges in August. During six years, 

[ 14 ]  T h e  N a T u r e  o f  f i r e

figure 1 2 . A lightning ground-strike just misses a tree.

7,250 strikes were detected inside Yosemite National Park, ranging from 530 to 2,016 per year, and focused primarily from June through September (van Wagtendonk and Cayan 2007). California’s central coast, however, has the lowest incidence of lightning strikes anywhere in the country. Most strikes do not start a fire. The Coast Ranges experience more of their lightning during the winter and spring, when fuels are wetter, so those lightning strikes are less likely to start a fire. Only 5 percent of the detected Yosemite strikes ignite fires. Dry lightning storms are more likely to ignite fires than summer monsoonal thunderstorms, which coincide with rain in the deserts and the Sierra Nevada. Humans are the other major wildfire ignition source in California. Humanity evolved using fire as a tool. For over 9,000 years, California’s Indigenous peoples set fires to manage the landscape. “Fire was the most significant, effective, efficient, and

T h e N a T u r e o f f i r e   [ 15 ]

figure  1 3.  Basketry materials require straight stems, like those that emerge  after burning. Lucy Parker (a Yosemite Miwok–Paiute–Kashaya Pomo–Coast  Miwok) used willow stems in a twining style for this storage basket.

widely employed vegetation management tool of California Indian  tribes” (Anderson 2005, 136). They burned to reduce the threat of  wildfires near their villages, to stimulate resprouting of straighter  stems needed for basketry (fig. 13), to keep meadows and grasslands from converting to shrublands or forests while stimulating  the  growth  of  seeds  and  bulbs  used  as  food  (fig.  14),  to  control  insects and fungus in important foods such as acorns, to increase  forage (both its availability and food value) for game such as deer,  to capture insects such as grasshoppers and wasp larvae used as  food,  and  to  drive  game  (including  rabbits  and  deer).  Northern  Paiutes  told  anthropologist  Isabel  Kelly,  in  1932,  how  groups  of 

[ 16 ]  T h e  N a T u r e  o f  f i r e

f igure 1 4 . The bulb, or corm, of a brodiaea was food for Native Americans and helps the plant to sprout after fires.

deer, spotted on a hilltop, were sometimes encircled with fire. “The fires were brought closer, constricting the circle until the animals were bunched on the crest on a hill where they could be shot conveniently” (Riegel et al. 2006, 225). Burning by Indigenous peoples was not uniformly applied across the state. Some landscapes were burned nearly every year, often near villages, particularly in oak woodlands and grassland prairies. The Indigenous population residing in Yosemite Valley exerted a strong influence over vegetation patterns in the valley, while natural lightning ignitions probably dominated the fire regimes through most of the high-country landscape. Evidence that the population residing in Yosemite increased about 650 years ago is seen in suddenly higher charcoal levels in the soil layers. An increase in oak pollen, and a simultaneous decline in pine pollen, correlates with burning by Indigenous peoples, which benefited oak trees while thinning out the pines.

T h e N a T u r e o f f i r e   [ 17 ]

Some ecosystems became anthropogenic types, dependent on  burning by humans to persist. Examples include patches of grass  maintained in chaparral or within mixed conifer forests, desert fan  palm  oases,  coastal  prairies,  and  oak  woodlands.  “Without  an  Indian presence, the early European explorers would have encountered a land with less spectacular wildflower displays, fewer large  trees, and fewer park-like forests, and the grassland habitats that  today are disappearing in such places as Mount Tamalpais and Salt  Point State Park might not have existed in the first place” (Anderson  2005, 2). Aboriginal burning nearly ended across California as disease  and  warfare  destroyed  populations  after  Spanish  missions  were  established in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries.  That transformation accelerated and spread across the state following the gold discovery in 1848 and was completed in the years that  followed as settlers redesigned California’s habitat management. In the following decades many ranchers and sheepherders also  burned  to  keep  grasslands  open  for  grazing  by  their  animals.  Loggers burned the forest understory and slash piles, particularly  during the early decades of the twentieth century (see “The Flames  of History”). How  do  most  fires  start  today?  A  fire  plan  for  the  CAL  FIRE  Riverside unit held some surprises (fig. 15). In Riverside County,  equipment was by far the most common source, igniting 37 percent  of  fires.  Children  playing  with  fire,  so  often  the  focus  of  fire-  prevention  campaigns,  started  just  5  percent.  Campfires  were  responsible for 4 percent, and lightning only 2 percent. A frustratingly  vague  33  percent  of  fires  were  accounted  for  by  “undetermined” (19 percent) and “miscellaneous” (14 percent) categories.  Arson accounted for 8 percent. It is interesting to compare these  

[ 18 ]  T h e  N a T u r e  o f  f i r e

0/08 1/07

Power line 2% Vehicle 2% Misc. (known) 14%

Undetermined (unknown) 19%

Lightning 2%

Playing with fire 5%

Campfire 4% Smoking 5% Debris (escapes) Arson 2% 8% Equipment 37%

figur e 1 5. Sources of fire in Riverside County.

figures, which came from a developed Southern California county, with data from the Six Rivers National Forest near the Oregon border. There, equipment operation figured in only 6 percent of fires; escaped campfires were the big source, at 27 percent; 10 percent were caused by lightning; another 10 percent by debris burning; and arson was responsible for 17 percent. Arsonists can act on impulse, but occasionally serial arsonists are at work. Their motives are inexplicable, particularly to people who suffer losses because of their actions. Joseph Wambaugh, the author of many fiction stories, also has written a nonfiction account of one arsonist who set dozens of fires in California. The serial arsonist, like other violent serial offenders, was conscienceless, egocentric, manipulative, cunning, and indifferent to societal rules and restrictions, with a compulsive need for

T h e N a T u r e o f f i r e   [ 19 ]

carle-f000

excitement. In short, his was the classic psychopathic personality,  with a unique component: the fire. Only the fire could temporarily  satisfy  the  lust  for  power  and  control  and  possession.  Only  the  flames  could  provide  the  irresistible  thrill,  the  indescribable  reward. The fire. (Wambaugh 2002, 143)

Fire Behavior Once ignited, the progress of a wildfire and its behavior are strongly  influenced by weather and the landscape’s topography.

Weather Weather comprises the air pressure, temperature, humidity, precipitation, wind, and cloud conditions at any given moment. The  term climate refers to weather over time, not just averages, but also  the range of variability and extremes that characterize a location.  For example, average wind speeds in Southern California do not  reveal the importance of periodic episodes when extremely dry,  hot, Santa Ana winds howl across the coastal plain. In most of California, the wildfire season has traditionally begun  in early summer, a couple of months after the last winter storms,  and  ended  whenever  winter  rains  began  again,  generally  by  November or December. The state’s pattern of wet winters and dry  summers is characteristic of Mediterranean climates (map 3). Under  that pattern, the optimum growing season comes in late winter and  early spring. In summer, many plants go dormant as a zone of high  pressure in the northeastern Pacific Ocean blocks the approach of  storms, keeping California’s weather dry. In winter, the Pacific High  slides southward, opening a storm track for northern storms.

[ 20 ]  T h e  N a T u r e  o f  f i r e

Modified Köppen Climate Classification System Semi-arid, steppe (hot) Semi-arid, steppe Semi-arid, steppe with summer fog Arid low-altitude desert (hot) Arid mid-altitude desert Mediterranean, hot summer Mediterranean, cool summer Mediterranean, summer fog Cool continental, dry summer Cold winter, dry summer Highland, timberline

N 0 0

50

100 miles

100 kilometers

map 3 . California climate zones.

Warmer and drier conditions during recent decades of global climate change have lengthened California’s fire season by 75 days, according to CAL FIRE. “Weather whiplash” along the Pacific coast of the United States has also been more extreme in recent years, as the natural wet-dry pattern is amplified by warmer

T h e N a T u r e o f f i r e   [ 21 ]

figure  1 6.  A sign showing the day’s local fire danger level near a Bureau of  Land Management fire station.

oceanic and atmospheric conditions. Extreme wet-to-dry swings  are increasing, with “atmospheric river” storms originating in the  eastern Pacific followed by parched summers that convert plant  growth into dry kindling. The state’s wettest weather usually moves in from the ocean with  westerly winds. Precipitation in California is greatest in the north.  The state’s mountain ranges—the Coast Ranges, the Sierra Nevada,  and the Transverse Ranges of Southern California—generate heavier rain on their western slopes as they force air to rise, cool, and drop  its condensed water vapor. The mountains also create rain shadow  effects as air descends to the east, grows warmer, and so, holds on to  its moisture. The varied conditions that result are reflected in vegetation types and, ultimately, in different fire regimes. How a specific fire behaves within those broad parameters is a  product of wind, temperature, and humidity, factors that firefight-

[ 22 ]  T h e  N a T u r e  o f  f i r e

ers and prescribed-burn specialists monitor through weather forecasts and with on-site measurements. During the fire season, the burning index is calculated daily from local measurements of temperature, relative humidity, fuel moisture, wind, and precipitation. The index is used to set fire danger levels, commonly posted along highways near fire stations and ranger stations (fig. 16), and, along with air quality conditions, the burning index helps determine burn days, when it is legal to burn with a permit. The National Weather Service also issues “fire weather watches” to alert agencies that it is likely to issue a “red flag warning” in the next 12 to 72 hours.

Wind Wind dries out fuels by carrying moisture away, delivers oxygen to help fires ignite, and then fans the flames. Winds help preheat adjacent fuels by bending flames and moving heated air toward unburned material. High winds loft burning embers and often ignite new spot fires downwind. Winds are named for the directions they come from: a north wind arrives out of the north, for example. Wildland firefighters learn to watch for shifting wind directions that affect fire behavior as day turns to night. The sea breeze is a west wind in California. During the day, the land heats up more quickly than the ocean. Warmer air rises and is replaced by cooler air blowing off the ocean. Land breezes reverse the flow direction in the evening, as the uplands cool more rapidly than the ocean. A similar wind shift occurs daily on inland hillsides and mountain slopes. During the heat of the day, valley-mountain winds blow uphill, often quite powerfully, as heated slopes cause warmed air to rise. In the evening, as hilltops and slopes cool before valleys and ravines,

T h e N a T u r e o f f i r e   [ 23 ]

winds  reverse  direction.  Cooler  air  sinks  downward  from  the  ridges, usually blowing more gently than the earlier upslope winds.  Occasionally,  stronger  downslope  winds,  called  sundowners,  which descend onto the coastal plain in the evenings as the sea  breeze dissipates, have been responsible for major coastal fires. When weather patterns produce high pressure over the Great  Basin and Mojave Deserts, powerful Santa Ana winds blow hot and  dry  across  Southern  California’s  coastal  basins  and  out  to  sea,  often at more than 60 miles per hour. They are a special category  of land breeze, historically most noticeable in the fall, but the phenomenon has been occurring in other seasons in recent years. Air  moving away from the inland high pressure is funneled through  mountain passes and descends to the coastal plain. Descending air  is  compressed  by  the  increased  weight  of  the  atmosphere  overhead, which makes it warmer (at a general rate of 5.4°F per thousand vertical feet of descent). These Santa Anas are Southern California’s annual harbinger  of extreme fire weather. They arrive when fuels are at their driest  point  in  the  year.  It  is  no  coincidence  that  the  threat  of  wildfire  peaks at the same time. While the winds blow, the moving air dominates everything and everyone in the region. Wildfires that occur  during  Santa  Ana  winds  are  usually  not  extinguished  until  the  weather changes. The wind sends flames racing through the landscape. Hot embers sail across fuel breaks and can ignite spot fires a  mile ahead of the flaming front (fig. 17). The high winds sometimes  force flames even through very young, recently burned chaparral  fuels. Complicating the challenge of fire suppression, strong winds  make it too dangerous to fly aircraft, such as tankers and helicopters  that  carry  water  or  fire  retardant,  just  when  they  are  most  needed.

[ 24 ]  T h e  N a T u r e  o f  f i r e

f igu r e 1 7. Men take cover from windblown embers while trying to save a house from the 2017 Thomas fire.

Similar winds occur in the San Francisco Bay region, where they are called Diablo winds. High pressure pushes inland air westward out of the Central Valley from the direction of Mount Diablo, the dominant mountain peak east of the Bay. Very large fires can also create their own winds and local weather. The rising heat causes water vapor to condense in pyrocumulonimbus convection clouds that act like chimneys, sucking in surrounding air and intensifying fires. Smoke and ash can be lofted high into the atmosphere (see figure 109). In a forest fire “blowup,” where the entire forest canopy is suddenly consumed, the energy released can generate winds similar to the destructive energy of hurricanes. Tornadoes of fire—“firenadoes”—and fire whirlwinds—much like dust devils—can swirl vortices of flame (fig. 18). Such unpredictable fire-wind features are dangerous to firefighters.

T h e N a T u r e o f f i r e   [ 25 ]

f igu r e   1 8.  A “firenado” near Redding on July 26, 2018, generated by the  Carr fire. The entire massive column was rotating and lifting flame high into  the sky as winds blew at over 140 mph.

Topography: Lay of the Land Because  heat  rises,  fires  generally  burn  faster  uphill  (fig.  19).  Narrow canyons or chutes may act as chimneys, feeding heat and  fire  upward.  Flames  on  slopes  also  bend  toward  unburned  fuel,  preheating it and helping the fire spread. Houses built at the top of  a slope are at an increased risk from the flames and heat climbing  up the hillside. Burning debris may also roll down hills and start  new spot fires. The  aspect  of  slopes—whether  they  face  north  or  south,  for  example—can produce different exposures to sunlight or to prevailing  weather  systems,  leading  to  different  moisture  levels  in  dead fuels and living vegetation. Entirely different plant communities  may  grow  on  opposite-facing  slopes  of  the  same  canyon  

[ 26 ]  T h e  N a T u r e  o f  f i r e

figure 1 9. Because heat rises, a tilted match burns “uphill.”

(fig. 20). Even on one hillside, differences in shade and heat will exist between canyon bottoms and ridgetops, or where rock outcroppings interrupt the terrain. Fuels are seldom uniform across the landscape; neither are fires. Computer programs have been developed to estimate fire behavior in different vegetation types under different conditions of fuel moisture, terrain, and wind speed. In Sonoma County, for example, assuming flat terrain with a 20-mile-per-hour wind and typical late-summer fuel moisture levels, 4-foot flame lengths would be expected at the head of a fire in grassland, 6-foot flames in oak savanna, 7-foot flames in coastal sage scrub, 9-foot flames in dense conifer forests, and 18-foot flames in chaparral (fig. 21). Southern California’s denser chaparral can generate 47-foot flame lengths! Crown fires in forests (or in shrublands during extreme winds) might have 100-foot flame lengths.

T h e N a T u r e o f f i r e   [ 27 ]

f igu r e 2 0. Different microclimates produce different vegetation communities on opposing hillsides.

6 feet 4 feet

Grassland

Oak Savanna savanna

7 feet

Coastal scrub

9 feet

Dense conifer forest 100 feet

18 feet

Chaparral

Crown fires

figure 2 1 . Flame lengths in different fuels.

How a specific fire behaves, then, is a function of its topography, particular weather conditions, and fuel types. Patches of unburned fuel often are left inside the perimeter of even severe wildfires, as are gradations between low-intensity scorching and total combustion. This range of outcomes should be kept in mind while you read the overview of fire ecology in California’s variety of plant communities and the history of California’s largest wildfires.

T h e N a T u r e o f f i r e   [ 29 ]

Fire and Life across California

California has always been and will continue to be a fire environment unmatched in North America. ja m e s k . ag e e , 2006, xi

Fire Regimes Plant communities provide the material for burning and reflect responses to fire. Though fire is often erroneously thought of as a disruption of normal conditions, it is actually a predictably regular, if episodic, ecological process. Specific fire regimes have characteristic patterns of seasonality, fire-return interval, size, spatial complexity, intensity, severity, and fire type. Those characteristics vary across the state and over time (particularly with long-term climate changes), producing variable plant and animal adaptations. Fireadapted species are those whose survival and reproductive strategies have been shaped by the presence of fire in the environment. Species may be inhibited by or sensitive to fire. They may have adaptations that allow them to tolerate or resist fire. Some species in California are enhanced by or even dependent upon fire for their

[ 30 ]

Figure 2 2. Fire poppies (Papaver californicum) appear after chaparral fires.

survival and successful reproduction. And some, in places where fires rarely happen, live independently of fire. Those with life cycles most closely tied to fire have been termed pyrophytes, meaning “fire lovers.” In the years immediately following burning, certain fire-follower species respond with a burst of germination that takes advantage of favorable postfire conditions. Wildflowers such as lupines, phacelias, and poppies (fig. 22) make postburn sites intensely colorful for a few brief years. They then fade into the background, with dormant seeds waiting, invisibly, until another fire arrives. Fireweed (Epilobium  angustifolium) (fig. 23)

F i r e a n d L i F e a c r o s s c a L i F o r n i a   [ 31 ]

figure 2 3 . Fireweed plants in a moist meadow.

thrives on the reduced competition after fires in moist areas of mixed conifer forests. Fire-return interval describes the average time before fire reburns a given area. Where short intervals are the norm, species are under strong selective pressure to adapt. Fire-tolerant and fire-dependent species predominate in those conditions. Longer fire-return intervals generally correspond with fire-sensitive species. Some vegetation communities experience complex combinations of both frequent light surface fires and stand-replacing crown fires at very long intervals. Specific examples are described in “Vegetation Types and Fire” below. Intervals can sometimes be determined through historical records preserved in the annual growth rings of tree trunks, in locations where low-intensity surface fires have burned without killing trees. Researchers look for charred scars in bark and wood. Sometimes large scars, or “cat faces,” are very apparent on the surface where trees were able to heal the edges of fire wounds (fig. 24), but smaller scars also lie hidden inside trunks, covered by later growth. Core samples may be taken using a hollow drill, called an increment borer. Samples may miss scars, though, so cross sections of stumps or standing trees, from sections close to the ground, are also studied to give more complete data. Cross sections are smoothed with fine sandpaper, and then annual growth rings are counted with microscopes or electronically scanned. The average number of years between fire scars during the life of the tree gives the mean fire-return interval (fig. 25). Records from many trees in a landscape can be cross-dated so that researchers can distinguish large, area-wide fires from localized small fires. Because the cells within a growth ring are larger during the spring and are smaller later when the growing season dries, they then pack

F i r e a n d L i F e a c r o s s c a L i F o r n i a   [ 33 ]

f igu r e 2 4 . A fire scar in the Grizzly Giant giant sequoia, in the Mariposa Grove in Yosemite National Park.

f igu r e 2 5. A cat-face scar, or cavity, was maintained in this coast redwood tree by at least seven fires spaced at 7- to 14-year intervals. A long period without fire, after burning by the Sinkyone stopped, allowed bark to heal over the interior of the cat face (at the center of the image). This cross section was cut from a stump of a tree logged in the 1930s and now is in Humboldt Redwoods State Park.

more tightly and appear darker, making it possible to tell in which  season a fire occurred. The fire scar record has been used to confirm  that, for hundreds of years, most forest fires burned in midsummer  through early fall in California’s Mediterranean climate zones.

Seeds, Sprouts, and “All of the Above” Mature  plants  survive  fires  by  protecting  the  vital  tissues  where  new stems and leaves form. Buds may be wrapped in insulating  scales and pitch. Bark is a protective layer of insulation outside the  cambium, where stem growth happens. In perennial plants, dormant buds capable of resprouting are insulated belowground in  root crowns, bulbs, or underground rhizomes or may grow along  the trunk and branches, high enough above the ground to be distant from flames and heat (fig. 26). The carbohydrates stored in  roots and bulbs give young sprouts a start in life, while the extensive root system of the tree or shrub, still in place after a fire, easily  serves a reduced amount of new foliage. Sprouts elevated in upper  branches take advantage of decreased competition for sunlight. Plants can also respond with flower and seed strategies. Fires  can stimulate increased flowering, the release of seeds, and germination of dormant seeds “banked” in the soil. Annual plants, unlike  perennials,  have  unprotected  meristems  that  are  exposed  as  the  plant grows. Instead of resprouting, their reproductive strategy must  be built around seeds that regenerate after fires. Plants that have no  choice but to reproduce from seeds are termed obligate seeders. Fires improve the odds of seedling success by reducing competition in burned areas, increasing exposure to sunlight, and releasing fertilizing nutrients. Heat, smoke, or chemicals in charred wood  can stimulate seed germination. Heat ruptures waxy cuticles and 

[ 36 ]  F i r e  a n d  L i F e  a c r o s s  c a L i F o r n i a

Epicormic buds and sprouting Trunk Lignotuber

Feeder roots

Structure roots Caudex

Geophyte bulbs

Aerial buds

Rhizome buried buds

Corms

Root crown and buried buds

Stolons, buds at or near surface

F igu r e 2 6. Roots and buds: the location of buds on a plant determines its response to burning.

impermeable cell layers, letting water enter and wake the “sleeping” seed. Ceanothus (Ceanothus spp.) shrubs may germinate from banks of seeds after more than 200 years of dormancy! Whispering bells (Emmenantha penduliflora) (fig. 27) germinate when exposed to the nitrogen dioxide in smoke for as little as one minute. When the scales on serotinous cones, gummed shut with resin, are heated by fire, the resin melts, scales open over the next few days (a delayed reaction that avoids the flaming period), and seeds are 02/20/08 01/02/08

released into the wind. Temperatures high enough to melt the resin

F i r e a n d L i F e a c r o s s c a L i F o r n i a   [ 37 ]

carle-f0004

Figu r e 2 7.  The seeds of whispering bells germinate after exposure to smoke.

are usually between 113°F and 122°F, cool enough to not damage the  seeds in the cones. Closed-cone pines do not drop cones each year  but hold them on the tree limbs (fig. 28). Seeds inside these persistent cones may stay viable for decades. Serotiny is an adaptation to  fire, but those trees may not be entirely fire dependent, sometimes  releasing their seeds on very hot, dry summer days (see “ClosedCone Pines and Cypresses,” later in this chapter.)

[ 38 ]  F i r e  a n d  L i F e  a c r o s s  c a L i F o r n i a

figure 2 8. Bishop pine cones remain closed and attached to limbs until the heat of a fire opens the scales and releases seeds.

Obligate  seeders  may  be  favored  over  resprouters  after  very  high  severity  fires,  but  for  long-term  survival  they  need  enough  time before the next fire to reestablish a viable seed bank in the soil  or  in  the  mature  serotinous  cones  attached  to  branches.  Where  fires return too frequently, populations of obligate seeders may not  be able to persist on those sites (a pattern with relevance to human  populations too). Many perennials are obligate resprouters, obliged to resprout  after their aboveground portions are consumed by fire. Obligate  resprouters tend to be deeply rooted, have short-lived seeds, and  grow  on  wetter  sites  than  where  obligate  seeders  dominate.  Sprouting is not solely an adaptation to fire. Other events, such as  floods and heavy grazing by animals, can stimulate resprouting. As  anyone who has ever pulled weeds from a garden learns, unless the  entire root is unearthed, many plants will sprout back. Sprouting is not common among coniferous trees, but the coast  redwood (Sequoia sempervirens) is an exception. Logged redwood  stumps commonly grow multiple sprouts, and fallen trees serve as  nursery logs, with new growth along their lengths. Charred trunks  and  branches  can  also  sprout,  producing  a  pipe-cleaner  visual  effect. Most of the state’s native hardwood trees resprout. Tanoak  trees (Lithocarpus densiflorus), common in the Coast Ranges of central and Northern California, have underground lignotubers that  look  like  large  woody  potatoes  and  can  respond  with  dozens  of  sprouts if their tree trunks are cut or burned. Certain other perennial plants follow a mixed strategy and can  both resprout from stumps and reproduce from seeds. These facultative sprouters may be fire neutral, neither enhanced nor inhibited   by fire. (In fire ecology texts, the adjective facultative describes the  ability to live under varying conditions or options.) Oak trees that 

[ 40 ]  F i r e  a n d  L i F e  a c r o s s  c a L i F o r n i a

Figure 2 9. A black oak tree (Quercus kelloggii) that burned in the 2013 Rim fire resprouted the next spring through the bark of its burned, elevated branches.

produce copious amounts of acorn seeds but can also resprout from root crowns and through the bark of elevated branches after burning are considered fire-enhanced facultative sprouters (fig. 29).

Vegetation Types and Fire California’s vegetation variety (map 4) reflects the fact that the state stretches so far, north to south, across more than seven parallels of latitude, punctuated by mountains, valleys, and desert basins that produce tremendous variations in temperature and precipitation. Soil types also contribute to vegetation varieties. For example, chaparral shrubs are often (though not exclusively) found on serpentine soils. Though distinct classifications are identified, here, vegetation types often intermix along the boundaries of their ranges, and such categories inevitably simplify complex relationships.

F i r e a n d L i F e a c r o s s c a L i F o r n i a   [ 41 ]

Vegetation Types Wetland Conifer forests Oak woodland/savannah Sagebrush shrubland/pinyon/juniper Sage scrub Desert Chaparral Urban Agriculture Grassland

N

0 0

50

100 miles

100 kilometers

map 4 .  Vegetation types across California.

Chaparral Shrublands Chaparral shrublands (map 5) cover about seven million acres in  California, more than any other vegetation type. Spanish rancheros bestowed the name chaparral because the thickets of brush  were similar to scrub oak vegetation in Spain called chaparro. The  vaqueros  chased  free-roaming  cattle  on  horseback  into  nearly 

[ 42 ]  F i r e  a n d  L i F e  a c r o s s  c a L i F o r n i a

impenetrable thickets, so chaps were invented, the protective leather leggings worn by cowboys. Chaparral shrubs are woody, mostly evergreen, with leaves that conserve water by being small, thick, leathery, fuzzy, and waxy. Leaves do not wilt during the dry summer and autumn seasons, although growth shuts down until winter rains arrive. The dormant period coincides, of course, with the hot, dry “fire weather” season. Small leaves also increase ignitability, as with any form of kindling, by increasing the amount of fine-fuel surface exposed to heat. Add in the flammability of resinous oils and gradually accumulating dead branches that are held within the brush canopy as years go by, and chaparral becomes the most flammable vegetation type in the United States. When chaparral burns, it can seem like a hillside soaked in gasoline has been ignited (fig. 30). Adaptations to fire include reproductive responses that in many cases are enhanced by burning. Some chaparral shrubs and herbaceous plants are fire dependent. Many of the shrubs resprout from root burls. Others are obligate seeders, with seeds that may require intense heat for germination. And some take advantage of both strategies. When chaparral burns, crown fires consume the tops of shrubs, so a burned area regrows as vegetation stands that are all the same age, dating back to the last fire. Mosaics of different-aged stands give variety to landscape vistas (fig. 31). Though chaparral burns as crown fires, flames may sometimes poke along, generating low intensities, or when pushed by wind, can race through the shrub canopy and leap forward as embers ignite spot fires. Most chaparral fires remain small, especially those ignited during early summer, but a few large autumn fires, coinciding with Santa Ana winds, account for most of the acres burned.

F i r e a n d L i F e a c r o s s c a L i F o r n i a   [ 43 ]

Cas

Klamath Mountains North

cade Range

Modoc Plateau

Great Basin

t Coas s

e Rang

Great Basin

thills

a Foo

Nevad

vada

a Ne Sierr

Sierra

lley

Va Central

n ral a

Cent uth

d So

Great Basin

nges

t Ra

Coas Tran s

vers

eR

Mojave Desert

ang es

Channel Islands

0 0

50

100 miles

100 kilometers

map 5 . Chaparral range in California.

s Range sular

Penin

N

Colorado Desert

figure 3 0. Chaparral burns during the Simi fire of October 2003, near Santa Clarita, watched by units of the CAL FIRE Nevada-Yuba-Placer strike team.

figure 3 1 . A mosaic of different-aged vegetation is often visible on chaparral hillsides, dating back to the last time each patch burned.

Fire and the state’s human population are both intimately connected with chaparral. Millions of Californians live within or on the  edges of chaparral shrublands, which means that millions of people live with fire. The relationship has been made famous by television coverage of flames, smoke, burning homes, and, once rains  come, the floods and debris flows that often follow hillside fires  (see “Soil, Water, and Air” later in this chapter). “Infamy” might be  a better way to describe the negative opinions about chaparral generated by such publicity. The destruction of houses is obvious and  telegenic; chaparral’s natural attractions and biological diversity  are more subtle concepts. Fire starts have increased in lockstep with human population  growth.  Though  most  fires  are  quickly  extinguished,  the  total  annual acreage burned in chaparral has been nearly constant during the last half century because of periodic very large fires (see  “The Chaparral Dilemma” in “Burning Issues”). Natural  fire-return  intervals  average  30  to  40  years  in  the  Southern California shrublands, with some areas going unburned  for 100 years and others burning much more frequently. Intervals  shortened by too-frequent human ignitions lead to type conversions, where grasses replace shrubs that have not had time to produce a bank of seeds or to replenish energy in their root systems. A  positive  feedback  loop  develops  where  exotic  grasses,  quick  to  burn and quick to recover with seeds, serve as fuel for increasingly  frequent  fires,  ensuring  that  shrubs  are  eliminated  and  grasses  favored. In contrast to that problem, in parts of Northern California, the  effectiveness  of  fire  suppression  and  the  end  of  burning  by  Indigenous peoples allowed chaparral to spread onto former grasslands. Also, in places where ponderosa pine (Pinus ponderosa) and 

[ 46 ]  F i r e  a n d  L i F e  a c r o s s  c a L i F o r n i a

F igu r e 3 2 . Gray pine (Pinus sabiniana) and chamise in montane chaparral of the Sierra Nevada foothills.

California black oak (Quercus kelloggii) trees used to dominate, highintensity fires have temporarily converted forest to shrublands. The specific mix of chaparral vegetation varies around the state, so a number of naming systems have been created. Depending on the dominant shrub, there can be chamise chaparral, manzanita chaparral, ceanothus chaparral, or scrub oak chaparral. Climate zones help distinguish montane versus desert chaparral. In montane chaparral (fig. 32), some precipitation comes as snow, and shrublands grade into the understory of conifer forests. Chamise (Adenostoma  fasciculatum), the state’s most widespread chaparral shrub, is a facultative sprouter (fig. 33). Individual plants may survive many fires and live hundreds of years, but some mature shrubs are killed in fires, so the species broadens its chances of survival by also producing a bank of long-lived seeds that germinate after fires. Chamise may occupy the more-exposed

F i r e a n d L i F e a c r o s s c a L i F o r n i a   [ 47 ]

figure 3 3 . Chamise resprouting after a fire.

F igure 34 . A mix of wildflower “fire-followers” appeared one year after the 2013 Rim fire in the Tuolumne River watershed of the Sierra Nevada foothills.

south-facing slopes of some canyons across from wetter north-facing slopes where scrub oaks (Quercus  berberidifolia) and other sprouters are more likely to grow. The gray green of a hillside of chaparral often is temporarily replaced after fires with splashes of color from wildflowers. A number of poppy species and lupines are among the fire-followers that signal regrowth has begun. Plants that sprout from bulbs are commonly scattered among chaparral shrubs, including soap plant (Chlorogalum  pomeridianum) and mariposa lilies (Calochortus spp.) (figs. 34, 35). Another class of shrubland exists in California, distinct from chaparral. Coastal sage grows on low-elevation hillsides where conditions are drier than even chaparral will tolerate. Sometimes it grows on south-facing slopes, while chaparral occupies the damper northfacing side of a canyon. Coastal sage vegetation has leaves that are softer than chaparral and often are aromatic. A distinguishing

F i r e a n d L i F e a c r o s s c a L i F o r n i a   [ 49 ]

F igure  3 5.  After chaparral shrubs burned, California poppies (Eschscholzia californica) and wild hyacinth (Dichelostemma capitatum) flowered near Lake  Berryessa.

difference between coastal sage and chaparral appears each summer,  when many shrubs in this plant community drop their leaves (fig. 36). Coastal sage often burns in the same fires as nearby chaparral,  but  the  fire  regimes  have  differences.  Because  leaves  drop  and  shrubs go dormant, dead, dry fuels become available each fire season. Exotic annual grasses have become common here, and when  they dry out, more fuel is added. These annual processes mean that  coastal sage becomes flammable irrespective of the age of its shrub  canopy and the time since the last fire. Adaptations to fire do occur  there. Facultative sprouting is the approach used by species that  give  the  vegetation  community  its  name:  California  sagebrush  (Artemisia californica), purple sage (Salvia leucophylla), and black  sage (S. mellifera). Laurel sumac (Malosma laurina) and lemonade  berry (Rhus integrifolia) are also resprouters.

[ 50 ]  F i r e  a n d  L i F e  a c r o s s  c a L i F o r n i a

f igu r e 3 6. Many shrubs in the coastal sage plant community drop their leaves each summer.

F igu r e   3 7.  Gray  pine  cones  held  in  the  tree  branches will release seeds after a fire or, sometimes, on hot days.

Some trees intermix with chaparral shrubs. One is the gray pine  (Pinus sabiniana) (also associated with oak woodlands and sometimes  called  foothill  pine  or  ghost  pine).  Massive  cones  protect  seeds from the heat of fires, opening after that exposure, but they  also open slowly over several years in the absence of fire, so the  species is considered semiserotinous (fig. 37). Gray pines are so full  of  flammable  resins,  often  with  pitch  visibly  running  down  the  trunks, that they have been called “gasoline trees” and will torch  up through their crowns during surface fires.

[ 52 ]  F i r e  a n d  L i F e  a c r o s s  c a L i F o r n i a

Conifer Forests p on de ro sa pine and je FF rey pin e Highly fire-resistant ponderosa (Pinus ponderosa) and Jeffrey pines (P. jeffreyi) are part of the mixture in mixed conifer forests, along with moderately fire-resistant sugar pine (P. lambertiana), fire-resistant Douglas-fir (Pseudotsuga menziesii), white fir (Abies concolor), incensecedar (Calocedrus  decurrens), and extremely fire-resistant giant sequoia (Sequoiadendron giganteum). In such mixed forests, a mixed set of fire regimes results, with complex patterns varying from lowintensity surface fires to large, stand-replacing crown fires. Ponderosa pines are found in all of California’s mountain ranges: the Coast Ranges, the Klamath Mountains, the Cascade Range, throughout the Sierra Nevada, and in the Peninsular Ranges of Southern California. They are exceptionally well adapted to a regime of frequent, low-intensity surface fires. Before fire was excluded, these forests were open, often described as parklike by early observers. This is the forest type most characteristic of the light-burning debate of the early twentieth century (see “The Flames of History”), because fire exclusion brought such profound changes to its fire regime. The Jeffrey pine is closely related to the ponderosa pine (fig. 38), and the two species’ ranges overlap. Pure stands of Jeffrey pines are common east of the Sierra crest. Adaptations to fire by ponderosa and Jeffrey pines include corky bark that is thickly layered in overlapping puzzle-like pieces and is difficult to ignite (fig. 39). The lower branches of these longlived trees drop away as the trees mature, a self-pruning adaptation that keeps limbs at a distance from the flames and heat of surface fires. Scales enclose buds so that trees can survive even when more

F i r e a n d L i F e a c r o s s c a L i F o r n i a   [ 53 ]

f igu r e 3 8. The blackened base of a Jeffrey pine, which can survive lowintensity fires.

F igu r e 3 9. Ponderosa pines have thick bark, and the mature trees have no branches close to the ground.

than half of their crowns have been scorched. Tall trees are poised to release seeds from high overhead, allowing the seeds to sail into openings created by fire. Ponderosa and Jeffrey pine seedlings are shade intolerant. They need open space to grow and typically establish only where mineral

F i r e a n d L i F e a c r o s s c a L i F o r n i a   [ 55 ]

soil has been exposed and openings have been created by fire. That  results in groups of trees that are close to the same age. Scales cover  the buds on seedlings as they grow, so they have some fire resistance at that early stage, but many seedlings will be eliminated by  the surface fires characterizing these forests, so old-growth trees  can dominate the forest without understory competition. Fuel to feed the frequent fires is provided by understory grasses,  herbaceous plants, and fallen pine needles. Ponderosa and Jeffrey  pine needles are long and, with cones and fallen chunks of resinous  bark, form a loosely packed litter, full of air spaces that make it  ideal as kindling. Each year, one or two tons of litter may accumulate on each acre beneath the pines. Decomposition is slow in these  relatively dry forests (generally with less than 25 inches of rain each  year) and is primarily a job handled by fire. Historically, fires in ponderosa pine communities burned naturally every 5 to 25 years. A 600-year-old tree might survive 30 fires or  more. On the west slope of the Sierra Nevada, stands of ponderosa  pine sampled from the Feather River southward to the San Joaquin  River drainage showed average return intervals of 7 to 9 years. When  domestic  livestock  grazing  entered  these  forests,  it  reduced or eliminated grasses that had helped carry frequent, lowintensity ground fires beneath the trees. With fire exclusion, shadetolerant white firs encroach on ponderosa pine forests. The white  firs, when young, are fire sensitive, and seedlings are normally controlled by surface fires. When allowed to crowd into a fire-starved  forest, they compete with pines for moisture and nutrients. Spindly,  dense growth, with white fir branches beginning near the ground,  increases the intensity of surface fires (fig. 40). As the white firs grow  up toward the forest canopy, they become ladder fuels that can carry  fire into the crowns, introducing a completely changed fire regime.

[ 56 ]  F i r e  a n d  L i F e  a c r o s s  c a L i F o r n i a

figure 40. Harold Biswell, a University of California forestry professor and pioneer in prescribed burning, inspected the built-up fuels of a Sierra Nevada pine forest in 1966.

F igu r e   4 1 .  Dead trees in the central Sierra Nevada near Bass Lake. USFS  image.

In California’s mixed conifer forests, unprecedented numbers  of trees died in the first decades of the twenty-first century, the end  result of severe droughts and overcrowding due to fire exclusion,  which increased competition for water from the soil, weakening the  trees’ natural defense against bark beetles (flooding them with sap)  (fig. 41). More than 147 million forest trees died in California from  2010  to  2018,  most  concentrated  in  the  southern  Sierra  Nevada,  increasing fire risk to mountain and foothill communities (map 6). Bearclover (Chamaebatia foliolosa), also called mountain misery or kit-kit-dizee, commonly grows as ground cover beneath the  mixed  conifer  forest  canopy  in  the  Sierra  Nevada.  It  has  finely  divided foliage full of volatile oil that permeates the air; both the  leaf geometry and the oil promote flammability and the frequent 

[ 58 ]  F i r e  a n d  L i F e  a c r o s s  c a L i F o r n i a

Dead Trees per Acre

80

Lake Tahoe

21–35+ 11–20

South Lake Tahoe

50 Sacramento

0–10

N E V A D A 0

Stanislaus National Forest Mono Lake

Yosemite National Park

Stockton

395

Modesto

Merced

Bishop

t

Sierra National Forest

es

99

N

r Fo al ion at oN Iny

120

50 Miles

Kings Canyon National Park

C A L I F O R N I A Fresno

5 Visalia

Sequoia National Park

Inyo National Forest

101

178

Pacific Ocean

Bakersfield

Isabella Lake

San Luis Obispo

map 6 . Dead trees per acre in the Sierra Nevada, 2018. USDA image.

Figure 42.  The bearclover understory being ignited during a prescribed burn.

fires of these forests (fig. 42). Bearclover responds to fire by sprouting from rhizomes growing about 8 inches below the surface, where  they are protected from the heat of even very intense fires. g i a n t sequoia The  giant  sequoia  is  a  truly  fire-dependent  species.  It  grows  in  groves in moist basins in the central and southern Sierra Nevada,  remnants of a much broader range when the climate was different  (map 7). Its seeds are held in serotinous cones that may remain  closed  for  20  years.  Seeds  may  be  liberated  from  young,  green  cones  by  hungry  Chickarees  (also  called  Douglas  Squirrels)  (Tamiasciurus douglasi). The larvae of Long-horned Wood-boring  Beetles  (Phymatodes nitidus),  digging  through  cones,  can  cause  [ 60 ]  F i r e  a n d  L i F e  a c r o s s  c a L i F o r n i a

N

0 0

25 miles 50 kilometers

Merced

Modesto

Fresno

Visalia Porterville

map 7 . Giant sequoia groves.

them to dry, shrink, and release seeds. But, most critically for this tree species, the heat from fires opens giant sequoia cones and stimulates their seeds to germinate (fig. 43). Adaptations to a fire regime of frequent, low-intensity surface fires include extremely thick bark loaded with fire-resistant

F i r e a n d L i F e a c r o s s c a L i F o r n i a   [ 61 ]

F igu r e   4 3 .  Fires will open the serotinous cones of giant sequoias and also  provide the exposed mineral soil that the seeds need to germinate.

tannin. Like ponderosa pines, giant sequoias have a self-pruning  adaptation; as they age, they eliminate lower limbs that might otherwise become ladder fuels. The seedling must begin its life on  uncovered mineral soil to successfully take root. Seedlings do not  tolerate  shade,  so  the  occasional  high-severity  fire  creates  the  openings and the sunlight exposure seedlings need. This is the only  Sierra Nevada conifer that resprouts (though only when young). Gifford  Pinchot  headed  the  Division  of  Forestry  within  the  Department of Agriculture in 1899. In his journal descriptions of a  tour of the West in 1891, he recorded observations about California’s  giant sequoias and fire: But who shall describe the sequoias? When the black marks of fire  are sprinkled on the wonderfully deep rich ocher of the bark, the  effect  is  brilliant  beyond  words.  These  highly  decorative  but 

[ 62 ]  F i r e  a n d  L i F e  a c r o s s  c a L i F o r n i a

equally undesirable fires bulked large in the minds of the Kaweah colonists, most of whom were Eastern tenderfeet. One of them told me they had saved the Big Trees from burning up twenty-nine times in the last five years. Which might naturally have raised the question, who saved them during the remaining three or four thousand years of their age? (Pinchot 1947, 44)

Fire-scar records in giant sequoias go back more than 3,000 years. Fire-return intervals in Kings Canyon National Park ranged from 7 years on west-facing slopes to 16 years on east-facing slopes. Though high-severity fires happened in small patches, low-severity surface fires were much more characteristic. As John Muir wrote: One is in no danger of being hemmed in by sequoia fires, because they never run fast, the speeding winds flowing only across the treetops, leaving the deeps below calm, like the bottom of the sea. Furthermore, there is no generally distributed fire food in sequoia forests on which fires can move rapidly. Fire can only creep on the dead leaves and burrs, because they are solidly packed. (Muir 1878, 822)

The greatest threat to these amazing trees comes from fire exclusion, as shade-tolerant fir trees gradually invade the groves and become ladder fuels. Fires started under those conditions could climb into the forest canopy of the giants and be intense enough to overcome all of their defenses against fire. Fire-exclusion policies that created that threat have been reversed in national and state parks with groves of giant sequoias, but not fully corrected in some groves managed by other agencies or privately held (fig. 44). Understory plants that are compatible with the low-intensity frequent-fire regime of giant sequoia forests may include mountain

F i r e a n d L i F e a c r o s s c a L i F o r n i a   [ 63 ]

figure 4 4 . Top: In 1890, the “Confederate group” of giant sequoias in the Mariposa Grove in Yosemite National Park. Bottom: By 1970, white fir trees obscured all but the fire-scarred sequoia on the left. Thickets could have carried fire into the crowns to kill the sequoias.

F igu r e 4 4 . Above: In 2018, the scene had been restored, through thinning and burning, to a condition similar to what existed before fire protection allowed shade-tolerant firs to encroach.

dogwood (Cornus nuttallii) trees and mountain whitethorn (Ceanothus  cordulatus) shrubs (fig. 45). c Lo s e d - c one pine s and cypre ss e s Like the giant sequoia, closed-cone pines and some cypress (Cupressus spp.) trees have significant adaptations to fire, sometimes to the point of dependency, relying particularly on serotinous cones. Seeds are held within the cones, which remain attached to branches of the trees. The seeds are released only after heat from a fire (or, sometimes, a hot summer day) heats the resin and opens the cone scales (fig. 46).

F i r e a n d L i F e a c r o s s c a L i F o r n i a   [ 65 ]

f igu r e 4 5. Mountain whitethorn resprouting following burning near the Mariposa Grove.

F igu r e 4 6. Knobcone pine (Pinus  attenuata) cones remain closed and attached to the tree until released by fire.

This reproductive strategy often corresponds with a regime of stand-replacing crown fires. Typically, dead trees and fallen detritus accumulate in these forests until crown fires move through, killing standing trees but releasing a rain of seeds from the persistent cones. Seedlings will take advantage of the fertilized ashy seedbed and exposure to sunlight. Some pines produce both serotinous and nonserotinous cones to maximize their survival options.

F i r e a n d L i F e a c r o s s c a L i F o r n i a   [ 67 ]

Fire exclusion can reduce the incidence of serotinous species, but  at the other extreme, too-frequent fires lead to immaturity risk, if  enough  new  cones  have  not  been  banked  before  the  next  fire  arrives. Knobcone pines (Pinus attenuata) are one of the best examples,  as they are strongly serotinous. Knobcones grow associated with  the chaparral fire regime and within mixed forests and woodlands.  Without fires, knobcone pines could gradually disappear from the  landscape. Coulter  pines  (P. coulteri),  with  massive,  heavy  cones  (green  cones commonly weigh 5 pounds) (fig. 47), are widely distributed  in  the  central  coast  and  Southern  California  chaparral  regions.  Coulter  pines  vary  in  their  serotiny,  most  strongly  showing  the  closed-coned character where they grow in chaparral fire regimes  that  generate  intense  crown  fires.  The  species  is  less  serotinous  when it associates with other woodland trees, such as coast live  oaks (Quercus agrifolia), where surface fires are typical. The  bishop  pine  (P. muricata;  see  figure  28)  is  another  firedependent, obligate seeder. Seeds released by fire can germinate  even  after  cones  have  endured  temperatures  up  to  203°F.  New  cones  are  brown,  but  they  gradually  weather  to  a  dusty-looking  gray as the cones age on the trees. Older trees have thick bark to  withstand  low-intensity  surface  fires,  but  stands  of  bishop  pine  gradually grow dense until fuel buildup coincides with fire weather,  leading to stand-replacement fires and even-aged groups of trees.  Northern California populations are less serotinous than southern  ones. The Coast Ranges’ Monterey pines (P. radiata) are moderately  serotinous. They can open some cones every year, but most seeds  are  held,  to  be  released  following  fires.  Another  coastal  conifer, 

[ 68 ]  F i r e  a n d  L i F e  a c r o s s  c a L i F o r n i a

figu r e 4 7. Coulter pine (Pinus coulteri) cones and seedlings after the 2003 Cedar fire in Cuyamaca Rancho State Park.

f igu r e 4 8. Lodgepole pine cones that have opened and released seeds without the aid of fire.

F igure 4 9. Lodgepole pine snags after a stand-replacing fire.

beach pine (P.  contorta var. contorta), by contrast is fire neutral, growing where very long intervals occur between fires. Though cones persist for many years on trees, seed release is not dependent on fire. Lodgepole pines (P. c. var. murrayana) have thin bark and a shallow root system, and adult trees are susceptible to fire. The species is considered only semiserotinous in California, where most lodgepoles drop seeds each year, but some serotinous cones are also produced (fig. 48). In the Sierra Nevada, lodgepoles grow at the higher-elevation zone of conifer forests, where fuels are sparse and extensive fires are infrequent. Lodgepoles reproduce well after a fire does happen, where forest stands adjacent to burned acreage provide plenty of seeds (fig. 49). Outside of California, the species is more fully serotinous, an adaptation to conditions where stand-replacement fires occur. The

F i r e a n d L i F e a c r o s s c a L i F o r n i a   [ 71 ]

massive Yellowstone fires of 1988 burned primarily through lodgepole forests adapted to very long fire-return intervals of about 300  years. In those areas, lodgepoles that die gradually generate a dead  fuel load, so when drought and fire weather eventually coincide,  conditions are ripe for a stand-replacement crown fire. Eight  species  of  cypress  are  native  to  California.  Most  have  serotinous cones and adaptations to fire similar to the closed-cone  pines. McNab cypress (Cupressus macnabiana) and Sargent cypress  (C. sargentii) are most widely distributed. Like the rarer tecate (C. forbesii)  and  Cuyamaca  (C. arizonica)  cypresses,  they  associate  with chaparral shrubs, sharing that regime of high-intensity, standreplacement fires. They grow in dense stands, have thin bark, and  have lower branches that do not self-prune and so serve as ladder  fuels, and after mature trees are killed by fire, seeds are released  from charred cones. s u baLpine  F ore st s Above the range of lodgepole pines, up toward the tree line in the  mountains, wildfires become very rare (fig. 50). Individual trees  may  be  struck  by  lightning,  but  fuels  are  too  patchy  for  fires  to  spread. Yosemite researchers calculated a fire rotation in whitebark pine (Pinus albicaulis) longer than 27,000 years! This is not a  “real” number, because these subalpine forests must have come  and  gone  and  been  modified  as  climate  changes  occurred  over  such  a  long  period,  but  it  makes  the  point  that,  today,  fires  are  extremely  rare  in  this  environment.  Other  conifers  in  this  high  country are mountain hemlock (Tsuga mertensiana), limber pine (P. flexilis) in the eastern Sierra Nevada, and foxtail pine (P. balfouriana) in the southern Sierra Nevada.

[ 72 ]  F i r e  a n d  L i F e  a c r o s s  c a L i F o r n i a

f igu r e 5 0. A scorched juniper snag in the high country of the southern Sierra Nevada.

c oa s t redwood  and dougL a s - Fi r Coast redwoods are the tallest trees in the world. They grow in very  damp  forests  along  a  narrow,  foggy  strip  of  the  California  coast,  extending  450  miles  from  the  Oregon  border  down  to  southern  Monterey County. They are fire enhanced and fit into the category  of facultative resprouters: seeds are shed from cones each year, but  the trees are also prodigiously good at sprouting. Seedlings do best  on fresh mineral soil, like that exposed by fire, but also take advantage of openings where floods or windstorms have toppled trees.  The seedlings are shade tolerant, unlike their Sierra cousins, the  giant sequoias. Coast redwoods also respond to fire with abundant  numbers of sprouts from their root crowns or from burls up on the  blackened  trunks.  Fallen  trees  may  have  rows  of  young  sprouts  spaced along their lengths. The new trees that result are genetic  clones of the original. Stumps of logged trees also commonly sprout. Fires seldom kill the big trees. Their list of adaptations includes  the great height for which they are famous, which lifts branches far  above surface flames. They have very thick bark made of spongy  fibers and loaded with tannin, a fire-resistant chemical that also  provides resistance to insects and fungi (fig. 51). Fire scars become  common on old trees, hollowing out their bases or creating ledges  upon the trunk where bark smoldered in long strips. Fallen  litter  builds  up  beneath  coast  redwoods.  Most  of  it  decomposes under the damp conditions, but the loosely packed  ground fuel, full of air spaces, can become flammable when it is  dry. In the presuppression fire regime, burning consumed irregular  patches of the understory fuel, with occasional fires climbing into  the  crowns  of  individual  trees.  Ignitions  by  Indigenous  peoples  were probably responsible for most of the fires in locations with 

[ 74 ]  F i r e  a n d  L i F e  a c r o s s  c a L i F o r n i a

figure 5 1 . The thick bark of a coast redwood tree may be charred after a fire but ensures the tree’s survival.

short fire-return intervals. Their burning opened and maintained  “prairies”  in  the  forests  to  promote  growth  of  basket  materials,  encourage  grass  with  edible  seeds,  harvest  grasshoppers,  and  increase food growth for deer and elk. Considering how wet redwood forests are (they are classified as  temperate rain forests), it may be surprising that understory fires  occur fairly frequently, on 5- to 25-year intervals. Fire regimes in  coast redwood forests in the northeastern Santa Cruz Mountains  have been determined by ring counts of stumps, downed logs, and  live trees. The earliest recorded fire in that sample occurred in the  year 1615 and the last fire in 1884. For all sites combined, the mean  fire-return interval was 12 years. The two sets of statistics—the interval range from 5 to 25 years  and a mean of 12 years for one region—are numbers that summarize  plenty  of  variability  and  complexity.  In  coast  redwoods,  the  key   ignition  source  was  not  relatively  rare  lightning,  but  burning  by  Indigenous peoples that was not applied uniformly across the land.  Differences in topography and exposure further complicate the characteristics of burns. Yet, for thousands of years, fires have been prevalent  enough  throughout  the  coast  redwood  range  to  forge  the  species’ adaptations. Forest Service scientist Steve Norman feels that  the key message is that “many of the humid redwood forests burned  frequently, in the past, because of a long history of human influence,  and many of the forest attributes that we value today resulted from  those fires” (S. Norman 2006, personal communication). The coast redwood associates with Douglas-fir throughout its  range.  Where  conditions  favor  Douglas-firs  over  redwoods,  the  Douglas-firs sometimes grow in nearly pure stands, or often in forests  codominated  by  Pacific  madrone  (Arbutus menziesii),  and  tanoak, with Douglas-firs dominating the overstory. As sites become 

[ 76 ]  F i r e  a n d  L i F e  a c r o s s  c a L i F o r n i a

drier, away from the influence of coastal summer fog and down through the west slopes of the Sierra Nevada, Douglas-fir becomes part of the mixed conifer forests. Douglas-fir is a fire-enhanced, obligate seeder. Trees can live hundreds of years, starting to bear seeds when they are about 20 years old. Mature trees have thick, corky bark on both stems and roots. Their great height and branches are often concentrated 100 feet above the ground, helping protect them from surface fires (fig. 52). Needles, shorter than those on pine trees, lie compactly after they fall, and the trees do not slough bark, as pines are prone to do, so surface fires are less intense beneath the firs than beneath pines. Nearly all natural stands of Douglas-fir were established in sites first cleared by fire. California has a second species of Douglas-fir that grows only in the southern mountains and in much drier circumstances: big-cone Douglas-fir (Pseudotsuga macrocarpa). Its cones are 4 to 6 inches long, much bigger than the 2- to 4-inch range of the more common Douglas-fir. Its adaptations to fire include the unusual capability, among conifers, of sprouting from its trunk following fire. Beneath the canopy of redwood and Douglas-fir forests, a secondary subcanopy can be dominated by tanoak. These small trees can be hundreds of years old, capable of sprouting after fires from root lignotubers (some tubers have been unearthed that were as big as a small car). Sudden oak death disease, caused by the Phytophthora ramorum pathogen, began killing tanoaks and other broadleaf trees in the 1990s, which increased fire danger in the cool, moist central and north coast forests and woodlands. Millions of tanoaks, California black oaks, coast live oaks, California bay laurels (Umbellularia  californica), and madrones have succumbed to the introduced

F i r e a n d L i F e a c r o s s c a L i F o r n i a   [ 77 ]

figure 5 2 . Mature Douglas-fir trees may self-prune their lowest branches, which keeps surface fires from climbing into their crowns.

disease there. Bay trees are considered a key predictor of the disease, typically showing brown spots on leaf tips. Fourteen California counties have confirmed incidents on wildlands and are under state and federal quarantine: Alameda, Contra Costa, Humboldt, Lake, Marin, Mendocino, Monterey, Napa, San Francisco, San Mateo, Santa Clara, Santa Cruz, Solano, and Sonoma. Firefighters responding to those areas from outside regions have to clean vehicles and tools before leaving those counties. Prescribed burns have been tested by researchers as a possible means of disease control, with limited success.

Oak Woodlands and Savannas Several million acres of oak trees occupy woodlands (distinguished from forests by their more open canopies) and savannas (grasslands with scattered trees). They fringe the boundaries of the Central Valley and the coastal plain of Southern California and are found along the foothills of the Coast, Transverse, and Peninsular Ranges and the Sierra Nevada (fig. 53). Oak trees living in woodlands are adapted to fire regimes with frequent low-intensity surface fires. Fires were set by Indigenous peoples, sometimes on an annual basis, to promote the health of the trees and their acorns, which were a key food source. Other food plants grew beneath the oaks and adapted to the local regime. Examples are the various types of brodiaea (Brodiaea spp.), sometimes called Indian potatoes, for their edible bulbs that resprout after burning. Many oaks respond to burning by sprouting from their bases, but also from branches of the scorched trees. Though California has many old-growth oaks, seedling regeneration, particularly in the deciduous oaks (those that drop leaves each year), has become uncommon in many areas. Both grazing

F i r e a n d L i F e a c r o s s c a L i F o r n i a   [ 79 ]

F igure  5 3 .  Oak woodlands and savanna in the Coast Ranges.

and urban sprawl threaten oak regeneration, but absence of summer  surface  fires  also  contributes  to  the  problem.  Acorns  can  require mineral soil or light duff conditions to sprout, like those  found following low-intensity fires. Eighteen species of oak (in the genus Quercus) grow in California,  dominated by blue (Q. douglasii), valley (Q. lobata), coast live, interior live (Q. wislizenii), California black, and Engelmann (Q. engelmannii) oak. Coast live oak is very fire resistant, with thick insulating bark.  Engelmann and valley oaks also have thick bark. Canyon live oak  (Q. chrysolepis), in contrast, is fire sensitive. The trunk and branches  will burn, but the trees sprout vigorously from their root crowns. California black oak is found in mixed conifer belts. The autumn  drop of black oak’s large leaves generates lots of forest litter, but frequent fires, often set by Indigenous peoples in the old days, previously  controlled the buildup of surface fuels. Though even mature trees 

[ 80 ]  F i r e  a n d  L i F e  a c r o s s  c a L i F o r n i a

F igure 54 . An oak tree resprouting after the 2003 fire in Cuyamaca Rancho State Park.

have thin bark and are sensitive to fire, charred trees respond with sprouts from the base and from the trunk and branches overhead (fig. 54). Fire exclusion can lead to competition by conifers that lowers the vigor of oak trees and increases fuel loads beneath the tree to the point where black oaks can be killed by unnaturally intense fires. Other plants associated with oak woodland include poison oak (Toxicodendron  diversilobum), a vigorous resprouter whose smoke is a hazard to firefighters, redbud (Cercis occidentalis), and California buckeye (Aesculus californica).

Sagebrush Shrublands and Pinyon-Juniper Forests The high-elevation deserts of the eastern Sierra Nevada and northeastern plateaus in California have very short growing seasons,

F i r e a n d L i F e a c r o s s c a L i F o r n i a   [ 81 ]

F igure 5 5.  Sagebrush and pinyon-juniper forest.

with winter snow and warm, dry conditions in the summer (fig. 55).  Most of a year’s growth may be confined to a few weeks from May  to early July, after the likelihood of freezing is over but moisture is  still available. Shrubs and trees develop deep, extensive root systems  to  find  water.  Lightning  from  unstable  weather  that  most  commonly arrives in midsummer is the primary natural source of  ignition in the region. High fuel loads in dense sagebrush can produce flame lengths  equivalent to those in chaparral fires (47 feet on level ground with  low  wind  speeds).  Intense  crown  fires  occur  at  fairly  long  return  intervals, though they are often patchy because fuels are not continuous. The gray-green big sagebrush (Artemisia tridentata) dominates  this plant community, a dominance that increased in the nineteenth  and twentieth centuries due to livestock grazing. Sagebrush is not  easily digested by most grazing animals, so cows and sheep focus on 

[ 82 ]  F i r e  a n d  L i F e  a c r o s s  c a L i F o r n i a

grasses and edible shrubs, improving competitive advantages for the sagebrush. It is sensitive to fire, regenerating only by seed, and can take 30 to 100 years to recover in burned areas. Other common shrubs in this plant community are rubber rabbitbrush (Chrysothamnus nauseosus), which sprouts after fires and can also pioneer into open areas from seeds blown by desert winds, and antelope bitterbrush (Purshia tridentata), which is fire sensitive and only a weak sprouter, with greater survival after spring burns than after autumn fires. Perennial and annual grasses grow among the shrubs. Some perennial wildflower species sprout abundantly in the years after fires, including arrowleaf balsam root (Balsamorhiza sagittata) and desert larkspur (Delphinium parishii) (fig. 56). Where heavy domestic animal grazing has reduced native annual and perennial grasses, cheatgrass (Bromus tectorum) moves in, shortening the fire-return interval to the point where shrublands may convert to grasslands (fig. 57). Cheatgrass earned that name because as soon as the annual grass flowers, its spiky seed heads become worthless to grazing animals. Another exotic annual weed sometimes common in sagebrush shrublands is Russian thistle (Salsola iberica), or tumbleweed. Cheatgrass and tumbleweed increase when heavy grazing pressure depletes more edible species. They also can accelerate the return of fire and shift the fire season to earlier months, since they die in early summer but rapidly reseed after fires. The timing of prescribed burns to control these species must be just right to burn exotic plants before they scatter seed, while not inhibiting native perennial grasses. At higher elevations, with slightly more moisture, sagebrush shrublands begin to intermingle with, then give way to, single-leaf

F i r e a n d L i F e a c r o s s c a L i F o r n i a   [ 83 ]

f igu r e 5 6. Where sagebrush shrubs were burned, arrowleaf balsam root and larkspur flowers dominate the hillside.

figure 5 7. When cheatgrass goes to seed and dies each year, it becomes a dry, easily ignitable fuel.

figure 5 8. A pinyon pine killed by fire.

pinyon pines (Pinus  monophylla) and Utah junipers (Juniperus  osteosperma). Pinyon-juniper forests, commonly abbreviated as “P-J forests,” are found east of the Sierra Nevada, on the northeastern plateaus of California, and at the edge of the Mojave Desert in the Transverse Ranges, where pinyon pines associate with the California juniper (J. californica). Fire-return intervals are long, between 35 and 100 years, or more, in the arid Great Basin habitats. The infrequent stand-replacement fires are carried between trees by understory vegetation, or move as crown fires where forest stands are dense. Pinyon pines and junipers are easily ignited and killed by fire (fig. 58). Junipers are a poor choice for landscaping yards next to wildlands, because they are very flammable. Trees recover very slowly on burned areas. Grazing, fire exclusion, and global warming have allowed P-J forests to expand into sagebrush shrublands in the wetter parts of their range. Junipers, in particular, have been extending into sagebrush shrublands and producing dense stands, with canopies becoming continuous enough to carry crown fires. Efforts to thin juniper stands, in part to preserve sagebrush habitat for species such as the Sage Grouse (Centrocercus urophasianus), but also to reduce threats of wildfire to adjacent communities, have generated controversy. In the early twenty-first century, a southwestern drought led to major die-offs of P-J forests in Arizona and New Mexico. With so much loss in that part of the range, projects that limit this vegetation type in California become contentious.

Deserts California’s only native palm tree, the icon of desert oases, is the California fan palm (Washingtonia filifera). Palms are fire tolerant.

F i r e a n d L i F e a c r o s s c a L i F o r n i a   [ 87 ]

Their  vascular  bundles  are  scattered  through  the  trunk  mass,  instead  of  in  a  ring  of  cambium  layer  just  below  the  bark  as  in  woody shrubs and trees, so scorching their trunks does not girdle  and kill them. Other species growing at perennial desert springs  are typically not as fire tolerant, so periodic fires reduce competition  and  benefit  palms.  Summer  lightning  is  the  major  ignition  source in the desert, but Indigenous peoples burned at oases to  enhance  palm  fruit  production  and  clear  areas  for  habitation   (fig. 59). Ensuring that palms thrived also gave them edible flower  buds and seeds, plus fronds to make baskets and sandals. The boundaries of the Mojave Desert essentially coincide with  the habitat range of the Joshua tree (Yucca brevifolia), a massive  member of the lily family. Joshua trees are the key to survival for  many birds, mammals, lizards, and insects. Like the palms, they  are monocots whose vital tissues are protected from fire within the  trunks. They also can resprout. But Joshua trees adapted to long  fire-return intervals in the desert, now altered by human impacts. Widely  spaced  vegetation  in  the  Mojave,  Colorado,  and  Sonoran Deserts breaks up fuels and slows the spread of fires. But  annual grasses and forbs can serve as fine fuels to carry fire between  sparse shrubs. Scientists have documented a fertilizing effect from  nitrogen compounds in smog. In deserts that are downwind from  California’s population centers, exotic grasses such as red brome  (Bromus rubens) and cheatgrass capture nitrogen even better than  native  plants,  and  their  presence  shortens  normally  long  firereturn intervals. In 2006, 65,000 acres burned in the Mojave Desert between  Palm Springs and Joshua Tree National Park, ignited by lightning.  The preceding winter had been very wet and generated heavy production of wildflowers and annual grasses (fig. 60).

[ 88 ]  F i r e  a n d  L i F e  a c r o s s  c a L i F o r n i a

figur e 5 9. Women from the Palm Canyon Agua Caliente Reservation carry fiber bundles of California fan palm. The photo was taken before 1924.

F igure  6 0.  Fire in the Mojave Desert in 2006 inside Joshua Tree National  Park.

In 2019, news headlines declared that research from the Center  for  Biological  Diversity  at  UC  Riverside  suggested  that  climate  warming and air pollution may lead to almost complete elimination  of  the  iconic  tree  within  Joshua  Tree  National  Park.  The   Y. brevifolia species has existed since the Pleistocene, for over 2 million years, but young trees and seedlings cannot survive extreme  droughts because, unlike the mature trees, they cannot store sufficient  water.  And  only  10  percent  of  Joshua  trees  survive  severe  wildfires. National Park rangers are removing exotic grasses to protect the iconic Joshuas.

Grasslands Grasslands  burn  more  often  than  forests  and  shrublands,  and  grasses themselves burn more readily than trees or shrubs. Grass 

[ 90 ]  F i r e  a n d  L i F e  a c r o s s  c a L i F o r n i a

figure 6 1. Grassy meadows in Yosemite Valley were burned by Indigenous peoples. Now the park service conducts prescribed burns to control encroaching trees and shrubs and maintain the meadows.

leaves make ideal kindling because they are small and skinny, with  plenty of surface area to absorb heat and dry out after the growing  season.  Grass  can  survive  grazing,  regular  mowing,  and  fires  because its growing points, or meristems, are at the bases of leaves.  Fires  typically  happen  during  the  summer  and  fall  in  California  grasslands, after annual plants have put out seed and died and the  tops of perennial grasses have gone dormant. The perennials will  resprout from roots or rhizomes in the soil, where they are protected  from  heat  and  flames.  In  addition  to  natural  ignitions,  Indigenous peoples burned to maintain many grassland areas that  would otherwise have converted to shrubs or forest (fig. 61). Heavy grazing that began with the Spanish and Mexican eras,  spreading from the coastal basins into once sprawling grasslands  of  the  Central  Valley,  helped  nonnative  grass  species  invade  California.  Almost  99  percent  of  the  state’s  original  grasslands   are  gone,  with  many  native  grass  species  now  endangered  or  threatened.

Wetlands and Riparian Woodlands Plants that live beside rivers or in wetlands must be able to handle  periodic  floods.  Many  are  vigorous  resprouters,  a  characteristic  that also becomes useful after fires. With roots in damp soil, this  type of vegetation is usually difficult to ignite, but cattails (Typhus  spp.) and tules (Scirpus acutus) are annuals that die back each year,  accumulating large amounts of dead and often dry leaves. Until the  dead material decomposes, it can carry fire. Indigenous peoples  burned wetlands to encourage new growth in willows (Salix spp.),  maples  (Acer  spp.),  and  other  plants  important  for  basketry  and  food (fig. 62).

[ 92 ]  F i r e  a n d  L i F e  a c r o s s  c a L i F o r n i a

F igure 6 2 . Cattails burning near Mono Lake.

California once had five million acres of freshwater marsh and riparian woodlands. Today, it has lost 89 percent of its original wetlands and 95 percent of the riparian forests. Coastline estuaries and marshes have been covered by development. Farmers “reclaimed” most of the Central Valley’s floodplain many years ago. Along riparian corridors in the mountains, fires help maintain stands of quaking aspen (Populus tremuloides). Aspen groves produce beautiful yellow and orange leaves each fall, a color display that is punctuated, here and there, by the dark green of a conifer. Mature aspens may survive periodic fires and regenerate by sprouting (fig. 63). Without those fires, conifers may keep crowding in, ultimately adding enough fuel load to generate crown fires fatal to the aspens. Alders (Alnus spp.), growing in many riparian zones, are a fireneutral species with thin bark and shallow roots. They are facultative

F i r e a n d L i F e a c r o s s c a L i F o r n i a   [ 93 ]

figure 6 3 . Aspens resprouting after a fire.

sprouters, since young trees sprout, but older trees lose the trait. Other riparian sprouters following burning include birch (Betula spp.), cottonwoods (Populus spp.), maple, elderberry (Sambucus spp.), and serviceberry (Amelanchier spp.).

Wildlife Animals adjust to fire, responding to direct impacts from fire events and to the recovery time line set by plants. Many species simply move out of the line of fire until the burning stops and then return to take advantage of the regeneration process (fig. 64). Others go into underground burrows. Relatively few are caught and killed directly, though, in the incredibly intense fire that burned almost every acre of Cuyamaca Rancho State Park in 2003, park biologists found over 70 animals trapped in one hollow, including deer, bobcats, foxes, and birds. Radio collars showed that 10 of 11 tagged deer and four of five mountain lions survived, however. Climatechange-enhanced megafires that impact hundreds of thousands of acres with rapidly moving extreme fire activity threaten local wildlife caught up in conditions to which they are not adapted. For millennia, fires created varieties of habitat conditions for animals across a landscape. Borders between different plant communities or between young and old fuels are ecological edges where resource diversity abounds. Wildlife species take advantage of those opportunities. As plants reestablish in a burned area, small seed-eating mammals and birds move in. Numbers of hawks and other predatory birds commonly increase. Deer are attracted by regrowth, which can develop more protein as plants grow in the soil fertilized by ash. “Big game creatures do not eat mature trees—they feed on sun drenched browse, new grass, and lush

F i r e a n d L i F e a c r o s s c a L i F o r n i a   [ 95 ]

F igure 6 4 .  A rabbit escaping from approaching flames.

regrowth,  all  of  which  rely  on  fire  to  rewind  their  biotic  clocks”  (Pyne 1995, 19). The Fire Beetle (Melanophila acuminata) (fig. 65) is the red-hot  lover of the beetle world. It is a flat-headed wood-boring beetle that  lays eggs in freshly killed trees, often as the trees are still burning.  Forest trees normally deal with bark beetles by flooding them with  pitch, so trees killed by fire offer a defenseless feast. It pays a beetle  to reach burning trees ahead of others, because it is there it hooks up  with a mate. This species has amazing sensors capable of detecting  both heat and smoke from many miles away. Courtship proceeds as  trees burn, until the wood is cool enough that the female can inject  eggs with her ovipositor. After eggs hatch, the larvae start tunneling  through the wood, helping to speed decomposition of the dead trees. The  heat-sensing  mechanism  is  so  sensitive,  it  has  been   studied for military applications and to see if humans can build  

[ 96 ]  F i r e  a n d  L i F e  a c r o s s  c a L i F o r n i a

F igure 6 5. Fire Beetles can sense the heat of a fire from miles away and fly to the fire to mate and lay their eggs while trees are still burning.

duplicate sensors for early detection of wildfires. Fire Beetles have been known to suddenly arrive at a fire scene and attach themselves to firefighters. Barbecues, the lights at football games, and factory smokestacks have attracted confused beetles. One swarm came to an oil fire in Coalinga, about 50 miles from the nearest coniferous forest, their presumed starting point. Burned trees that remain standing provide cavities for nesting birds such as Northern Flickers (Colaptes  auratus), American Kestrels (Falco sparverius), and Mountain Chickadees (Poecile gambeli). Black-backed Woodpeckers (Picoides arcticus) are especially common in burned forests within their range, where they feast on beetles and other insects (fig. 66). They are joined by other predators, the hawks and owls, coyotes and bobcats, all responding to the surge in prey. The Western Fence Lizard (Sceloporus occidentalis) is a resident of chaparral shrublands and so has also adapted to frequent burns (fig. 67). After a fire, the naturally dark lizards select perching sites F i r e a n d L i F e a c r o s s c a L i F o r n i a   [ 97 ]

figure 6 6. A Black-backed Woodpecker on a charred pine tree.

F igure 6 7. A Western Fence Lizard perched on a charred log, where its dark color blends with the background.

where they will be camouflaged on blackened logs and stems. As the char gradually wears away, they spend more of their time on lighter-colored rocks. Though endangered and threatened species are at risk of extinction, those that live in fire-prone ecosystems are often dependent on fire in the long term. Yet, a single fire event can elevate their risks by diminishing already low numbers or by isolating populations. Conducting prescribed burns in some of these habitats becomes complicated by such concerns; however, excluding fire where it shaped the evolution of plants and animals ultimately “makes the situation worse, predisposing the species and habitats  to destruction by catastrophic fire” (van Wagtendonk and Fites-Kaufman 2006, 290). The Pacific Fisher (Martes pennanti), American Marten (M.  americana), and California Spotted Owl

F i r e a n d L i F e a c r o s s c a L i F o r n i a   [ 99 ]

(Strix occidentalis occidentalis) are species of concern living where  fire is integral to the mature coniferous forests they require. The  California  Gnatcatcher  (Polioptila californica)  lives  in  coastal sage, which means the species must tolerate periodic crown  fires. The Gnatcatcher’s endangered status is primarily due to habitat fragmented or destroyed by urban development. An additional  threat comes from fires returning too frequently if this essential  plant  community  is  converted  into  grassland  and  more  of  the  Gnatcatcher’s habitat is lost. The Desert Tortoise (Gopherus agassizii) is adapted to a habitat  type where fire is rare. The Mojave Desert population is listed as  threatened. This species can be killed directly by fires or stressed  by shifting vegetation patterns as fire regimes change. In tortoise  habitat, firefighters modify standard techniques: they avoid burning out islands of habitat, check around vehicles before moving,  and take special care when they travel off road.

Soil, Water, and Air Soil, water, and air—resources that are basic to life—also have a  natural range of responses to fire. Soil nutrition can be enhanced or  degraded. Water quality may temporarily decline, while water runoff can increase. Where there is fire, there is smoke and carbon  dioxide, which has both positive and negative consequences. Because fires recycle nutrients that had been stored in vegetation,  they  have  a  fertilizing  effect  on  soils.  Nitrogen  is  usually   the  most  limited  soil  nutrient  for  plants.  Fires  can  make  a  flush   of nitrogen available for absorption, but, on the other hand, they  volatilize nitrogen, leaving less for the ground. A postfire response  to  drops  in  nitrogen  levels  favors  the  free-living  bacteria  that 

[ 100 ]  F i r e  a n d  L i F e  a c r o s s  c a L i F o r n i a

replenish nitrogen in soil. Legume species such as lupines (Lupinus spp.) and ceanothus (Ceanothus spp.) have nitrogen-fixing bacteria that live in their roots and also commonly colonize burned areas. The nutrients phosphorus and calcium are not as easily volatilized and are available to plants as ash becomes incorporated into the soil. Dry soils are good heat insulators. During low-intensity fires, only the upper layer of duff may burn and little heat penetrates downward. But intensely hot fires can sterilize soils by burning organic matter and fungi that help promote soil health. Countering that is the fertilization effect from released nutrients, along with a rise in soil temperature—because soils darkened by fire absorb more heat—which increases soil microbe activity. Intense fires, like those common in chaparral, sometimes increase soil water repellency. The result is a hydrophobic soil that does not absorb water well. This can happen when heat vaporizes the resins common in chaparral shrubs, which then settle onto soil particles. Like waterproofing on a jacket, repellency is temporary, and recent research suggests it has little ecological significance. The substances are slightly water soluble, and burrowing animals and growing roots gradually break apart the band in the soil where the chemicals settled. Eventually the situation returns to normal, but while the effect persists, it may increase runoff and contribute to erosion or debris flows. Heavy rains falling onto hillsides where surface vegetation and ground litter have been burned off can generate mud and debris flows that become tragic for humans in those watersheds. On Christmas day, 2003, two months after major fires burned in the San Bernardino Mountains, torrential rains generated a 20-footthick flow that swept into a youth camp. Fifteen people died.

F i r e a n d L i F e a c r o s s c a L i F o r n i a   [ 101 ]

F igure 6 8.  Montecito hit by debris flow in January 2018, when intense rains  came a month after the Thomas fire.

On January 9, 2018, 4 inches of rain fell in Montecito, in Santa  Barbara County, where nearby slopes of the Santa Ynez Mountains  had  burned  a  month  earlier  during  the  Thomas  fire  (see  “The  Flames of History”). Cascades of mud, boulders, and branches, in  places over 25 feet deep, came downhill at up to 20 miles per hour,  pummeling  the  community.  Some  of  that  material  only  stopped  when  it  reached  the  beach,  2  miles  away.  Many  residents  had  ignored evacuation warnings, likely because of “evacuation fatigue”  after the December fire evacuations. Twenty-three people died and  over 160 were hospitalized with injuries. The flood destroyed more  than 100 homes and damaged another 300. Millions of dollars were  spent  on  emergency  responses  and  cleanup.  Thirty  miles  of  Highway 101, the primary freeway along that section of coast, was  closed for 12 days between Santa Barbara and Ventura after 2 to 3  feet of mud covered the road (fig. 68). Postfire  treatments  to  control  erosion  used  to  rely  on  aerial  broadcasting  of  nonnative  grass  seeds,  for  example,  annual  rye 

[ 102 ]  F i r e  a n d  L i F e  a c r o s s  c a L i F o r n i a

grass (Lolium multiflorum). While the need to do something seems imperative after a fire, to the point where land managers feel intense pressure to do seeding, and while it seems intuitive that generating roots in the top layer of bare ground should hold soil in place, such efforts can be ineffective or even make matters worse. When rain follows immediately after a fire, many applied seeds just wash away or have no holding effect, since they have not yet germinated and matured. Left alone, California’s fire-adapted vegetation usually begins its own rapid regeneration, but applied grasses can compete with and slow that natural recovery. However, competition from seeded grasses can become a useful “tool,” for example, in sagebrush areas, in hopes of overwhelming cheatgrass or other exotics that invade after fires. With these lessons learned, seeding is now preferably done using seeds from native species; however, those seeds are not always available in large enough quantities or may not match specific local genetic types. Cereal grains and sterile hybrids are used as alternatives because they cannot produce viable seeds and persist only through one season of growth. Widespread aerial seeding is becoming less common, with a focus on treating only the most critical sites. Rather than seeds, hydromulch and straw are sometimes applied to help hold the surface soil, though those treatments are expensive, are difficult to use on large burned areas, and still carry the risk of introducing weeds. More important than seeding, it turns out, is work done to channel drainage from roads and trails and to control off-highway vehicles on burned lands. Culverts and pipes that channel surface water need to be cleared before high water arrives. During a flood event, working in swift water to unplug culverts can be very dangerous. After a recent fire, when heavy rain is falling, anyone in the

F i r e a n d L i F e a c r o s s c a L i F o r n i a   [ 103 ]

F igure 6 9.  Smoke near Cuyamaca Rancho State Park during the 2003 fires.

watershed must stay alert, even through the night. Warning signs  for anyone in the area include intense bursts of rain and suddenly  muddy streams. Fatalities from debris flows have happened many  times  when  people  were  sleeping.  Automatic  detectors  are  now  sometimes placed in flood channels to issue early flood warnings. Federal land management agencies are required to conduct an  evaluation after a fire, viewing the situation as an emergency until  any  necessary  rehabilitation  measures  have  been  taken.  Teams  focus on threats to life and property, erosion control, water quality,  and loss of soil productivity. Other effects on water include possible increases in water runoff to streams, because burned plants on the watershed are using  less water from the soil. Water temperatures may temporarily be  elevated by the heat released during fires, and longer increases in 

[ 104 ]  F i r e  a n d  L i F e  a c r o s s  c a L i F o r n i a

temperature occur where streams are no longer shaded by vegetation. High temperatures reduce dissolved oxygen, a situation that can harm fish and other aquatic life. Like the effect from pulses of debris and sediments, these impacts are temporary. Streams flush material away and dilute warm water, and vegetation gradually recovers to shade the area again. Smoke may benefit plants by inducing germination of seeds or controlling fungal infections but can also be a health hazard for humans (fig. 69). (See “Burning Issues” for more about smoke as air pollution.)

The Climate Crisis By 2020, the population of California approached 40 million people, while around the world human numbers had surged past 7.8 billion. Human emissions of “greenhouse gases”—particularly carbon dioxide, methane, and nitrous oxide—released from burning fossil fuel were trapping heat in the Earth’s atmosphere at levels not equaled in 650,000 years. Atmospheric carbon dioxide levels began rising in the nineteenth century with the start of the Industrial Revolution, from about 270 parts per million (ppm) to 415 ppm by the year 2020. Over the past century, parts of California warmed by about 3°F, considerably more than the global average increase of 1°F (fig. 70). Two-thirds of that global temperature rise occurred just since 1975—an acceleration coinciding with the doubling of the Earth’s population since then. The atmospheric greenhouse effect makes life on Earth possible, by trapping heat that would otherwise radiate into space. But human enhancement of that effect has added troublesome energy to the atmosphere and the oceans. Like steroids that push

F i r e a n d L i F e a c r o s s c a L i F o r n i a   [ 105 ]

64

Degrees in Fahrenheit

63 62 61 60 59 58 57 1900

1920

1940

1960

1980

2000

Figure 70.  California temperatures 1895–2018.

an athlete’s natural abilities to extremes, the warmer air and water  have amplified the state’s natural wet and dry variability, generating  intense  rainstorms,  extreme  winds  with  abruptly  changing  “whiplash weather,” and deadly, unstoppable megafires. Fifteen of  the 20 largest wildfires in California history have happened since  the year 2000. Extreme dry-to-wet precipitation events are projected to increase by 25 to 100 percent in California. Hot air dries  out both soils and plants, shrinks mountain snowpacks, brings earlier spring snowmelts, and extends dry seasons. These conditions  prepare wildlands to burn. Southwestern tree ring records going  back 300 years show that most of the region’s largest fires during  the  twentieth  century  followed  wet  El  Niño  winters  that  were  replaced  by  dry  La  Niña  drought  years.  The  natural  El  Niño  Southern Oscillation is an ocean-warming cycle that shifts heavy  winter rains toward the southwestern states every three to seven  years, but with global warming, El Niño events are appearing more  frequently.

[ 106 ]  F i r e  a n d  L i F e  a c r o s s  c a L i F o r n i a

California’s massive economy and growing population are responsible for one-twelfth of the world’s annual carbon dioxide emissions. California’s Global Warming Solutions Act became law in 2006, requiring that California’s greenhouse gas emissions be reduced to 1990 levels by 2020. Under Governor Jerry Brown, the objective became 50 percent renewable energy, with an accelerated target date of 2030. Clearly California cannot solve the global crisis alone, but the state continues to admirably lead that effort, even in the face of unhelpful federal government policies. A single wildfire can undo a year of carbon-reduction efforts, with more emissions than millions of cars. Around 8 percent of California’s emissions come from burning and decomposition of forests and other wildland vegetation. In contrast to burning of fossil fuels, though, wildfires are part of a renewable recycling process because burnt vegetation regrows. Through photosynthesis, forests captured approximately 11 percent of the U.S. carbon dioxide emissions each year from 1990 to 2015. Major concerns do exist about carbon dioxide released during fires, however. In Amazon rain forests, for instance, deforestation is accompanied by cycles of cutting, burning, and local drying that lead to ever more forest fires (fig. 71). While much of the increase in forest fires in the second half of the twentieth century was related to fuel buildup in habitats where fire exclusion occurred, global climate change is magnifying the effects of weather and is now a major driving force. The U.S. Forest Service has had to plan adaptations to an array of impacts in forest ecosystems (fig. 72). Fire regimes have always varied with the globe’s natural climate, but extreme fire behavior and increasingly deadly outcomes in recent megafires in California and Australia may finally have

F i r e a n d L i F e a c r o s s c a L i F o r n i a   [ 107 ]

figure 7 1 . Fires burning across the globe between October 18 and 27, 2003.

fire season

Climate change vulnerabilities

Increasing wildfire area burned and fire season length

Increasing drought severity and incidence of insect outbreaks

Lower snowpack, increasing precipitation intensity, and higher winter peakflows

Lower summer streamflows and increasing stream temperatures

Adaptation options

Reducing hazardous fuels with prescribed burning and managed wildfire

Reducing forest stand density to increse tree vigor; plant drought-tolerant species and genotypes

Implementing designs for forest road systems that consider increased flooding hazard

Using mapping of projected stream temperatures to set priorities for riparian restoration and coldwater fish conservation

f igu r e 7 2 . Adaptations to forest ecosystem vulnerabilities due to climate change.

caught the attention of climate change deniers. Scientists and activists, frustrated by a lack of effective response from governments, particularly by U.S. inaction during the Trump administration, have modified their terminology. Global warming gave way to the more comprehensive climate  change, but more alarming descriptors are appearing now. Perhaps climate  crisis or climate  emergency will better capture public awareness. Action to reduce fossil fuel consumption is an urgent need.

F i r e a n d L i F e a c r o s s c a L i F o r n i a   [ 109 ]

The Flames of History

In wildlands, history does repeat itself. ja m e s k . ag e e , 2006, xiii

California’s Light-Burning Debate Federal forest reserves were established in California in 1891, administered by the General Land Office of the Department of the Interior, until the Forest Service was created in 1905 in the Department of Agriculture. Shortly after Gifford Pinchot was appointed the first chief of the new agency, he confidently declared: “Today we understand that forest fires are wholly within the control of men” (Pinchot 1910, 45). Pinchot’s successor as chief forester, Henry Graves, wrote that forest fire prevention was “the fundamental obligation of the Forest Service and takes precedence over all other duties and activities” (Graves 1910, 7). The reserves and national forests had been created to control logging, mining, and grazing practices that had been stripping the landscape across the nation. Loggers left behind slash—unmillable limbs and branches—that fueled increasingly large fires. Railroads provided a major ignition source for such tinder; locomotives that [ 110 ]

spewed cinders and sparks were the third most common cause of forest fires in 1887, after land clearing and hunters. In California, grazing practices had also introduced unrestrained fire. In 1894, John Muir deplored the annual burning by sheep herders in the Sierra Nevada: Running fires are set everywhere with a view to clearing the ground of prostrate trunks, to facilitate the movements of the flocks and improve the pastures. The entire forest belt is thus swept and devastated from one extremity of the range to the other. . . . Indians burn off the underbrush in certain localities to facilitate deerhunting, mountaineers and lumbermen carelessly allow their camp-fires to run, but the fires of the sheepmen, or muttoneers, form more than ninety per cent of all destructive fires that range the Sierra forests. (Muir 1961 [1894], 154)

Through the first two decades of the century, California became the center for a public debate by proponents of “light burning,” who opposed the new federal fire exclusion policy. Light burning referred to fires purposely ignited to control growth in forests to keep the landscape open, favor certain plants over others, and reduce the threat of intense wildfires. Later, the same practices would be called controlled  burning, terminology that would be replaced with prescribed  burning as practices were scientifically refined during the final decades of the twentieth century. “In some quarters this method has been sneered at as ‘the Digger Indian plan,’ ” the editor of the San Francisco Call wrote, on September 23, 1902, endorsing “an experienced mountaineer’s” letter to the editor. “It should be sufficient compliment to this natural method that the Indian lived in, preserved, made permanent

T h e F l a m e s o F h i s T o r y   [ 111 ]

and transmitted to us on this continent the most extensive, valuable, and useful forests in the world.” H. J. Ostrander’s letter was  titled “How to Save the Forests by Use of Fire.” He wrote: “Scientists  say that in order to preserve the forests from fire, pine needles shall  be allowed to accumulate, that dead brush shall not be burned out,  that fallen trees shall not be disturbed. The practical mountaineer  says, ‘Burn and burn often, in order that this accumulation . . . shall  not become so great as to cause the destruction of the trees when a  fire sweeps through the mountains’ ” (Ostrander 1902, 6). The  same  year,  John  B.  Leiberg  wrote  a  report  on  “Forest  Conditions in the Northern Sierra Nevada, California” for the U.S.  Geological Survey. He recognized fire as “the most potent factor in  shaping the forests of the region. . . . In fact almost every phase of  its condition, has been determined by the element of fire” (Leiberg  1902,  42,  44).  Yet  Leiberg  saw  that  shaping  force  as  something  humanity must overcome. He felt that the land was carrying only  35 percent of the timber it could support. In 1905, Forest Assistant E. A. Sterling with the federal Bureau  of Forestry authored “Attitude of Lumbermen toward Forest Fires.”  Sterling  identified  insect  damage  and  short-sighted  lumbering  methods as great problems, yet was certain “that fire is the greatest  of forest evils” (Sterling 1905, 133) (fig. 73). He recognized that in  California pine forests, fires typically burned as surface fires that  “rarely  destroy  extensive  stands  of  timber,  although  individual  trees are severely injured and often killed” (135). Yet his primary  concern remained the wrong-headed attitude of lumbermen who  “allow [fires] to run unless they threaten their mills or are likely to  spread  to  ‘slashings’  in  dangerous  proximity  to  valuable  timber.  This, too, is in the face of the fact that nothing is more noticeable in  the Sierra forests than the burned-out bases of many of the finest 

[ 112 ]  T h e  F l a m e s  o F  h i s T o r y

figure 7 3 . An early fire-prevention poster that demonized fire.

sugar and yellow pines” (135). Sterling could not see the scars on  old-growth trees as an indication that such trees survived repeated  burning during their long lives. He felt that light burning leaves “all  young growth open to destruction and does not get at the root of the evil” [italics added] (138). Those final words were revealing—even  when used as a controlled tool, fire never was acceptable because  “at the root” it was inherently the “greatest of forest evils.” Marsden Manson, San Francisco’s city engineer, in a 1906 article in the Sierra Club Bulletin, admitted that light fires gave open forests through which one could readily see  for great distances. So impressive were these forest vistas and so  majestic were the great boles that poetic and impracticable natures  at once accepted the Digger Indian system of forestry as unquestionably  the  natural  and  correct  one.  The  impression  has  been  strengthened by . . . the absence of a definite knowledge of what  forestry really is. . . . The Digger Indian system of forestry will not give timber as a crop [italics added]. (Manson 1906, 22, 24)

Digger was a derogatory term for California’s Indigenous peoples,  whose food gathering practices and “primitive” ways were scorned  by the state’s brash post–gold rush society. The final reference to  timber “as a crop” holds the explanation for foresters who saw the  “primeval” forests as damaged by forest fires (while acknowledging a historic fire regime that generated low-intensity fires). Small  trees—“reproduction”—were susceptible to fire and had to be protected if the forests were to produce the maximum yield of the crop  sought by “systematic forestry.” With confidence in their ability to transform the forests, the  young profession of American forestry declared war on nature’s 

[ 114 ]  T h e  F l a m e s  o F  h i s T o r y

F igu r e 74 . California fire-prevention notice aimed at light-burning advocates in 1913.

fire. The fire-exclusion policy became firmly entrenched in the coming decades in the Forest Service and within other fire control and land management agencies that followed the federal agency’s lead (fig. 74). Many private lumbermen and ranchers, however, continued to oppose this approach. Sunset magazine became a primary media outlet taking the California light-burning debate before the public. The magazine had been founded by the Southern Pacific Railroad Company to promote westward travel. Railroad land holdings, granted by the federal government, ultimately totaled 11.6 million acres within California, including large tracts of forest land.

T h e F l a m e s o F h i s T o r y   [ 115 ]

“How Fire Helps Forestry,” by G. L. Hoxie, appeared in Sunset  in August 1910. “Practical foresters,” Hoxie declared, “can demonstrate that from time immemorial fire has been the salvation and  preservation of our California sugar and white pine forests. The  practical invites the aid of fire as a servant, not as a master. It will  surely be master in a very short time unless the Federal Government  changes its ways” [emphasis in original] (Hoxie 1910, 145–146).  Hoxie derided the “theoretical” policies of fire exclusion, worrying  that if they were followed for just a few years longer, there will be no hope of saving these areas from  useless, unnecessary and enormous damage, as the accumulated  fallen limbs and unusual and unnecessary hazard is many times  greater in five or ten than in two or three years. (148) Why not by practical forestry keep the supply of inflammable  matter on the forest cover or carpet so limited by timely burning as  to deprive even the lightning fires of sufficient fuel to in any manner put them in the position of master? . . . Fires to the forests are  as necessary as are crematories and cemeteries to our cities and  towns; this is Nature’s process for removing the dead of the forest  family and for bettering conditions for the living. (151)

The  summer  of  1910,  however,  was  bad  timing  for  Hoxie’s  argument. That year, the institutional approach to fire suppression  for the young Forest Service became fixed after extremely intense  fires  in  the  northern  Rockies  burned  three  million  acres  in   Idaho  and  Montana.  Eighty-five  people  were  killed,  78  of  them  firefighters. William Greeley, later chief forester of the Forest Service, saw  his personal experience that summer of 1910 as illuminating for

[ 116 ]  T h e  F l a m e s  o F  h i s T o r y

a young forester, thrown by chance into a critically responsible spot on a hot front. . . . I had to face the bitter lessons of defeat. From that time forward, “smoke in the woods” has been my yardstick of progress in American forestry. The conviction was burned into me that fire prevention is the No. 1 job of American foresters. (Greeley 1951, 18, 24)

Like the self-perpetuating cycle of hatred that can be fueled by wartime tragedies, the dogma and emotion of righteous war against fire solidified after 1910. Fire was the great enemy (fig. 75). The debate became even more polarized. “This theory of ‘light burning’ is especially prevalent in California and has cropped out to a very noticeable extent since the recent destructive fires in Idaho and Montana,” the district forester for California wrote in June 1911 (Olmsted 1911, 43). F. E. Olmsted’s “Fire and the Forest—The Theory of ‘Light Burning’” ran in the Sierra Club Bulletin. Olmsted repeated the litany of arguments—fires killed “reproduction” and damaged forest qualities—but with even greater fervor and absolutism: It is said, we should follow the savage’s example of “burning up the woods” to a small extent in order that they may not be burnt up to a greater extent bye and bye. (43) This is not forestry; not conservation; it is simple destruction. . . . The Government, first of all, must keep its lands producing timber crops indefinitely, and it is wholly impossible to do this without protecting, encouraging, and bringing to maturity every bit of natural young growth. (45) Fears of future disastrous fires . . . are not well founded. Fires in the ground litter are easily controlled and put out. . . . Fires and young

T h e F l a m e s o F h i s T o r y   [ 117 ]

of the light burner.”

estry’ or the Fallacy of Light Burning.” Greeley favored the “protected” young growth (right) over the “clean” forest (left), “the ideal

f igu re 7 5. “Which is preferable . . . ?” Photographs that accompanied W. B. Greeley’s 1920 article in The Timberman, “ ‘Piute For-

trees cannot exist together. We must, therefore, attempt to keep fire  out absolutely [italics added]. (46)

Rancher and novelist Stewart Edward White countered in a Sunset article in March 1920. “The general public, educated for twenty years by the Forest Service, reacts blindly and instinctively against any suggestion of fire. Nevertheless fire—a bad master—is an excellent servant. There are good fires and bad fires” (White 1920a, 25). White covered many points and concluded eloquently: One may prevent fires for five, ten, twenty-five, fifty years. But one cannot eliminate all carelessness, all cussedness, all natural causes. . . . We are painstakingly building a fire-trap that will piecemeal, but in the long run completely, defeat the very aim of fire protection itself. . . . Keep firmly in mind that fires have always been in the forests, centuries and centuries before we began to meddle with them. The only question that remains is whether, after accumulating kindling by twenty years or so of “protection,” we can now get rid of it safely. . . . In other words, if we try to burn it out now, will we not get a destructive fire? We have caught the bear by the tail—can we let it go? (117)

Sunset provided Chief Forester Henry Graves space in the next issue for a rebuttal titled “The Torch in the Timber: It May Save the Lumberman’s Property, but It Destroys the Forests of the Future.” Graves bluntly declared fire the “archenemy of the forest” (Graves 1920, 37). He reviewed familiar points: burning killed young growth and cost too much to be economical. As for White’s point about fire’s usefulness against insects, Graves insisted: “Fire has no such value . . . as a remedy for bark beetle attacks, but . . . even if it did,

T h e F l a m e s o F h i s T o r y   [ 119 ]

its use would not be justified” (38). To accept light burning would be  “practically giving up the battle for forest perpetuation. It would  mean . . . a disastrous sacrifice of all that we have gained in improved  conditions through fifteen years of protection. . . . We shall not murder the patient in order to be rid of the disease” (88, 90). In May, White explained why he was unconvinced by Graves’s  arguments.  Then  Sunset  concluded  the  series  in  the  June  issue  with District Forester Paul Redington’s “What Is the Truth?” He  announced  the  formation  of  a  forestry  committee  to  conclude   the  debate  and  finalize  policy.  In  1923,  the  California  Forestry  Committee recorded a unanimous decision in favor of the Forest  Service fire-protective system. The California Board of Forestry  followed up the committee report by adopting a resolution condemning the practice of light burning and favoring fire exclusion. Though officially defeated, the burning issue simply would not  go away. Nature itself would not cooperate. Inevitably, forest fuels  built up as fire suppression became increasingly effective, as White  and others had predicted. The bear grasped by its tail, as White  described, grew bigger and more powerfully dangerous. The goal of fire exclusion is no longer national policy. In 1968,  prescribed burning began in Sequoia National Park, and that effort  extended  to  Yosemite  and  other  national  parks  in  the  state.  California State Parks started a prescribed-burn program in 1973.  The Forest Service announced its switch from “fire control” to “fire  management” in 1974. The 1995 Federal Wildland Fire Management  Policy and Program Review established firefighter and public safety  as the top priority but also recognized fire as an integral part of wildland ecosystems. That policy was reviewed and reaffirmed in 2001.  Yet, fire suppression and Smokey Bear’s wildfire-prevention message (fig. 76) continue to be essential where wildland fires threaten 

[ 120 ]  T h e  F l a m e s  o F  h i s T o r y

A Very Influential Bear World War II brought new fears of forest fires ignited by the enemy as a wartime tactic. Fire prevention and suppression became military objectives and the patriotic concern of every citizen. In 1943, the War Advertising Council, seeking an iconic fire prevention symbol, turned to Bambi, the deer that movie viewers had seen flee from a terrible forest fire in Walt Disney’s feature movie. A year later, the National Advertising Council created Smokey, the fire-prevention bear, its most successful and persistent image (see figure 76). Smokey has effectively shaped attitudes about fire through six decades. Today, Smokey has his own webpage at smokeybear.com. Recently, his old fire-prevention message has been broadened to not only warn about “bad fire,” but also educate about “good fire” and its role as “nature’s housekeeper.” Since 2001, Smokey’s familiar “Only you can prevent . . . ” phrase has closed, not with the words forest fires, but with the more inclusive term wildfires.

f igu r e

7 6. Smokey Bear fire-prevention

campaign poster.

homes and property and where natural fire regimes have not yet  been restored.

The Big Ones We are, in the end, governed by the ungovernable. By the mysterious ways of the winds. And by the ancient cycle of fire. Or ang e C Oun t y r e g iste r , 1993, 59

In  the  summary  that  follows  of  California’s  biggest  fires,  only   the  most  significant  wildfires  are  included,  judged  by  acreage,  destruction of structures, and loss of lives. Acreage statistics tell an  imperfect story, because many fires burn with variable intensity  and commonly leave some unburned patches as they move across  the landscape. Most, but not all, of the largest and most destructive  wildfires in California were products of the autumn, corresponding  with extremely high winds and very dry fuels. Impacts to humans  and their property increased as the decades advanced in lockstep  with ever-expanding population growth. In September 1923, an early lesson about risks associated with  urban areas crowding up to the edge of wildlands was delivered  when fire invaded Berkeley out of the hills, driven by an east, or  “Diablo,” wind. Fifty city blocks with 624 structures burned. In  September  1932,  the  Matilija  fire  burned  across  220,000  acres in Ventura County. That fire held the official acreage record  for 70 years, until 2003. The most deadly fire for California firefighters came in October  1933, at Griffith Park in the city of Los Angeles. Several thousand  welfare relief workers had been hired to clear brush and work on  trails and roads in the park. When a fire broke out, the “unlimited  manpower” nearby, armed with shovels, seemed, at first, like the 

[ 122 ]  T h e  F l a m e s  o F  h i s T o r y

ideal force to put the fire out. About 3,000 men volunteered (many later insisted they were ordered) to fight the fire. Neither the workers nor their foremen had firefighting experience. Hundreds of workers became trapped in a canyon when the wind changed direction, leaving 25 to 50 dead (the uncertainty about the number was due to poor record keeping) and 125 injured. In July 1953, the Rattlesnake fire burned in chaparral in the Mendocino National Forest, ignited by an arsonist. The fire killed 15 firefighters following a nighttime shift in wind direction. In November 1961, the Bel Air fire destroyed 505 structures in Los Angeles County though it burned only 6,090 acres (fig. 77). In September 1970, Santa Ana winds downed power lines, which ignited two conflagrations. In Los Angeles County, the Clampitt fire burned 105,200 acres and 86 structures and killed four people. In San Diego County, the Laguna fire encompassed 175,400 acres and 382 structures and took five lives. Coordination between firefighting agencies was badly disorganized. That led to the development of the Incident Command System, a standard planning hierarchy that would become familiar to all emergency personnel. Ironically, by 2003, similar problems existed because new radio technology had been developed but not widely adopted. Lightning ignited the Marble Cone fire in July 1977, which burned 177,900 acres in the Ventana Wilderness of Los Padres National Forest (Monterey County). Though the 1980s were a relatively quiet period for wildfires, lightning started several fires in August 1987 that became known as the Stanislaus Complex, affecting 146,000 acres, much of it forest, and 28 structures, and causing one death. The name complex is given when two or more fires in the same area are managed by one Incident Command Team. Often this

T h e F l a m e s o F h i s T o r y   [ 123 ]

figure 7 7. Richard Nixon on his roof during the Bel Air fire of 1961.

F igure 7 8. The 1991 Oakland fire.

occurs when regional lightning strikes ignite many fires in a short time. In June 1990, the Painted Cave fire began near Santa Barbara during extreme fire weather: temperatures reached 109°F and humidity was down to 9 percent. It burned only 4,900 acres but, driven by “sundowner winds,” raced toward the coast, reaching 641 structures and leading to one death. In October 1991, Berkeley and the Oakland Hills experienced a repeat tragedy similar to the fire of 1923, but with heavier costs. Wind pushed the Tunnel fire across 1,600 acres and 2,886 structures, and that time, 25 lives were lost (fig. 78). Most who died were caught during evacuation attempts on narrow, curvy roads that became blocked by abandoned cars. Damage estimates were about $1.5 billion.

T h e F l a m e s o F h i s T o r y   [ 125 ]

During  eight  days  in  August  1992,  central  Shasta  County’s  Fountain  fire  burned  300  homes  (a  total  of  636  structures)  and  some 64,000 acres of dense forest and brush. October 1993 brought 14 simultaneous fires across Southern  California. The biggest of these fires led to the “Battle of Laguna”  in Orange County, with Santa Ana winds driving flames across only  16,700 acres but burning 441 structures in Laguna Beach. Acreage was the story on the Biscuit Complex fires of July 2002,  which affected 500,000 acres, mostly in Oregon, mostly roadless or  wilderness lands. Started by a cluster of 12,000 lightning strikes, the  fires eventually reached into California and the Six Rivers National  Forest, involving 29,000 acres of the Smith River National Recreation  Area. As much as 60 percent of the acreage burned at low intensity  or  remained  unscathed  within  the  fires’  perimeters.  That  same  month,  the  McNally  fire  was  accidentally  ignited  at  a  resort  in  Sequoia National Forest. It would burn uphill from shrublands into  mixed coniferous forest across 150,700 acres. The McNally ended  when it ran into areas that had burned in 1990 and 2000. The year 2003 set new records for California’s wildfires. Once  again, 14 fires burned simultaneously across Southern California,  ultimately totaling 748,000 acres, 3,361 homes (and 1,100 other  structures), and 24 lives taken. The most destructive of these, the  Cedar  fire  in  San  Diego  County,  began  after  firefighters  were  already busy with eight other fires. It would involve 273,250 acres,  burn 2,820 structures, and cause 15 deaths. It affected more acres  and  structures  than  any  other  wildland  fire  to  that  point  in  the  state’s history (fig. 79). Santa Ana winds propelled the fire toward  the coast, traveling 13 miles in just 16 hours, until onshore winds  turned the fire back through unburned fuels to the east (fig. 80). It  then  moved  out  of  the  shrublands  and  into  mountain  timber  in 

[ 126 ]  T h e  F l a m e s  o F  h i s T o r y

F igure 79. CAL FIRE crews battle the Cedar fire.

Cuyamaca Rancho State Park, finally stopping when it came to the boundary of a fire that had burned the year before. At the same time, the Old fire was moving through San Bernardino County. Set by an arsonist, it would total 91,300 acres, burn 1,003 structures, and lead to six deaths (fig. 81). Twelve other fires were part of the regional firestorm. On October 26, 2006, an arsonist lit a fire in Riverside County that would be given the name Esperanza. It killed five firefighters when flames overran their engine as they were trying to protect a home. Thirty-four homes were lost, and over 40,000 acres were involved. Then came 2007. Once again, October’s Santa Ana winds assaulted Southern California. Downed power lines, construction sparks, and arsonists ignited 23 fires (fig. 82). For more than a week,

T h e F l a m e s o F h i s T o r y   [ 127 ]

f igu r e 8 0. A line of flames approached homes in Scripps Ranch as the Cedar fire neared the end of its westward movement. Note how the wind was, at that moment, blowing smoke away from these houses, which did survive.

f igu r e 8 1 . The Old fire burned out of the mountains toward San Bernardino.

F igure 8 2 . Smoke and ash blew offshore as Santa Ana winds pushed multiple fires across Southern California in October 2007.

fires spread across 517,000 acres, from Ventura to south of the Mexican border. More than half a million people were ordered to evacuate. There were seven fire-related deaths, and 1,969 homes were destroyed. Most destructive was the Witch fire, burning 198,000 acres, 1,121 homes, and 30 businesses in the north part of San Diego County.

Extremes after 2010 California’s eternal wildfire challenges notably intensified in the state after it was parched by over six years of severe drought

T h e F l a m e s o F h i s T o r y   [ 129 ]

F igure  8 3.  Satellite image of the massive Rim fire’s smoke and fire perimeter, August 22, 2013. Smoke impacted Carson Valley in Nevada for weeks.

between December 2011 and March 2017. Five of the six largest  fires in California history, since modern record keeping began in  1932, happened in 2020 alone. The Rim fire burned 257,000 acres of wildland from August  2013 to October 2014 in Stanislaus National Forest and Yosemite  National Park. Extreme fire behavior challenged firefighters until  wetter weather finally allowed firefighters to control the massive  blaze (fig. 83). After more than 170 fires charred 245,000 acres in Northern  California,  CAL  FIRE  named  the  “October  2017  Fire  Siege,”  in  which the agency relied on 11,000 firefighters from 17 states. That  month saw two fires in Butte County (the La Porte and Honey fires)  and two in Nevada County (McCourtney and Lobo fires), which all 

[ 130 ]  T h e  F l a m e s  o F  h i s T o r y

were ignited by tree branches contacting Pacific Gas & Electric (PG&E) power lines. Impacts from those four incidents were dwarfed by fires in the wine country that same month. Several fires crossed Napa, Sonoma, Lake, and Mendocino Counties in October 2017, dubbed by some as the “wine country fires.” The Tubbs fire burned on 36,807 acres and caused 22 deaths. Flames and embers blew out of wildlands into the city of Santa Rosa. PG&E was sued after photos showed trees hitting their power lines. That same month, six fires merged into the Nuns fire, affecting 54,382 acres in Sonoma County. It burned 1,355 structures and led to three deaths. Again, winds had toppled trees into power lines. Then the Mendocino Complex (after two fires merged in Mendocino County) charred 36,523 acres and 546 structures. Nine people died; 8,000 were evacuated. Again, trees had fallen onto PG&E power lines. In total, 44 people died in the wine country fires, 8,900 structures were destroyed, and there was $14 billion in damage (fig. 84). In December 2017, over 100,000 Ventura and Santa Barbara County residents evacuated during the holiday season, threatened by the Thomas fire, which would burn 281,893 acres, destroy 1,063 structures, and lead to two deaths. Southern California Edison (SCE) power lines had sparked during a high-wind event. Many evacuees had just returned home when a severe rainstorm was forecast on January 9. A new evacuation order was issued due to concerns about mudslides and flooding, but many of those exhausted people ignored that order. Before dawn, intense rain brought mud and boulders downhill off the burnt slopes into Montecito, killing 23 people (see figure 68). The back-toback disasters, fire then flood, caused more than $2  billion in damage.

T h e F l a m e s o F h i s T o r y   [ 131 ]

F igu r e   8 4 .  Satellite  image  of  wine  country  multiple  fires  sending  out  smoke, October 9, 2017.

In July 2018, two fires merged into the Mendocino Complex on  459,123 acres in Colusa, Lake, Mendocino, and Glenn Counties.  That acreage set a new record for the largest fire in state history,  and 280 structures burned and one firefighter was killed. It was  started by sparks when a rancher drove a metal stake into dry grass  while trying to dig up a wasp nest. Evacuations affected Lakeport, 

[ 132 ]  T h e  F l a m e s  o F  h i s T o r y

Kelseyville, Lucerne, Upper Lake, Nice, Saratoga Springs, Witter Springs, Potter Valley, Finley, parts of Hopland, and the tribal communities of Hopland Rancheria and Big Valley Rancheria. Sparks from a trailer with a flat tire on a highway near Redding ignited the Carr fire that same month, which spread across 229,651 acres in Shasta and Trinity Counties, damaged 1,614 structures, and caused eight deaths, including those of three firefighters. High winds gusting to 143 mph and intense heat generated a “firenado,” where flames swirled high into the sky (see figure 18). The 2018 fire season was the deadliest and most destructive wildfire season ever recorded in California, up to that time, causing at least 90 deaths when 8,527 fires charred 1,893,913 acres. Fire insurance claims for the year totaled more than $13 billion dollars. The preceding years of drought shaped the character of these wildfires. The town of Paradise, in the Sierra foothills, typically receives 5 inches of autumn rain by November, but only one-seventh of an inch had fallen in 2018. On November 8, 50 mph winds blew embers from the Camp fire into the foothill town of Paradise in Butte County. Though 153,336 wildland acres would burn, after embers ignited houses in the town, the real tragedy unfolded: a firestorm rapidly spread from house to house as residents fled. Tragically, 88 people died and 18,894 structures were destroyed by this fire, which also struck the rural community of Concow. Sparks from 100-year-old PG&E transmission lines were blamed. The Camp fire burned the most structures and was the deadliest wildfire in state history, in fact the deadliest fire in the United States in a century. Aerial photos of Paradise neighborhoods show houses leveled while nearby trees remained green and relatively unscathed (fig. 85). Paradise was almost completely destroyed; by early 2020 only a small rebuilding effort had been made.

T h e F l a m e s o F h i s T o r y   [ 133 ]

F igu r e   8 5.  House-to-house  fires  destroyed  the  town  of  Paradise,  though  nearby trees remained green during the Camp wildfire in November 2018.

On the same day that the Camp fire began, the Woolsey fire  ignited in Ventura County. It raced across 96,949 acres, destroyed  1,643 structures, and caused three deaths. More than 295,000 residents evacuated from Malibu and densely populated portions of  the San Fernando Valley. Embers lofted by Santa Ana winds carried fire across the 12-lane Highway 101 freeway, and at one point,  the fire front moved 3 miles in just 15 minutes. And on that same  date, within the same county, the Hill fire also began and burned  4,531 acres (fig. 86). When a freakish lightning siege in August 2020 ignited over  700 wildfires across the state, connections between global climate  warming,  extreme  weather,  and  wildfire  became  clearer.  At   least 14,000 lightning strikes came within 72 hours onto a landscape parched by decades of drought and heated by an intense heat  wave  with  triple-digit  temperatures  across  most  of  the  state.  In  September 2020, every national forest in the state was temporarily 

[ 134 ]  T h e  F l a m e s  o F  h i s T o r y

F igure 8 6. From space, this NASA image shows smoke from Northern and Southern California fires on November 9, 2018. Dense smoke from the Camp fire choked Bay Area cities up to 200 miles away for nearly two weeks, forcing school closures and limiting outdoor activities.

closed to public use, an unprecedented step. Over 4.2 million acres would burn by mid-November, more than double the record set in 2018. With dozens of fires burning simultaneously across the state, fire suppression resources and crews were overwhelmed. The August Lightning Complex ignited August 16, 2020. It became

T h e F l a m e s o F h i s T o r y   [ 135 ]

the state’s first “gigafire” complex, affecting 1,032,649 acres acres.  The  fire  burned  within  three  national  forests—Shasta-Trinity,  Mendocino, and Six Rivers—destroying 935 structures and killing  one firefighter. The LNU Lightning Complex burned 1,491 wine  country  homes,  mainly  in  Sonoma  and  Napa  Counties,  and  the  CZU Lightning Complex in San Mateo and Santa Cruz Counties  destroyed  1,490  structures.  That  CZU  Complex  burned  across  most of California’s oldest state park, Big Basin, closely matching  a burn footprint from a 1904 fire. Ancient coast redwoods there,  some 2,000 years old, recovered from that large fire and many others during their long lives, but today the coast redwoods must deal  with an increasingly warm climate that has reduced the fog that is  essential  to  the  massive  trees.  The  Bear  fire,  part  of  the  North  Complex  in  Butte  County,  raced  across  230,000  acres  in one  24-hour period, destroyed the town of Berry Creek, and killed 15  persons. Smoke from fires turned Bay Area skies dark orange; news  media around the world showed images of the strange and oppressive  atmosphere  above  San  Francisco.  In  the  San  Joaquin  River  drainage, the Creek fire made an astonishing 15-mile run through  forests with thousands of standing dead trees, and trapped more  than  200  people  who  had  to  be  rescued  by  California  National  Guard  helicopters.  The  Creek  fire  destroyed  853  structures  as  it  grew  to  377,693  acres,  becoming  the  largest  single  fire  ever  in  California. As the global temperature continued to rise, five of the  six largest fires in California history happened in 2020.

[ 136 ]  T h e  F l a m e s  o F  h i s T o r y

Burning Issues

The success of our management of the Sierra Nevada is contingent upon our ability and willingness to keep fire an integral part of these ecosystems. To not do so is to doom ourselves to failure; fire is inevitable and we can only try to manage in harmony with fire. ja n w. va n wag t e n d on k a n d j.   a . fite s -kaufman, 2006, 290 Places developed in good faith but with a bad sense of history’s blackened record: homes planted smugly in ancient fire-chutes, in places that had burned—who knows how many times?—in an ecology founded on flame. Or ang e C Oun t y r e g iste r , 1993, 9

Fighting Back: Tactics and Weaponry Thirty-five of California’s 58 counties rely on CAL FIRE (until 2007 known as the California Department of Forestry and Fire Protection, or CDF) for wildland fire protection. CAL FIRE responds to over 5,400 fires on about 156,000 acres each year. Counties have their own fire departments and, along with city and volunteer departments, handle local structure fires and also make initial attacks on wildland fires. Fires on federal wildlands are [ 137 ]

Wildland Fire Jurisdictions Federal

U.S. Bureau of Indian Affairs U.S. Bureau of Land Management Military National Park Service USDA Forest Service U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service

State

CAL FIRE CAL FIRE by local agency fire contract

Local

Local SRA (State Responsibility Area) protected by contract counties

N

0 0

50

100 miles

100 kilometers

map 8 .  Wildland fire jurisdictions in California.

fought by federally employed firefighters from the Forest Service,  National  Park  Service,  Bureau  of  Land  Management,  and  other  agencies. Any of these agencies may respond to calls for mutual aid  when conditions require more firefighters and equipment than a  jurisdiction can handle. Red, green, yellow, and white trucks may 

[ 138 ]  B u r n i n g  i s s u e s

all be present. CAL FIRE plays a key role in coordinating these mutual aid forces (map 8). CAL FIRE’s most highly trained firefighters work in strike teams (sometimes called Type 1 crews) that may respond anywhere within the state. Those teams are supported by fire crews, often formed using minimum-security Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation inmates.“Hotshots” is the name given to federal firefighters who work in 20-member crews that may be sent to any state to fight fire. Their training and experience requirements exceed the standards for the state’s strike team crews. The Forest Service and Bureau of Land Management also use smoke jumpers, who parachute into remote areas to make an early attack on wildfires. During a wildfire, firefighters can be frustrated by citizens who react with questions like “Why don’t they just go put it out? Spray water on it? Stop the thing?” We citizens need to understand what is actually possible when a landscape is burning. Estimated flame lengths are one way to consider firefighting options and their effectiveness and help us understand why, often, firefighters have no choice but to back away. So long as flame lengths stay below 4 feet, hand crews using shovels and axes can construct fire lines near the front of the fire (fig. 87). The heat and danger from rapidly spreading fire after flames are between 4 and 8 feet high mean that fire lines must move back a considerably greater distance; only bulldozers or other heavy equipment can clear fire lines along the fire front. Fire engines with hoses and water will have to “knock down” such flames before crews with hand tools can approach more closely. A fire with flames between 8 and 11 feet high requires air tankers or helicopters to drop fire retardant to slow the fire’s intensity and rate of spread (fig. 88).

B u r n i n g i s s u e s   [ 139 ]

figure  8 7.  A hand crew monitoring a backfire during the 1970 Laguna fire.

figure  8 8.  A CAL FIRE helicopter drops water during the Sawtooth fire.

[ 140 ]  B u r n i n g  i s s u e s

Beyond 11-foot flames, direct fire suppression is simply no longer effective. No amount of water or retardant can make an effective dent in the energy being released. At that point, firefighters can only work indirectly, along the heel and flanks of the fire, keeping it from spreading sideways while also moving out ahead of the advancing front (how far ahead depends on wind conditions and the distance firebrands are traveling) to make a stand where natural fuel breaks such as streams or roads are possible barriers. A common wildland firefighting tactic is to burn out fuels between the advancing front and a new fire line. Such backfires create a blackened zone intended to disrupt one side of the fire triangle by depriving the fire of fuel. Wildland firefighting requires different tactics from those used in urban structure fires. In 2003, as the Old fire burned toward Rancho Cucamonga, hundreds of firefighters guarded the urban-wildland interface: The troops from the wildland side would be out in the brush performing perimeter control. Their job was to keep the fire from reaching the houses . . . using wildland tactics . . . constructing fuel breaks with dozers and conducting burn operations. Then, back right up against the houses, there would be the municipal firefighters, ready to defend the city if the fire got past perimeter control. They were not accustomed to seeing a hundred-foot wall of flame tearing toward them, and they were especially not accustomed to firefighters starting [back] fires of their own. (Krauss 2006, 79, 80)

Bulldozers can rapidly cut fire lines through heavy brush and even topple trees (fig. 89). They tear up the earth, so erosion becomes an issue where they have cut lines. The deep wounds they

B u r n i n g i s s u e s   [ 141 ]

figure  89.  A dozer cuts a line close to the flames.

create can be hard to heal. Where natural resource values are paramount, other means are preferred, but when homes and lives are  in jeopardy, dozers become essential tools. CAL FIRE boasts the largest state-owned aircraft fleet for fighting fires, including 23 air tankers, 12 helicopters, and 17 tactical aircraft.  Aerial  drops  are  handled  by  helicopters  or  fixed-wing  airplanes (fig. 90). They may scoop or lift water in bags from nearby  lakes, or else drop chemicals. Fire retardants contain a slurry of  wetting agents to help the material coat and adhere to vegetation  and are colored red with ferric oxide to mark where they have been  dropped. Some brands are designed to gradually fade to an earth  tone with exposure to sun. Sulfates and phosphates in retardants 

[ 142 ]  B u r n i n g  i s s u e s

figure 90. Air tankers drop fire retardant colored with red dye.

can act as fertilizers to help the regrowth of plants after the fire but can be toxic to fish if dropped in water. Unfortunately, the high winds and turbulence of extreme fire weather, Santa Ana winds, or heavy smoke can make it too dangerous to fly at times when this equipment is most needed. Firefighters can, and do, suppress about 97 percent of wildfires. During the other 3 percent, those that usually correspond with extreme fire weather, they fall back to indirect efforts. They will attempt to save structures if personnel, equipment, and circumstances allow. Often, only a change in weather makes firefighting efforts effective and brings the end to major wildfires.

Making Peace: Restoring Fire Fighting fire has much in common with military warfare. Where those efforts have been most successful, to the point of temporary fire exclusion, the recent consequences have been more acres

B u r n i n g i s s u e s   [ 143 ]

figure   9 1.  A prescribed burn cleaning the understory and smaller-diameter trees in a Jeffrey pine forest.

burned and increasingly difficult and costly firefights. Instead of  the  warrior  concept,  some  fire  managers  have  instead  become  peacekeepers, aiming to restore a more benign relationship with  wildland fire. Their key tool is the science of prescribed burning. What is a prescribed burn? The term includes any fires ignited  under predetermined conditions to meet management objectives,  but there is more than one category (fig. 91). Besides burns close to  developed areas, “wildland fire use” allows naturally ignited fires  to continue burning on wild landscapes, so long as they fall within  the  criteria—the  prescription—that  will  accomplish  specific  resource  goals.  That  somewhat  bewildering  term,  wildland fire use, is another name for what was, for a while, called “prescribed 

[ 144 ]  B u r n i n g  i s s u e s

natural fire,” and before that a “let burn.” That name fell out of favor because let burn sounded far too casual for something that required such stringent criteria, planning, and monitoring. In either form, the purpose of prescribed fire is to reestablish, as much as possible, fire regimes that mimic or match conditions that existed before effective fire suppression altered the condition. Burning prescriptions look at weather, wind, season, humidity, fuel moisture, and fuel types. Plans include where the fire will travel after it is ignited and where it will either go out or be extinguished. Computer models incorporate fire behavior information with geographic information systems to predict fire spread. Smoke forecasts must be coordinated with air quality control districts. Crew safety plans and emergency procedures are specified in the planning phase. Fire breaks may be prepared to limit the burn. Equipment and personnel are organized. Drip torches are commonly used to ignite burns (fig. 92). A match is lit and, from the nozzle of a handheld canister, burning dollops of mixed diesel and gasoline begin falling into fuel on the ground. Burning often starts at a high point below the edge of a fire line, where a strip is burned a short distance uphill toward the cleared line. Successive strips may be fired that burn toward the blackened zone created by earlier strips. Gradually the black zone, where fire will not carry, becomes wide enough to increase its effectiveness as a fire break. Fire can gradually creep downhill through fuels as a controlled backing fire. Dropping below that point, additional strips may be ignited as head fires that will burn uphill and join the backing fire, both going out at that point. There are other ways to ignite fires. Terra torches are essentially flamethrowers, a way to shoot flames and extend the fire starter’s reach. Helicopters take over on large landscape-sized

B u r n i n g i s s u e s   [ 145 ]

figure   9 2 .  Handheld drip torches are commonly used to ignite prescribed  burns by dropping bits of flaming fuel.

burns.  They  sometimes  carry  a  machine  that  injects  small  balls  with  a  chemical  that  starts  a  heat-releasing  reaction  inside  the  Ping-Pong-like ball. They are dropped from the air, and within two  minutes after hitting the ground, small flames lick into the vegetation.  Helitorches,  slung  beneath  a  copter,  work  like  giant  drip  torches.  With  helicopters,  hundreds  of  otherwise  inaccessible  acres can be treated in a day, so costs per acre come down. Thousands  of  prescribed  burns  have  been  conducted  by  the  National Park Service since 1968; 1 percent turned into wildfires that  had to be suppressed. Similar statistics apply to the other agencies  that implement burns. Some escaped fires have turned into disasters, however. A few of the fires that burned as a complex in and  around Yellowstone National Park in 1988 began as “wildland use”  fires, started by lightning and allowed to burn until weather condi-

[ 146 ]  B u r n i n g  i s s u e s

tions changed. (Those that caused the most concern, however, were ignited by humans and fought from the outset. A woodcutter’s cigarette started the North Fork fire in the Targhee National Forest and burned into Yellowstone National Park, eventually totaling 373,000 acres.) In 2000, the Cerro Grande wildfire began after a prescribed burn in Bandelier National Monument led to a spot fire outside its boundaries. It was declared a wildfire and fought with a backfire that itself escaped control. The fire burned into Los Alamos, New Mexico, forcing 18,000 residents to evacuate, destroying 239 homes plus 39 structures within the Los Alamos National Laboratory complex. Investigations and national reviews of fire policy followed both the Yellowstone and Cerro Grande events. While measures were taken to modify techniques, the review panels also reaffirmed the necessity for prescribed fire to correct the problems of fire-starved ecosystems. Air pollution concerns are the biggest obstacle to scheduling and completion of prescribed burns in California, where air basins are already polluted with particulates and nitrogen oxide emissions from automobiles and industrial emissions. Just as agricultural burning of orchard cuttings and rice stubble has nearly been eliminated to reduce particulate pollution, regulations treat the smoke of prescribed fires as another human source of pollution. That seems shortsighted, since the smoke from intentional fires is a substitute for inevitable wildfire smoke. Through planning, much smaller smoke events can be timed to coincide with the best weather for dispersing smoke away from population centers. The massive smoke episodes from major wildfires can be avoided by spreading that potential across many better-controlled smoke events (fig. 93). Smoke from burns by Indigenous peoples, to sustain cultural practices, has not been classified as a human-made pollutant. An

B u r n i n g i s s u e s   [ 147 ]

f igu r e   9 3 .  Smoke  from  prescribed  burning  is  preferable  to  the  greater  release of smoke during an uncontrolled wildfire.

example of this kind of project was carried out in the Shasta-Trinity  and  Six  Rivers  National  Forests,  working  with  the  Nor-Rel-Muk  Tribe of the Wintu people and the California Indian Basketweavers  Association. The fuel was bear grass (Xerophyllum tenax), burned  in the late fall, just before the first winter rain, timed to produce  new shoots the next summer for quality basket materials. Burning on private lands has been coordinated by CAL FIRE’s  cooperative  vegetation  management  program  since  1982.  Costs  are shared, and a major incentive for private property owners is  that the state shoulders the liability costs. Since 1999, only about  10,000 acres per year have been treated. The Nature Conservancy is a nongovernmental organization  that  uses  prescribed  fire  on  their  privately  managed  lands   and  teaches  other  private  landowners  to  conduct  burns,  both  nationally and internationally. It has trained thousands of people 

[ 148 ]  B u r n i n g  i s s u e s

figure 94 . A wall of flame approaches a house during the 2003 Cedar fire in San Diego County.

in ecological management in a program that adheres to national standards. Some areas treated with prescribed fire have caused flames to “lie down” when they reached the treated area, helping firefighters to stop wildfire at the edges of that location. As the 2003 Cedar fire burned back into pine forests, after winds shifted it away from the coast, its eastward spread was stopped where prescribed burning had been done on 2,000 acres during the preceding years. The effects of burning are not the same in all vegetation types, though. When Southern California’s Santa Ana winds blow, they often move flames through very young age classes of chaparral fuel (fig. 94).

The Chaparral Dilemma Because chaparral fires burn as crown fires that kill the aboveground stems, precise fire histories like those from scars in trees

B u r n i n g i s s u e s   [ 149 ]

are not possible. Determining historic fire regimes becomes less  certain. So, perhaps it is not surprising that there has been a debate  about fire in chaparral ecosystems. Satellite imagery and aerial photographs have been analyzed to  compare  52  years  of  fire  history  north  and  south  of  the  border  between Southern California and Baja California. Almost no fire  suppression occurred in Baja when lightning or the burning done  by ranchers started fires. Ten times as many fires burned there as  in Southern California, but those fires were much smaller, rarely  exceeding  5,000  acres.  The  result  was  a  mosaic  of  many  small  fires, constrained by previously burned areas. North of the border  there were fewer, but much more massive fires. The map summarizing these data shows an abrupt transition at  the international border (map 9). The pattern has been interpreted  as the result of effective fire suppression in California, where most  fires that started were quickly extinguished, but because shrubland  fuels then built up, eventual large fires followed. But a different view about chaparral fire regimes has emerged.  The idea that fuel loads increase when most fires are quickly put  out is intuitive and familiar, essentially the problem at the center of  California’s  light-burning  debate  early  in  the  twentieth  century,  and it remains the accepted paradigm for fire regimes in ponderosa  pine forests. Yet, fire suppression in California has not excluded fire from chaparral shrublands. The same amount of acreage has continued to burn each year—about 30 percent of the southern chaparral landscape in every decade. While previous fires may constrain new wildfires under moderate weather conditions, the extreme force of Santa Ana winds alters  the fuel and fire relationship. Severe weather and wind are the most 

[ 150 ]  B u r n i n g  i s s u e s

C A L I F O R N I A

Stand Age years

0–5 6–10 11–16 17–22 23–28 29–34 35–40 41–46 47–52 52+

N

San Diego

er –Mexico Bord

United States

Tijuana

BA JA CA LI FO RN

10 miles

0

12 kilometers

IA

0

map 9. Fire perimeters in Southern California and Baja California chaparral over a 52-year period.

critical factors. In California, researchers detect no statistical correlation between fuel age and fires spreading into previously burned chaparral areas (map 10). About 25 percent of chaparral fuels burn when they are less than 20 years old, and significant amounts burn in all age classes of fuel.

B u r n i n g i s s u e s   [ 151 ]

Paradise Fire

Cedar Fire

Otay Fire

N

2003 Fire Perimeters Wildfire Dates Pre–1960 1961–1970 1971–1980 1981–1990 Post–1990

Prescribed Burn Areas

0

10 miles

0

12 kilometers

map 10 . Overlap of 2003 fire perimeters and previously burned areas.

These facts presented a challenge for land managers. Should fuel-reduction efforts be limited only to the wildland-urban interface areas and places where fires are repeatedly funneled by the terrain? The  fundamental  problem  is  not  that  chaparral  burns,  but  that  so  many  people  are  now  in  the  way  of  those  fires. In recent decades, fires are reburning areas at a great rate regardless of when those areas were burned or thinned in the interim. So, fuel reduction and prescribed burning projects in chaparral are being positioned near developed areas and other strategically valuable locations. In San Diego County, CAL FIRE has estimated that at present levels of agency capabilities, they can treat a maximum of 7,000 acres a year. At that rate, it would take 75 years before they could start the treatment cycle over again. To cut that down to about a 30- to 50-year cycle, roughly matching the firereturn interval in most of the region, they would have to burn 25,000 to 35,000 acres a year. Presently, they have little hope of obtaining the resources to meet that objective. Instead, the focus is on community protection, treating areas most at risk. A draft California Vegetation Treatment Program (CalVTP) was released in December 2019 by the Board of Forestry and Fire Protection. Acknowledging lessons from the megafire impacts of 2017 and 2018, the document noted that fuels reductions, alone, cannot solve the wildfire crisis of unstoppable fires primarily driven by wind. But such catastrophic fires are a small proportion of the thousands of fires that occur every year, most of which never reach such extreme levels. The goal of vegetation treatments, then, is to help slow and suppress the majority of fires and to help deal with extreme fires once weather conditions shift, winds subside, and fire intensity drops.

B u r n i n g i s s u e s   [ 153 ]

Logging versus Thinning Whenever fire and fuel management plans are debated, a heated  controversy emerges over timber harvesting, or “logging,” as a way  to reduce forest fuels, and whether standing dead trees should be  “salvaged”  after  fires,  before  they  fall  and  decompose  (fig.  95).  Removing  fuel  from  the  forest  seems,  intuitively,  like  it  should  reduce the threat of fire. Harvesting projects, whether they remove  green trees or dead trees after fires, create jobs and bring income to  local  economies.  But  logging  and  thinning  procedures,  before  or  after  fires,  can  increase  a  forest’s  flammability  if  slash  from  tree  limbs is left behind. In the Summary of the Sierra Nevada Ecosystem Project Report, scientists reported to Congress that historically, “timber harvest, through its effects on forest structure, local microclimate, and fuels accumulation, has increased fire severity more than  any other recent human activity. However, logging can serve as a  tool to help reduce fire hazard when slash is adequately treated and  treatments are maintained” (Wildland Resources Center 1996, 4). Research done after the Biscuit fire of 2002 allowed researchers to compare fire impacts on areas that had never been thinned,  areas  where  thinning  was  done  without  follow-up  burning,  and  areas where prescribed fires were carried out after thinning. Tree  mortality was highest in thinned plots where limbs and debris were  left in place (80 to 100 percent). The slash burned with killing heat.  Fewer trees died in the untreated stands (53 to 54 percent). Impacts  were least severe where thinning had been followed by burn treatments (just 5 percent mortality). Considerable controversy developed over another Biscuit fire  study  that  concluded  that  areas  where  postfire  salvage  logging  occurred  had  71  percent  fewer  conifer  seedlings  than  unlogged 

[ 154 ]  B u r n i n g  i s s u e s

figure 9 5. Boondocks cartoon.

areas. This study also detected an elevated fire risk because of increased surface fuel loads after salvage logging. Much less controversy exists about the fact that thousands of trees now occupy forest acres that before fire exclusion had generally supported less than a hundred trees per acre. A return to earlier conditions would be beneficial, because crowding stresses trees to the point that devastating crown fires happen. The Teakettle Experiment was an eight-year study in the Sierra Nevada that evaluated the effectiveness of prescribed burns, thinning, and a combination of thinning followed by burning for ecosystem restoration in mixed conifer forests. The results showed that fire suppression is the most damaging practice to forest health. Prescribed burning after understory thinning is the best option for restoring a wide range of ecosystem processes. Too much thinning, especially when cutting large overstory trees, was detrimental to wildlife. Additional evidence that a combination of thinning and burning can improve the health of trees themselves comes from places such as the Inyo National Forest. To gradually return the Jeffrey pine forest to pre-fire-exclusion conditions of less than 30 trees per acre, thinning began in the early 1970s. The first round brought tree numbers down to 150 to 200 per acre. Twenty years later, a second round of thinning began, aiming at 70 to 100 trees per acre.

B u r n i n g i s s u e s   [ 155 ]

Trees  that  were  taken  out  were  generally  less  than  20  inches  in  diameter. Slash was burned in piles or with low-intensity broadcast  burns. By the early 1990s, the crews were removing trees in areas  that had never been logged that averaged just 7 or 8 inches in diameter. But, where thinning had been done 20 years earlier, the average  size  of  the  trees  removed  had  increased  to  15  inches.  After  thinning, trees left behind had grown faster because of less competition for water, nutrients, and sunlight. Tree  trunks  hauled  away  represent  lost  biomass  that  a  fire  would instead recycle in place. The most limiting nutrient in pine  forests is nitrogen, with most of that stored in needles rather than  in the boles, but ash does also contribute phosphorus and calcium.  Burning on site also provides the benefits of heat and smoke, which  trigger biological responses that are lost when fuels are reduced  simply by logging. And fires move with variable effects that lead to  ecosystem diversity for soils, plants, and animals. To  make  thinning  projects  on  public  lands  profitable  in  the  Sierra  Nevada  forests,  timber  contractors  have  been  allowed  to  remove one tree per acre that was up to 30 inches in diameter and  would not otherwise be cut. The value of that one large tree generally covered the average cost per acre to clean up slash. Without  that incentive, foresters say, thinning projects might not proceed   at all. Harvests  of  marketable  timber  have  always  focused  on  tree  trunks—the biggest, least flammable vegetation in a forest. New  mills and markets have gradually transitioned to work with smallerdiameter trees. In California, few can now handle trees more than  30 inches in diameter. The recent mandates to reduce California’s  overall greenhouse gas emissions should encourage development  of  more  power  plants  that  can  generate  electricity  by  burning 

[ 156 ]  B u r n i n g  i s s u e s

figure 96. Thinning piles being burned in El Dorado National Forest.

renewable biomass, providing a market for even more small material to replace traditional fossil fuel generation. Wherever fuels treatments and restoration efforts are considered to create more fire-safe forests, four objectives hold: reduce  surface fuels, reduce understory fuels, reduce crown density, and  keep large fire-resistant trees. A focus on wildland-urban interface  areas is the first priority. Beyond that “triage” decision, mixed conifer forests are a high priority for restoration because their natural  fire regimes have been so transformed by fire exclusion (fig. 96).  Restoring presettlement conditions has long been a goal, though  with  global  climate  change,  it  may  have  become  impossible  or  inappropriate  to  revert  back  to  the  conditions  of  a  century  ago.  Every decision about fire must be specific to the site—its vegetation,  wildlife,  watershed  characteristics,  and  land  ownership  constraints.

Fire Policy and Plans Both national and California fire plans exist to assess wildland fire  risks and challenges and set goals and policies. California’s most  recent plans were prepared by CAL FIRE and the state’s Board of  Forestry  and  Fire  Protection.  County  and  statewide  fire  threat  maps were adopted (map 11) to designate areas (1) where there is  an  elevated  risk  for  destructive  power  line  fires  and  (2)  where  stricter fire-safety regulations should apply. A  new  California  Vegetation  Treatment  Plan  (CalVTP)  was  released for public comments in early 2020. It recognized that the  most  destructive  fires  are  primarily  driven  by  wind  and,  during  extreme wind conditions, may not be influenced much by vegetation treatments like thinning and prescribed burning. However, 

[ 158 ]  B u r n i n g  i s s u e s

most of California’s thousands of annual fires are not highly wind driven, and treating vegetation may help slow and suppress those.

A Fire-Safe Power Grid Most of the large and deadly wildfires that hit California in recent years were linked to sparks from electrical transformers and damaged poles (see “The Flames of History”). Fire investigators identified PG&E equipment tied to 17 blazes in Northern California in 2017. In 2018, a transmission line operated by PG&E sparked the deadly Camp fire that destroyed the town of Paradise (fig. 97). Southern California Edison equipment was associated with the 2018 Woolsey and Thomas fires.

Public Safety Power Shutoffs: Do They Increase Safety? In October 2019, Public Safety Power Shutoffs (PSPSs) were instituted as a tactic to reduce the risk of power systems igniting wildfires and to reduce utility liability. For weeks, the controversial preemptive blackouts disrupted life for millions of Californians, broadening the impact of the wildfire situation beyond the smaller number of people directly in the line of fires. That October, PG&E cut power to 730,000 customers across 34 northern and central California counties, from Humboldt County down to Kern County. A second intentional outage left nearly 3 million people in the dark on October 27. Southern California Edison also used PSPSs; their largest shutoff, in late October, hit some 30,000 homes and businesses in the southern part of the state. Shutoffs lasted several days before all power equipment was inspected for wind damage and residential power was restored. When several fires began that fall

B u r n i n g i s s u e s   [ 159 ]

80

Alameda County

580 580

880

680

Fire Hazard Zones Very high High Moderate Developed area outside hazard zones

San Diego County

5

215

8

ma p 1 1 . Above: Fire hazard severity zone county maps, 2007.

m a p 1 1 (continued). Above: State fire threat map, adopted by the California Public Utilities Commission, 2018.

figure  9 7.  A PG&E utility worker ran as power poles and lines burned during the 2018 Camp fire.

despite  the  PSPSs,  questions  about  their  effectiveness  became  widespread, and a backlash developed against the approach. Burying power lines underground would be an expensive alternative. PG&E estimates a $3 million per mile cost to bury lines.  California has 25,526 miles of high-voltage transmission lines and  239,557 miles of distribution lines, two-thirds of which are overhead,  according  to  the  California  Public  Utilities  Commission  (CPUC). Claims against PG&E for years of wildfire liability forced the  utility into bankruptcy in 2019. Lawyers for fire victims of 2017 and  2018 had estimated that claims totaled $54 billion. In a December  2019 settlement agreement with claimants and insurance companies, the utility agreed to pay $13.5 billion to victims of the Camp  fire of 2018, the 2017 Tubbs fire, the Butte fire of 2015, and also a 

[ 162 ]  B u r n i n g  i s s u e s

2016 warehouse fire in Oakland. However, California Governor Newsom rejected that proposal, which was meant to allow PG&E to emerge from bankruptcy, calling instead for a plan to focus more on safety and reliability going forward. A commitment to maintenance was needed, including replacing old wooden poles and fuses, lessening loads on power lines, and putting more separation between the lines to avoid “line slap” in high winds. Newsom went so far as to threaten a public takeover of the utility if an adequate plan was not produced. On June 16, 2020, the utility pled guilty, in a Chico courtroom, to 84 felony involuntary manslaughter counts, for all of the victims of the Camp fire, and a single count of unlawfully starting the fire. For the 2020 fire season, PG&E installed hundreds of devices to better localize power outages, set up weather stations to pinpoint severe weather forecasts, added backup generators for some high-fire-threat communities, and increased field crews and helicopters to promptly respond to damage. In late October, the utility shut off power to 345,000 Northern Californians, due to high winds, but restored power in just three days. After that windstorm, they found at least 76 instances of hazardous damage that might otherwise have ignited wildfires.

B u r n i n g i s s u e s   [ 163 ]

Getting Ready Life on the Edge

Living in fire country today is like having a grizzly bear hibernate in your backyard; it’s a thrill, but at some point the bear wakes up. joh n m ac l e a n, 2004, 3

Flammability, fuel loads, and winds do not explain the number of simultaneous fires, the number of houses destroyed, or the number of deaths in 2017, 2018, and 2020. Some of that explanation lies with the human population. By 2020, almost 20 million people resided in Southern California’s coastal basins, from Ventura south to San Diego, while the state of California approached 40 million residents. According to CAL FIRE, millions of homes now lie within the various “fire hazard severity zones” around the state.

Wildland-Urban Interface Many of those millions live in the wildland-urban interface (WUI), the areas where structures and other human development meet undeveloped wildlands and their flammable vegetation. The state fire plan defines three levels of risk in the interface zone (map 12).

[ 164 ]

Fire Environments Developed Mixed Undeveloped Nonflammable

N

0 0

50

100 miles

100 kilometers

map 12 . California’s wildland-urban interface areas.

Developed WUI areas are the classic interface areas, places where housing density is greater than one house per 5 acres, with wildlands within 1 mile. About 9 million acres (9 percent of the state) are classified as flammable developed fire environments (fig. 98). The mixed interface zone includes areas where scattered houses are interspersed with vegetation. Mixed interface comprises over 46 million acres in California. Undeveloped WUI areas have less

G e t t i n G R e a d y   [ 165 ]

f iGu R e   9 8.  Flames  approaching  Emerald  Bay  homes  during  the  1993  Laguna Beach fire.

than one house per 160 acres in places more than 3 miles from any  area with greater density. These areas are where ecosystem management can happen, where historic fire regimes may have created  a shifting mosaic of forest structure, and the fire agencies have a  reasonable  chance  of  containing  an  escaped  fire.  This  category  amounts to nearly 40 million acres, or 40 percent of the state. Since 2008, California’s building code has required fire-resistant  roofing  materials  and  windows  on  new  construction  (over  developers’ objections). Homes built to those standards survived  much better in the Camp fire of 2018: 51 percent of those built after  2008  survived,  compared  with  just  18  percent  of  older  houses.  Unfortunately, just 3 percent of the homes in Paradise were built  after 2008 to the higher standards. But several thousand homes  recently  constructed  on  the  edge  of  wildlands  in  Irvine  were  designed with fire resistance in mind, explaining part of the suc-

[ 166 ]  G e t t i n G  R e a d y

cess in suppressing the Silverado fire in the face of Santa Ana winds in October 2020. The governor’s proposed state budget for 2020 included $110 million for a pilot program to harden hospitals, fairgrounds used as evacuation shelters, and rural homes against fire risk, and to expand CAL FIRE’s defensible space inspections around rural homes. But in May, that funding was reduced in the economic downtown related to the COVID-19 pandemic. Zoning laws to control urban sprawl have been particularly controversial in California, where so much of the economy has been driven by real estate development ever since statehood. Multiple jurisdictions in a fire-prone region may have different zoning policies that complicate regional planning. One measure that new developments can incorporate is green space, such as golf courses and recreation parks, positioned as fuelbreak buffers between development and flammable wildlands. Tax credits would be a helpful incentive for individuals who make investments to reduce their property’s risks from wildfire. For decades, the Federal Emergency Management Agency has helped arrange voluntary sales of properties destroyed by floods, to break a cycle of flood rebuilding in high-risk areas. A similar approach could be used to break the “burn—rebuild—burn again” cycle in a fire-prone location. It will not be feasible to buy out millions of Californians, but a purchase program might at least target areas at the greatest wildfire risk. California governors have made fairly ineffective suggestions to “deprioritize” new development in high-fire-risk areas, yet land use authority is generally vested with local governments that have been reluctant to say no to new developments. Decisions to approve developments within high-fire-risk zones, because “growth is good,” means decision-makers share culpability for the inevitable fires that occur.

G e t t i n G R e a d y   [ 167 ]

Becoming a Fire-Adapted Californian Could your house survive without firefighter protection, on its own?  Do you know the fire-return interval in your area and where you fall  in  that  regime?  When  was  the  last  wildland  fire  to  impact  your  neighborhood? Fires are a natural occurrence, but they become  human-made disasters when unprepared people are in their path.  The  government  has  responsibilities,  but  those  who  live  in  the  wildland-urban  interface  also  have  personal  responsibilities.  If  Californians handle those challenges the right way, they too might  become a “fire-adapted species.”

Before the Fire, Be Ember Aware Be  prepared  before  a  fire  approaches.  Construction  choices  for  structures are as important as changes to vegetation around houses  (see “Defensible Space” below). Roofs are a key concern (figs. 99,  100).  Houses  need  protection  from  direct  flames  and  radiated  heat,  certainly,  but  tiny  blowing  embers  are  the  most  insidious  source of house ignitions. Firebrands carried for miles by the wind  are a primary cause of home loss in wildfires. Even the tiniest of  embers  can  ignite  wood  shingle  roofs,  enter  attics  through  unscreened  vents,  settle  beneath  decks,  burn  leaf  debris  in  rain  gutters, or start fires in plants along the edges of homes that then  will spread to the structures themselves. Class A, fire-resistant roof materials include clay and concrete  tiles, metal roofing, and asphalt composition shingles. Anything  less protective in the WUI zone is a mistake. Wood shakes treated  with fire retardant are Class B coverings but can meet the Class A 

[ 168 ]  G e t t i n G  R e a d y

f igu r e 9 9. In 1993, fire ultimately consumed this house, starting with the roof.

figure 10 0. Winds can carry embers to start spot fires a mile ahead of the main fire.

fiGu Re 1 0 1 .  Wood shingles and dry pine needles—a recipe for a roof fire.

rating if underlying gypsum panels are used for additional protection. Untreated wood shakes invite a roof fire (fig. 101). Attic vents must be screened (mesh between one-sixteenth and  one-eighth  inch)  to  keep  flying  embers  out.  Overhanging  eaves  should  be  boxed  in.  Edge  gutters  should  be  nonflammable  and  kept clean of debris. Houses have been lost when glass windows failed in the face of  intense radiated heat. Double- or triple-pane windows help insulate against such loss. For more protection, install metal shutters or  prepare precut covers to be screwed or nailed in place when a fire  approaches. Thinning vegetation back from homes can eliminate  much of this threat to windows (see “Defensible Space”). The  choice  of  materials  for  exterior  walls  is  also  important.  Noncombustible  choices  may  even  lower  your  fire  insurance   bill  (fig.  102).  Because  spaces  beneath  decks  and  porches  can  

[ 170 ]  G e t t i n G  R e a d y

fiGu Re 10 2. Good construction to resist fire: a metal roof, enclosed eaves, fire-resistant walls, and decks on the ground.

accumulate embers and ignite the overhead planks, decks should either be on the ground or have their overhang area protected from blowing embers with sidewalls or fine wire mesh (fig. 103). If your water supply comes from a well, consider a backup generator so the pump can keep operating when a fire has interfered with electrical service. A water tank or cistern can deliver unpumped water by gravity flow. Residential indoor fire sprinkler systems have been required since 2011 for new single-family residences and duplexes in California. They have the advantage of working when no one is home and could stop a house fire from spreading to neighboring houses or land. Exterior sprinkler systems have saved homes in extremely high-fire-hazard zones. They are most reliable when coupled with an independent water supply, like a swimming pool or water tank. Sprinklers attached to

G e t t i n G R e a d y   [ 171 ]

fiGu Re 10 3.  Close vegetation and an unenclosed deck make a home harder  to defend against fire.

garden hoses, dependent on the local water supply, are another  alternative. Another  level  of  security  can  be  delivered  with  gel  foams.  Similar to those used by fire departments, they are sold to homeowners in gallon jugs and with spray nozzles to attach to a garden  hose.  So  long  as  there  is  enough  water  pressure,  they  can  coat  eaves,  windows,  decks,  wood  shingle  roofs,  propane  tanks,  and  even ornamental plants with a fire-resistant gel that will last for 6  to 8 hours. Later, the water-soluble, biodegradable foam can be  hosed off. de f e n sible  space The objective of defensible space is to reduce the impact of fires  and maximize the survivability of your home so it has the best odds 

[ 172 ]  G e t t i n G  R e a d y

of withstanding wildfire, on its own, without firefighter protection. The goals are lean, green, and clean: Lean. Break up contiguous fuels and eliminate ladder fuels by clearing space between plants, controlling the heights of shrubs, and pruning the lower limbs of trees. Green. Keep plants robust and well irrigated so they have good moisture content. This may include substituting certain plants with less-flammable alternatives. Clean. Remove the most flammable materials: the debris of fallen leaves and branches and dead material held in shrubs and trees. The most effective efforts change with the distance from a structure (fig. 104, table 1). In the first 30 feet, almost everything should be fireproof. Landscaping should be low, green, and regularly watered. Firewood stacks should be outside this 30-foot zone; a cord of dry firewood stacked more conveniently close is like piling 160 gallons of gasoline beside your house. That is not a wise idea when the flames and embers arrive. From 30 feet to 100 feet (or greater distances, depending on slopes and local winds), plants should be thinned, cleared of dead material, and regularly watered (perhaps 15 minutes a week in native vegetation) so fuel moisture levels are high. Waiting to hose down plants (or roofs) as a fire approaches may be ineffective and may not even be possible, should water pressure fail. During a wildfire, electrical pumps may stop working or water pressure fall because nearby hydrants are open or because all your neighbors are spraying their roofs. So water plants on a regular basis.

G e t t i n G R e a d y   [ 173 ]

Out to 30 feet

Out 30 to 100 feet

Zone 1

Zone 2

Zone 3

“Firewise” landscaping

Up to 30% native brush retained

Up to 50% native brush retained

figure 1 0 4 . Defensive space treatment zones.

Native Vegetation

Defensible Space Factor Study from the 1990 Painted Cave Fire, Santa Barbara Roof Type

Characteristics of Site

Surviving Structures

Wood roof

Less than 30 feet of defensible space, no defensive action taken

4%

Less than 30 feet of defensible space Non-wood roof More than 30 feet of defensible space More than 30 feet of defensible space, defensive action taken

15% 90% 99%

Source: Adapted from Foote et al. 1991.

Weedy grasses that are easily ignited and carry fire to larger plants should be removed or kept mowed. But “do not go nude, go thin” (as the Fire Safe Council of San Diego County suggests). Landscapes need not and should not be entirely cleared. Removing natural shrubs and replacing them with grass can be a mistake. Not only is the grass easy to ignite, but it will not control erosion after a fire as well as the deep root systems of native shrubs. Ice plant, grown as ground cover on many Southern California coastal slopes, resists burning but is also a poor choice for erosion control. With very shallow roots, the mats of vegetation may slip when the weight of the plants builds up. Slopes not only increase the threat of fires burning uphill, but also accelerate the velocity of water moving downslope. Erosion control needs to be balanced with vegetation choices. Though specific actions will vary with your circumstances, these measures are legal requirements. California’s Public Resources Code Section 4291 directs homeowners who live near flammable wildland landscapes to create fire breaks by clearing flammable vegetation or combustible growth within 30 feet of structures, or to property lines, whichever is less. Homeowners may be required to

G e t t i n G R e a d y   [ 175 ]

When Fire Insurance Becomes Inadequate or Unavailable It is essential to have homeowner’s fire insurance when you live in  California,  especially  in  the  wildland-urban  interface  (WUI).  But  many homeowners who have suffered total losses in California wildfires discover that they were underinsured. From 2010 to 2018, nearly  half  of  the  complaints  to  the  California  Department  of  Insurance  involved underinsurance. One lesson, then, is to pay attention to coverage  details,  particularly  about  replacement  after  total  loss  and  inflation adjustments to your home’s value. Since 2015, with more megafires occurring, insurance companies  have  declined  to  renew  policies  in  areas  at  high  risk  for  wildfires   (fig.  105).  Insurance  providers  sent  nonrenewal  notices  to  42,088  homeowners in WUI locations in 2019. Most had to buy replacement  coverage from the Californian’s “insurer of last resort,” the California Fair Access to Insurance Requirements (FAIR) Plan. California  law requires insurers to pool FAIR funds for covering people who cannot buy fire insurance through no fault of their own. The FAIR Plan is  not a state agency and has no public funding, and it usually provides  coverage at higher prices than homeowners had been paying. Comprehensive coverage beyond just fire losses was added to the FAIR  program in June 2020. The number of FAIR Plan purchases jumped  from 140,000 in 2018 to over 200,000 in 2020. To assist over 2 million  residential  policyholders  in  California,  the  state’s  insurance  commissioner declared, in 2019 and again in 2020, one-year moratoriums on nonrenewal or cancellation of insurance policies.

create additional fire protection or fire breaks within 100 feet of a  structure (if ordered by local agencies on larger parcels). The law does not mandate clearing to bare ground around residences, or wholesale clearance of low-growing native shrubs and  trees. Within the treated 30-foot and 100-foot zones, it allows for  individual trees or other plants, including native ones, that are well 

[ 176 ]  G e t t i n G  R e a d y

2018

300

276 250 Renewal issues 200 175 150

100 Premium increases 50

0

2010

2011

2012

2013

2014

2015

2016

2017

2018

fiGuRe 10 5. From 2010 to 2018, complaints to the California Department of Insurance about rising premiums and renewal issues increased dramatically.

pruned and maintained so that they will not rapidly transmit fire. Beyond 30 feet from a structure, grass and other vegetation may be grown to stabilize soils and prevent erosion. Shrubs should be pruned to less than 18 inches high. Insurance carriers may require that you assent to larger fire breaks or fire-protection zones, but companies cannot

G e t t i n G R e a d y   [ 177 ]

require  owners  to  clear  all  vegetation.  If  your  structure  is  built  from  nonflammable  exterior  materials,  you  may  be  allowed  to  modify  or  eliminate  these  fire  break  and  fire-protection  zones,  after  exterior  and  interior  inspections  and  the  approval  of  local  officials. Initial  steps  toward  defensible  space  may  require  the  most  work,  with  ongoing  maintenance  becoming  easier.  Since  plants  increase in size each growing season, and portions of them regularly  die,  having  defensible  space  is  a  never-ending  same-timenext-year story. Good maintenance is a necessary task that may  save property and lives and, of course, is a legal requirement. The interior of a house also needs attention. A complete household inventory should be prepared to make insurance claims provable in case of a loss. It should include lists for every room in the  house, plus the garage and outbuildings, with the values for items  and serial numbers for any items that have them. A photographic  or narrated video record can go along with the inventory list. Place  a copy in a fireproof box, or better yet, store it off the premises in a  bank safe-deposit box or with a relative. Also include receipts and  insurance documents to support an insurance claim. The California  Department of Insurance will provide a free home inventory guide  to take you step by step through this process. Now is the time to prepare an emergency evacuation supply  bag and develop an evacuation plan. Make sure all family members  understand  the  possible  routes  for  evacuation  and  where  the   family  should  meet,  if  separated.  Each  driver  needs  to  practice  operating the manual lever to your electric garage door opener so  that the door can be lifted even when power is off. Where is the  shutoff valve on your propane tank or natural gas meter? The time  to learn these things is long before a fire approaches.

[ 178 ]  G e t t i n G  R e a d y

fiGuRe 106. Horses were evacuated as flames approached during the Cedar fire of 2003.

How and where to evacuate animals, particularly large livestock, needs to be part of the plan. Horse corrals might serve as areas of bare soil where animals survive, but only if the corrals are large and not near trees or shrubs. Realize that blowing embers are also a risk to animals (fig. 106). Community fire-safe plans should include information about where to temporarily stable livestock. The facilities at county fairgrounds have been opened in some cases. Early evacuation can be critical in order to prevent animals from becoming so panicked that they cannot be loaded into trailers.

During the Fire You have seen smoke. Ash may be falling from the sky. Perhaps you have been alerted by neighbors or over the phone or directly by officials. A wildfire is burning that may threaten your home. Tune in to a local radio station and listen for instructions (though rapid

G e t t i n G R e a d y   [ 179 ]

changes may happen and stations may not always have current,  accurate information). It is time to make decisions and share them  with a family member or friend. It is time to carry out the following  suggested actions that can help firefighters protect your property  after you evacuate. During  a  wildfire,  you  will  likely  be  told  to  evacuate,  to   protect yourself and your family from life-threatening situations.  Evacuation orders may be issued as a precaution, or become mandatory when there is an immediate threat. California’s Penal Code  authorizes officers to close areas where a menace to public health  or safety exists. It is a misdemeanor to remain after receiving a  mandatory evacuation order. Go early. Waiting too long can make traveling more dangerous  than staying in place. Smoke and congestion can bring traffic to a  standstill (and block fire trucks trying to reach the area). People  have died when flames ran over their cars or caught them on foot  after they abandoned trapped cars. Homeowners who stay at their properties can hinder firefighting efforts. Do not count on firefighters’ being able to help. It is critical to understand that sheltering in place is dangerous and could be deadly, particularly if you have not properly prepared your house and yard. t h i nG s to  do  ou tdooR s Move vehicles into the garage, facing outward, with windows rolled  up. If a car must be left outside, park it away from your house and  downwind. Cars outside are prone to burn, even if the windows are  rolled up, because burning embers blown underneath can ignite  the rubber tires or oily undercarriage.

[ 180 ]  G e t t i n G  R e a d y

Close the garage door, but leave it unlocked, ready to be opened manually. Garages are typically full of flammable clutter, so do not open the door unless you are ready to drive away. Gather valuable papers and mementos, and place them in a car in the garage. Bring combustible patio furniture indoors. Shut off propane at the tank, or natural gas at the meter. Prop a ladder against the house or, as a ladder will likely fall in high winds, lay it nearby for access to your roof. Connect garden hoses to faucets and attach spray nozzles. Fill outside trash cans with water and put them where they will be seen by firefighters; position buckets near the swimming pool or hot tub. Consider keeping your roof moist by spraying water. Wet the house with sprinklers. t h i nG s to do indooR s Close all exterior doors, windows, and vents, but do not lock doors. Turn on interior and exterior lights, which can help firefighters locate a house at night or in heavy smoke. Intense heat radiating from burning yard vegetation can ignite curtains or furniture inside a window, so take down lightweight and/or non-fire-resistant curtains, and shift combustible furnishings (couches, stuffed chairs, etc.) toward the center of the room. If you have fire-resistant drapes or blinds, close them. Fill bathtubs, sinks, and buckets with water. Keep in mind that the water heater and toilet tanks are available sources of water. Gather rags, towels, small rugs, or mops, to soak with water for beating out embers or small fires, and, of course, any home fire extinguishers. Go room to room, closing interior doors and leaving a light on in each room. Turn off pilot flames to gas water heaters and gas ranges.

G e t t i n G R e a d y   [ 181 ]

Change into cotton or wool clothing (fabrics like nylon can melt),  including long pants and a long-sleeved shirt or jacket. Put on boots  and gloves and a handkerchief or a painter’s mask to block smoke,  prepare containers of drinking water, and carry a cell phone. If you are caught there when the actual fire front arrives and  cannot leave, stay indoors and wait until it passes by (this may take  a quarter of an hour or longer). As conditions improve, check outside for embers or small fires that may have started. Extinguish any  fire against the house, in rain gutters, and in the attic. If a fire should occur within the house, contact the fire department immediately. “Stay  calm”  may  seem  like  ludicrous  advice,  but  panic  that  results in foolish, last-minute evacuation attempts could be tragic.  If you find yourself in this most challenging of circumstances, trust  your preparations and the fire resistance built into well-designed,  well-prepared homes. If you have not earlier prepared your house  for fire, do evacuate early and expect the worst when you return.

After the Fire When you return to your home after the threat of fire has ended, be  alert for downed power lines, and check propane tanks and lines  before turning the gas back on. Prepare your property, soon, to handle runoff that may cause floods or mudslides after the first heavy  rainfall. After the 2017 Tubbs and 2018 Camp fires, contamination  by volatile organic compounds was found in water serving homes  through  damaged  distribution  pipes,  meters,  and  valves.  Water  authorities warned against drinking the water, even if boiled, as  boiling might concentrate chemicals and worsen exposure. Fixing 

[ 182 ]  G e t t i n G  R e a d y

such problems in the delivery system is a water utility’s responsibility, but ensuring water quality inside homes falls to home owners when, for example, heat has damaged plastic pipes within the walls.

COVID-19 Pandemic Impacts on Wildfire In March 2020, a pandemic spread around the world due to the coronavirus COVID-19 (the number was applied because this virus was identified in 2019). By mid-November 2020, over 986,000 positive cases had been identified in California, leading to more than 18,000 deaths, and as this book moved toward publication, numbers in California were still continuing to increase. The United States, at that point, had 10.2 million cases and more than 239,000 deaths. Globally, totals had reached 50.92 million infections and 1.26 million deaths (fig. 107). The pandemic challenged wildland fire operations in multiple ways. An early state budget proposal had included $101 million toward retrofitting older homes in high-risk wildfire zones. California also planned on $200 million in new funding for additional full-time firefighters and support personnel. But faced with a massive budget deficit as the pandemic increased expenditures while economic activity and tax revenue dropped, both efforts were jeopardized. The governor vowed to work with the legislature toward salvaging the retrofit program that was cut out of a modified budget, and hiring of new fire staff was reduced from 500 to 172. The pool of available firefighters from California’s prisons, which can provide about 40 percent of firefighting crews in large incidents, shrank drastically when coronavirus spread into

G e t t i n G R e a d y   [ 183 ]

fiGu Re  1 07.  Wildfire in August 2020, part of the LNU Lightning Complex,  made a Napa County senior center’s COVID-19 message ironically out of date.

crowded  prisons  and  the  state  began  releasing  inmates  early.  Available inmate fire crews dropped to 94 from 192. It was also near  impossible  to  isolate  inmate  fire  crews  for  quarantine  periods  before sending them to a fire scene, or to quarantine them after the  fire season before returning them to prison. CAL FIRE intended   to  address  the  shortfall  by  hiring  858  more  seasonal  firefighters   and  using  more  help  from  the  National  Guard  and  California  Conservation Corps. “Social distancing,” face masks, and frequent hand washing  became recommended standards for all Californians to counter  the spread of the disease, but meeting such standards while fighting wildfire was logistically challenging. To respond to incidents,  fire crews sometimes travel long distances, in trucks where it is difficult to keep apart. Crew members usually work close together 

[ 184 ]  G e t t i n G  R e a d y

while fighting fire. Base camps, or “Incident Command Posts,” can become temporary “towns” during large fires that, even before the COVID crisis, often fostered the spread of germs. “Camp crud” was the result of such crowding. During the 2020 fire season, crews were isolated from each other. Boxed meals were provided instead of chow lines and tables for communal meals. Briefings were done by radio or online to avoid physically gathering in groups. Equipment sharing was tightly limited. Individual crews spread out into many small camps, instead of concentrating into a single zone. When crews formed at the start of the fire season, following a two-week period without testing positive or showing symptoms of coronavirus, isolated crews would not need to wear face coverings unless they interacted with anyone outside their group. The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) guidelines for wildland firefighters noted that support personnel could be at higher risk of severe COVID-19 cases because they tended to be older than frontline firefighters and more likely to have underlying medical conditions, and they were likely to have more community interactions. These measures proved generally effective, with no severe outbreaks among firefighters in the western states in 2020. Yet at least 222 federal wildland firefighters did test positive for the COVID-19 virus. One Bureau of Land Management firefighter, from Alaska, died in August shortly after testing positive while on the job. Community members forced to evacuate because of wildfire have often been accommodated in crowded shelters. Two hundred evacuees from the 2019 Camp fire in Butte County had caught a norovirus at shelters. To stem the spread of contagious disease among the homeless in cities, the state placed some in empty hotel

G e t t i n G R e a d y   [ 185 ]

rooms, and they extended that policy to fire evacuees. Where they  had to be housed in large shelters, social distancing, wearing of  masks, and body temperature monitoring were required.

Kindling Change You are not alone. California has more than 160 fire-safe councils,  57 of these community-based groups in San Diego County alone.  Volunteers with councils may schedule inspections to help homeowners identify their problem areas and help them make corrections. They often coordinate central drop-off locations for pruned  material and cuttings to be piled, chipped, hauled away, or burned  in place at no cost to the homeowner (fig. 108). Fire-safe councils  receive funding through donations and federal grants. Unprecedented levels of greenhouse gases, released by human  burning of fossil fuels, are altering global weather by trapping heat  energy  in  the  atmosphere  and  the  oceans.  Long-term  droughts,  record-breaking hot spells, and increasingly powerful winds have  desiccated wildland vegetation and reduced the ability of trees to  fend off bark beetles. A pyrocumulonimbus cloud that built 8 miles  high,  reaching  into  the  stratosphere  during  the  Creek  fire  of  September 2020, dramatically demonstrated the awesome energy  released  as  a  forest  crowded  with  dead  pine  trees  exploded  in  flames (fig 109). Population  growth  keeps  fueling  California’s  wildfire  challenges.  Someday,  soon,  we  must  resolve  that  issue,  as  it  drives  many  of  the  state’s  environmental  and  quality  of  life  problems,  including the climate crisis. That is just one of the urgent actions  that could reduce greenhouse gas emissions. Others are to replace 

[ 186 ]  G e t t i n G  R e a d y

f iGu R e 1 0 8. The community of Wawona provides a central burn pile for yard cuttings.

fossil fuel consumption with renewable energy and transportation systems, and plan for adaptation to changes that have become inevitable. It is important to foster education about fire ecology concepts and the environment, to be informed citizens, aware of our places in the natural landscape, and to be leery of headlines that shout “Destruction!” and “Devastation!” wherever wildland fires have burned. Such terms apply when fires cross into developed zones but are generally misleading about the effects of fire on the burned wildland itself. “To eliminate fire . . . is to eliminate the artist’s palette that provides the colors and textures of the landscape” (Wuerthner 2006,

G e t t i n G R e a d y   [ 187 ]

f igu r e 1 0 9. A pyrocumulonimbus cloud loomed above the Creek fire on September 5, 2020, when the fire entered a dense stand of dead pines. The cloud rose 8 miles, penetrated into the stratosphere, and generated rain and lightning.

142). That’s very true, though eliminating fire is not really possible. It can only be postponed. Fire is a transforming “artist,” a creative force that forges growth and recovery by, paradoxically, first breaking things apart. Life in California must adapt to fire. And that includes us.

G e t t i n G R e a d y   [ 189 ]

Online Fire Resources

Fire Prevention and Preparation CAL FIRE Fire Hazard Severity Zone Maps, https://osfm.fire.ca.gov /divisions/wildfire-planning-engineering/wildland-hazards-buildingcodes/fire-hazard-severity-zones-maps/ California Fire Safe Council, https://cafiresafecouncil.org/ Fire prevention and safety tips, www.nfpa.org/Public-Education/Fire-causesand-risks/Wildfire/Firewise-USA Ready, Set, Go! www.wildlandfirersg.org Smokey Bear program, https://smokeybear.com/en

California Agencies CAL FIRE (formerly CDF), www.fire.ca.gov/ California Department of Insurance, www.insurance.ca.gov Office of the State Fire Marshal, http://osfm.fire.ca.gov

National Agencies Bureau of Indian Affairs, Branch of Wildland Fire Management, www.bia .gov/bia/ots/dfwfm/bwfm Bureau of Land Management, Office of Fire and Aviation, www.blm.gov /programs/fire-and-aviation National Interagency Fire Center, www.nifc.gov/fireInfo/nfn.htm

[ 191 ]

National Park Service, Fire, www.nps.gov/subjects/fire/index.htm U.S. Department of Agriculture, Forest Service, www.fs.usda.gov  /managing-land/fire U.S. Fire Administration (Homeland Security’s Federal Emergency Management Agency [FEMA]), www.usfa.fema.gov U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service, Fire Management, www.fws.gov/fire

[ 192 ]  O n l i n e  F i r e  r e s O u r c e s

Glossary

BackBurn   A fire deliberately ignited in advance of a wildfire front to  deprive it of fuel. Also called backfire. c at face  An open fire scar at the base of a tree. c omBu stion   Another name for fire; a rapid oxidation process chemically  combining hydrocarbons with oxygen to produce carbon dioxide, water,  and energy as heat and light. c onduct ion   The transfer of heat from molecule to molecule. c on tain a  f i r e   To complete a fire line around the perimeter of a fire. c on trol a  f i r e   To completely extinguish a fire. c onvection   The movement of heat through the air. c rown fir e   A fire burning in the canopies of trees or shrubs. defensi Bl e s pac e   An area where flammable material has been cleared,  reduced, or replaced with less-flammable material, as a barrier to  approaching wildland fires. duff  The layer of soil with partially decomposed and extensively decayed  organic matter, immediately above the mineral soil. f ine f uel s   Fuels such as grass and pine needles that ignite readily and  are consumed rapidly when dry. f ire in te n s i t y   The heat release per unit of length of fire line. f ire line  A barrier to stop the movement of fire, often formed by scraping  vegetation away, down to mineral soil. f ire regi m e   The characteristic fire patterns of an ecosystem, including  seasonality, fire-return interval, size, spatial complexity, intensity,  severity, and fire type.

[ 193 ]

Fire -ret u r n i n t e rva l   The length of time between fires in a particular  area. Fl ame le nG t h  The average maximum length along the axis of a flame;  directly relates to fire intensity. F uel   Any combustible material, including vegetation, such as grass, leaves,  ground litter, plants, shrubs, and trees, that feeds a fire. F uel  manaGe m e n t  Manipulating fuels to reduce the likelihood of  ignition, reduce fire behavior, and/or lessen potential damage and  resistance to control. F uel  moi s t u r e  The quantity of moisture in fuel, expressed as a  percentage of the total dry weight. Ground  F i r e  A fire that burns in the soil layer or thick duff. l adder  F u e l s  Fuels that connect and can carry fire from the ground into  the crown of a forest or shrubland. lit ter  The top layer of intact, recognizable plant debris on a forest floor. oxidation  The chemical union of a substance with oxygen. Pre s cribe d  Fi r e  A fire ignited under predetermined conditions to meet  management objectives. Also called prescribed burn. Pyrocum u lon i m bu s c lou d s  Pyrocumulus convection clouds, which  can form when hot air rising above a wildfire generates towering clouds  and condensation of water vapor, that also generate local weather like rain  and lightning. PyroPhy t e  Literally “fire lover”; a species that depends on fire to survive  and regenerate. radiation   Energy (heat or light) sent as rays through the air. rel ative h u m i di t y  The ratio of the moisture in the air to the maximum amount of moisture the air would hold if saturated for a given  temperature. serotinou s  c on e s  Cones that remain attached to the tree and closed  until heat stimulates the cone scales to open and release seeds. sP ot  Fire   A fire ignited beyond the perimeter of the main fire by flying  sparks or embers. stand -re Pl ac e m e n t Fi r e  A fire that kills all of the aboveground  portion of shrubs and/or trees in an area such that the stand must be  replaced by new growth.

[ 194 ]  G l o s s a r y

surface f i r e A fire that travels through dead and down woody materials, grasses, and shrubs. Wildfire A landscape fire started naturally or by humans, subject to suppression. Compare to prescribed fire/burn. Wildl and f i r e u s e Allowing naturally ignited wildland fires to burn to accomplish specific resource management goals. Wildl and - u r ba n i n t e r fac e The area where structures and other human development meet undeveloped wildlands and their fuels.

G l o s s a r y   [ 195 ]

References

Agee, J. K. 1993. Fire ecology of Pacific Northwest forests. Washington, DC: Island Press. . 2006. Foreword. In Fire in California ecosystems, ed. N. G. Sugihara, J. W. van Wagtendonk, J. Fites-Kaufman, K. E. Shaffer, and A. E. Thode. Berkeley: University of California Press. Agee, J. K., and C. N. Skinner. 2005. Basic principles of forest fuel reduction treatments. Forest Ecology and Management 211:83–96. Anderson, M. K. 2005. Tending the wild: Native American knowledge and management of California’s natural resources. Berkeley: University of California Press. Aristotle. 350 b .c . On generation and corruption, Book 2, trans. H. H. Joachim. http://classics.mit.edu/Aristotle/gener_corr.2.ii.html (accessed October 6, 2007). Arno, S. F., and S. Allison-Bunnell. 2002. Flames in our forest: Disaster or renewal? Covelo, CA: Island Press. Baird, B. N. 2006. Comment on “Post wildfire logging hinders regeneration and increases fire risk.” Science 313 (5787): 615. Baker, G. M., and T. W. Swetnam, eds. 2002. Fire and climatic change in temperate ecosystems of the western Americas. Ecological Studies, Vol. 160. New York: Springer. Beyers, J. L. 2003. Postfire seeding for erosion control: Effectiveness and impacts on native plant communities. Conservation Biology 18:947–956. Biswell, H. 1980. Fire ecology: Past, present, and future. Keynote talk presented at the American Association for the Advancement of Science

[ 197 ]

conference, Ecology Section, Davis, Calif., June 23, 1980. Manuscript of  speech in Harold Biswell papers held at the Bancroft Library, University of  California, Berkeley (BANC MSS 2002/67 c). . 1999. Prescribed burning in California wildlands vegetation management.  Berkeley: University of California Press. Boyd, R., ed. 1999. Indians, fire, and the land in the Pacific Northwest. Corvallis:  Oregon State University Press. Brown, R. T., J. K. Agee, and J. F. Franklin. 2004. Forest restoration and fire:  Principles in the context of place. Conservation Biology 18:903–912. Cahill, B. 2004. Cuyamaca Rancho State Park burns. CSPRA Wave, Journal of the California State Park Rangers Association 4 (1): 7. California Department of Fish and Game. 2003. Atlas of the biodiversity of California. Sacramento: California Resources Agency. California Department of Forestry and Fire Protection. 2004. California fire  plan. http://cdfdata.fire.ca.gov/fire_er/fpp_planning_cafireplan (accessed  February 22, 2007). . 2005. 2005 Riverside unit pre-fire management plan. http://cdfdata .fire.ca.gov/pub/fireplan/fpupload/fpppdf395.pdf (accessed February 22,  2007). Caprio, A. C., and T. W. Swetnam. 1995. Historic fire regimes along an  elevational gradient on the west slope of the Sierra Nevada, California. In  Proceedings: Symposium on Fire in Wilderness and Park Management, tech.  coord. J. K. Brown, R. W. Mutch, C. W. Spoon, and R. H. Wakimoto,  173–179. USDA Forest Service Gen. Tech. Rep.INT-GTR-320. Ogden, UT:  U.S. Department of Agriculture, Forest Service, Intermountain Research  Station. Carle, D. 2002. Burning questions: America’s fight with nature’s fire. Westport,  CT: Praeger. Cottrell, W. H., Jr. 1989. The book of fire. Missoula, MT: Mountain Press. Donato, D. C., J. B. Fontaine, J. L. Campbell, W. D. Robinson, J. B. Kauffman,  and B. E. Law. 2006. Post-wildfire logging hinders regeneration and  increases fire risk. Science 311 (5759): 352. Feer, F. 2000. Evacuating Topanga: Risks, choices, and responsibilities. Topanga,  CA: Topanga Coalition for Emergency Preparedness. Ferguson, G. 2017. Land on fire: The new reality of wildfire in the West. Portland,  OR: Timber Press.

[ 198 ]  R e f e R e n c e s

Finney, M. A., and R. E. Martin. 1989. Fire history in a Sequoia sempervirens forest at Salt Point State Park, California. Canadian Journal of Forest  Research 19:1451–1457. Fire Safe Sonoma. 2006. Living with fire in Sonoma County: A guide for the homeowner. www.firesafesonoma.org/living_with_fire.htm (accessed February 20, 2007). Foote, E. I. D., R. E. Martin, and J. K. Gilless. 1991. The defensible space factor study: A survey instrument for post-fire structure loss analysis. In Proceedings of the 11th Conference on Fire and Forest Meteorology, April 16–19, 1991, Missoula, Montana, ed. P. L. Andrews and D. F. Potts, 66–73. Publication 91–04. Bethesda, MD: Society of American Foresters. Franklin, J., L. A. Spears-Lebrun, D. H. Deutschman, and K. Marsden. 2006. Impact of a high-intensity fire on mixed evergreen and mixed conifer forests in the Peninsular Ranges of southern California, USA. Forest  Ecology and Management 235:18–29. Goforth, B. R ., and R. A. Minnich. 2007. Evidence, exaggeration, and error in historical accounts of chaparral wildfires in California. Ecological  Applications 17:779–790. Graves, H. S. 1910. Protection of forests from fire. U.S. Department of Agriculture, Forest Service Bulletin 82. Washington, DC: Government Printing Office. . 1920. The torch in the timber: It may save the lumberman’s property, but it destroys the forests of the future. Sunset, the Pacific Monthly 44 (April): 37–40, 80, 82, 84, 86, 88, 90. Greeley, W. B. 1951. Forests and men. Garden City, NY: Doubleday and Co. Gruell, G. E. 2001. Fire in Sierra Nevada forests: A photographic interpretation of  ecological change since 1849. Missoula, MT: Mountain Press. Halsey, R. W. 2005. Fire, chaparral, and survival in Southern California. San Diego: Sunbelt Publications. Hansen, B. J. 2015. California’s Rim fire: Behind the headlines. Createspace Independent Publishing Platform. www.rimfirebook.com. Harrell, R. D., and W. C. Teie. 2001. Will your home survive? A winner or loser?  A guide to help you improve the odds against wildland fire! Rescue, CA: Deer Valley Press. Hoxie, G. L. 1910. How fire helps forestry: The practical vs. the federal government’s theoretical ideas. Sunset 34 (August): 145–151.

R e f e R e n c e s   [ 199 ]

Jensen, S. A. and G. R . McPherson. 2008. Living with fire: Fire ecology and policy for the twenty-first century. Berkeley: University of California Press. Kattelmann, R. 1999. Proposed fire management strategies and potential  hydrologic effects in the Sierra Nevada. In Science into policy: Water in the public realm, ed. E. Kendy, 43–48. Herndon, VA: American Water  Resources Association. Keeley, J. E., C. D. Allen, J. Betancourt, G. W. Chong, C. J. Fotheringham, and  H. D. Safford. 2006. A 21st century perspective on post-fire seeding.  Journal of Forestry 104 (2): 103, 104. Keeley, J. E., and C. J. Fotheringham. 2001a. Historic fire regime in southern  California shrublands. Conservation Biology 15:1536–1548. . 2001b. History and management of crown fire ecosystems: A summary  and response. Conservation Biology 15:1561–1567. . 2003. Impact of past, present, and future fire regimes on North  American Mediterranean shrublands. In Fire and climatic change in temperate ecosystems of the western Americas, ed. T. T. Veblen, W. L. Baker,  G. Montenegro, and T. W. Swetnam, 218–262. New York: Springer. Keeley, J. E., C. J. Fotheringham, and M. Morais. 1999. Reexamining fire  suppression impacts on brushland fire regimes. Science 284 (5421):  1829–1832. Keeley, J. E., C. J. Fotheringham, and M. A. Moritz. 2004. Lessons from the  October 2003 wildfires in southern California. Journal of Forestry 102 (7):  26–31. Kent, D. 2005. Firescaping: Creating fire-resistant landscapes, gardens, and properties in California’s diverse environments. Berkeley, CA: Wilderness  Press. Kodas, M. 2017. Megafire: The race to extinguish a deadly epidemic of flame. New  York: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt. Krauss, E. 2006. Wall of flame: The heroic battle to save Southern California.  Hoboken, NJ: John Wiley and Sons. Leiberg, J. B. 1902. Forest conditions in the northern Sierra Nevada, California.  U.S. Department of Interior, U.S. Geological Survey, Professional Paper  No. 8. Washington, DC: Government Printing Office. Lillywhite, H. B., G. Friedman, and N. Ford. 1977. Color matching and perch  selection by lizards in recently burned chaparral. Copeia 1:115–121.

[ 200 ]  R e f e R e n c e s

Maclean, J. N. 2004. Fire and ashes: On the front lines battling wildfires. New York: Henry Holt and Co. Maclean, N. 1992. Young men and fire. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Manson, M. 1906. The effect of the partial suppression of annual forest fires in the Sierra Nevada Mountains. Sierra Club Bulletin 34 (January): 22–24. Millar, C. I., and W. Wolfenden. 1999. The role of climate change in interpreting historical variability. Ecological Applications 9:1207–1216. Minnich, R. A. 1983. Fire mosaics in southern California and northern Baja California. Science 219 (March): 1287–1294. . 1998. Landscapes, land-use and fire policy: Where do large fires come from? In Large forest fires, ed. J. M. Moreno, 133–158. Leiden, the Netherlands: Backhuys. . 2001. An integrated model of two fire regimes. Conservation Biology 15:1549–1553. Minnich, R. A., and Y. H. Chou. 1997. Wildland fire patch dynamics in the chaparral of southern California and northern Baja California. International Journal of Wildland Fire 7 (3): 221–248. Moritz, M. A., J. E. Keeley, E. A. Johnson, and A. A. Schaffner. 2004. Testing a basic assumption of shrubland fire management: How important is fuel age? Frontiers in Ecology and the Environment 2:67–72. Muir, J. 1878. The Sequoia forests of California. Harpers New Monthly 57 (November): 813–828. http://cdl.library.cornell.edu/cgi-bin/moa/sgml /moa-idx?notisid=ABK4014–0057–115 (accessed February 20, 2007). . 1961 [1894]. The mountains of California. New York: American Museum of Natural History and Doubleday. National Center for Atmospheric Research. 2004. NCAR aircraft, ground instruments to track carbon dioxide uptake along Colorado’s droughtplagued Front Range. University Corporation for Atmospheric Research press release, April 26, 2004. Boulder, CO. www.ucar.edu/communications/newsreleases/2004/acme.html (accessed January 4, 2007). National Wildfire Coordinating Group. 1994. Introduction to wildland fire  behavior. S–190, Student Workbook NFES 1860. Boise, ID: National Interagency Fire Center.

R e f e R e n c e s   [ 201 ]

North, M. 2007. The Teakettle Experiment: Fire and forest health. Davis, CA:  Sierra Nevada Research Center. Interactive DVD available by request at  http://teakettle.davis.edu. Olmsted, F. E. 1911. Fire and the forest: The theory of “light burning.” Sierra Club Bulletin 8 (January): 42–47. Orange County Register. 1993. Inferno! The devastating firestorms of October  1993. Kansas City, MO: Andrews and McMeel. Ostrander, H. J. 1902. How to save the forests by use of fire. Letter to the  editor. San Francisco Call, September 23. Pinchot, G. 1899. The relation of forests and forest fires. National Geographic  10:393–403. . 1910. The fight for conservation. New York: Doubleday, Page, and Co. . 1998 [1947]. Breaking new ground. Washington, DC: Island Press. Pyne, S. J. 1984. Introduction to wildland fire. New York: John Wiley and  Sons. . 1995. World fire: The culture of fire on Earth. New York: Henry Holt  and Co. . 1997 [1982]. Fire in America: A cultural history of wildland and rural fire.  Seattle: University of Washington Press. . 2001. Fire: A brief history. Seattle: University of Washington Press. Quinn, R. D., and S. C. Keeley. 2006. Introduction to California chaparral.  Berkeley: University of California Press. Radeloff, V. C., R. B. Hammer, S. I. Stewart, J. S. Fried, S. S. Holcomb, and J. F.  McKeefry. 2005. The wildland urban interface in the United States.  Ecological Applications 15:799–805. Raymond, C. L., and D. L. Peterson. 2005. Fuel treatments alter the effects of  wildfire in a mixed-evergreen forest, Oregon, USA. Canadian Journal of Forest Research 35 (12): 2981–2995. Redington, P. G. 1920. What is the truth? Conclusion of the light-burning  controversy. Sunset, the Pacific Monthly 44 (June): 56–58. Riegel, G. M., R. F. Miller, C. N. Skinner, and S. E. Smith. 2006. Northeastern  plateaus bioregion. In Fire in California ecosystems, ed. N. G. Sugihara,  J. W. van Wagtendonk, J. A. Fites-Kaufman, K. E. Shaffer, and A. E. Thode,  Chapter 11. Berkeley: University of California Press. Stephens, S. L., and D. L. Fry. 2005. Fire history in coast redwood stands in the  northeastern Santa Cruz Mountains, California. Fire Ecology 1 (1). www

[ 202 ]  R e f e R e n c e s

.cnr.berkeley.edu/stephens-lab/Publications/Steophens&Fry_2005.pdf (accessed October 31, 2007). Sterling, E. A. 1905. Attitude of lumbermen toward forest fires. In Yearbook of  the United States Department of Agriculture, 1904, 133–140. Washington, DC: Government Printing Office. Stewart, O. C., H. T. Lewis, and M. K. Anderson. 2002. Forgotten fires: Native  Americans and the transient wilderness. Oklahoma City: University of Oklahoma Press. Sugihara, N. G., J. W. van Wagtendonk, J. A. Fites-Kaufman, K. E. Shaffer, and A. E. Thode, eds. 2006. Fire in California ecosystems. Berkeley: University of California Press. Sullivan, M. 1993. Firestorm! The story of the 1991 East Bay fire in Berkeley. Berkeley, CA: City of Berkeley. Swain, D. L., B. Langenbrunner, J. D. Neelin, et al. 2018. Increasing precipitation volatility in twenty-first-century California. Nature Climate Change 8:427–433. https://doi.org/10.1038/s41558–018–0140-y. Sweet, L. C., T. Green, J. G. C. Heintz, N. Frakes, N. Graver, J. S. Rangitsch, J. E. Rodgers, S. Heacox, and C. W. Barrows. 2019. Congruence between future distribution models and empirical data for an iconic species at Joshua Tree National Park. Ecosphere 10 (6): e02763. https://doi.org/10.1002/ecs2.2763. Swetnam, T. W., and C. H. Baisan. 2003. Tree-ring reconstructions of fire and climate history in the Sierra Nevada and Southwestern United States. In Fire and climate in temperate ecosystems of the western Americas, ed. T. T. Veblen, W. L. Baker, G. Montenegro, and T. W. Swetnam, 158–195. New York: Springer-Verlag. U.S. Department of Agriculture, Forest Service. 1990. Giant sequoia. In Silvics  of North America. Vol. 1. Conifers. www.na.fs.fed.us/pubs/silvics_manual /Volume_1/sequoiadendron/giganteum.htm. . 2000. Living with fire. Albuquerque, NM: USDA Forest Service, Southwestern Region. . 2004. Sierra Nevada forest plan amendment. Final supplemental environmental impact statement. RS-MB-046. www.fs.fed.us/r5/snfpa /final-seis/ (accessed March 2, 2007). U.S. General Accounting Office. 1999. Western national forests: A cohesive  strategy is needed to address catastrophic wildfire threats. GAO-RCED-99–65. Washington, DC: GAO.

R e f e R e n c e s   [ 203 ]

U.S. Global Change Research Program. 2018. Fourth National Climate  Assessment. Washington, DC. https://nca2018.globalchange.gov  /chapter/6/ (accessed January 19, 2020). Vale, T. R ., ed. 2002. Fire, native peoples, and the natural landscape. Covelo,  CA: Island Press. van Wagtendonk, J. W., and D. Cayan. 2008. Temporal and spatial distribution of lightning strikes in California in relationship to large-scale weather  patterns. Fire Ecology 4:34–56. van Wagtendonk, J. W., and J. A. Fites-Kaufman. 2006. Sierra Nevada  bioregion. In Fire in California ecosystems, ed. N. G. Sugihara, J. W. van  Wagtendonk, J. Fites-Kaufman, K. E. Shaffer, and A. E. Thode, Chapter 12.  Berkeley: University of California Press. Wambaugh, J. 2002. Fire lover: A true story. New York: William Morrow. Westerling, A., T. Brown, T. Schoennagel, T. Swetnam, M. Turner, and T.  Veblen. 2014. Briefing: Climate and wildfire in western U.S. forests. USDA  Forest Service RMRS-P-71. 2014. Westerling, A. L., H. G. Hidalgo, D. R . Cayan, and T. W. Swetnam. 2006.  Warming and earlier spring increases western U.S. forest wildfire activity.  Science 313 (August 18): 940–943. https://doi.org/10.1126/science.1128834. Whelan, R. J. 1995. The ecology of fire. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University  Press. White, S. E. 1920a. Woodsmen, spare those trees! Our forests are threatened; a  plea for protection. Sunset, the Pacific Monthly 44 (March): 23–26, 108–117. . 1920b. Getting at the truth: Is the Forest Service really trying to lay  bare the facts of the light-burning theory? Sunset, the Pacific Monthly 44  (May): 62, 80–82. Wildland Resources Center. 1996. Status of the Sierra Nevada: Summary of the Sierra Nevada ecosystem project report. Wildland Resources Center Report  No. 39. Davis: University of California, Centers for Water and Wildland  Resources. http://ceres.ca.gov/snep/pubs/web/PDF/exec_sum.pdf  (accessed January 25, 2007). Wuerthner, G., ed. 2006. Wild fire: A century of failed forest policy. Sausalito,  CA: Foundation for Deep Ecology and Island Press. Yeats, W. B. 1983 [1921]. The second coming. In The collected poems of W. B. Yeats, 187. New York: Collier Books.

[ 204 ]  R e f e R e n c e s

Art Credits

Figures Those figures not credited below were taken by the author or are in the public domain. Ames Research Center, NASA, 1, 78 John Aziz, 92 Michael Benard, 33, 35, 64 Noah Berger, AP License, 107 The Boondocks © 2003 Aaron McGruder. Distributed by Universal Press Syndicate. Reprinted with permission. All rights reserved, 95 Keith Burson, South Placer Fire District, 30 Ryan Carle, 50, 51 Michael Charters, 14, 22, 23, 27, 46 Carolyn Cole, Los Angeles Times, Polaris, 85 Thalia Dockery, 109 Chris Doolittle, 69 Image Science and Analysis Laboratory, NASA Johnson Space Center, 71, 83, 84, 86 Forest History Society, Durham, NC, 74 Allan Grant, 77 Pete Hein, Fuels Officer, Inyo National Forest, 42, 90, 91 Rick Kattelmann, 4, 5, 49, 50, 107 Scot Martin, California State Parks, 69

[ 205 ]

Marc Meyer, USDA Forest Service, 41 National Anthropological Archives, NAA Inv 01516100, Neg 57078, courtesy  of Smithsonian Institution, 59 Steve Norman, USFS/PSW Redwood Sciences Laboratory, 25 Orange County Register, courtesy of: Daniel A. Anderson, 99; Bruce Chambers, 98; Bruce Strong, ii–iii; Dave Yoder, 87, 100 Press-Enterprise/Desert Sun, courtesy of: Jay Calderon, 60; Jose Omar  Omelas, 88; Ramon Mena Owens, 2 San Diego Union-Tribune/Zuma Press, courtesy of: Jim Baird, 88; John  Gastaldo, 93; John Gibbins, 79; Tom Theobold, 63; Dan Trevan, 8, 106 Santa Barbara County Fire Department, Matt Udkow, 68 Randy Scales, CAL FIRE, 79 Helmut Schmidtz, PD Dr., Institut für Zoologie, Universität Bonn, 65 Marie Simovich, 47 (below) Smokey Bear fire prevention campaign, USDA Forest Service, 76 Linnea Spears, 47 (above) Bob Steele, 66 Scott Strazzante, San Francisco Chronicle, Polaris, 97 Susan Strom, 12 Sugihara et al. 2006, redrawn, 26 Jan van Wagtendonk, U.S. Geological Survey, Yosemite-Oakhurst Field  Station, 61 Harold Weaver, courtesy of Harold Biswell Jr., 40 Marcus Yam, Los Angeles Times, Polaris, 17 Yosemite Museum, National Park Service: George Reichel, 44a; Dan   Taylor, 44b

Maps Maps 1, 4, 7, 8, 12: Redrawn from California Department of Forestry and Fire  Protection (CAL FIRE), Fire and Resource Assessment Program Map 2: Courtesy of Jan van Wagtendonk, Research Forester, U.S. Geological  Survey, Yosemite-Oakhurst Field Station Map 3: Redrawn from California Department of Fish and Game, 2003 Map 5: Redrawn from Quinn and Keeley 2006

[ 206 ]  A r t  C r e d i t s

Map 6: Redrawn from USDA Forest Service, 2018 Map 9: Courtesy of Richard Minnich, Department of Earth and Planetary Sciences, University of California, Riverside Map 10: Courtesy of Max Moritz, Department of Environmental Science, Policy, and Management, University of California, Berkeley Map 11: Redrawn from CAL FIRE fire hazard severity zone county maps, 2007; and state fire threat map, 2018

A r t C r e d i t s   [ 207 ]

Index

Abies concolor, 53 aboriginal burning. 18. See also Indigenous peoples fire use Acer, 92 acorns, 16, 79, 80 Adenostoma fasciculatum, 9–10, 10fig. Aesculus californica, 81 Agee, James K., 30, 110 agricultural burning, 147 air quality, 23, 145, 147 Alameda County severity zone map, 160 alders, 93 Alnus, 93 Amazon deforestation, 107 Amelanchier, 95 American Kestrel, 97 American Marten, 99 Anderson, M. K., 16, 18 animals: evacuation plans, 179. See wildlife; specific animals annual rye grass, 102, 103 annuals, 36, 92; deserts, 88; grasses for erosion control, 102–104, 175,

177; sagebrush shrublands, 83, 85fig. antelope bitterbrush, 83 aquatic life, 105 Arbutus menziesii, 76 Aristotle, 1 arrowleaf balsam root, 83, 84fig. arson, 18, 19 Artemisia: californica, 50; tridentata, 82 ash, 5, 6fig., 25, 95, 101, 129, 156, 179 aspen, quaking, 93, 94fig. attic vents, 170 “Attitude of Lumbermen toward Forest Fires” (Sterling), 112 August lightning complex fires, 135, 136 backfires, 140fig., 141 Baja California chaparral fires, 150, 151map Balsamorhiza sagittata, 83, 84fig. Bambi, 121 Bandelier National Monument, 147 Bar Complex fires, 110

[ 209 ]

bark, 36; coast redwood, 74fig. 75;  Douglas-fir, 77; fire scars, 33,  34fig., 35fig., 63; giant sequoia, 61,  62; oaks, 80, 81fig.; pines, 53, 55,  68, 71, 72fig. bark beetles, 58, 119, 186; Fire Beetle,  96, 97fig.; Long-horned Woodboring Beetle, 60 basket materials, 16fig., 76, 148 beach pine, 71 Bear fire, 136 bear grass, 148 bearclover, 58, 60, 60fig. beetles. See bark beetles Bel Air fire, 123, 124fig. Berkeley 1923 fire, 122. See also  Oakland Hills fire Betula, 95 big sagebrush, 82, 83 bigcone Douglas-fir, 76 birches, 95 birds, 95, 97 Biscuit Complex fires, 126, 154 bishop pine, 39fig., 68 Biswell, Harold, v, xix, xx, 57fig. black oak, California, 41fig. 47, 80 black sage, 50 Black-backed Woodpecker, 97, 98fig. BLM (Bureau of Land Management),  22fig., 137map, 138, 185, 191 blue oak, 80 bobcats, 95, 97 brodiaeas, 17fig., 79 Bromus: rubens, 88; tectorum, 83 buds, 36fig. 37. See also resprouters building codes, 132, 148 bulbs, 16, 17fig., 36, 37fig., 79;  chaparral bulbs, 49

burn days, 23 burning index, 23 CAL FIRE, 3fig., 18, 21, 45fig., 127fig.,  130, 137–140, 138map, 140fig., 142,  153, 158, 164, 184, 191 calcium, 101, 156 California bay laurels, 77 California black oak, 47, 77, 80, 81 California Board of Forestry, 120 California buckeye, 81 California Department of Forestry  and Fire Protection (CDF) 3fig.,  137. See also CAL FIRE California Department of Insurance,  176–178, 177fig., 191 California Fair Access to Insurance  Requirements (FAIR), 176 California fan palm, 87, 88, 89fig. California fire plans, 158 California Fire Threat map, 161 California Forestry Committee, 120 California Gnatcatcher, 100 California Indian Basketweavers  Association, 148 California Indians. See Indigenous  peoples fire use; Indigenous  peoples plant use California juniper, 72 California poppy, 49, 50fig. California Public Utilities Commission, 160map, 162 California sagebrush, 50 California Spotted Owl, 99 California Vegetation Treatment  Plan (CalVTP), 158 Calocedrus decurrens, 53 Calochortus, 49.

[ 210 ]  i n d e x

Camp fire, 133, 134, 135fig., 159, 162, 162fig., 163, 166, 185 canyon live oak, 36fig., 80 carbohydrates, 36 carbon dioxide, 2, 7, 8, 193, carbon dioxide emissions, 100, 105, 107 Carr fire, 26fig., 123 cat-face fire scars, 33, 34fig., 35fig. cattails, 92, 93fig. cattle. See grazing Ceanothus, 37, 47, 101; mountain whitethorn, 65, 66fig. Cedar fire, 69fig., 80fig., 126, 127fig., 149, 149fig, 179fig. Centrocercus urophasianus, 87 Cercis occidentalis, 81 Cerro Grande fire, 147 Chamaebatia foliolosa, 58 chamise, 9–10, 10fig., 47, 47fig., 48fig. chaparral,; associated trees, 52, 68, 72; characteristic plants, 42 47; fire behavior in, 24, 27, 29fig., 41, 43, 46, 47, 82, 149; fire perimeters and stand age, 149, 150, 151map, 153map; fire policy for chaparral lands, 149–154; fire regimes, 68; grassland patches in, 18; plant responses to fire, 45; 49fig., 50fig.; range, 42map, 44map; soils, 101 cheatgrass, 83, 85fig., 88, 103 chemical fire retardants, 142, 143fig.; for home use, 172 chemistry of fire, 2, 3, 6–8 Chickadee, Mountain, 97 Chickaree, 60 Chlorogalum pomeridianum, 49 Chrysothamnus nauseosus, 83 Clampitt fire, 123

climate, 20, 21map, 36; giant sequoia distribution, 60; sagebrush shrublands, 81, 82. See also climate change; weather climate crisis: xviii, 105–110, 108fig., 186; connections to wildfire, xv, xvii, 21, 30, 90, 95. 107–110, 134, 136, 158; Global Warming Solutions Act, 107; terminology alternatives, 109 closed-cone pines, 38, 39fig., 65–73. See also individual species coast live oak, 68, 77, 80 coast redwood, 35fig., 74–76, 75fig., 136 coastal prairies, 18 coastal sage, 27, 49, 50, 51fig., 100 Colaptes auratus, 97 Colorado desert, 44map, 88 combustion efficiency, 2, 4, 5, 6fig. complex fires, 123, 146: August lightning complex, 135, 136; Biscuit complex, 126; CZU lightning complex, 136; LNU lightning complex, 136, 184fig.; Los Alamos National Laboratory complex, 146; Mendocino complex, 131, 132; North complex, 136; Stanislaus comples, 123; Wine country fires, 131, 132fig. conduction, 12, 13fig. conifer forests, 53–78; closed-cone pines and cypresses, 65–73; coast redwood and Douglas-fir, 74–79; fire behavior/regimes, 18, 27,; giant sequoia groves, 60–65, 61map; mixed conifer forests, 33, 47, 53, 58, 77; subalpine forests, 72, 73fig.; thinning debate, 155–158

i n d e x   [ 211 ]

conifers: resprouting, 40; serotiny, 37,  38fig., 40, 52, 60, 62fig., 65–72,  66fig., 68fig. See also conifer forests;  individual genera and species construction materials and  standards, xviii, 166–171 controlled burning, 111. See also  prescribed burning convection, 12, 13fig. See also  pyrocumulous convection clouds Cornus nuttallii, 65 cottonwoods, 95 Coulter pine, 68, 69fig. COVID-19 pandemic, 167, 183–186,  184fig. coyotes, 97 Creek fire, 136, 186, 188fig. crown fires, 10, 11, 27, 29fig., 33, 155;  chaparral, 43; coastal sage, 100,  149; pine forests, 53, 67, 68;  riparian woodlands, 93; sagebrush  shrublands and P-J forests, 82, 87 crown fuels, 10, 11fig. Cupressus, 65; arizonica, 72; forbesii,  72, macnabiana, 72; sargentii, 72 Cuyamaca Rancho State Park, 81fig.,  95, 104 fig, 127. See also Cedar fire cypresses, 65, 72; Cuyamaca cypress,  72; McNab cypress, 72; Sargent  cypress, 72; tecate cypress, 72 CZU lightning complex fires, 136 deaths: from wildfires, 126, 127, 129,  131, 133, 134, 164; from COVID 19,  183 debris flows, 46, 101, 102, 102fig.,  104, 131. See also floods; Montecito decomposition, fire’s role, 3, 56

deer, 16, 17, 76, 95, 111, 121 defensible space, 167, 170–176, 174fig. deforestation, 107 Delphinium parishii, 83 desert fan-palm oases, 18, 87, 89fig. desert larkspur, 8s, 84fig. Desert Tortoise, 100 deserts, 14, 15, 24, 87, 88. See also  sagebrush shrublands Diablo winds, xvii, 25, 122 Dichelostemma capitatum, 50fig. Douglas Squirrel, 60 Douglas-fir, 53, 74, 76, 77, 78fig.;  bigcone Douglas-fir, 77 drip torches, 145, 146, 146fig. El Dorado National Forest, 157fig. El Niño, 106 elderberries, 95 electricity generation, 156 embers, as windblown ignition  source, xviii, 23, 24, 25fig., 43, 131,  133, 134, 168fig. 169–171, 173,  179–182 Emmenantha penduliflora, 37, 38fig. endangered species. See threatened  and endangered species energy: in atmosphere 105, 186; fire  as, xiii, 1–3, 12–14, 13fig., 25, 141,  193; oxygen in, 6, 8; photosynthesis, 2, 7, 8; renewable 107, 187 Engelmann oak, 80 Epilobium angustifolium, 31, 32fig. equipment operation, ignitions  from, 19 erosion, 101, 102, 104, 141, 175, 177;  debris flows, 46, 101, 102, 102fig.,  104, 131

[ 212 ]  i n d e x

Eschscholzia californica, 50fig. Esperanza fire, 127 evacuation, 102, 125, 132, 167, 179: orders, 131, 180; plans, 178 exotic weeds and grasses, 46, 50, 83, 88, 90; for erosion control, 103, 175 extreme fire behavior xvii, xviii, 107, 130 143. See also fire weather; firenado facultative sprouters, 40, 41; alders, 93; chamise, 47; coast redwood, 74; coastal sage, 50; oaks, 41fig. Falco sparverius, 97 fan palm, California, 87, 88, 89fig. Federal Wildland Fire Management Policy and Program Review, 120 fertilizers: in fire retardants, 142, 143; fire’s fertilization effect, 67, 95, 101 fire adaptations/responses xvii: plants, 38, 40, 50, 53, 62, 71; wildlife, 95–101. See also individual  species and genera “Fire and the Forest—the Theory of ‘Light Burning’ ” (Olmsted), 117, 119 Fire Beetle, 96, 97, 97fig. fire behavior, 20, 145; extreme xvii, xviii, 107, 130; topography and, 27; wind/weather and, xvii, 20, 23. See  also fire regimes fire chemistry, 2, 3, 6–8 fire deaths, 126, 127, 129, 131, 133, 134, 164 fire ecology, xvii, xix, 8, 29–109, 187; chaparral and coastal sage shrublands, 42–52, 149, 151map,

153map; climate change impacts, xv, xvii, 21, 30, 90, 95, 105–109, 134, 136, 158; conifer forests, 53–78; deserts, 87–89; grasslands, 90, 91; human roles, xvii, 15–18; oak woodlands and savannas, 79, 80; pinyon-juniper forests, 83–87; plant adaptations/responses, 38, 40, 50, 53, 62, 71; sagebrush shrublands, 81–83; soil, water, and air impacts, 100–104; wetlands and riparian woodlands, 92–94; wildlife impacts/responses, 95–101. See also fire regimes; Indigenous peoples fire use fire energy cycle, 6–8 fire exclusion/suppression, 53, 56, 58; chaparral lands, 149–153; closed-cone pine forests, 68; giant sequoias and, 63, 64–65fig.; mixed conifer forests, 53, 58; oaks, 81 sagebrush shrublands/P-J forests, 87; wildlife and, 83. See also firefighting; light-burning debate fire frequency. See fire return intervals fire hazard. See fire risk; fire safety fire lines, 139, 141 fire plans, xviii, 158; evacuation plans, 178; home inventories, 178. See also fire safety fire policy and management, xviii, xix, 158; chaparral lands, 149–154; current Forest Service policy, 120; fire plans, xviii, 158; light-burning debate, xiii, 53, 110–121; mixed conifer forests, 155–158; postfire

i n d e x   [ 213 ]

fire policy (continued)   erosion control, 104; wildland fire  jurisdictions, 138map; wildlife  habitat issues, 99; Yosemite  National Park, 91fig. See also fire  exclusion/suppression; firefighting; prescribed burning fire poppies, 31fig. fire regimes, 30–35; chaparral, 24, 27,  29, 41, 43, 46, 47, 68, 82, 149–152;  climate and, 107; closed-cone  pine forests, 66–72; coastal sage,  50, 100; deserts, 88; giant sequoia  groves, 61, 62; grasslands, 90,  91fig., 92; mixed conifer forests,  47, 53, 58, 77, 158; oak woodlands  and savannas, 79, pinyon-juniper  forests, 87; redwood forests, 76;  riparian woodlands, 92, 93;  sagebrush shrublands, 81–83;  seasonality, 30, 193. See also  fire behavior; fire return   intervals fire retardants, 142, 143, 143fig.; for  home use, 172. fire risk, xvii; burning index, 22, 23,  23fig.; chaparral lands, 153; fire  threat maps, xvii, 160, 161; fuel  moisture and, 9; statewide risk  levels, xvimap fire safe councils, 186 fire safety, iv, 191; construction  choices/materials and, xviii,  166–171; defensible space,  170–175, 174fig.; during a fire,  179–181; evacuation, 178, 180;  postfire concerns, 182, 183; public  safety power shutoffs and, 158, 

159, 162, 163; sprinkler systems  and fire retardants, 172 fire suppression. See fire exclusion/ suppression; firefighting;  light-burning debate fire triangle, xvii, 5–12, 7fig.; fuel in,  8–12, 11fig.; heat in, 12, 13fig.;  oxygen, 6–8 fire watches and warnings, 23 fire weather, 43 72; climate change,  and, 107; firenado, 25, 26fig., 133;  pyrocumulonimbus 25; Santa Ana  winds, 24; “whiplash weather,”  106; wind, 23–25, 27. See also  extreme fire behavior firebreaks: defensible space,  172–176, 174fig. firefighting, xviii, 8 9fig., 137–143,  183, 138map; COVID-19, 183–186;  how to help firefighters, 180, 181;  Incident Command System, 123,  185; success rates, 142; tactics,  139–143; wind/weather and, 24,  25, 142. See also fire policy and  management firenado 25, 26fig., 133. See also  extreme fire weather fire-return intervals, 33; chaparral,  46; climate change and, 72, 107;  deserts, 88; giant sequoia groves,  63; lodgepole pine forests, 72;  mixed conifer forests, 56;  pinyon-juniper forests, 87;  redwood forests, 76; sagebrush  shrublands, 82, 83; subalpine  forests, 72 fireweed, 31, 32fig. firewood stacks, 173

[ 214 ]  i n d e x

firs: white fir, 53, 56, 65fig. fish, 105, 143 Fisher, Pacific, 99 Fites-Kaufman, A., 99 flames, 2–6, 3fig., 4fig.; color, 3, 4; lengths, 26, 27, 29fig., 69, 118–119 flammability: chaparral, 43; coastal sage, 45; gray pine, 43fig., 46, 46fig.; mixed conifer forests, 48, 50–51; redwood forests, 64; timberlands, 136, 137 flood warnings, 104 floods, 40, 46, 92, 102, 102fig., 167, 182. See also debris flows; Montecito flowering, fire-triggered, 31, 38, 6, 49, 50fig. foothill pine. See gray pine “Forest Conditions in the Northern Sierra Nevada, California” (Leiberg), 112 Forest Service. See U.S. Forest Service forests and woodlands: conversion to shrublands, 42; oak woodlands, 17, 46, 67–68, 67fig.; pinyon-juniper forests, 70fig., 72–74; riparian woodlands, 78, 79–80; thinning debate, 136–140. See also conifer forests; light-burning debate Fountain fire, 126 foxtail pine, 72 fuel accumulation; chaparral, 43, 150; closed-cone pine forests, 68, 72; coastal sage, 50; deserts, 88; giant sequoia groves, 64–65fig., 65; mixed conifer forests, 56, 57fig., 107;

redwood forests, 74; sagebrush shrublands, 82, 85fig.; timberlands, 112, 154, 155; under oaks, 81; wetlands and riparian woodlands, 93 fuel management/reduction: mixed conifer forests, 143–148. See also prescribed burning fuels, 9–12; age, 43, 44fig., 150, 151map, 153map; fuel type and fire behavior, 10, 11, 11fig.; moisture, 23–26; size, 9, 10; vertical arrangements, 10, 11, fig.11. See  also fuel accumulation fungi, 16, 74, 101; sudden oak death, 77, 79 gel foams, 172 giant sequoia, 34fig., 53, 60–65, 61 map, 64–65fig. global warming, 73, 88–90. See climate crisis Global Warming Solutions Act, 107 Gnatcatcher, California, 100 Gopherus agassizii, 100 grasses, 90–92; deserts, 88; for erosion control, 102, 103, 175; exotic, 46, 50, 83, 88, 90; landscaping with, 175; native,; pine forest understory, 56; sagebrush shrublands, 83, 85fig. grasslands: Indigenous peoples burning, 16, 17, 46, 75, 76, 80, 91fig., 92; chaparral incursions, 46; conversions to, 46, 83; fire behavior in, 90, 91fig., 92; fire regimes, 90–92; oak savannas, 16, 79, 80fig.

i n d e x   [ 215 ]

Graves, Henry, 110, 119, 120 gray pine, 47fig., 52, 52fig. grazing, 18, 110, 111; fire regimes  and, 40, 56; native grasslands   and, 92; sagebrush shrublands,   82, 83, 87 Greeley, William, 116 117 118fig. greenhouse gases, See climate change Griffith Park, 1933 fire, 122, 123 ground fuels, 10, 11figs. hawks, 95, 97 heat, xiii, xvii, 2–5, 7fig., 8, 12, 13fig.,  23, 25, 27, 36133, 134, 139, 156;  atmospheric, 186; damage to  pipes, 183; germination trigger, 34,  36, 37, 39fig. 43, 52; radiating 13fig.,  168, 181; topography and, 26, 27fig. historic wildfires, 110–136; California’s light-burning debate,  110–122, 113fig., 115fig., 118fig.;  largest, deadliest, most destructive, 122–129; 124fig., 125fig., 127fig.,  128fig., 129fig.extremes after 2010,  129–136, 130fig., 132fig., 134fig.,  135fig. See also specific locations and fires by name home inventory, 178 Hoxie, G. L., 116 ice plant, 175 ignition sources, xii, 12–20, 132–133,  133fig.; humans as, xvii, 15–20, 46,  168; lightning, 14–15, 14map, 15fig.;  for prescribed burns, 143–147,  146fig., 157. See embers, as  windblown ignition source  incense-cedar, 53

Incident Command System, 123 Indigenous peoples fire use, xvii, 15,  6fig., 17, 46, 74, 76, 79, 80, 88,  91fig. 92; current, 147; early views  and comments, 111, 114, 117, Indigenous peoples plant use, 16fig.,  17fig., 79, 88, 89fig., 92, 114 Indian potatoes, 79 inmate firefighters, 139; and  COVID-19 184 insects, 16, 74, 88, 97, 119; Also see  bark beetles insurance, 162, 170, 176–178, 177fig. Inyo National Forest, 155 Joshua tree, 88, 90, 90fig. junipers, 73fig.; California juniper,  87; Utah juniper, 87. See also  pinyon-juniper forests Juniperus: californica, 87; osteosperma, 87 Kelly, Isabel, 16 Kestrel, American, 97 kindling, xiii, 8, 22, 43, 56, 92 Kings Canyon National Park, 63 kit-kit-dizee, 58 knobcone pine, 67fig., 68 La Niña, 107 ladder fuels, 10, 11fig., 56, 173;  cypresses, 72; firs, 63, 64–65fig.,  56; giant sequoias, 62–65 Laguna Beach fire, ii–iiifig., iv126,  166fig. Laguna fire, 123, 140fig. landscaping: defensible space,  170–175, 174fig.

[ 216 ]  i n d e x

landslides. See debris flows legumes, 101 Leiberg, John B., 112 lemonade berry, 50 “let burn,” 145. See prescribed burning light-burning debate, 110–122, 113fig., 115fig., 118fig.; Forest Service policy, 113–117; lightning, 14–15, 14map, 15fig. See complex fires lignotubers, 37fig., 40, 77limber pine, 72 Lithocarpus densiflorus, 40 live oaks, 68, 77. LNU lightning complex fires, 136. 184fig. lodgepole pine, 70, 71, 71fig. logging: deforestation, 107; light-burning debate and, 110; salvage logging, 154, 155; thinning debate, 154–158 Lolium multiflorum, 103, 103 Long-horned Wood-boring Beetle, 60, 61 Los Alamos, New Mexico, Cerro Grande fire, 147 Los Angeles, Griffith Park fire (1933), 122 Los Angeles County: Bel Air fire, 123, 124fig.; Clampitt fire, 123 Los Padres National Forest, Marble Cone fire, 123 Lovelock, James, 7 lupines, 31, 49, 101 Lupinus, 101 Maclean, John, 164 madrones, 77; Pacific madrone, 76

Malosma laurina, 50 Manson, Marsden, 114 maples, 92 maps: annual lightning strikes, 14; chaparral fire perimeters and stand age, 151, 152; chaparral range, 44; climate zones, 21; dead trees in Sierra, 59; fire hazard severity zone county maps, 169; fire jurisdictions, 138; giant sequoia groves, 61; statewide fire threat, xvi, 161; vegetation types, 42; WUI areas, 165 Marble Cone fire, 123 Mariposa grove, 34fig., 64fig., 65fig. mariposa lilies, 49 marshes, 93 Marten, American, 99 Martes:americana, 99; pennanti, 99 Matilija fire, 122 McNab cypress, 72 McNally fire, 126 Mediterranean climates, 20, 21map Melanophila acuminata, 96, 97, 97fig. Mendocino complex fires, 131 Mendocino National Forest, Rattlesnake Fire, 123 mixed conifer forests, 33, 47, 53, 58, 77; fire policy, 155–158 Mojave desert, 87–90, 90fig., 100 montane chaparral, 47, 47fig. Montecito, 102, 102fig., 131 Monterey County, Marble Cone fire, 123 Monterey pine, 68 Mount Tamalpais, 18 Mountain Chickadee, 97 mountain dogwood, 63, 65

i n d e x   [ 217 ]

mountain hemlock, 72 mountain misery, 58 mountain whitethorn, 65, 66fig. mudslides. See debris flows Muir, John, 63, 111 National Advertising Council, 121 national forests See U.S. Forest  Service; specific forests by name National Park Service, 91fig., 138;  escaped prescribed burns, 146;  fire jurisdictions, 138 map. See also specific parks National Weather Service, 23 Nature Conservancy, 148, 149 Nevada County; McCourtney and  Lobo fires, 130 nitrogen, 6, 156; nitrogen dioxide, 37;  compounds in smog, 88 nitrogen-fixing bacteria, 101 Nixon, Richard, 124fig. nonnative grasses, 46, 50, 83, 90; for  erosion control, 103, 175 Norman, Steve, 76 Nor-Rel-Muk Tribe, 148 North Fork fire, 147 Northern Flicker, 147 Northern Paiute, 16 Nuns fire, 131 nutrient cycling, 4, 84–85, 88–89, 138 oak: blue oak, 80; California black  oak, 41fig.; 47, 80; canyon live oak,  36fig., 80; coast live oak, 68, 77,  80,; Engelmann oak, 80; fire  responses, 40, 79, 30. 81fig.;  interior live oak, 80; regeneration  concerns, 79–81; savannas, 27, 

29fig., 79–81, 80fig.; scrub oak, 42,  47, 49; trees, xix; valley oak, 80;  woodlands, 17, 18. 27, 29fig. 52, 68,  77, 79–81, 80fig. See also acorns;  sudden oak death Oakland Hills fire, xiv xvfig., 125,  125fig. obligate resprouters, 40. See also  resprouters obligate seeders, 36, 40 43, 68, 77 Old fire, 127, 128fig., 141 Olmsted, F. E., 117, 119 Orange County, historic wildfires,  xix, 126 Orange County Register, 122. 137 Oregon, Biscuit Complex fires, 126,  154 Ostrander, H. J., 111, 112 owls, 97; California Spotted Owl, 99,  100 oxidation, 2, 6, 7 oxygen, xvii, 5–8, 7fig., 12, 23, 105 Pacific Fisher, 99, 100 Pacific Gas & Electric (PG&E), 131,  133, 159, 16s, 162fig., 163 Pacific madrone, 76, 77 Painted Cave fire, 125 palms, 87; California fan palm, 87,  88, 89fig. Papaver californicum, 31fig. Paradise: See Camp fire Parker, Lucy, 16fig. perennials; fire adaptations/ responses, 36, 40, 92. See also individual species and genera phacelias, 31 phosphorus, 101, 156

[ 218 ]  i n d e x

photosynthesis, 2, 7, 8, 107 Phymatodes nitidus, 60, 61 physics of fire, 1–3 Phytophthora ramorum, 77, 79 Picoides arcticus97, 98fig. Pinchot, Gifford, 53, 55, 95 pine cones, 35, 35fig., 46, 46fig. pines, 17, 97; beach pine, 71; bishop pine, 39fig., 68; Coulter pine, 68, 69fig.; foxtail pine, 72; gray (foothill) pine, 47fig., 52, 52fig.; Jeffrey pine, 53–56, 54fig., 144fig., 155; knobcone pine, 67fig., 69; limber pine, 72; lodgepole pine, 70fig., 71, 71fig., 72; Monterey pine, 68; ponderosa pine, 46, 53–56, 55fig., 150; serotiny in, 37, 40, 47fig., 65–71; single-leaf pinyon pine, 83, 86fig., 87; sugar pine, 53; whitebark pine, 72; yellow pine, 114 Pinus: albicaulis, 72; attenuata, 67fig., 69; balfouriana, 72; contorta var. contorta, 71; contorta var. murrayana, 70fig., 71, 71fig., 72;coulteri 68, 69fig.; flexilis, 72; jeffreyi, 53–56, 54fig., 144fig., 155; lambertiana, 53; monophylla, 83, 86fig., 87; muricata, 39fig., 68; ponderosa, 46, 53–56, 55fig., 150; radiata, 68; sabiniana, 47fig., 52, 52fig. pinyon-juniper P-J forests, 81, 82fig., 86fig., 87 “ ’Piute Forestry’ or the Fallacy of Light Burning” (Greeley), 116, 117, 118fig. plant communities. See vegetation types; specific types

plants: fire adaptations/responses, 38, 40, 50, 53, 62, 71; photosynthesis, 2, 7, 8, 107. See also specific  plant types, vegetation types, species,  and genera Poecile gambeli, 97 poison oak, 81 Polioptila californica, 100 poppies, 31, 31fig., 49, 50fig. Populus tremuloides, 93, 95fig. power lines: power plants, 156. See  also Pacific Gas & Electric (PG&E); public safety power shutoffs (PSPS); Southern California Edison (SCE) precipitation, 20, 22, 23, 41, 47, 106. See also rain; snow prescribed burning, xix., 57fig., 60fig., 111, 120, 144, 144fig., 148, 148fig., 149; air quality concerns, 124, 126–127;chaparral lands, 153; to control sudden oak death, 79; escaped burns, 146, 147, 166; implementation, 154–159; for weed control, 83; wildlife and, 99; Yosemite National Park, 91fig. See  also light-burning debate private lands, prescribed burning on, 148 Pseudotsuga: macrocarpa, 77; menziesii, 53 public safety power shutoffs (PSPS), xvii, 159 purple sage, 50 Purshia tridentata, 83 pyrocumulous and pyrocumulonimbus convection clouds, 25, 186, 188fig., 194

i n d e x   [ 219 ]

Pyne, Stephen, 96 pyrophytes, 31 quaking aspen, 93, 94fig. Quercus: agrifolia, 68; chrysolepis, 80;  douglasii, 80; herberidifolia, 49;  kelloggii, 41, 47; lobata, 80;  wislizenii, 80 rabbits, 16, 96fig. radiation, 12 railroads, 110, 111 rain, xx, 15, 22 56; after fires,  102–104, 131, 133, 188fig. See also  debris flows Rattlesnake Fire, 123 red brome, 88 redbud, 81 Redding, Carr fire, 26fig., 123 Redington, Paul, 120 redwood. See coast redwood respiration, 7, 8 resprouters, 16, 16fig., 36, 40;  bearclover, 58, 60, 60fig.; bulbs,  16, 17fig. 36, 37fig., 79; chaparral  plants, 43, 48fig., 49, 50; coastal  sage, 50; conifers, 40, 66fig., 74;  grasslands, 92; Joshua tree, 88;  oaks, 40, 41fig., 79, 81fig.;  poison-oak, 68; quaking aspen,  93, 94fig.; riparian woodlands, 92,  93; sagebrush shrublands, 83;  tanoak, 40, restoration efforts: conifer forests,  155, 158; prioritizing, 158 rhizomes, 36, 37fig., 60, 92 Rhus integrifolia, 50 Rim fire, xvi, 41fig., 49fig., 130

riparian woodlands, 78–80 Riverside County: Esperanza fire,  127; fire plan, 18, 19fig. roofs, 168–173, 169fig., 171fig. roots, 7, 36, 37fig., 92, 93, 101 rubber rabbitbrush, 83 Russian thistle, 83 Sage Grouse, 87 sagebrush shrublands, 81–87, 82fig.,  84fig., 85fig. sages: big sagebrush, 82, 83; black  sage, 50; California sagebrush, 50;  purple sage, 50 Salix, 92 Salsola iberica, 83 Salt Point State Park, 18 salvage logging, 154, 155 Salvia: leucophylla, 50; mellifera, 50 Sambucus, 95 San Bernardino County, Old fire, 127,  128fig., 141 San Diego: County severity zone  map, 160; Fire Safe Councils, 175,  186; Laguna fire, 123, 140fig.;  prescribed burning, 153; 2007  fires, 129. See also Cedar fire San Francisco Call, 111, 112 Santa Ana winds, 20, 24, 43, 143, 149,  150, 167; historic wildfires, 123,  126, 127, 129fig., 134, 135fig. Santa Barbara County, Painted Cave  fire, 125 Sargent cypress, 72 Sawtooth Complex fire, 3fig. Sceloporus occidentalis, 97, 99fig. Scirpus acutus, 92 Scripps Ranch, 128fig.

[ 220 ]  i n d e x

scrub oak, 42, 47 seed dispersal and germination, 36, 37, 40; flowering plants, 36. See  also serotiny seeding, for postfire erosion control, 103 self-pruning, 53, 62, 54, 55, 78fig. sequoia, giant, 34fig., 53, 60–65, 61map, 64–65fig. Sequoia National Forest, McNally fire, 126 Sequoia National Park, 120 Sequoia sempervirens, 35fig., 75–76, 75fig., 136 Sequoiadendron giganteum, 34fig., 53, 60–65, 61map, 64–65fig. serotiny, 37, 40; cypresses, 72; Douglas-fir, 76; giant sequoia, 60, 62fig.; pines, 37, 38, 40, 47fig., 65–71; serviceberries, 95 Shasta County, Fountain fire, 126 Shasta Trinity National Forest, 136 sheep, 95. See also grazing shrublands: coastal sage, 24, 25fig., 44–45, 45fig., 82; sagebrush shrublands, 68–72, 70fig., 71fig., 73–74, 76, 86. See also chaparral shrubs, 11, 33; chaparral shrubs, 37–40; coastal sage, 45 Sierra Club Bulletin, 98, 100–102 Sierra Nevada Ecosystem Project Report summary, 136 Sierra Nevada foothills, historic wildfires, 107 Sierra Nevada forests, 95; Teakettle Experiment, 137–138; thinning debate, 136–140. See also conifer forests; light-burning debate

Simi fire, 40fig., 110 single-leaf pinyon pine, 72, 73, 73fig. Six Rivers National Forest, 126, 133; August lightning complex135–136; Biscuit Complex fires, 108; Smith River National Recreation Area Biscuit Complex fires, 126, 154 smoke, 1, 4 5fig., 12, 25, 46, 84, 100, 104fig., 128fig., 129fig., 130fig., 132fig., 135fig., 136, 156,; air quality and, 104, 105, 145, 147 148fig.; as germination trigger, 36, 37, 38fig.; hazard during fire fighting and evacuations, 143, 179–182 smoke jumpers, xiv, 139 Smokey Bear, 121, 121fig. snow, 47, 82 soap plant, 49 soils, 41, 100, 106, 156, 177 solar energy, 7 Sonoran desert, 88 soot, 3, 4 Southern California Edison (SCE), 131, 159 species of concern. See threatened and endangered species spot fires, 23, 24, 26, 43, 169fig. Spotted Owl, California, 99 sprinkler systems, 171 Squirrel, Douglas, 60 stand-replacing fires, 33, 53, 67 71fig.  See also crown fires Stanislaus Complex fires, 123 Stanislaus National Forest, xvi, 130 State Board of Forestry and Fire Protection, 120m 153m 158

i n d e x   [ 221 ]

state law: defensible space, 167–172;  evacuation orders, 180; greenhouse gas emissions reduction, 107 State Parks fire policy, 63, 120 steam, 12 Sterling, E. A., 112, 114 Strix occidentalis occidentalis, 100 subalpine conifer forests, 72 73fig. sudden oak death, 77, 79. See also  tanoak sugar pine, 53 Sundowner winds, 125 Sunset magazine, 115, 116, 119, 120 surface fires, 33; Douglas-fir and,   77, 78fig.; mixed conifer forests,  52,, 53, 56, 68, 112; oak woodlands,  79, 80; sequoia adaptations,   61, 63 surface fuels, 10., 11fig. 80, 158 Tamiasciurus douglasi, 60 tanoak, 40, 76, 77 Targhee National Forest, 147 tecate cypress, 72 terra torches, 145 thinning, forest lands, 154–158,  157fig. Thomas fire, 25, 102, 102fig., 131 threatened and endangered species,  92, 99, 100 threatened vegetation types, 92 timberlands, 21, 23–25, 155. See specific types topography, svii, 20, 26–29, 76 “The Torch in the Timber” (Graves),  119, 120 Tortoise, Desert, 100 Toxicodendron diversilobum, 68

trees, 10, 11; fire responses, 36, 37fig.;  fire scars, 33, 34fig., 35fig. 114, 149;  mortality, 58, 58fig., 59map, 136,  154. See also conifer forests; forests  and woodlands; individual species  and genera Trinity County, Bar Complex fires,  110 Tsuga mertensiana, 72 Tubbs fire, 131 tule, 92 tumbleweed, 83 Tunnel fire (Oakland Hills fire), xiv,  xvfig., 125, Typhus, 92, 93fig. Umbellularia californica, 77, 78 urban development, 100: wildlandurban interface, 153, 158, 164–168,  165map; insurance, 176. See also  fire risk; fire safety U.S. Forest Service, 110; fire   policy, 115–120; firefighters,   138, 139; jurisdiction, 138map;  thinning policy, 107, 108fig.,  120, 156 U.S. Geological Survey, 112 Utah juniper, 87 valley oak, 80 van Wagtendonk, J. W., 99, 137 vegetation types, 41–94, 42map;  anthropogenic types, 16, 17;  threatened plant communities,   92; topography and, 26, 28fig.;  type conversions, 46. See also  fire regimes; specific plant  communities

[ 222 ]  i n d e x

Ventana Wilderness, Marble Cone fire, 107 Ventura County, historic wildfires, 105, 110–111 vertical fuel arrangements, 10fig., 11–12 walls, exterior, 179 Wambaugh, Joseph, 19, 20 War Advertising Council, 121 Washingtonia filifera, 87 water: as fire extinguisher, 6; for fire suppression, 139–143, 140fig.; fuel moisture content, 9, 10; in photosynthesis, 7, 8; quality, 104; released by fire, 1, 2, 4, 8; soil moisture, 100, 101; sprinkler systems, 171; temperature in ocean, 106 weather: 20–23, 90; whiplash, 21 See  also climate; climate crisis; extreme fire behavior; firenado; pyrocumulonimbus cloud; rain weeds. See exotic weeds and grasses Western Fence Lizard, 97, 99fig. wetlands, 92, 93 “What Is the Truth?” (Redington), 120 whispering bells, 37, 38fig. White, Stewart Edward, 119, 120 white fir, 53, 56, 64figs., 65fig., whitebark pine, 72 wildflowers:post-fire, 31, 31fig., 49, 49fig., 88; sagebrush shrublands, 84fig. “wildland fire use,” 144

wild hyacinth, 50 wildland-urban interface, 153, 158, 164–168, 165map. See also fire risk; fire safety, historic wildfires wildlife, 95–100. See also individual  genera and species willows, 92 wind: fire behavior and, xv, xix, 22–25; fire-generated winds, 22; 5ee  also Diablo winds; firenado, Santa Ana winds; and Sundowner winds windows, 166, 170, 172 Wine country fires, 131, 132fig. See Nuns fire, Redwood Valley Fire Complex, Tubbs fire Wintu people, 148 Witch fire, 129 woodlands. See forests and woodlands Woodpecker, Black-backed, 97, 98fig. Woolsey fire, 134, 159 World War II, 121 Wuerthner, G., 187 Xerophyllum tenax, 126–127 Yeats, William, 1 yellow pine, 114 Yellowstone fires, 72, 146, 147 Yosemite National Park, xvi 15, 34fig., 64–65figs., 91fig., 130 Yosemite Valley, 17, 91fig. Yucca brevifolia, 88 zoning laws, 167

i n d e x   [ 223 ]

Founded in 1893,

University of California Press publishes bold, progressive books and journals on topics in the arts, humanities, social sciences, and natural sciences—with a focus on social justice issues—that inspire thought and action among readers worldwide. The UC Press Foundation raises funds to uphold the press’s vital role as an independent, nonprofit publisher, and receives philanthropic support from a wide range of individuals and institutions—and from committed readers like you. To learn more, visit ucpress.edu/supportus.