The stories from that fateful Aug. 13 afternoon in Rock Creek, which saw a wildfire ravage a mountainside and tear unabated up a heavily treed and populated corridor where it destroyed 28 homes, continue to emerge.
Some of the storytellers are just coming to grips with their losses and feel a need to share their experiences; others are seeking to express their gratitude for the efforts of their neighbours, who helped divert a certain disaster with their firefighting expertise and willingness to apply it.
These stories will, in time, all be told, as the return to a semblance of normalcy slowly unfolds. Here is one of those stories:
Fire on the mountain — a Hulme Creek story
by B. Scott
“Fire on the mountain, lightning in the air, gold in them hills and it’s waiting for me there”; Marshall Tucker Band 1975.
This song has nothing to do with the Rock Creek fire of Aug. 13, 2015, except to conjure up an analogy of sorts.
There was a fearsome fire on the mountain and lightning was the speed at which it moved. The efforts of property owners, aircraft, and ground crews fighting this hungry beast were gold.
I missed the evacuation order, but had a 1,000 litre tank, pump and hose almost at the ready, thanks to a local initiative started by Ed Fossen and family and Darren Hutchinson, our local firefighting guru. A group of locals had met last year and were encouraged to be ready to help with fire suppression; water tanks, pumps, backpack tanks; “ whatever you can muster” is better than nothing.
It took about 30 minutes to fill the tank on my old GM 4×4. My neighbours Bob and Susan Croft phoned after seeing the fire below the hairpin. By then, crews were already on Highway 3 as another fire had started west of Bishop’s corner.
I came back up Hulme Creek and the fire was on Kelly Harpur’s place and below Crofts, climbing the cliff and licking over the edge toward their house. Grass, brush and trees were bursting into flame.
Luckily for those of us on the west side of Hulme Creek Road, the very strong wind fanning the fire was from the southwest, keeping the flying embers and ash away from our places. Amazingly the fire never crossed the road.
We got the horse trailer hooked up, Bob and Susan loaded horses, dogs and cats, and I attempted to slow down the blaze coming up the cliff. Later they had to return for the last horse.
After 30-40 minutes the tank was done and a spotter plane was waving me off, so I left and a bomber hammered that blaze, and many others up the road. The precision of these pilots was amazing. The sky was very busy: big four-engine planes, small planes, and helicopters. Properties were saved.
By this time the power was down, so I went to farmer Greg McDonald, and got a refill from Doug Fossen’s big water tank; that only took about four minutes (I need a pump like that!), then back to Hulme Creek I went.
The forestry officials said I had left and could not return. “But look, my tank is full,” I said.
“No” was the reply.
Another neighbour, Don Henry had been evacuated in a hurry. He came over and asked about his place. I didn’t know, so said, “Let’s go.” We took another road in and found his house was fine, but still quite a bit of fire nearby, so we emptied the tank on these fires and he kept dowsing hot spots from his gravity water system.
In the meantime, Pierre Sinclaire, high on his hill, was looking at grass fires all around his place. Mark Tossevainen was doing what he could to fire proof his place, while Gary Laducaine was making fire guards around Mark and Wendy’s house and along the east side of Hulme Creek Road.
On the way back to my place (by this time it was getting dark) the Forestry men were parked at the entrance to my road. They recognized my truck and me and mentioned something about a possible arrest.
After an exchange of “pleasantries,” they took my name and I went home. My generator couldn’t run the well pump, so off went the tank, pump etc.; I put the pets in the cab (two cats, one dog), put the camper on the truck and spent most of the night watching grass burning and what looked like dozens of small campfires in the scorched forest on Mary Rock’s old place.
All one could do now was hope for the best. I made a few tours up and down the road, but calm had settled, and there seemed to be nothing to do until the morning but watch and wait.
That was day one, and what a day it was!
