Era of megafire hits close to home 

It was 1997 when I first heard Dr. Craig D. Allen, a research ecologist, make an alarming prediction. I had just taken a job managing a large, forested headwaters ranch in the southern San Juan mountains of Colorado. As I sat in the little room and watched Dr. Allen illustrate the data he had extracted from climate and tree ring studies, the hair stood up on the back of my neck. Over centuries, the pattern was clear: extended periods of high moisture and vegetative growth followed by periods of drought and intensive wildfire. Only at this moment in history, things were shaping up to a greater extreme. The Southwest, which had for the past three decades experienced one of the wettest periods in known history, would soon move into one of the driest. And with it would come fire on a new scale.   

Back at the ranch, we invited private, state and federal foresters to a field visit. New to managing a forested landscape, I asked the group for guidance. The ensuing discussion went something like this: 

Me: “What should we do to promote forest health?” 

Foresters: “It depends, what are you managing for?” 

Me: “For forest health.” 

Foresters: “How do you define forest health?” 

Me: “That’s what I am asking you.”  

Foresters: “Well, that depends on your management objectives.” 

Me: “Forest health. Just basic forest health.”  

Foresters: “Sure. But that depends.” 

It turns out, of course that there is no single, agreed-upon definition of forest health. Forests can be managed for timber production, to reduce fire risk, to sequester carbon, to promote certain kinds of trees and other plants, for wildlife, to restore the forest structure to some particular point in time or a variety of other purposes. Most forest managers of both public and private land are trying to achieve some combination of these objectives.  

Passive management—in other words leaving the forests to their own processes—is more challenging than it might seem. Every time we put out a lightning strike fire we intervene in a key natural process, yet letting these fires burn is often not an option. People have also introduced non-native vegetation, altered wildlife influences, carved roads and changed hydrology. All of these things impact the way forests function.  

 Managing for forest health also depends on the history and present condition and composition of the forest. It depends on weather, climate, fire cycles, surrounding land uses, available resources and more. As land managers, we are often admonished to “follow the science.” Yet science isn’t perfect, often does not have all the “answers” and is always evolving. Other things also impact forest management decisions, including costs, markets, local, state and federal laws and regulations, liability considerations, insurance requirements, the availability of loggers, trucks, mills and prescribed fire crews, and the requirements of other priorities on the same landscape such as grazing and recreation. The closer you get to the ground and into the decision-making process, the more complex the picture becomes. All of this takes place in the context of a dynamic living system in which change is the only constant. 

In with a flood 

Two years after Dr. Allen predicted the coming era of drought and wildfire, the ranch experienced an exceptionally wet year. It seemed it would not stop raining and many of our small creeks and roads blew out in a 100-year flood event. Fish were washed out into fields. But then came the 2000s, starting with the Cerro Grande Fire in May of 2000. One account described a firestorm with flames 100 feet high roaring into the town of Los Alamos, New Mexico, home of Los Alamos National Laboratory. The fire burned 47,000 acres and destroyed hundreds of homes. The smoke filled our skies and lungs for weeks that summer, and we began to worry about fire. Our forest management took on a new sense of urgency.  

Then came 2002. Drought set in with an intensity that I had never envisioned. Day after day, week after week, month after month it baked. Springs and creeks went dry. The river was at a trickle. Fish and cottonwood trees died. There was no water for irrigation. We ran out of grass for the cattle. The fields and forest floor crunched with every step. Drought like that gets into your mind and body, a cellular kind of experience. I began to reflect on the fact that at least one historic drought in the Southwest had gone on for 80 years this way.  

On June 8, the Hayman fire ignited near Colorado Springs, eventually burning over 137,000 acres, destroying 600 structures and resulting in six fatalities. The Missionary Ridge fire erupted June 9, burning 73,000 acres and destroying 47 homes. On June 19, the Million fire erupted just to our north, consuming 9,000 acres in a single afternoon.  

Our little valley was filled with heavy smoke from these and other fires throughout the summer. Thanks to the foresight and personal investments of the ranch’s owners, we kept ranch staff trained and equipped for fire response. This enabled us to reach and extinguish lightning strike fires quickly both on the ranch and on neighboring ranches. Neighbors throughout the valley also kept shovels and fire tools in their trucks. Had we not responded to these fires, had we waited for fire engines to come from town, had we worried too much about liability or risk, had we not had capable people living there who were ready and willing to respond, there is no question our ranches and the headwater forests would have gone up in smoke that summer. The effects would have cost downstream agricultural and municipal water supplies dearly, in both Colorado and New Mexico, for years to come.  

But the summer of 2002 was only the beginning. The fires keep getting bigger and more dangerous. The 20 largest fires in Colorado’s history have occurred over the past 20 years. In 2020, the Pine Gulch fire burned 139,000 acres, the East Troublesome fire 193,812 acres and the Cameron Peak fire 208,913 acres, among several others. There have been many large fires in the years between—and this is just Colorado.  

The era of mega fires is upon us, just as Dr. Allen predicted. Science got this one right. So how should we manage our forests in this new era?  

Burn, log or leave it? 

In the view of some people, we should not manage our forests at all. Instead, we should fireproof our homes and communities and let nature run its course. Without a doubt, we need to do a much better job of planning and managing development in fire-prone landscapes and what is called the wildland-urban interface (WUI). Yet creating defensible space around structures does not address the risks to vast watersheds that deliver both municipal and agricultural water supplies. It also does not address the fact that historic forest management, including aggressive fire suppression, coupled with a changing climate has left many stands today unnaturally vulnerable to high-intensity fire, insects and disease. Unhealthy and overgrown forests can also negatively impact wildlife.  

Another view is that we should aggressively log western forests to reduce fuel loading and the risks of wildfire. A recent federal declaration of emergency across most US Forest Service lands in the West seeks to expedite timber harvesting by eliminating regulatory barriers. Mechanical thinning and commercial harvesting have an important role to play, not just in reducing the risks of fire but to meet human resource needs.  

These treatments need to be thoughtfully designed and implemented, however, for the sake of long-term forest health and productivity. Investments up front in planning and environmental assessments can help accelerate treatments in a manner that supports positive environmental outcomes. Without this, we risk making the situation worse. At the same time, frustrations mount quickly when environmental regulation and litigation is used to stop or delay projects that many see as important and beneficial to forest health and human communities.  

Fire is another important forest management tool and has been used throughout human history in many parts of the world. The intentional use of fire by indigenous peoples to manage vegetation and promote desired plant and wildlife species is often described as “cultural burning.” Similarly, prescribed fires are used by forest managers to control vegetation, improve wildlife habitat and reduce the risk of wildfire. In some cases, public land forest managers elect to allow naturally ignited fires to burn under certain conditions to achieve targeted outcomes, a strategy known as “wildfire management for resource benefit,” or “managed fire”.  

Fire as a forest management tool has several advantages. In some cases, it can be considerably more cost-effective than mechanical thinning. More importantly, some forests have evolved with fire. In these “fire-adapted” forests, fire plays a critical role in supporting ecological health. For example, some species of trees require fire to be able to release and germinate seeds. Fire also helps recycle soil nutrients, favors fire-resilient tree species, increases vegetative diversity and wildlife forage, and much more. These effects cannot be achieved with mechanical thinning alone.  

Fire, obviously, also has its risks. In a 2022 review of its national prescribed fire program, the US Forest Service (USFS) found that 99.84% of prescribed fires go according to plan. On the other hand, those that don’t can have catastrophic results. The infamous Cerro Grande fire was caused when a prescribed fire escaped. In 2012, a prescribed fire in Colorado escaped control, destroying 22 homes and taking the lives of three people. In 2023, two separate prescribed fires ignited by the USFS in New Mexico escaped and combined into the Calf Canyon/Hermit’s Peak fire, the largest New Mexico’s history. The fire burned 341,471 acres, destroying hundreds of homes and centuries-old communities. Naturally-ignited fires that are managed for resource benefits can also get out of control. 

Our role 

Private landowners with forested lands in the West are in a particularly challenging situation. While prescribed fire may be desirable from a forest health and fuel reduction perspective, the costs, lack of knowledge and access to resources, regulatory constraints, risks and liabilities are very significant deterrents. Interestingly, in other parts of the United States where a much higher percentage of land is in private ownership, the use of prescribed fire on private land is more widely accepted and supported. Certified prescribed burner programs and landowner prescribed fire associations provide training, resources and liability protection in a number of states. These programs are slowly becoming more available in the West, yet many challenges remain.  

Increasingly, we’re coming to understand that people have been shaping much of the natural world throughout our existence and will continue to do so. When you step back and consider the tremendous variety of forests, terrains, communities, wildlife and human resource needs, the need for thoughtful, adaptive, locally-tailored management becomes clear. As the articles in this issue highlight, forestry and fire are complex, challenging and fascinating. I have found some of the most rewarding moments in my career to have been the times I have spent in the forests with loggers, foresters, researchers, environmental advocates and land managers trying to figure things out together. We have so much yet to learn.