REFLECTIONS ON A TRAGEDY by Past CCA President Dave Daley This article was originally published online by the author in September 2021.
It was a year ago this week. The anguish of the monster North Complex Wildfire. Devastation that killed a forest, killed a watershed, killed the wildlife as they fled on fire, killed an entire ecosystem and killed 12 people. It destroyed the town of Berry Creek, destroyed some of the most beautiful habitat in the United States including burning through the spectacular Feather Falls scenic area. Our cow herd and their baby calves were killed. Burnt alive in tragic and unimaginable terror. It will haunt me forever. My family history spanning six generations of taking cows to the mountains above Lake Oroville in the Plumas National Forest, from the 1800s to 2020, destroyed. Gone in a fleeting 24 hours that burned 200,000 acres with devastating winds, tinder dry fuels and no way to stop it. The solution to avoid this catastrophe was forgotten decades ago from misguided management. Well intentioned, bad ideas that were implemented without ever asking the locals who have deep connections to place and an understanding of what may be needed. Policies were developed by those who don't live here and don’t know the land. "Let's protect the land by stopping active forestry, prescribed fire, and grazing." Good job. Look where it has gotten us. Misplaced knowledge, inappropriately and broadly applied across different ecosystems, coupled with a smattering of arrogance and ignorance by those who “know better." The crisis we have all helped to create puts so many of us in danger, especially those on the front line. Yet despite the danger, the first responders always show up. My thanks, and deep gratitude to all those in the way of this beast and the other fires you now face. Some of you have heard the story (read it here: https:// calcattlemen.org/2020/09/23/legacy/), so I will spare the details, but until you have experienced devastation of this magnitude up close and personal, I would ask you to be thoughtful and not be quick to offer advice. Please, ask those of us who are part of the forest and have seen the devil in person – a fire of such scope that it is truly hard to fathom. No tragedy is ever the same. I empathize with those who have dealt with fires in different ecosystems, or floods, blizzards, or hurricanes. Each situation is difficult, unique, and personal. The tragedy is what binds, but don’t make assumptions and offer solutions. Your understanding and support are enough. Almost a year to this day the Bear Fire (one of 21 lightningsparked fires which formed the North Complex Fire) tore through our mountain range where we have trailed cattle for 150 years. The unstoppable monster ate everything. Everything. There was no stopping it. Cows and calves killed side by side with bear and deer, all hunting for water, dying horrible deaths with no oxygen as the fire sucked it away. Those who died 30 California Cattleman November 2021
quickly were the lucky ones. Others couldn’t escape – in slow torture, with burnt hooves, eyes, hides, lungs – some with their legs burnt off but still breathing. And we just hoped we could find them to end their suffering rather than know the pain of dying over days and weeks. Their pain never leaves until their last breath. Our pain never leaves. We spent the longest month of my life searching for survivors. We spent 16- to 20-hour days and little sleep in between as the scenes you witnessed kept flashing before your eyes. We couldn't have done it without that bond of family and friendship. To find a calf two weeks after the fire that could barely stand, with eyes gone and hooves gone is an image you can't forget. The agony, for the animal and the people, will never fade. We couldn’t take cows to the mountains this year. That hurt. It was a hard decision personally, even though the Forest Service and Sierra Pacific, the private timber company we lease from, were supportive. There was nothing for the cattle to return to. My mom couldn’t go. At 90 years of age, it is the first year she hasn’t gone since 1948 when she married my dad and it began the cycle of cows, kids, family, the mountains and back to the foothills. I hated losing that chance for her. I find it amusing at how easily we bandy the term “resilient.” Look to her or people like her and you will find the true definition. Each ecosystem is different. Some will recover quickly, and some may never be the same. Rainfall, topography, tree and plant species, soil type, restoration efforts and more. You don’t replace 100-year-old to 150-year-old trees. Not in my lifetime. Not in my one-year-old granddaughters Juni’s lifetime. I hate it. I force myself to go to the fire scar about every two or three weeks. Each time leaves me with an ache in the pit of my stomach. When I don’t go for a few weeks, the hurt fades. The trip picks at a healing scab, and sometimes draws blood. In time, I hope the scab will fade to a scar, but it will never leave. This is the time of year when cows would just begin to calve, and we would make plans for the fall gather. Placing salt and mineral strategically, working on the “catch pens” (those contraptions weren't good enough to deserve to be called a corral!) and assessing the conditions of the land. On a crisp late summer day, you could start to feel the hint of fall in your bones. You always hoped for a summer thunder shower (without lightning!) to freshen the grass and browse and settle dust. You can see the active logging of Sierra Pacific, removing the dead trees as quickly as they can. Hundreds of loads of logs are moved each day. It is hard to look at the land without the majestic conifers, but it is clearly the right thing to do. Sierra Pacific has already started to replant. Maybe Juni’s granddaughters will see the land as I knew it? I can only hope. So far, I see no activity on any National Forest land. I know
