Caught between two fires: a short and true story
There's something about a park ranger uniform that is unmistakable – the tan and khaki, the boots, the bulge where the radio hangs on the hip. That's why I was concerned when we saw what looked like a park ranger running towards us on the trail.
“Are you the guys who called 911?” he shouted, before he reached us. No, we answered. “Well you'd better high tail it out of here fast! There's a fire behind you and it's going to rip up this trail. Go past the gate, keep going and go for 14 miles until you get to the road.”
What?
Andy and I were having a lazy summer Saturday. He slept in while I made quiche from scratch (including the pie crust!). What do you wanna do today? Oh, how about something out in nature, get some exercise! What about Olympic National Park? Nah, something closer. Eagle Creek? I can show you my favorite camping spot and we can cool off at Punchbowl. Yes, Eagle Creek! Should we bring the leftover quiche? Nah, we can probably grab dinner on the way back. But lets bring some energy bars and the rest of the blueberries.
Our first clue something was wrong happened when we heard a loud bang, just as we were about to descend into Punchbowl falls. I thought it sounded like a gunshot, Andy thought it was a firecracker. A few of us who heard it looked at each other with confused looks, but didn't think much of it. We continued down to the water, passing a guy who was playing Tupac from giant speakers. “Why can't people just enjoy the sounds of nature when they're in nature?” Andy asked. “But at least it's Tupac!” he added.
It was a typical scene at Punchbowl – scores of people cooling off, relaxing, chatting. Young women in bikinis taking selfies on a rock. I caught a whiff of weed and watched as a man with a beer in his hand tried to cross the stream by balancing on a thin log. “Look at that cute little fluff muffin!” I said, pointing to a small white dog traipsing down the trail stairs.
These were the people that came to mind as we were flying up the trail, adrenaline rushing after what the ranger told us. What about all those people we saw at Punchbowl?
After that 30 second exchange with the ranger, all I could register was FIRE! 14 MILES! HAUL ASS! He was already nearly out of sight when I called out “WAIT!!! What are we supposed to do? Go past a gate?” He explained, “There's a locked gate at High Bridge. Go around it, and keep going towards Wahtum Lake!” And off he ran towards Punchbowl, to find and gather more people.
We were dumbfounded.
“Did you see a badge or anything on that guy?” Andy asked. “No, but it would be really cruel if this was a joke! He just told us to walk towards the other fire!”
The Indian Creek fire has been burning since July 4th. There were maps pointing out the fire at the trailhead, and a locked gate set up High Bridge to keep hikers out. The ranger had been posted there to ensure no one got through, and now we were supposed to walk towards this fire? Because there was a new fire raging towards us from behind?!
Punchbowl was about a mile behind us. We decided to hike to High Bridge, which was only a half mile further, and see if there was another ranger with more information. We passed by a family of six who were camping at my favorite spot. I yelled down to them, “Hey! Did a ranger come and talk to you? No?” I relayed what we knew. They had three kids, a few tents, and all their gear spread out. I could tell they didn't quite know how to take the information. “That's all we know, please be safe, whatever you decide to do!”
At High Bridge, there was no one there, no new information. Andy and I went over what we knew. We had passed a couple young men who had asked us if there was a fire at Punchbowl. We told them we came from there, and there wasn't any fire. Helicopters were flying back and forth above us with water buckets, but we had assumed they were working on the Indian Creek fire. In hindsight, we did smell fire as we hiked back out of Punchbowl, but we thought it was the Indian Creek fire.
It was just the two of us at High Bridge, but we were calm. It's nice to know you have a partner who is solid in a time of crisis. We decided to wait and see if the group of Indian folks we had passed would return. They too had asked us if there was a fire at Punchbowl. If all of this was real, and we are supposed to be running for our lives, that ranger would have told them the same thing, and we should be seeing them soon.
We only had to wait five minutes. Once I spotted them, I knew this was no joke, this was a real emergency. We introduced each other, and right away I apologized because I knew I wouldn't remember all of their names. There were seven of them. A few lived in Hillsborough, the rest were visiting from San Jose and Los Angeles. They had all gone to grad school together, and this was a reunion. I learned this during the next six hours of hiking. For now, time was of the essence. We quickly checked in about water and food, injuries, conserved cell phone batteries, counted heads, and set off. I felt much better now that we were in a group. As Ned Stark from Game of Thrones would say, “When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives”.
We were boosted by another rush of adrenaline when the ranger caught up with us again as we were filling our water bottles in the river. I was so happy that I had brought my steri-pen, only to find out that the battery was dead. Now was not the time to lament the fact that I had become too lax about wilderness preparation. My wildlife background, and living in Hawaii, always saw me prepared with first aid kit, extra clothes, extra food, headlamp and matches, even for a day trip. Right now though, right now, the ranger was yelling at us to GO! GO! GO! GET OUT OF HERE!! KEEP MOVING! KEEP MOVING!
Images of Bambi running through the forest, the fire licking at his feet.
I kept fumbling with my hydration bladder, I couldn't get the top back on it. Andy stayed with me, in his quiet calm way, and tried to help. Finally, I just picked up the whole contraption, tubes splayed, pack half open and ran up the slope back onto the trail. That was the only time I kind of lost it, but Andy stayed right there with me. He didn't panic and he didn't run off ahead. We have been dating for about 2 months.
Andy had never been to Eagle Creek before, and I knew he was in for a treat. Yes, we were running – well, calmly and quickly walking – for our lives, but I was looking forward to seeing his reaction when he first set eyes on Tunnel Falls, a 165 foot waterfall that you can walk up to, and behind. It was a quick three miles from High Bridge and we were there in a blink of an eye. I had never seen him walk so fast! Rounding the corner, I told him, “Look!” He took in the sight without missing a step, and let out his signature gush of awe (I say signature because he let out a similar gush during the total solar eclipse, which was recorded on video and we've been laughing about it ever since). We also caught sight of the family of six ahead of us. Phew! Good, they're accounted for. We can see them.
It is one of the most expansive feelings, to be in awe of such beauty and wonder, coupled with a life threatening situation. I felt the thrill of being alive, in love with nature, joy through and through. Giant smiles all around, I could have skipped into that tunnel, except the trail was slippery and yeah, the 165 foot drop two feet away. Andy whipped out his phone, still not missing a step, and took a quick video. I really hoped he wasn't going to win a Darwin award for that one, but still, I felt complete and happy in our situation. I told him I'd rather die out in nature than anywhere else, if it came to that.
During the next few hours, we got to know the people in our group. The family of six was from Tacoma Washington. Chloe was seven, Aubrey was about to turn 12 and the other kid, I didn't get to know. The woman in that group gave me a pair of socks that saved my feet from blisters. Ranger Brian Richardson was originally from Appalachia I believe, and he said he's not even a 'fire guy'. I can't recall completely, but I think he said he was with the ABC ambulance crew. The Indian friends would chatter back and forth in English and a language I couldn't identify. A couple of them were slower hikers and Ranger Richardson always stayed with them.
As the hours wore on, I started to get light headed. We had 1.5 energy bars between me and Andy, and 15 blueberries, though I knew the other folks had some food and were willing to share if I needed it. One of them was carrying burritos in a paper Target shopping bag. No one hoarded, everyone looked out for each other.
Early on, Ranger Richardson had asked us to help him figure out if there was anyone he may have missed on the trail between High Bridge and Punchbowl. Together, we gathered that there was one male hiker, probably from the Pacific Crest Trail, and the two young men we passed who were not with us. One of those men had heli-tech experience, and looked pretty able bodied – he was taking shirtless muscle-man pictures with his buddy - so I wondered if he went back to Punchbowl to assist. Late into the night, I overheard through radio chatter that the PCT hiker was accounted for. I have so much respect for these rescue teams that are able to keep track of individuals lost in the mayhem.
We ran into a female ranger, I didn't catch her name, who was on her way to stay with the 147 or so stranded at Punchbowl. She had an enormous backpack full of water, gatorade and food. She told us we were probably two miles from Wahtum, and it was a gorgeous hike. I had a quiet chuckle to myself later, realizing she must have been joking – it was more like six miles, and the air was too dark and thick to see anything, even when the lake was only 25 feet away.
We learned that supplies were going to be dropped by helicopter to the other folks, and that they would have to spend the night. All 147 of them? Yes. How did they even know how many were there? Who's organizing them? It must be crazy down there! Andy and I counted our blessings that we got out in time. We imagined the chaos of hunkering down with such a large group of stressed out people and having to hike out the same 14 miles we were doing, but after a cold and sleepless night.
Once it got dark, I lost track of time and space. I could only see Andy's feet ahead of me. If I looked up for just a half second to take in the forest, or the moon, or the smoke, I would inevitably stumble a bit, or stub my toe on a rock. So I concentrated on the path three feet in front of me, lit up by Andy's borrowed headlamp. It wasn't until I heard others complaining about the climb that I realized our trail was a steady uphill grade.
About 4-5 miles outside of Wahtum Lake, we were presented with a nice surprise. Firefighters found us and supplied us with hot food and clean water! “Who wants tortillas? I've got spinach fettucini! Apples anyone? Beef stick? How about beef and beans?” My mind boggled. They had carried in five gallon jugs of water slung on their shoulders with their fire axes, plus packs full of MREs. Technology has changed since I first started backpacking – somehow, the beef and beans in my MRE pouch were hot!
Bright light from the rescue team's gear filled the circle of quiet chatter as we rested and ate next to a bubbling stream. Being near running water gave us some reprieve from the smoke that had been choking our lungs. The hot food and having my hydration pack filled by a firefighter made me feel queenly. Three people gathered, trying to figure out how to put the top back onto my hydration pack. I will have to write to that company and tell them a thing or two about poor design.
Those wonderful firefighters escorted us back to Wahtum lake. Time dragged. Hours skipped by unnoticed. I sang songs to keep myself uplifted. I could see that Andy was starting to turn inwards, barely speaking a word. Chloe, the seven year old, was complaining that her feet hurt. Her dad told her to just take one step at a time. At first, adrenaline had kept us going. Now I could see people flagging all around me. I chatted with Chloe and Aubrey, asking them about school. One of the firefighters picked up the tune I was humming and we did a spontaneous Bolero duet.
We took many breaks once the firefighters led the group. It was the steeper and more dangerous part of the trail. “There's a quicker way out, but it would involve ascending what looks like the stairs to Mordor,” said one of them. “We're not going to take that route.”
“Hear that?” said one another. “That is a Blackhawk helicopter dropping off supplies to the other group.” It wasn't until days later that I found out those people never saw any supplies. The helicopter attempted a drop off, but could not get in safely. Those 147 people hiked until midnight, passed Tunnel Falls, and slept in whatever gear they had. I thought about the women in bikinis, the Tupac fan, the man who was buzzed on marijuana and beer, the tiny dog.
We had started our hike around 5pm. Our group of 15 hikers plus Ranger Richardson and the firefighters made it out by 1am to Wahtum Lake campground. A ranger took down our names and phone numbers. A school bus had been waiting for us, along with a handful of hikers from the PCT trail that were found and evacuated. We stopped by the fairgrounds where a sheriff with a magnificent mustache an old-timey gravel voice came onto the bus and asked about injuries, passed out food and water, took our names and numbers. Again I am amazed at how the rescue teams had us all covered.
The bus ride back to the Eagle Creek parking area and the next day in town were surreal. We saw the fire we had just escaped - pyres of vertical lava oozing up the mountain. We didn't get to bed until 5am, but woke up at ten. We searched the internets obsessively, eating up every new bit of information. We were too tired and too amped to have a proper rest. We watched Alive, a movie about a team of rugby players who were stranded in the Andes after a plane crash and survived 90 days by eating the deceased. Yeah. We did that.
Andy and I had a laugh about our conversation minutes before Ranger Richardson first found us: Have you ever been in a fire before? Sometimes I think it's a good thing to find yourself at a perceived limit, and push yourself just a little further.
That, and a sense of humor go a long way. Thanks Andy, and everyone else for being part of the pack. We made it!
Investigations are saying the fire was started by a 15 year old boy and his friends who were throwing smoke bombs into the gulch off of Eagle Creek Trail on Saturday afternoon, September 2nd. Four days alter, the Eagle Creek fire has now combined with the Indian Creek fire and burns unchecked at more than 30,000 acres in the Columbia River Gorge. Punchbowl falls is a popular watering hole for tourists and locals alike.