The last time I felt like this, I was in the wilderness and the canyon was on fire. And I stood on the mountain, in the night and I watched it burn, I watched it burn, I watched it burn.
And really, when it comes to wildfires, that is all most of us can do when they unleash like hell-furry on our mountain and valley homes. My first years in Jackson were some of the worst fire-wise. The Green Knoll fire, right in town. The Jackson Lake fire. And there were so many more. And they let the fires burn out there to a certain extent because it is healthy for the the forests.
Two instances stand out in my mind. The first is when I was working a course behind the ranch. There had been no fires too close to the ranch itself (it was located in Hoback Canyon), so it was decided that the trip could proceed without any danger to staff or student. But, on the second day of the course smoke started pouring into the mountainous terrain we were moving through. It was so thick we worried that the fire was just around the corner, or that it would overcome us quickly. We tried using the emergency cell phone to contact the ranch with no luck. We decided that since we were on one of the main routes, either the forest service would come out (our trip was registered with them), or our own ranch would send horses to help us evacuate. As it turned out, the fire we were concerned about was still no closer. However, fires hundreds of miles away had shifting winds that was blowing the smoke from Montana down to Wyoming.
The second instance. I was sitting on the north eastern edge of Leigh Lake, one of the most amazing places on earth. The day was grey. It was a summer of all threat no rain, it thundered, it lightening, but it never rained. The moisture content of many of the trees was lower than that of cut lumber. On this day, we watched as the lightening struck the mountain, Moran Mountain to be specific, dozens of times. About an hour later, we saw what looked like the smoke from a small campfire rising out of the woods on the western side of the lake. At first, we thought it was irresponsible campers not respecting the fire ban that had been in effect all summer. But, at the day wore on, it was clear that this was not a campfire. It quickly spread, in a matter of hours, from a small campfire looking thing to a massive, raging fire. By night fall, the fire lit up the entire night sky. We wondered weather we should think about canoeing out, or even hiking out. However, the fire was resolutely moving across the base of Moran over to Jackson Lake. I sat up that night watching the red sky, and the helicopters come flying by, flying by, flying by to dip in the lake and carry the water over to the mountain.
It was just one of the many ways that Wyoming, and western wilderness in general, can bring you to your knees, humble you in an instant when it shows you how insignificant you are.
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