I've moved around quite a bit in my life, but am currently living in on the Kenai Peninsula in Alaska with my boyfriend for the next few months. I also visited for a few weeks last August, during the peak of the Swan Lake Fire, a wildfire that ended up burning over 167,000 acres of Alaskan forest. The Alaskan Division of Forestry was putting out hot spots and hold overs of the fire as late as June of 2020, almost a full year after the fire had started.
Alaska's wildfire seasons have been getting worse. 2019 was an "extreme" fire season that ended up destroying over 2.5 million acres and stretched on from April to late September. While wildfires are a normal part of the life cycle for Alaska's boreal landscape, major fire seasons seem to be recurring faster and burning longer, likely the result of increased lightning activity in the region, a key driver of fires. In a recent paper in the Journal of Applied Meteorology and Climatology, researchers found that lightning activity in the summer is likely to double in Alaska, potentially resulting in devastating effects for Alaska's forests.
The Kenai Peninsula in the summer of 2019 was marked by record breaking temperatures and a drawn out drought. When I'd arrived at the Anchorage airport in early-August, wildfires were raging across the state but the Alaskan Division of Forestry's firefighters had things pretty under control.
That changed on August 25th, my 20th birthday.
Our plan was that we'd drive a few hours to Seward, on the other side of the peninsula, to hike the Exit Glacier trail and see the Harding ice field. My boyfriend, an Alaska-native, assured me that, while the hike was difficult, the views were absolutely worth it.
Crossing to the other side of the peninsula, however, meant we had to drive through the active fire area. The fire update websites and the radio seemed to suggest that everything was fine, and our destination wasn't being affected, so we decided to make the trip.
This was taken from the passenger seat of the car, driving down the highway of the active fire area. The thick haze and smoke completely erased the clouds and cast the entire landscape in this eerie yellow glow. The haze receded significantly as we made our way into Seward, the haze receded, and the views on the hike were as amazing as promised.
And hours later, sore and exhausted, we'd climbed down the mountain and made our way to the car. It was time to drive back. And as we pulled onto the highway, the only road bridging both sides of the peninsula, we reached a standstill. Cars were bumper to bumper leading out of Seward, with the oncoming lane completely empty. Our stomachs sank when fire truck after fire truck passed us, driving on the wrong side of the road, to enter what had been a relatively calm fire area that morning.
Hours passed. The people in the minivan in front of us pulled out a campfire stove and made dinner on the side of the road. Several people got out of their cars and fished the schools of salmon that were idling in the river that hugged the road.
My boyfriend, remembering that there was a general store and restaurant about two miles down the highway, got out of the car and started walking on a dual reconnaissance and supplies-gathering mission. I stayed, on the off chance that traffic started moving again.
About twenty minutes later I was real glad I'd stayed behind. The cars in front of us had started moving! After a few minutes of driving my boyfriend came rushing down the side of the road, our takeout in hand. We quickly swapped seats and kept driving.
And then, about thirty minutes into the drive home, we saw this:
The fire had become significantly worse. We were driving into what looked like hell itself with no option to turn around, our only way to go was forward. Here's a another shot, from the window of the car:
Tiny little embers were blowing in the air around us like snowflakes. So much smoke was filling the car that it roiled my stomach and gave me an intense headache, and I was blessed with the opportunity to taste my dinner for a second time as I puked it up into a hastily-acquired paper bag.
My lungs ached for a few days afterward but thanks to my boyfriend's unflappable nature and steady driving, we made it through the wildfire unscathed.
Despite the day ending in disaster, it was a really formative experience that has shaped the urgency I feel surrounding climate change. Major fire seasons are recurring more often and are increasingly more intense, leaving Alaska's beautiful wilderness charred.
Citations:
Law, Tara. “About 2.5 Million Acres in Alaska Have Burned. The State’s Wildfire Seasons Are Getting Worse, Experts Say.” TIME.
Bieniek, Peter A. et al. 2020. “Lightning Variability in Dynamically Downscaled Simulations of Alaska’s Present and Future Summer Climate.” Journal of Applied Meteorology and Climatology 59(6): 1139–52.
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