At Home 

in the Woods

Lessons Learned in the Wildland/Urban Interface
2

At Home in the Woods

Dedication

This book, like this monument in Glenwood Springs, 

Colorado, is dedicated to fi refi ghters who have given 

their lives to protect others from wildfi res. These 

bronze fi gures represent the 14 fi refi ghters who died 

fi ghting the Storm King Fire in 1994 . The Coal Seam 

Fire of 2002 burns in the back ground.

Published in 2004
3

At Home in the Woods

Introduction .................................................................................................................. 5

Case Studies

Wildfi re Web Site a ‘Hit’ for Homeowners (Colorado Springs, Colorado) .............................. 7

 How the Online Fire Map Works

 How to Put Together a Successful Mitigation Meeting

Community Chips Away at Wildfi re Mitigation (Sundance, Utah) ...................................16

 A Community Solution

Fire Inspires 82-year-old to Thin Trees (Routt County, Colorado).......................................25

Fuel Reduction Protects Mesa Verde National Park (Mesa Verde, Colorado)........................27

Fighting the Fuels (Black Hills, South Dakota) ..................................................................32

 South Dakota Black Hats

Goats Take Bite Out of Fire Risk (Woodland Hills, Utah)...................................................38

 A Wine and (Goat) Cheese Affair

The Little Train that Could (Durango, Colorado) ...............................................................43

Big Elk Fire Sends Wake-Up Call (Estes Park, Colorado)....................................................48

 Green Badge of Honor

Blazing a Trail to Safety (Bismarck, North Dakota) ............................................................52

 Blazing Your Own Trail

Teamwork Fuels a Modern Gold Strike (Virginia City/Nevada City, Montana)....................56

‘Don’t Burn the Rally’ (Sturgis, South Dakota)..................................................................61

 Partners in Prevention

 On Patrol

A Bolder Boulder (Boulder, Colorado) ..............................................................................73

A Community Unites (Glenwood Springs, Colorado)...........................................................82

 Add Flood Insurance to Wildfi re Safety Checklist

Evacuees Star in Local Film Remake (Jackson Hole, Wyoming)...........................................88

Counties Give Wildfi re a Run for Its Money (Greater Helena Area, Montana)......................93

All Signs Point Toward Mitigation (Jefferson County, Colorado) ..........................................99

Cooperation Leads to Coordination (Routt County, Colorado).........................................103

Perspectives

Restoring the Land with Fire.....................................................................................110

How Homes Ignite ...................................................................................................117

Living with Fire ........................................................................................................122

 How to Be a Recognized Firewise Community

Resource Guide .........................................................................................................126

Table of Contents
4

At Home in the Woods
5

At Home in the Woods

Introduction

ASIMPLE WOOD-FRAMED HOME sits tucked 

within a rich green forest. Perched on a hillside, its deck affords a spectacular view of the 

valley below, as do the large picture windows 

and glass doors. The shake shingle roof gives 

the home an old-style authenticity perfect for 

the rustic land scape. A stack of fi rewood has 

been readied for the fi rst chill, and neighbors’ 

houses are just visible through the tree-tops. 

It is a powerful image that continues to 

draw more and more people into pre vi ous ly 

unpopulated areas of the country. But while 

the appeal of living close to nature is obvious, 

the risks of doing so are less clear. 

In recent years, images of raging wild fi res 

have been impossible to ignore: panicked residents fl eeing their homes with only moments 

to spare, communities shroud ed in smoke and 

ash for days on end, exhausted fi refi ghters 

putting them selves in harm’s way to protect 

lives and property. 

Yet in the last decade there have not been 

more fi res started or acres burned than usual. 

Fires have always burned in the wilderness 

and always will. What has changed is the 

degree to which people are affected by them. 

And as populations con tin ue to shift from 

urban to rural lands, wildfi res will likely pose 

even greater risks in the future. 

FEMA developed this initiative as a way 

to document some of the best, most innovative fi re mitigation prac tic es currently 

underway in the wild land/urban interface. 

We visited several states in the interior West 

and talked to people from all walks of life. 

What follows are their stories, with a focus 

on challenges faced, obstacles overcome and 

lessons learned. 

By showing specifi c instances where 

people are working together to pursue meaningful change, our goal is to inspire others to 

do the same. The individuals featured in these 

stories share a desire to lessen wildfi re threats 

in their com mu ni ties, but they also share the 

knowledge that progress often comes slowly. 

For every success there is a setback, and for every 

satisfying end there is a humble beginning.

Still, in countless places and in count less 

ways, they are making a difference. 

We have not sought to take sides on the 

more contentious debates or to promote 

certain practices over others. In telling these 

stories, we simply hope to provide a starting 

point for others who might one day take a 

similar journey. 

While there are no one-size-fi ts-all 

pre scrip tions for wildfi re safety, successful 

mitigation efforts share common elements: 

reaching across jurisdictional lines, building community support, accepting per son al 

responsibility, and maintaining suffi cient 

reserves of fl ex i bil i ty, creativity and pa tience.

There can be little doubt that people will 

continue to seek out the beauty and tranquil i ty of natural settings in which to live. 

There can be equally little doubt that fi re will 

one day intrude. It is not a ques tion of if, but 

when and where.

The good news is that mitigation offers a 

way for communities to more peacefully coexist with fi re—and for residents to be truly 

at home in the woods.

— Michael D. Brown

Michael D. Brown,

Under Secretary of the

Department of Homeland 

Security for Emergency 

Preparedness & Response

5
6

At Home in the Woods
7

At Home in the Woods

IT’S A CITY SYNONYMOUS WITH PIKES

PEAK, whose breathtaking views inspired a 

visiting professor of lit er a ture by the name 

of Kathryn Lee Bates to pen the words to 

“America the Beautiful” nearly a century ago.

Colorado Springs’ legendary grandeur 

has always drawn people attracted to its 

natural beauty and healthy cli mate. On a 

typical June day, a steady stream of vehicles 

makes its way to the 14,110-foot summit of 

“Amer i ca’s mountain,” where tourists step 

from their cars to take in this top-of-theworld pan ora ma.

But in June 2002, traffi c on the Pikes Peak 

Highway slowed to a trickle, and the region’s 

purple mountain majesty gave way to a more 

sinister hue.

A raging forest fi re burned just 20 or so 

miles northwest of town. The Hayman Fire, 

named after a mining ghost town in the 

nearby Pike Na tion al Forest, would even tu -

al ly cover 137,000 acres, making it the largest wildfi re in the history of the state. A banner headline in the Colorado Springs Gazette 

proclaimed “Colorado Burning!” Thousands 

of residents in three counties bordering the 

national forest would be ordered to evacuate. 

And while fl ames never directly threatened 

city residents, fi re had left its calling card.

One year earlier, a vision

It was the kind of sight that Fire Chief 

Manuel Navarro of the Col o rado Springs Fire 

Department had seen before and one that he 

anticipated with dread and prep a ra tion.

A veteran of the 1991 Oakland Hills Fire 

in California that killed 25 and de stroyed 

more than 3,300 homes, Navarro came to 

Colorado in 1994. The state was then ex pe ri -

enc ing a relatively wet phase. But by 2000, 

Colorado’s woodlands were so dry that 

wildfi res destroyed a record 21,527 acres. In 

2001, only moderate fi re activity occurred 

despite tinder-dry con di tions and sizzling 

summer heat.

Chief Navarro sat back in his offi ce chair 

at CSFD Headquarters and talked about the 

looming threat of wild fi res. Outside, beyond 

the broad boulevards and busy city streets, 

the iconic profi le of Pikes Peak stood out 

against a brilliant, almost blind ing blue backdrop.

Navarro’s eyes took on a faraway look.

“I can tell you unabashedly that it’s going 

to happen. It’s not a question of if, but when.”

Navarro was concerned about the growing threat in an area the fi re de part ment 

refers to as the “red zone.” Also known as the 

wildland/urban interface, this is an area of 

mixed use where development encroaches 

on the forested hills west of town. Nearly 

45,000 Colorado Springs homes are located 

in this high-risk en vi ron ment.

When asked about the Oakland fi res, 

Navarro passed a fi nger over his fur rowed 

brow. His raspy voice betrayed a hint of 

weariness in having to go over the painful 

events of ten years ago—yet one more time.

Wildfi re Web Site a ‘Hit’ for Homeowners

Colorado Springs residents go online to fi nd fi re rating

Colorado Springs Fire 

Chief Manuel Navarro
8

At Home in the Woods

“The Oakland fi res were interesting in 

a number of ways,” he said. “Twenty years 

before, that same area was hit, but we were 

saved by a change in the weather and only 

20 homes were lost.” 

Navarro paused before adding, “Next 

time we weren’t so lucky.

“The conditions here in the Springs really 

concern me. In some ways, this is potentially worse than Oakland,” he said. “When I 

came here, I vowed that I would never stand 

in front of a group as I did in Oakland, and 

listen to residents one after another say that 

the fi re department never informed them of 

the wildfi re danger.”

His vision—some would call it a pipe 

dream—was to affect nothing short of a 

wholesale change in the way the local commu ni ty looks at wildfi re threat. It would 

require deft political skills, for mi da ble 

powers of public persuasion and sheer 

doggedness to navigate the “spider web” of 

competing interests, confl icting authorities 

and over lap ping jurisdictions to get the job 

done.

“What’s needed is nothing less than a 

paradigm shift in the way people view living 

with fi re, and their responsibilities to protect 

themselves and others,” Navarro said. 

The new chief quickly learned he was 

starting from scratch. “I saw right away that 

we had to do something, so we bit the bullet 

under a tight budget and created a payroll 

slot for a person to direct our wildfi re mitigation effort.”

Navarro turned to an old hand who had 

a reputation for fi xing things to become the 

department’s fi rst Wildland Risk Man age ment 

Offi cer.

From vision, commitment

Enter Bill Mills.

As a 33-year veteran of the fi re service, 

Mills knows the drill. With his breezy speech 

and jaunty manner, “Old Fireman Bill,” as 

he sometimes refers to himself, combines 

the evangelist’s fervor when preaching the 

mitigation gospel with the cynic’s cold eye 

to just how diffi cult it can be to change 

human behavior.

Attired in his crisp dress blues, Mills plays 

the part effortlessly, making the jargon-laden 

terminology of the fi re expert sound like 

folk wisdom, smart and funny at the same 

time. Scratch the surface, though, and you’ll 

fi nd Mills’ belief in the im por tance of his 

mission is bedrock.

Mills likes to joke about his roundabout 

speaking style. (“I usually have to walk 

around back to fi nd the barn door.”) Ask 

Navarro, though, and the chief will tell 

you that Mills is focused, passionate and 

re lent less.

In the summer of 2001, Mills stood on 

the observation deck of the Will Rogers 

Me mo ri al, which is perched on the side of 

Chey enne Mountain in the shadow of Pikes 

Peak. From this lofty 8,000-foot view point, 

he extended his arm over the entire sweep of 

the city’s wildland interface—“my area of 

concern”—a 64-square-mile expanse that is 

bigger than Los Angeles if you include jurisdictions where the department has mutual 

aid agreements.

“What you see here is the scope of what 

we believe to be the largest ground-level 

residential risk-assessment ever conducted in 

this country—more than 44,000 homes and 

businesses,” he said.

North and south, roads snake through 

foothills, where shingled rooftops peak over 

the tips of Ponderosa pines. Mills pointed 

north to a cluster of residences nestled on 

a tree-topped mesa. He had been working 

with a homeowners’ association to get the 

neigh bors to create defensible space on their 

property.

Colorado Springs Fire 

Department Wildland 

Risk Management Offi cer 

Bill Mills at the Will 

Rogers Me mo ri al above 

Col o rado Springs, his 

64-square-mile “area of 

con cern.”
9

At Home in the Woods

Although he was pleased with the progress made with the group so far, he made 

a droll confession that all of his out reach 

efforts haven’t met with the same success.

“After preaching mitigation to a lot of 

empty seats in libraries and church basements, the thought occurred to me that my 

audience was probably at home sitting in 

front of a computer. That’s when it hit me. 

We’d put the results of our risk assessment

—along with all our other wildfi re mit i -

ga tion information—on the Internet.”

The Web site would serve as an accurate 

and authoritative gauge of the community’s 

exposure to fi re danger. Mills thought that 

by highlighting ratings for every property, 

he could educate individuals and stimulate 

action. It would enable people to look up 

their own address to see how they stack up 

on a color-coded scale, and take action to get 

their rating changed. 

“We’re practicing emergency manage ment here,” he said. “We’ll take our best 

knowl edge and science, present it to policymakers and bottom-line types in a userfriendly format and ask, ‘Where do you want 

to be with this?’ If they’re not committed, 

then we can put it on the shelf next to plans 

for grasshopper invasions and such.” 

Commitment to a plan

The basic ingredients for creating an 

interactive Web site were already in place: 

the daunting door-to-door assessment, 

which had begun in 1999, was moving 

toward completion; much of the Geo graph ic 

In for ma tion Systems (GIS) data needed 

to chart the map could be bor rowed from 

existing information already found in other 

city departments such as public works and 

planning; and the fi re de part ment already 

had a GIS specialist who could lend expertise 

in putting the pieces together.

The challenge lay in committing time, 

money and resources to complete the survey, 

and then to design and market the site. 

Again, Mills was not breaking ground, but 

merely adding value to his master mitigation plan with the addition of an online fi re 

map. In the end, the interactive map would 

become the centerpiece of the department’s 

Firewise Web site.

“We had to sell people on the overall 

project, using science and not just sound 

bites,” he said. “We had a broad vision of 

how mitigation practices could be im ple -

ment ed throughout the community, through 

public outreach that included the Web site, 

through vegetation man age ment, code development, ordinances... but also through partnerships with foresters, en vi ron men tal ists, 

wildlife managers and utility companies. We 

didn’t just rush out to buy a chipper so we 

could start clearing trees.

“This is not a cookbook. Planning and 

getting buy-in from others is hard. There’s 

no way you can do this without feeling pain. 

Getting results is the fun part.”

In the spirit of partnership, Mills helped 

others who needed his expertise to further 

their own goals, and shared in their success. When the U. S. Forest Service looked 

for worthwhile thinning projects, Mills 

proposed creating defensible space around 

the historic Cheyenne Moun tain Zoo on the 

western edge of the city, while lending his 

public in for ma tion and mitigation planning 

skills to the zoo on behalf of the fi re department. Later, when the insurance industry 

worked to get a roofi ng ordinance passed 

in the Springs as a protection against rising 

hail-damage claims, Mills pitched in on the 

de part ment’s behalf—the new materials also 

carry a high fi re-resistant rating. 

“Once you’re able to enlist broad support 

and assemble a team, you become pretty 

potent,” Mills remarked.

On the basis of a comprehensive 48-page 

plan and solid partnerships, the de part -

ment was awarded a $129,732 Assistance 

to Firefi ghters Grant from the Federal 

Emer gen cy Management Agency/U.S.

Fire Administration in 2001. To geth er with 

$55,600 in matching funds from the 
10

At Home in the Woods

city of Colorado Springs, Mills was able to 

hire a full-time Firewise coordinator, Cathy 

Prudhomme. In ad di tion to being knowledge able about fi re programs, Prudhomme 

brought excellent community relations skills 

and public relations savvy to the job. 

At the beginning of 2002, Mills had 

reason to feel good about the progress of 

the mitigation plan. He had a strong team 

and enough fi nancial support to carry him 

through the coming year. He had gained the 

support of his chief and city gov ern ment, 

and local, state and federal partners were 

engaged in their own ways of fur ther ing the 

pre ven tion plan.

Yet two nagging questions remained. 

First, there was the perennial question of 

how to get individuals to take responsibility 

for reducing their fi re danger. Would the Web 

site really make a difference in mo ti vat ing 

people? 

A second, more troubling question 

remained. What would the new fi re season bring? And would a damaging wildfi re 

strike before the department had posted its 

risk map, warning residents of the po ten -

tial ly dangerous situation? From the looks 

of things, “Old Fireman Bill” had plenty of 

reason to worry.

June 8, 2002: The Hayman Fire 

As the 2002 wildfi re season drew near, 

Mills was hardly alone in his concern. 

Extreme springtime fi re conditions de vel -

op ing in the wooded foothills outside of 

town foreshadowed catastrophic summertime confl agrations. Colorado was in the 

midst of one of its worst droughts in recorded history. Ground vegetation in much of the 

state had moisture content of 1 percent to 4 

percent, and big timber was said to be drier 

than kiln-treated two-by-fours found in a 

lumberyard. 

Topping it off, the legacy of a century of 

effective fi re suppression had created forests 

that, to Mills’ trained eye, looked like huge 

stands of undampened matchsticks ready 

to ignite. The prospect of a raging wildfi re 

devastating Colorado Springs on Mills’ watch 

made the “old fi reman” anxious indeed.

In mid-April, the governor of Colorado 

warned citizens of the severe fi re season 

ahead. Already the year’s fi re activity outpaced the acreage consumed in the cat a -

stroph ic 2000 season. For anyone who was 

paying attention, the signs were there, but 

in the minds of people in the fi re service, 

all the warning fl ags waved om i nous ly red, 

orange and yellow.

A quiet section of the 

Hayman Fire
11

At Home in the Woods

Mills had seen the threat coming far back 

in winter. He had stepped up work on the 

Web site for the fi rst quarter of the year, realizing that an active fi re season presented an 

opportunity to encourage homeowners in the 

wildland/urban in ter face to take pre ven ta tive 

action. When larger fi res with names such as 

Black Mountain, Snaking, Schoonover and 

Iron Mountain fl ared in May and June—and 

the number of homes lost in these fi res approached 100—Mills and his team raced to 

launch the site.

At about 4 p.m. on the afternoon of June 8, 

a plume of smoke rose northwest of town in 

the Pike National Forest. Under the watchful eye of the U. S. Forest Service, the fi re’s 

fl ames laid down some during the night. But 

next morning—an otherwise quiet Sunday 

morning—the fi re simply exploded, sending 

smoke spiraling upward with a monstrous 

heat-induced fury until a huge mushroom 

cloud emerged full-blown above the jagged 

line of the Rockies. 

In just 24 hours, the Hayman Fire grew to 

become the largest wildfi re in Colorado history. Ultimately, it would take 21 days to contain the blaze, and only after it had destroyed 

133 homes, covered 214 square miles, and 

forced the evacuation of more than 8,000 

residents, most of them from the outermost 

suburbs of Denver to the north.

For weeks, wildfi res would dominate the 

news in Colorado Springs. At fi rst, feath ery, 

ashen fallout fl oated for miles on waves of 

superheated winds off the mountainsides. 

A telltale odor hung in the air. Then dust 

stole into homes, leaving a whitish layer of 

fi lm on surfaces everywhere. People were 

seen walking the downtown streets with 

handkerchiefs covering their mouths, while 

others complained of a sick feeling in the pit 

of their stomachs. The red and orange hues 

of sunset served as daily reminders that the 

powerful forces of wildfi re were still on the 

loose.

To Mills’ way of thinking, the shroud of 

smoke that cloaked Colorado Springs for 

nearly a month was a kind of advertising 

campaign for the mitigation message. He was 

determined to capitalize on it.

“In a strange way, it all seemed to come 

together. The Hayman presented us with a 

tremendous teaching opportunity. The community would be our outdoor classroom. 

And the Web site would be our adult education tool,” Mills said.

David Blankenship, the department’s 

senior GIS analyst, redoubled his efforts, 

working 16-hour shifts in an all-out drive 

to the fi nish. More and more, Mills and 

Prudhomme found themselves at their 

phones. Suddenly there was demand to learn 

more about fi re mitigation.

“People were forced to think about the 

danger, and they had never been in that position before,” said Mills. “This one hit home.”

The city’s Web-based wildland fi re 

map was launched June 12, just four days 

after the Hayman fi rst fl ared. As part of the 

de part ment’s offi cial kick-off, local media 

and city council members joined the public in looking up their addresses online to 

fi nd their fi re rating. The reception was both 

exciting and gratifying. It was a big day for 

Navarro, Mills, Prudhomme and for the rest 

of the mitigation team.

Next day, the mitigation offi ce buzzed 

like a pizza parlor on Super Bowl Sunday, 

with phones ringing off the hook. Residents 

had looked up their property and were eager 

for more information or advice. For the next 

month or so, the site averaged 500 hits a day. 

More than 100 homeowners took action and 

came back to the de part ment to get their rating upgraded on the Web site map.

In their phone conversations, e-mails and 

comments at community meetings, residents 

were “talking the talk,” using terms such as 

“defensible space,” “fuel load” and “riskassessment rating.” 

The mitigation message was fi nally sinking in, and Mills savored the moment.

“Listening to them talk mitigation, to me 

it was sweet music.” 

“When I came here, I vowed that I would never stand in front of a group... and listen to 

residents one after another say that the fi re department never in formed them of the wildfi re 

danger.” — Manuel Navarro
12

At Home in the Woods

Lessons learned

By December 2002, six months after the 

Hayman Fire, Mills and Prudhomme could 

still be found busily at work. The mit i ga tion 

offi ce was a two-person shop, with GIS 

specialist Blankenship called in from time to 

time to update the Web site. Un der stand ably, 

hits on the site had slowed to a trickle. Still, 

there were a handful of mitigation projects 

on the books to keep the work fl owing. 

And it was no time to become com pla -

cent. The department was concerned about 

the 2003 fi re season, which was shaping up 

to be every bit as bad as the previous year’s. 

Be sides, given the rate of growth and residential turnover in the Springs, they knew 

there was always a new au di ence for their 

message.

When asked about some of the lessons 

learned from the Web site launch, a few 

thoughts came to mind.

“One of the smartest things we did was 

to enlist the media in helping us get the 

mes sage out. With their interest and support, 

we were able to save money we thought 

we’d need to spend on marketing, and put it 

toward more public outreach,” Prudhomme 

said. “Coverage was so ef fec tive that I believe 

we would have had a good response from 

the public, Hayman or no Hayman.

“Another pleasant surprise has been the 

willingness on the part of many individuals 

to champion the cause,” Prudhomme contin ued. “When people called in to talk about 

their risk, they often mentioned the danger 

level for the entire neighborhood. We invited 

them—you might even say that we browbeat them—to organize a neigh bor hood 

meet ing, and many times they did. Don’t 

un der es ti mate people’s willingness to help.”

One of those willing to step forward was 

Baaron Pittenger, a resident of Broadmoor 

Bluffs at the base of Cheyenne Mountain. 

Pittenger attended a neigh bor hood meeting 

hosted by Mills after, in his own words, “the 

Hayman Fire signifi cantly raised my awareness level.” 

What he learned at the meeting—information later confi rmed by the online fi re 

map—was that his home and all those in the 

surrounding neighborhood were rated as being in “extreme” risk of wild fi re. Pre vi ous ly, 

Pittenger admitted, he had no idea that he 

was living in such a high-risk zone.

This realization inspired Pittenger, a 

former executive with the U.S. Olympic 

Committee, to do something meaningful 

for the community. He began organizing a 

non-profi t group to promote fi re mitigation 

and give citizens a voice in how they want to 

deal with the increasing threat of wildfi re to 

their community.

“Baaron Pittenger is an outstanding example of someone who has taken in di vid u al 

responsibility. Not only that, he’s become a 

strong advocate for community-wide wildfi re mitigation,” said Prudhomme.

She also remarked on an interesting social 

phenomenon. It seemed that people who 

looked up their home parcel also made note 

of how the rest of the neigh bor hood rates. 

“Call it pride, or call it social pressure, 

but most people don’t want to be the only 

‘hot spot’ in the neighborhood,” she said.

Prudhomme has found that she sometimes has to reassure homeowners that 

their color code is not going to be used by 

insurance companies to raise rates, a common concern. She explains that these worries 

are ground less, since companies base their 

rates on actual losses, and instead encourages 

homeowners to take steps to reduce their 

risk and promote the changes as a positive. 

Mills found a rise in attendance and in 

the level of awareness at public meetings, 

which he attributes in large part to the Web 

site. 

“People are doing their homework. When 

the fi re service speaks at these occasions, 

we’re able to download visuals from the Web 

site, and give people an accurate picture of 

how the neighborhood is managing its risk, 

and we have a much higher level of dis cus -

sion about what needs to be done,” he said.

“One of the smartest things we did was to enlist the media in helping us get 

the mes sage out.” — Cathy Prudhomme
13

At Home in the Woods

“I also learned that you can only push people so far before they resist your efforts. They 

have to come to you. By making our map detailed to the level of the individual homeowner, 

we gave people a reason to come to us when 

they were ready to come to us,” Mills said.

Mills advised others engaged in the 

mitigation effort to share their success. In 

November 2002, the fi re department learned 

that it had received special na tion al rec og -

ni tion from the U.S. Fire Ad min is tra tion for 

the department’s effective use of its 2001 

grant. Based in part on the success of the 

Web site, the city council voted to fund the 

mitigation team for the coming year. 

“Others may learn from what you were 

able to achieve, and it gives your program 

credibility with local offi cials and the commu ni ty,” he said.

Last, but not least, Mills cited the un wa ver ing support of his department as a major 

reason for the team’s success. “Chief Navarro 

has always stood behind our efforts, and my 

immediate boss, Fire Marshall Brett Lacey, 

has worked with us every step of the way to 

make sure that wildfi re mitigation is an important part of the department’s mission.”

But challenges lay ahead. With acrossthe-board cuts in city government, resourc es were especially tight. In recent 

weeks, Mills and Prudhomme had begun 

keeping a list of callers who have taken 

mitigation action and would like their 

rating re-evaluated. Due to staff limitations, 

they will plan to put on a different hat 

and personally make the inspections at the 

beginning of the new year. 

According to Mills, it’s a constant battle to 

tilt the odds a little more in favor of com mu -

ni ty safety, and it’s not always easy to know 

where your effort stands. But he keeps at it.

“You’d be surprised at the number of 

people who are willing to ‘take knife in 

teeth’ and join us in the fi ght to make the 

com mu ni ty a better place once you give 

them a sense of the important role they play 

in the effort,” he said.

The wildland/urban 

interface of Colorado 

Springs
14

At Home in the Woods

THE ONLINE MAP is located on the 

Col o rado Springs Fire Department’s Firewise 

Web site at http://csfd.springsgov.com. The 

map pro vides homeowners with a wild fi re 

risk rating of individual properties and 

overall scores for their neigh bor hoods. To 

fi nd their wildfi re risk level, homeowners 

simply click on the “What Is My Wildfi re 

Hazard Rat ing?” icon and then click on 

the search button to enter their street 

number. 

Abbreviations are not necessary. The 

search can be easily accomplished by typing 

in the street number followed by a space 

and the fi rst letter of the street name. From 

the list of matching records, homeowners select their address or enter by clicking 

directly on the city map in the area close 

How the Online Fire Map Works

to their neigh bor hood. Specifi c parcels are 

located by using the zoom-in feature.

Houses are rated red, orange, yellow or 

green. Green indicates the lowest hazard 

rating, and risk in creas es as the colors progressively get closer to red. 

Information to assist homeowners reduce 

their wildfi re risk is available by clicking 

on the “Improve Your Hazard Rating” icon 

from any page. Vegetation management 

techniques are also provided on the site. 

When recommended mitigation im prove -

ments are completed, homeowners may 

schedule a new eval u a tion. On the Firewise 

homepage listed above, homeowners can 

click on “Contact Us” or “Receive a New 

Rating” to fi nd out how their ratings can be 

upgraded on the map.

More about the 

Colorado Springs 

Web site
15

At Home in the Woods

MILLS AND PRUDHOMME offer the 

fol low ing useful tips for people who would 

like to organize a meeting in their community:

✔ When hosting or sponsoring a meeting, your 

presentation can be limited to dis trib ut ing 

informational fl yers or hand-outs, or as ambitious as asking others to “cham pi on” the effort 

to reduce the wildfi re risk. 

✔ Consider holding the meeting when other 

major events won’t present a confl ict, 

and as close to the last pub li cized fi re as 

possible. Snow has an amazing ability to 

redirect people’s focus.

✔ Hold the meeting at a central lo ca tion and at a 

convenient time. Lo ca tions can range from an 

individual’s home, drive way or cul-de-sac, to 

churches, schools, and fi re station community 

rooms. Take a poll among those who would 

like to attend to fi gure out the best times. Use a 

fa cil i ty that can provide or accommodate food 

and beverage.

✔ Send invitations or call every homeowners’ association in your wild land/urban in ter face 

with an offer to inform homeowners of 

meth ods to reduce their wildfi re risk. 

✔ Prior to the meeting, get an idea of who 

will be represented and prepare to give 

information that is relevant and useful. 

Discuss both short- and long-range goals.

Short-range project goals may in clude: 

cleaning needles and debris from gutters, 

mowing grasses away from the house, 

displaying an address sign, and pruning trees 

and shrubs away from home foun da tions. 

Long-range goals may include: de vel -

op ing defensible space, re-roofi ng the home 

with non com bus ti ble roofi ng ma te ri al; and in 

some instances, de vel op ing community water 

supplies (usually cisterns or dry hy drants) and 

community fuel breaks (larger fuel treat ment 

areas that protect multiple struc tures). 

✔ Explain that efforts to make individual 

homes safer from wildfi res make a great 

start, but for mitigation to be really ef fec tive, 

it requires a neighborhood endeavor. Briefl y 

explain how wildfi re mitigation is most 

effective when ad ja cent property owners 

put forth the same effort. En cour age other 

homeowners to host or sponsor a neighbor hood or community meeting.

✔ Use of case studies often allows people to 

examine the fi re problem from various 

perspectives. The fi refi ghter’s viewpoint 

alone is usually insuffi cient. Always invite 

the local fi re chief to present the realities 

of the department’s fi re protection ca pa -

bil i ties. Consider having additional speakers attend such as local and state forest 

service rep re sen ta tives, county emergency 

man age ment personnel, and county or 

mu nic i pal plan ning rep re sen ta tives.

✔ Identify representatives from other depart ments and organizations who are the 

appropriate entity to address specifi c local 

problems. Individuals often want to deviate from fi re and fi re safety to discuss topics such as forest health and agency policy 

arenas. It’s a good idea to have knowl edge -

able people from related areas on hand to 

lend their expertise.

✔ Challenge attendees to hold neigh bor hood 

work days and share rental costs for 

dumpsters and chippers to remove unwant ed trees, brush, and debris generated 

during clean-up activities. If you make 

people aware of how actions will directly 

benefi t them, they will often be motivated 

to organize a group effort.

✔ Meetings should be linked to future plans 

and actions. Even if the initial meeting is 

only informational, it is always benefi cial 

to have follow-up meetings scheduled. For 

additional gatherings, develop com mu ni tyspon sored events such as slash pickup, pile 

burning (a controversial practice that has 

limited applicability), and com mu ni tybased public awareness efforts to reduce 

costs to the individual ho me own er.

✔ For those who would like additional support, the Colorado State Forest Service can 

help organize local Firewise work shops in 

Colorado. Outside of Colorado, please contact the national Firewise group by logging 

onto www.fi rewise.org.

How to Put Together a Successful 

Mit i ga tion Meeting

More about the 

Colorado Springs 

Web site
16

At Home in the Woods

THIS IS A STORY ABOUT A COMMUNITY

in the wildland/urban interface that took a 

long look at its wildfi re risk and decided to 

do something about it. But where such a story 

usually begins with a wake-up call in the form 

of a catastrophic fi re, in Sundance, Utah, the 

process began with a simple meeting. 

In August 1998, a handful of res i dents 

came together with state and local fi re managers in a community fi re forum. Join ing them 

were fi re experts from across the United 

States, as well as a facilitator to keep the discussions on track.

One of the meeting participants was 

Jack Cohen, a scientist with the U.S. Forest 

Service in Missoula, Montana, who has 

continued to consult with the community. 

He saw right away that Sundance faced signifi cant challenges.

“I conducted a quick assessment of the 

community and identifi ed a num ber of ignition factors needing mit i ga tion,” he said. 

The experts walked the attendees 

through a process designed to es tab lish a 

long-term fi re mitigation plan, and ev eryone was left with a lengthy list of things 

to do. The daylong meeting went well, but 

as one participant later recalled, “That’s 

always the easy part. Then what do you 

do?”

In Sundance they kept meeting, once 

a month, and soon they were joined by 

rep re sen ta tives from the Utah Division of 

Forestry, Fire and State Lands and other 

agencies. Eight months later, after sharing 

a draft with area stakeholders, the group 

emerged with the North Fork Wildfi re Plan, 

which con tin ues to guide Sundance on its 

journey toward sustainable, communitywide 

wildfi re mit i ga tion. 

‘A mixture of old and new’

Sundance sits in the north fork of Provo 

Canyon, about 45 miles south of Salt Lake 

City. Towering above Sundance is 12,000-foot 

Mount Timpanogos. Surrounding the town 

are forests where aspen, conifer and oakbrush vie for supremacy and an oc ca sion al 

meadow opens to a view of the mountains. 

During the winter, snow covers the area and it 

becomes a popular ski destination.

Like many resort communities, Sundance 

has a mix of full- and part-time inhabitants, 

though the number of res i den tial water hookups, 350, is far greater than the number of 

full-time adult res i dents, 70. Still, there are 

11 different homeowner as so ci a tions, and 

Sundance remains un in cor po rat ed under the 

ju ris dic tion of the North Fork Special Service 

District. 

Alpine Loop Road runs through the heart 

of Sundance and connects to the side roads 

that twist high into the canyon where small 

cottages and multi-million dollar homes sit 

artfully concealed. Follow Alpine Loop Road 

to the crestline and Sundance gives way to 

U.S. Forest Service land.

Actor and director Robert Redford 

bought much of what today comprises 

Sundance in 1969 and his Sundance Resort 

rests at the base of the canyon, welcoming 

visitors. Across the street is the volunteer 

fi re de part ment that was built on land he 

donated. Redford has described Sundance 

as “a mixture of old and new, lush and 

spare, sophisticated and prim i tive,” and he 

con tin ues to make a home there.

An occasional fi re down in the valley will 

send smoke up the canyon toward Sundance, 

giving residents a scare, but the community 

itself hasn’t had a major burn in more than a 

century. While a wildfi re didn’t drive people 

to par tic i pate in the August 1998 meeting, 

other factors did. 

‘A long, slow process’

Kathy Hammons attended the meeting 

and was the fi rst chair of the ad hoc commit tee that formed in its aftermath. She credit ed the people who moved to Sundance from 

other at-risk communities for bringing a new 

perspective. 

“I was raised in California where wild fi res 

are common and a fi refi ghting in fra struc ture 

Community Chips Away at Wildfi re Mitigation

Sundance changes culture along with landscape

Sundance resident 

Kathy Hammons
17

At Home in the Woods

is taken for granted,” Hammons said. “The 

population in Utah is just starting to sprawl 

into the more fi re-prone areas, and many new 

people coming in understood that we were in 

a pretty bad situation.”

At the time of the meeting, residents had 

also recently been warned by state foresters 

that Sundance and the other communities 

along Utah’s Wasatch Front were extremely 

vulnerable to fi re. Against this backdrop, 

and with the support of Redford and other 

community leaders, a fi re forum was put 

together. 

Over the years Sundance had built one 

of the best volunteer fi re departments in 

the state while also working to mitigate its 

fi re risks. For example, residents have long 

performed “bridge watch,” which involves 

stopping cars on busy holiday weekends to 

pass out fi re-safety literature. And in the early 

1990s, strict ordinances went into effect 

throughout Utah County, which includes 

Sundance, calling for wildfi re-oriented building and defensible space on any new construction. 

But it wasn’t until the fi re forum that a 

coordinated, comprehensive approach to 

wildfi re mitigation began to emerge and 

some longstanding paradigms began to 

change.

“It has been a long, slow process,” said 

Tom Wroe, Utah County fi re marshal since 

1987 and 34-year veteran of fi refi ghting. “The 

dynamics of this community are different 

than in other parts of the country. People buy 

land here and move here because they want to 

get away. It’s a place they come to for solitude. 

It’s a great place to play. 

Sundance homes in 

the interface
18

At Home in the Woods

“But there is a lot of work that needs 

to be done when you buy a mountain 

prop er ty.” 

Two of the biggest challenges facing 

the fi re forum were fi nding a way to involve part-time residents in the community 

effort and overcoming resistance from those 

opposed to changing the natural look of 

the area. So as the participants left that fi rst 

meeting, there was a high degree of mo ti -

va tion, a mountain of work—and a few 

sur pris es.

“We started by forming an ad hoc commit tee, and we thought we would have to 

put this whole thing together and shop it,” 

Hammons said. “But it went the other way. 

The agency representatives wanted to come to 

the table with us, and that just shocked us. We 

had no idea that they would want to be part 

of this.”

Hammons also discovered that the mere act 

of planning produced results. “What we found 

through the planning process is that once 

you sit down and start, you are im me di ate ly 

forming com mit tees that are action-oriented. 

So even though it might take awhile to fi nish 

the plan, the com mit tees will still be moving 

forward.”

‘It started clicking’

Today the North Fork Fire and Safety 

Advisory Council is the focal point of the 

community’s wildfi re mitigation efforts, 

anchored by a wildfi re plan that continues 

to evolve. Stew Olsen, a lifelong resident of 

Sundance and a member of the family that 

originally settled the canyon, was chair of the 

North Fork Special Service District Board for 

several years and saw the council go through 

distinct phases.

A major change occurred when the 

original ad hoc committee became an 

ad vi so ry council under the special service 

district board. “Even early on it was clear 

that the district had to be involved on an 

active level, since it is the only government 

in Sundance,” Olsen said. “And since the 

district is also in charge of the volunteer 

fi re department, it was an opportunity 

to join the government and community 

together.”

A second change occurred in 2002. For 

the fi rst time, the board voted—unan i -

mous ly—to begin assessing for specifi c fi re 

mit i ga tion activities, such as removing excess 

fuels, educating the public and developing 

evac u a tion plans. The board even voted to 

buy a chipper. And Olsen said there was no 

real opposition. “People don’t like to pay for 

things, but when they see houses starting to 

burn...”

The assessments have provided some thing 

else, too. There is now paid clerical support 

for the advisory council and committee members—all volunteers—who do much of the 

day-to-day work.

From the beginning, the ad hoc commit tee proved adept at generating outside 

fi nancial support for its activities.

“We brought in a $28,000 grant the fi rst 

year and put it into a demonstration project 

that showed a lot of people what we could 

do,” Hammons said. “The next year we received $190,000 under the National Fire Plan 

to continue our work.” The required 50-50 

match for the grants was paid through sweatequity.

As of February 2002, in-kind donations 

of labor, services, supplies and equipment 

amounted to more than $250,000. For 

example, in 2000, 2001 and 2002, Brigham 

Young University—which operates the Aspen 

Grove Family Camp in the canyon—brought 

in hundreds of volunteers to spend half a day 

clearing out dangerous fi re fuels. Each visit 

netted the community some $35,000 as an 

in-kind donation. 

 “When I fi rst started it was always, ‘But 

we don’t have any money...’” Hammons said. 

“Now people are seeing that they can bring 

in money just by cleaning out their property 

or changing their roof—by doing what will 

make them safer anyway. All of a sudden, it 

started clicking that we could do this.”

“Any community can pull its people together, organize and come up with a plan.”

 — Tom Wroe 
19

At Home in the Woods

To Wroe, it is important for com mu ni ties 

to realize what can be accomplished without 

regard to fi nancial circumstances. 

“There has never been the emphasis that 

you must have a big wallet,” said the county 

fi re marshal. “Any community can pull its 

people together, organize and come up with 

a plan.”

Jim Shell works for the U.S. Forest 

Service and recently took over managing 

the pro grams that deliver National Fire 

Plan dollars to states. Prior to relocating to 

Washington, D.C., Shell spent 12 years with 

the forest service in Ogden, Utah. From 

there, he watched and encouraged Sundance 

as it worked to address the hazards facing 

the community.

“Sundance has had strong leadership,” 

he said. “I know they benefi ted from the 

support of the National Fire Plan, but they 

were already on a good course of action. 

Sundance has been working at this for quite 

awhile, and it was one of the fi rst com mu -

ni ties in Utah to see the need.

“Support from the National Fire Plan may 

not always be there. Our hope is that a couple 

years of funding can help people fi gure out 

how to work together—that would be the 

big gain of this effort. Success comes from 

people who realize they have a need or a 

problem and then carry the ball.”

‘One bite at a time’

A look at the wildfi re projects un der tak en 

in Sundance since 1998 refl ects the depth 

and breadth of the commitment. Some of the 

projects include: annual evacuation meetings 

with emergency responders; collaborative reroofi ng projects; free mobile chipping; annual 

clean-up days; fuel reductions along major 

ingress/egress routes; individual property 

assessments by wildfi re experts; in stal la tion 

of non-fl ammable street signs; pur chase 

of emergency sirens; and pub li ca tion of a 

monthly newsletter, called Fireline. 

Equally impressive is the number of 

people who have pitched in to make a difference. More than 100 individuals have been 

Sundance Safety 

Offi cer Kenny Johnson
20

At Home in the Woods

recognized by the advisory council for their 

contributions — ranging from mon e tary 

donations and volunteer committee as sign -

ments to property cleanup and communitywide assistance.

To fi refi ghting professionals like Kenny 

Johnson, who is the safety offi cer for the 

Sundance Resort and assistant fi re chief of the 

volunteer fi re department, one of the most 

important elements of the effort is that it 

has been initiated and led by the com mu ni ty 

itself.

“We are there as a professional re source, to 

provide information regarding fi re sup pres -

sion and what needs to be done as far as fuel 

reduction and awareness,” he said. “But we try 

not to say, ‘You have to do this.’ If it comes to 

people from their neighbors or their community, I think it is more effective. The paid 

professionals can speak all they want, but if the 

community is not involved it won’t matter.”

Both Johnson and Wroe regularly attend 

meetings of the fi re advisory council to offer 

input and support.

It can also be benefi cial to focus on the 

small steps that add up to meaningful change. 

“In the beginning, start small,” Johnson said. 

“Send out a newsletter and raise the level of 

awareness. Then take on larger projects and 

issues. It will snowball from there.” Wroe said 

he thinks of it as an “elephant dinner—just 

take one bite at a time.” 

Hammons said it is just as important to 

be patient. “What we have learned is that 

people do a little bit every year,” she said. 

“Giving them stages has worked very well 

here. The key is getting ev ery one to partic i pate to the level they can at that particular 

time. And then letting it take as much time 

as it needs to take, but to keep it moving.” 

For example, it took Sundance three years to 

agree on a plan for in stall ing street signs.

While connecting part-time residents 

to the community continues to be a challenge, there are signs of progress—such as 

the lack of opposition to the assessments, 

which could be an indication that res i dents 

have come to rely on the services provided 

by the district board and ad vi so ry council.

“This is the fi rst thing in Sundance that 

has been able to bring the different groups 

together,” Hammons said. “Wildfi re crosses 

all denominators.” 

Hammons has seen the culture change in 

other ways, too. “About 10 years ago, a homeowner installed a metal roof and the roof 

was above the tree line, so everyone could see 

it,” she said. “The community was absolutely 

appalled. Now it is a great ex am ple of visionary thinking. We’ve shown that it is possible 

to have very different roofi ng and landscaping 

looks and still meet safety standards.”

When Sundance homeowner David Heaps 

re-landscaped he had two goals—lessen fi re 

danger by clearing dangerous foliage away 

from the house while main tain ing core 

aesthetic qualities.

“We wanted to push the natural stuff 

back a little but we didn’t want to en croach 

on it too much, because the natural habitat is 

why we’re here,” he said. “I think it’s obvious 

that if ev ery body does their part, the whole 

becomes stronger.” He also installed rock 

barriers, put in fi re retardant vegetation and 

added a sprin kler system. 

Utah County Fire 

Marshall Tom Wroe
21

At Home in the Woods

Julie Mack, who heads the North Fork 

Preservation As so ci a tion, said that wildfi re 

mitigation and environmentalism should not 

be seen as mutually ex clu sive. “We are practicing forestry ecology,” she said. “Since we 

are at such high risk for fi re, thin ning the forest and improving the health of the ecosystem 

makes it safer for homeowners and makes it 

better for the environment.” 

‘Standing in Mother Nature’s shoes’

In many ways, the work in Sundance is a 

never-ending job that is only just be gin ning. 

Maintaining what has already been done is 

a huge project in itself, as is the ongoing effort to reach homeowners who have yet to 

embrace mitigation. And there are re main ing 

concerns—such as planning for a large-scale 

evac u a tion. On a summer day, more than 

7,000 people could be in the canyon, with 

limited egress.

Sundance could also be tested as early 

organizers and supporters give way to other 

volunteers. Hammons now spends much of 

her time helping other com mu ni ties in Utah 

Kenny Johnson 

at Sundance Resort

prepare for wildfi re, and Olsen stepped down 

as chair of the special service district board at 

the end of 2002, though he re mains on the 

board. But Hammons is confi dent that the 

wildfi re plan adopted after the August 1998 

meeting will ensure lon gev i ty and sustainability and that the torch will continue to be 

passed.

“That’s why you anchor to planning —

whoever comes and goes, the plan is still 

there,” she said. “By developing the plan in 

true collaboration with the community and 

agency partners, you’ve always got people 

who want to maintain it.”

From Wroe’s perspective, that is an 

obligation all residents assume when they 

choose to live in the wildland/urban 

in ter face. 

“Fire is a natural phenomenon that 

cleans out the area, allowing the life cycle 

to start again,” he said. “We don’t need fi re 

if folks are willing to look at the re spon -

si bil i ties they have. They are stand ing in 

Mother Nature’s shoes now, and they need 

to assume that awesome re spon si bil i ty.”

“By developing the plan in true collaboration with the community and agency 

partners, you’ve always got people who want to maintain it.”

 — Kathy Hammons
22

At Home in the Woods

ON A SUMMER DAY, thousands of visitors will make the short drive from Salt 

Lake City to Big Cottonwood Canyon to 

enjoy the rugged beauty of the mountains. 

The 17-mile stretch of Utah Highway 190 

runs through the heart of the canyon and 

climbs east through thick stands of fi r, aspen, 

spruce and pine, with Big Cottonwood Creek 

me an der ing alongside. 

As one of approximately 500 people 

who live in Big Cottonwood Canyon 

year-round, Barbara Cameron has grown 

accustomed to the many sum mer visitors 

who come to the sub ur ban canyon to picnic, camp, hike and bike. But she has had 

trouble getting used to another change that 

summer brings—fear of wildfi re.

“Every July, August and September things 

get so tense up here you can feel it crackling 

in the air,” Cameron said. “We worry about 

fi re until the fi rst snow comes, then there is a 

collective sigh, even from the trees.”

Like many people who live in the wild land/

urban interface, Cameron didn’t know that 

she could do any thing more than spend the 

summer fearing the worst while hoping for 

the best—until she attended a Community 

Solutions wildfi re preparation work shop conducted by Kathy Hammons and Janet Johnson.

Hammons and Johnson formed 

Com mu ni ty Solutions in July 2001 as a 

way to share their wildfi re safety ex per tise. 

Hammons has a back ground in education 

and was involved in building the commu ni ty wildfi re plan in Sundance, Utah; 

Johnson worked for the U.S. Forest Service 

and later helped develop a state wide initia tive called Utah Living with Fire.

“After Janet and I worked together to 

make Sundance the fi rst community model 

for Utah Living with Fire, the state offi ce of 

Forestry, Fire and State Lands gave us some 

seed money to see if we could develop a 

model that would fi t other communities,” 

Hammons ex plained.

Since the fi rst training session in October 

2001, the state of Utah has con tract ed 

with Hammons and Johnson to bring 

Community Solutions to six ad di tion al sites, 

and so far more than 35 Utah communities 

have been through the workshops.

Cameron and six of her neighbors from 

Big Cottonwood Canyon attended a twoday session in October 2001, and they were 

joined by residents of other nearby com mu -

ni ties. “The training was a wake-up call,” she 

said. “We have a lot of in de pen dent-minded 

people up here, but the wildfi re issue gal va -

nized the whole can yon.”

To Hammons and Johnson, fi nding the 

right people to attend the workshop is a 

critical part of the equation. In addition 

to agency representatives and fi refi ghting 

professionals, they also want local “spark 

plugs” like Cameron who can help change a 

community’s culture. 

“We start the process by identifying 

and training a local technical support person who can invite a good mix of community and agency people,” Hammons 

said. “During the workshop we look at 

the tools needed to build a sus tain able 

community wildfi re pro gram. The local 

support person is there af ter ward to help 

the communities establish wildfi re councils and complete their plans.”

A Community Solution

Dynamic duo spark grassroots wild fi re planning

More about so lu tions 

in Utah mountain 

com mu ni ties

Janet Johnson, 

Community Solutions
23

At Home in the Woods

Based on a combination of research, 

feedback from communities and work with 

a facilitator who helped Sundance during its 

initial fi re forum, Hammons and Johnson 

isolated six basic elements of wildfi re planning that form the core of the Com mu ni ty 

Solutions cur ric u lum: fuel reduction, facilities and equipment, education, emer gen cy 

response, reg u la tive issues, and eval u a tion 

and main te nance. 

“We ask everyone, ‘What do you wish 

you would have done before you smelled 

the smoke?’ and everything parks within 

those six areas,” Hammons said. “We have 

done this enough now where we know that 

if a community develops a plan that addresses those six areas it will be in pretty 

good shape.”

In Utah, there is an added in cen tive for 

communities to attend the training and 

develop a community wildfi re plan: mit i -

ga tion funding. According to Larry LeForte, 

a fi re management offi cer for the Utah 

De part ment of Natural Re sourc es, the state 

uses the training as a way to identify commu ni ties where funding from the National 

Fire Plan will have the most impact. 

“We can write a grant specifi cally for a 

community based on what is submitted in 

its fi re plan,” LeForte said. “We don’t have 

the resources to write community fi re plans 

for everybody, and having them write their 

own and identify their own problems gives 

them ownership. We’ve found that it’s very 

diffi cult to get any thing accomplished unless 

the community buys in.”

After the training the fi rst item of business for the group from Big Cot ton wood 

Canyon was to complete its wild fi re plan, 

and it was then that Cameron recalled thinking, “We can do this.” Since then, the Big 

Cot ton wood Canyon Wild fi re Com mit tee 

has continued to meet monthly—even during winter—and the community has made 

sig nifi cant strides. 

One particularly notable success was 

the development of a map that for the fi rst 

time provides emergency responders from 

Salt Lake County with specifi c addresses and 

locations of Big Cot ton wood Canyon res i -

dents. The map is currently being refi ned to 

include a Geographic In for ma tion Systems 

(GIS) component and will offer additional 

emergency response information, such as 

road conditions, road slopes, turn-around 

areas, electric shut-off sites and residential 

contact numbers. 

In addition to community fuel re duc tion 

projects and the distribution of a newsletter 

during fi re season, the wildfi re committee has 

also been working with the county on planning and zoning issues that affect the canyon. 

Said Cameron: “For the fi rst time, we feel like 

we have some input into our own defense.” 

Both Johnson and Hammons hope a feeling of empowerment is the greatest legacy of 

the training. “When people leave the room, I 

think the fi rst thing they feel is that they can 

Big Cottonwood 

Canyon resident 

Barbara Cameron
24

At Home in the Woods

do something, rather than that helpless feeling of ‘we don’t even know where to start,’” 

Johnson said. “Then it snowballs and they 

want to do more and more as they realize it 

really is working.”

One of the ways that Hammons and 

Johnson empower communities is by demon strat ing creative approaches to funding 

wildfi re safety initiatives. By focusing on 

resources rather than money, communities 

are shown how to sup ple ment direct grant 

assistance by generating in-kind support like 

volunteer labor, do nat ed materials and equipment, cash con tri bu tions and com mu ni ty 

part ner ships. 

In the 10 months after its training, Big 

Cottonwood Canyon reported more than 

$82,000 in in-kind donations, in addition to a $1,200 grant from the Firewise 

Com mu ni ties/USA project for an ArcView 

software pro gram, which was used to develop the new map. Big Cottonwood Canyon 

has also applied for a National Fire Plan grant 

based on its in-kind donations. 

Another benefi t of the workshops comes 

from bringing community members to geth er 

in a forum that promotes com mu ni ca tion and 

support and highlights the power of working 

as a team. At a training in Brian Head, Utah, 

in August 2002, residents and agency rep re -

sen ta tives alike were heartened by the many 

new faces in the room and hopeful that it 

signaled an emerging com mit ment to wildfi re 

mit i ga tion. 

“We’ve all been doing what we can for 

our own properties, but until this meet ing 

we hadn’t come together as a whole to make 

the community more defensible,” said Peg 

Simons, a Brian Head ho me own er. “I think 

we will fi nally be able to take the motivation 

and put it into mo tion.”

Brian Head Fire Captain Dave Stolrow was 

equally optimistic. “I feel like the load is now 

being shared and that a lot more is going to 

be accomplished in a shorter period of time,” 

he said. “We’re going to have more backing 

from the community—and if res i dents develop the plan and are part of it and understand why it’s nec es sary, it’s going to be one 

hundred times more effective.”

As they do with all the communities that 

attend the Community Solutions workshops, Hammons and Johnson will track the 

pro gram outcomes in Brian Head to measure progress in what prom is es to be a long 

journey—and Brian Head has already taken 

its fi rst step by working to build a fully 

func tion al wildfi re coun cil.

But the one outcome that is perhaps 

hardest to measure might be the most 

important of all. “The primary goal is to 

change the culture of the communities so 

they no longer think of this as somebody 

else’s responsibility,” Hammons said.

To both Hammons and Johnson, that is 

the ultimate community solution.

Six Basic Elements of Fire Plan ning

Fuel reduction

Facilities and equip ment

Education

Emergency response

Regulative issues

Evaluation and maintenance

For more information

regarding Com mu ni ty Solutions, contact 

Kathy Hammons at (801) 523-3803, Janet 

Johnson at (435) 657-0668 or e-mail at 

cmtysolutions@aol.com

“For the fi rst time, we feel like we have some input into our own defense.”

— Barbara Cameron 
25

At Home in the Woods

AS THE 2002 FIRE SEASON HEATED UP, 

Christie Kinney’s thoughts im me di ate ly 

turned to her land. Then this plucky oc to ge -

nar i an rolled up her sleeves and got to work.

A resident of the forested Elk Ridge 

subdivision in Routt County, Col o rado, 

Kinney started raking up loose vegetation 

near her house, a cleanup that she per forms 

with ritual reg u lar i ty each spring. But when 

the Hinman Fire spread near her home, she 

kicked into high gear —thinning, limbing 

and even serving as a public advocate for 

de fen si ble space.

Keeping her home protected from wildfi re was harder for Kinney than it is for some. 

At 82, she has suffered some of the usual 

infi rmities of age. But as an outdoor enthusiast all her life, this old farm girl sounds 

almost defi ant in saying, “I can still run that 

limb saw.”

Efforts motivate others

Kinney said her yard — which covers 

more than two acres and is steeply sloped in 

areas — became “brushy” after the death of 

her husband, Harold, in 1989. 

Born in 1920 on a farm in Kansas, Kinney 

married her high school sweetheart in 1939 

and they started their married life on a farm 

near Topeka. In 1958, they moved with their 

son and daughter to Longmont, Colorado. 

Harold spent most of his career helping to 

make solar ob ser va to ries as a machinist and 

tool and die maker in Boulder for the fi rm 

now called Ball Aerospace & Technologies 

Corp.

About 10 years before his retirement, they 

began to look for a new place to live. They 

had taken camping trips to Routt County 

since 1960 and fell in love with the mountain 

landscape. In 1970 they bought the lot where 

they built their home.

In pioneering fashion, the Kinneys had 

a well drilled and installed a septic tank and 

water lines, then built their log home with 

their own hands, putting up the garage fi rst 

so they could live there while they worked on 

Fire Inspires 82-year-old to Thin Trees

the house. They started with an asphalt shingle 

roof, switching to metal when they could get 

the color they wanted and moved into their 

new home in the early spring of 1980 with 

snow still on the ground.

“I love it here,” said Kinney, describing 

her efforts to keep the fi re threat down by 

clearing her property of ground fuels. “That’s 

the reason I worked so hard last summer.” 

When her husband was alive, she said, 

he was on the fi re board and they worked 

together to keep the land clear of un der brush. 

He would fell trees, then she would limb 

them and load them in a trailer pulled by a 

tractor. 

But after his death, her work to reduce 

the fuel load consisted mainly of annual 

raking of leaves, twigs and pine needles. 

That’s how she started in the spring of 

2002. 

Watching the Hinman Fire from her 

home provided Kinney with all the mo ti -

va tion she needed to do more. “That’s when 

I started really thinking about it and think ing 

we should do something around here,” she 

Christie Kinney and 

Ginger ready to limb 

their trees
26

At Home in the Woods

said. With two children, seven grand chil dren 

and seven great-grandchildren, she enlisted 

help from her family, as well as other area 

res i dents.

Her daughter from Grand Junction, 

Colorado, visits each year for a spring cleaning, but in 2002 Kinney asked her to pitch in 

with yard work instead of doing household 

chores. They raked even farther from the 

house than usual, col lect ing more than 30 

bags of leaves. Later, she recuited her son and 

daughter-in-law to rake even more.

Meanwhile, State Forester Terry Wattles 

paid her a visit. He sharpened some of her 

husband’s old tools, identifi ed some veg e -

ta tion and recommended some one to help 

with its removal. 

A contractor cut down more than 30 trees 

identifi ed by Wattles, while Kinney put her 

freshly sharpened shears to work on juniper 

bushes. “I had always avoided them because 

they’re so sticky and make me itch so badly,” 

she said. “Those juniper bushes just really 

burn hot, I guess.” 

Kinney remembers the time when Chuck 

Vale spotted “me and my little limb saw” high 

in a tree, working to trim some branch es. 

Vale—Routt County’s director of emergency management—admired her de ter mi na tion and self-suffi ciency while privately 

fearing for her safety. He gra cious ly offered 

to lend a hand.

Vale thought that Kinney’s actions could 

serve as an example for all. He said the problem with mitigation is getting people motivated, and he thought Kinney’s story might help 

motivate others. At his request, she contacted 

local media to tell the story of her efforts to 

create defensible space. Ar ti cles followed in 

local and statewide news pa pers.

“It can’t always be the government saying 

we need to do this and that,” Vale said. 

Kinney’s efforts did help to get others interested in the mitigation cause. 

Even tu al ly, more than 25 of her neighbors 

created signifi cant defensible space in their 

yards, too.

Childhood memories of fi re

Kinney said she never liked the prairie 

grassland fi res near her home when she was 

growing up. “Being a youngster, it scared 

me,” she recalled. 

The alarm would come over the tele phone, 

which was a party line. 

“With the old switchboards, it was possible for the operator at the central offi ce to 

open up all the party lines at once out in the 

county in order to give out an emer gen cy 

message,” she recalled. She re mem bered the 

set-up because her grand fa ther had operated 

the central phone offi ce in the 1920s before 

they had elec tric i ty. The switchboard had 

battery-operated lights.

After the call came, her father would hurry 

to get his wagon with the water tank. She 

estimated that the big metal tanks used to 

water the cows held about 500 gallons. Her 

father would put gun ny sacks in the tank so 

they could soak as he drove the Model T or 

horse and wagon, usually taking about 30 to 

40 minutes to get to the fi re. He would have 

to go through fenced pastures opening gates 

along the way. Once there, he and the other 

men would beat the fi re out with the soaked 

gunnysacks. 

The women would get together and make 

sandwiches to bring to the men. “I got to go 

with them one time,” she said.

More work to be done

After all her work, Kinney is pleased with 

her landscape. “I think it looks beautiful,” she 

said. “I miss the trees, but it’s better than the 

alternative of having too many trees and having them burn.”

Next spring, she plans to put her propane 

tank underground and to take out one healthy 

tree that could cause problems because of its 

proximity to the house and other trees. She 

also hopes her son-in-law will take out some 

trees that beetles have killed. And she wants to 

terrace one area so that it will not be so steep. 

“I’ll shovel it myself if I have to,” she 

said.

Chuck Vale, Routt County 

director of emergency 

man age ment
27

At Home in the Woods

CLOSE TO THE FOUR CORNERS REGION of 

south west ern Colorado, an 8,000-foot-high 

mesa is home to Pueblo ancestral dwellings 

that have lined the canyon alcoves for more 

than 800 years.

From a distance, the largest stone 

com plex, Cliff Palace, resembles a ruined 

fortress of towers, ramparts and windows lodged inside a massive oval cavern. 

Con sid ered a mas ter piece of architectural 

ingenuity with its plazas, 150 rooms and 

21 cer e mo ni al areas, Cliff Palace continues 

to evoke a mystical and mystifying aura for 

the 650,000 annual visitors to Mesa Verde 

National Park. 

The park, until recently, was also home to 

the oldest and largest piñon-juniper forest in 

the nation, with some of the trees dating back 

500 years. That was before lightning strikes 

in 1996 and 2000 started several cat a stroph ic 

fi res that torched 30,000 acres and threatened 

Fuel Reduction Protects 

Mesa Verde National Park

the existence of Cliff Palace and dozens of 

other dwelling sites. 

When a lightning bolt struck again in late 

July 2002, in the midst of the worst drought 

in 100 years, the park’s historic headquarters, 

museum and staff ac com mo da tions faced the 

same fate as the in cin er at ed piñon-junipers.

But rather than wait for the expected 

showdown, Mesa Verde had begun a fuel 

reduction project 10 years earlier that would 

pay big dividends.

Catastrophic fi re long overdue

“This was the fi re we’ve feared for more 

than 30 years,” said Tim Oliverius, who was 

Mesa Verde Na tion al Park’s fi re re ha bil i ta tion 

man ag er from 1990 to 2001.

With only one route leading in and out of 

the park, the wooded area along side the road 

could have turned deadly if the park hadn’t 

been evacuated in time. As it was, the scruffy 

Cliff Palace ruins
28

At Home in the Woods

piñon-juniper forest became a skeletal graveyard of charred trees.

According to Oliverius, it was inevitable 

that 100 years of fi re suppression would create a catastrophic fi restorm. The park puts out 

dozens of fi res a year, many of them started by 

lightning strikes. Since the 1930s, more than 

800 fi res have started, with most confi ned to 

less than an acre. The scorched piñon-juniper 

trees were now a “decadent forest,” meaning 

it housed a lot of downed wood — 15 to 18 

tons of dead fuels per acre. 

“With that kind of suppression and dead 

fuel, the forest was long overdue to burn. 

It probably reached its peak 50 years ago,” 

Oliverius said. 

When Oliverius joined the park staff, he 

spearheaded an aggressive response to the 

looming threat. He started building a buffer of defensible space in 1992 with a fuel 

re duc tion plan that would manually thin out 

159 acres around the park’s 70 struc tures 

and a dozen cliff dwellings, including Cliff 

Palace. 

The goal of the long-term fuel reduction 

project was to create a 20-foot space between 

each mature fuel tree crown area. By doing this 

in advance of a fi re, the strategy was designed 

to lower fi re in ten si ty and allow fl ames to drop 

to the ground where they are much easier to 

control. All of the recorded large fi res in the 

park’s history have been high-intensity crown 

fi res.

By creating a 12-acre safety zone near the 

headquarters area, park managers would ensure fi refi ghter, employee and visitor safety in 

the event of a road closure or fi re evac u a tion. 

The safety zone would also provide fi refi ghters with an area they could retreat to during 

dangerous activity. 

While at the time piñon-junipers made up 

only half the trees in the park, they were associated with 94 percent of the fi res. “Piñonjunipers burn with such intense heat that 

fi refi ghters can’t make frontal attacks on them 

in a windstorm,” Oliverius said.

Out of 52,000 acres, Oliverius’s plan 

called for thinning only 159 acres around 

staff housing, the most famous cliff dwellings and the park’s administrative build ings. 

Yet his proposal sparked statewide concern, 

with the most vocal opposition coming 

from coworkers who wanted to save the 

piñon-junipers.

“I wouldn’t say they hated me, but I defi -

nitely wasn’t well liked,” Oliverius admitted, 

adding that he had initially thought the strongest resistance to the program would come 

from outside the park.

Even though Oliverius had support from 

the park superintendent, staff that lived in 

the housing area with Oliverius enjoyed the 

lavish though highly fl am ma ble piñon-junipers, particularly the privacy and shading they 

provided for the picturesque cottages. The 

park’s de fen si ble space plan rec om mend ed the 

me chan i cal removal of 170 trees within the 

housing area. 

“When you talk about cutting down a 

tree, that’s when the emotions come out,” 

said Larry Wiese, superintendent of Mesa 

Verde National Park. “As a national park our 

mandate is clear. We’re about pro tect ing and 

preserving the nation’s resources. When you 

Larry Wiese, 

superintendent of Mesa 

Verde National Park
29

At Home in the Woods

talk about taking out resources, that’s where 

the emotional side of people takes over, and 

you lose the intellectual side of what we’re 

trying to do.”

Some of the park staff were so upset that a 

petition was circulated to stop the removal of 

the trees. Oliverius understood his co work ers’ 

perspective.

“You don’t see piñon-junipers like we have 

here. This is world-class. There was a loud 

outcry,” he said. In order to rec on cile differ ing opinions on how much to reduce the 

vegetation, nu mer ous meet ings were held and 

com pro mis es reached. One of those com pro -

mis es involved sparing trees that main tained 

“aesthetics and unique char ac ter is tics”—like 

rare or record trees.

The only environmental group to support 

the reduction project was the National Parks 

and Conservation As so ci a tion.

According to Oliverius, “The group did 

not physically sign off on the plan, but its 

regional representative came to the park and 

verbally endorsed the fuel reduction plan after 

reviewing the fuel reduction work on site and 

evaluating the purpose and necessity of the 

project.”

Some other environmental or ga ni za tions, 

however, opposed the plan, and once the 

news media caught wind of the fuel reduction 

program they tended to side with en vi ron -

men tal ists on the con tro ver sial debate. In 

1995, The Denver Post chal lenged the legality 

of the program, crit i ciz ing Oliverius’ plan as 

“poorly thought-out” and writing that the 

project “looks like hell.”

Indeed, after the fuel reduction was 

completed around the housing area, the 

once lush grove that surrounded the row of 

charming cottages resembled a minimalist 

landscape. 

Oliverius stressed that the crowning space 

between treetops was only 20 feet, as opposed 

to the 40 feet that many mit i ga tion specialists 

were advising was necessary to ensure 100 

percent fi re protection. More trees could have 

been taken out, but the park responded to 

public and staff input. 

This cottage in Mesa 

Verde National Park 

survived the Long 

Mesa Fire which 

burned the hillside 

behind it

“When you talk about taking out resources, that’s where the emotional side of people takes 

over, and you lose the intellectual side of what we’re trying to do.” — Larry Wiese
30

At Home in the Woods

It took the catastrophic fi res in 1996 and 

2000 to begin convincing park staff and environmental organizations that the fuel reduction plan was a sound idea. Those fi res burned 

more than half of Mesa Verde’s acreage, 

though they stayed clear of the park’s major 

structures and cliff dwell ings. 

The park continued with the tedious and 

labor-intensive mechanical reduction of trees. 

Crews had to do most of the thinning with 

chainsaws as opposed to prescribed burnings 

in order to preserve prehistoric sites that may 

be buried under the forests. 

“Toward the end of our project in 2001, 

it was costing $4,000 an acre,” said Oliverius. 

“It all had to be done by hand. We didn’t use 

any machinery except chainsaws. Everything 

had to be carried out of the woods, put in a 

truck, hauled in one area and burned in the 

winter time.”

The replacement of the cottages’ woodshake roofs was another battle for the ranger, 

since the park cottages where the staff lived 

were on the National Register of Historic 

Places. 

“Historical architects at fi rst refused to 

agree with the asphalt roofs, saying that an 

asphalt roof would breach the integrity of the 

structure,” Oliverius recalled. “We were able 

to obtain asphalt imitation wood-shake style 

shingles and got those roofs put on in the 

nick of time.”

Fuel reduction makes difference

In July 2002, the plan paid off.

“Because of where it was situated, the fi re 

came blowing right through the park, the 

worst place we could have had a fi re,” said 

Scott McDermid, who served as a task force 

leader fi ghting the Long Mesa Fire. “In the 

remote part of the park fl ame lengths were 

100 feet high. As soon as the fi re hit the staff 

housing area, the fl ames dropped to 15 feet, 

and they continued to drop.

“The reduction area made all the dif fer -

ence. Had that not been there, we would have 

lost every building. There would have been no 

safety zone, no place to make a stand and all 

the fi re crews would have had to leave.” 

Oliverius said that more than 60 structures, including staff housing and the muse um, were spared. “What stopped the blaze 

was that it went from 40 tons per acre of fuel 

to 15 tons per acre,” he ex plained.

The initial cost for the 159-acre project 

was estimated at $250,000 but eventually 

grew to $400,000, which was still a bargain 

to Oliverius. 

“If we hadn’t done the fuel reduction 

project we would have lost all the struc tures, 

which are worth more than $12 million, 

and almost all of them are on the National 

Register of Historic Places,” he said. The cost 

of losing the cliff dwellings would have been 

incalculable. 

The Long Mesa Fire had in fact nicked at 

the top of the Spruce Tree House cliff dwelling located near the park’s head quar ters and 

scorched the canyon below it. Red slurry 

dusted the sandstone surrounding one of the 

park’s most visited cliff sites.

“The fi re would have done damage to 

the dwellings if it had gotten to them,” said 

Superintendent Wiese. “There is wood built 

into the dwellings and there is also the problem of erosion.”

Wiese knew the park’s reduction program was a success, just based on the fact 

“It’s important that we continue the fuel reduction program or face 

another cat a stroph ic fi re.” — Larry Wiese

Progress of the Long 

Mesa Fire

30
31

At Home in the Woods

the buildings were still standing after the fi re 

was contained. But he wasn’t prepared for 

the overwhelming visual confi rmation from a 

helicopter as he assessed the dam age.

“Every place we thinned, there was green 

and everywhere we hadn’t thinned it was 

black,” he said. “So when you look at the 

burned area from the air, you saw islands of 

green in a black ocean.”

Wiese said his staff is now working on a 

fi re management plan for the entire mesa.

“Only 40 to 50 percent of the park has 

burned,” he explained. “There are plenty of 

acres left, including 100,000 acres of land 

adjacent to the park on the mesa that belongs 

to the Ute Mountain Ute Tribe. We’re going to 

solicit public input and ideas from people on 

the boundaries of the park. It’s important that 

we continue the fuel reduction program or 

face another catastrophic fi re.”

As for Oliverius, he became acting 

fi re management offi cer at Indiana Dunes 

National Lakeshore. When asked why he 

stayed with his fuel reduction plan in the face 

of such considerable opposition, he was typically no-nonsense.

“It was staring me right in the face,” he 

said. “There are a lot of gray areas, but this 

was a black and white issue. It wasn’t going to 

go away.”

He also took away from the ex pe ri ence a 

number of important lessons, including the 

values of patience and persistence.

“The project at times was frustrating 

and didn’t go as fast as expected,” Oliverius 

said. “We had success in small increments. 

Some times we only cleared six or eight acres 

a year, and never more than 20 acres in a 

year. I just learned to measure our success 

in small increments and to not let it get me 

down.

“You’re never going to change ev ery one’s 

opinion. But you have to pro ceed in what you 

believe is right.”

One tourist, visiting the park after it 

reopened in August 2002, described the 

wildfi re’s devastation as “sad.” Oliverius had a 

different point of view.

“I don’t think of the fi re as ‘sad,’” he 

said. “It’s actually kind of exciting. Com ing 

back in future years, we can watch the forest 

recover. It’s nature’s way of re ju ve nat ing the 

land.” 

Park buildings 

surrounded by burned 

piñon-juniper forest

31
32

At Home in the Woods

JEFF GIES IS IN A RACE AGAINST FIRE. And 

the clock is ticking. 

Gies is a wildland/urban interface special ist with the South Dakota Wildland Fire 

Suppression Division, a state agency charged 

with wildland fi re suppression, training, education and prevention. 

It’s his job to help minimize the impact and 

spread of fi re in the state’s wildland areas—

ideally before they’re stricken by fi re. 

Little by little, Gies is doing just that. 

His newest tool is a special fuels reduction 

program the state launched in 2002 to better 

protect at-risk homes and properties in the 

scenic, forested Black Hills. 

The idea of the program is to reduce the 

fi re danger on targeted properties by clearing 

the forest fl oor of downed branch es and trees, 

and by removing some standing trees. 

In doing so, the fi re intensity and rate of 

spread in forested areas can be cut dra mat ical ly, Gies said. The overall health of the forest 

can be improved. Lives and property can be 

saved. 

Dealing with danger 

The job of protecting the state’s Black Hills 

is not his alone. At least 80 percent of the 

area—which spans more than 1.5 million 

acres of land in western South Dakota—

makes up the Black Hills National Forest. 

U.S. Forest Service offi cials there have been 

on the offensive for some time to minimize 

or eliminate high-risk fi re areas through a 

variety of projects. 

But there are places outside of the forest 

boundaries that badly needed attention as 

well. And people are living in them. 

That’s what makes Gies uneasy. He is responsible for those areas, many of which are 

at an increased risk because forest conditions 

are ripe to feed a fi re. 

“In the last few years, we were starting 

to see the indicators of an increased wild fi re 

problem,” Gies said. “We were having aboveaverage temperatures and below-average 

moisture. In many places, the tree health is 

poor and the fuel buildup is high.” 

And there have been fi res. From 2000 

to 2002 alone, wildfi res in the Black Hills 

burned more than 130,000 acres of both 

private woodlands and federal forest. 

State wildland fi re offi cials knew they had 

a problem. They just didn’t have a way to fi x it. 

Forming a battle plan 

In early 2002, that began to change. 

South Dakota Wildland Fire Sup pres sion 

Division Coordinator Joe Lowe learned that 

grants were available through the National 

Fire Plan to do fuels reduction in wildland 

areas at no cost to landowners. That money, 

Lowe fi gured, could augment a similar state 

effort begun in 2001 to reduce the fuel load 

on private property. 

The National Fire Plan is funded by the 

U.S. Forest Service to manage the impact 

of wildfi res on communities and the en vi -

ron ment. 

So Lowe and Gies met with federal forest 

service offi cials to form a plan. 

“We looked at areas that are at high risk 

for wildfi re in coordination with the forest 

service,” said Gies. “One of the parameters of 

this program is that the areas we treat have 

Fighting the Fuels

State Efforts Target Fire Risk in the Black Hills

Jeff Gies, South 

Dakota Wildland Fire 

Suppression Division
33

At Home in the Woods

to be adjacent to a planned or ongoing U.S. 

Forest Service fuels treatment project. That 

qualifi er helped us narrow down the projects 

we would try to do.”

Lowe and Gies developed three project 

areas throughout the Black Hills—all on 

private property and all at high risk because 

the trees had suffered severe storm damage 

and/or bug kill, primarily from mountain 

pine beetles. 

The state submitted grant requests for each 

project and by May 2002 all three requests, 

totaling $420,000, were approved. 

Finding the help 

With the funding in place, state wild land 

fi re offi cials began to look at various labor 

options to actually get the work done. Tree 

thinning and debris clearing are labor intensive, Gies said, and the agency didn’t have the 

manpower or the time to do it themselves. 

But Lowe had an idea. Some months earlier, a man who wanted to reorganize the Black 

Hats—an American Indian wildland fi refi ghting team that was prom i nent from the mid1960s to the late-1980s—had visited him. 

The team disbanded in 1988. 

Lowe had long thought there was a need 

for another “hand crew” in the Black Hills 

but didn’t have the money to make it happen. Hand crews fi ght fi re literally by hand, 

using a variety of tools to both extinguish 

fl ames and to create breaks in the landscape 

that will stop the spread of fi re. 

At this point, only one permanent hand 

crew was available for the entire Black 

Hills—a U.S. Forest Service Hot Shot crew 

based near Custer in the southern Hills. 

Although additional crews can be quickly 

assembled from federal and state agencies if 

needed, Lowe wanted another per ma nent, 

full-time team. 

So he decided to create a new Black Hats 

crew—one that would work primarily to 

remove dead and downed trees in the target 

areas, but also would be available to fi ght the 

early stages of wildfi res. 

Within 45 days, a 20-person crew had 

been hired and trained.

Gies launched them immediately. Fire 

season was already under way and threeyear drought conditions were raising the fi re 

danger. 

Attacking the problem 

He focused the crew on the biggest project 

fi rst—a recreational area known as Gordon 

Gulch, just east of Hill City and in the heart of 

the Black Hills National Forest. 

The 140-acre area—privately owned by 

one family—is dotted with 40 vacation cabins available for lease. The national forest borders three sides of it. And it was littered with 

downed trees after severe ice and snowstorms 

pounded the area in April 2000. 

“We were worried about this area 

because of the risk to all these prop er ties,” 

Gies said. “Also, it was a good project for 

the crew to get some ex pe ri ence on before 

they got into smaller, individual proper ties.” 

From June to mid-October 2002, the 

crew moved and piled tons of downed tree 

debris and thinned out some standing trees 

to improve the area’s chances of surviving a 

wildfi re. And in between all that, they fought 

wildfi res. 

The result is just what Gies was looking 

for. 

“This property now will have a very good 

chance of withstanding a severe wildfi re,” 

Gies said. “Before this project, it would not 

have. There was so much fuel there and a fi re 

would have burned with such intensity, that it 

would have destroyed the trees and po ten tial ly 

many of the cabins. The heat load in there 

would have been tremendous.” 

Cabin tenants reportedly were happy with 

the work as well. 

“We were pleasantly surprised by the 

reaction of all the people who have cabins up 

there,” Gies added. “A lot of them went on 

and on about how happy they were that we 

were cleaning up the area. It’s been a huge 
34

At Home in the Woods

concern for them. Some of them even went 

out and put ribbons on trees [to be removed] 

close to their cabins because they were afraid 

of the fi re threat.” 

Catastrophe awaits 

Gordon Gulch wasn’t the only area where 

a fi re could be catastrophic, Gies said. There’s 

another big risk, high in the northern Black 

Hills, just west of the town of Sturgis. It’s 

known as Beaver Park. 

In this area, mountain pine beetles had 

attacked an estimated 6,000 to 7,000 acres 

of pine trees, leaving the majority of them 

brown, dry and dead. The infestation was still 

spreading. 

“If a wildfi re ever got into Beaver Park and 

we still had acres and acres of dead trees, we 

could get a real fi restorm in there,” Gies said.

Until the Black Hills Fire Prevention 

Agreement was signed into federal law in 

August 2002, legal challenges had pre vent ed 

the U.S. Forest Service from thin ning dead 

trees in Beaver Park. The agreement rep re sents 

the combined efforts of key en vi ron men tal ists, 

land-use groups and government offi cials, and 

paved the way for work to begin in late 2002.

Gies’ problem was that approximately 150 

homes were scattered throughout the woods 

adjacent to the area that includes the dead tree 

stand. That puts people and property at high 

risk in the event of a fi re.

So he conducted a risk assessment on 

every property in the area looking for the 

worst-case scenarios. At the same time, he 

created a detailed map showing the lo ca tions 

of the homes for fi refi ghters to use if the area 

were to start burning. 

Lowe and Gies targeted 10 properties for 

the fuels reduction program. Gies contacted 

homeowners to determine their willingness 

to participate. All agreed to the voluntary 

program. More properties will be treated if 

money is available. 

Making a difference 

Dan Nelson’s 16-acre property high in the 

Hills was one of those targeted for treatment. 

Nelson had an abundance of downed tree 

limbs from past storms and dense woods of 

thin trees that were grow ing too close together. 

The fi re load was huge and Nelson knew 

it. He’d seen wildfi res in the Hills over the 

years, including two major ones in the summer of 2002, each within about fi ve miles 

of his property. Combined, the fi res burned 

about 15,000 acres. One nearly burned the 

town of Deadwood. 

“They asked if I was interested in having this thinned and I couldn’t believe it,” 

Nelson said. “I didn’t even have to think about 

whether to say ‘yes.’”

Twice before, Nelson had done his own 

work to clean up the woods around his 

house, once thinning approximately 4 acres 

of land by himself. It took one person a full 

day to cut and pile 10 to 12 trees, he says. 

“As soon as we bought the property, we 

removed what we thought was need ed,” 

Nelson said. “Then after the fi res last summer, I started clearing more. But it’s physically 

impossible for one person to do it.” 

Within one week, a 10-person crew had 

removed the downed timber and several 

small trees to create better spac ing so that 

a fi re wouldn’t be able to burn as hot or 

spread as fast. The debris was gathered 

into more than 150 piles that will later be 

hauled away or burned, conditions permit ting. 

Nelson is thrilled with the results. 

“I am so impressed with the way it looks,” 

Nelson said. “This crew is very good. I’m not 

as worried about fi re now as before, not only 

because of this but because of what the forest 

service has done also.”

Gies’ third project began in early 2003 just 

south of the city of Spearfi sh.

Known as the Griggs Project, the treat ment 

area encompasses a subdivision of more than 

200 homes, bordered on two sides by the national forest. Steep slopes, dense overgrowth 

and downed timber put the subdivision at 

risk, Gies says.

“The areas that we have treated are going to have a good chance of 

surviving now. It will pay off in a big way...” — Jeff Gies

Trees infected by 

moun tain pine beetles
35

At Home in the Woods

Federal forest service efforts to reduce the 

fi re load already are under way. The state’s 

project will complement those efforts, Gies 

added.

“Our goal is to create a fuel break by treating as much of the perimeter of this subdivision as we can,” he said.

That work augments other local 

efforts underway as well, including fi re risk 

as sess ment, creating residential defensible 

space and organizing into a “Firewise” community. Firewise is a national program that 

en cour ag es individuals and com mu ni ties in 

the wildland/urban interface to embrace fi resafe practices. 

Protecting the future 

When completed, Gies said, the state’s 

fuels reduction projects are going to make a 

difference the next time fi re strikes. Already, 

the program has exceeded his initial ex pec -

ta tions.

“I am not only amazed, but I am really 

pleased at how all this came together in a 

short period of time and what we’ve been 

able to accomplish with these high-hazard 

areas,” Gies said. “The areas that we have 

treated are going to have a good chance of 

surviving now. It will pay off in a big way, not 

only for their homes and structures but for 

their timber too.” 

To Gies, the use of government funds to 

help individual homeowners represents a 

public-private partnership with far-reaching 

benefi ts. 

“This is a severe problem,” he says. “It’s 

landowners with storm damage and bug 

damage. There is no way they could handle 

this by themselves on their properties unless they hired it out and most don’t have the 

resources for that.

“I think we [government] have a re spon -

si bil i ty to a degree to identify the threat, as 

we have, and come up with plans for emergen cies, both in treatment and mit i ga tion,” 

Gies adds. “If we have the ability to reduce 

the threat to them and to our emergency 

per son nel who ultimately have to deal with it, 

I feel we are doing the right thing.”

It’s been estimated that it could take as 

long as 100 years to do the fuel-reduction 

work needed in the expansive Black Hills. Still, 

that doesn’t discourage Gies. 

“This fuel situation in the Black Hills and 

the rest of the country is a project that will 

take a long time to get even close to catching up with,” Gies said. “It’s like mowing the 

grass on your lawn. The timber is going to 

continue to come back. The undergrowth will 

come back. The issues with storm damage 

don’t ever go away. 

“If, through these projects, we can get 

some of the worst problem areas cleaned up 

and at the same time, get the public educated 

about the problem, it will show the successes 

of these types of projects. Hopefully, it will 

help.” 

Black Hills resident 

Dan Nelson

The Nelson prop er ty

35
36

At Home in the Woods

IN THE MOVIES, the good guys always wear 

white. Not so in South Dakota. There, they 

wear black—hats, that is. 

Those “good guys” are the South Dakota 

Black Hats, a crew of spe cial ly trained men 

and women who defend the state’s forests 

from the effects of wildfi re. 

Their defense is twofold. They clean up 

the forests to minimize the impact of wildfi re. And, when a fi re breaks out, they attack 

it—hard and fast—in an effort to quickly 

control the blaze. 

The crew is named after a highly-skilled 

American Indian wildland fi refi ghting team 

called the Black Hats, which orig i nat ed in 

the mid-1960s on South Dakota’s Pine Ridge 

Indian Reservation. 

The original Black Hats — a name they 

gave themselves — traveled the country fi ghting wildfi res. They were con sid ered to be 

among the best in the business before disbanding in 1988. 

Black Hats reborn 

The new Black Hats were organized in 

June 2002 by the South Dakota Wildland Fire 

Suppression Division to fi ll a critical void in 

the state’s wild fi re prevention and response 

ac tiv i ties. 

Specifi cally, the state needed work crews 

to carry out three large fuel-re duc tion 

projects it was managing on private land in 

the forested Black Hills. In ad di tion, another 

permanent hand crew was needed to provide 

the initial attack on new wild fi res. 

Neither is a job for the faint of heart. 

During fuels reduction work, crew mem bers 

begin their day at 6:30 a.m. with a 30-minute 

briefi ng to review the day’s goals before heading to the project site. 

For the next eight hours, save for a 30-

minute lunch break, crew members carry out 

the day’s objectives, which can range from 

cutting and piling downed timber and brush 

to removing standing trees that are dead or 

deemed to have low sur viv abil i ty. 

The tree debris is then gathered into 

several teepee-shaped piles that can later be 

burned or hauled away. 

When the daily site work is done, the crew 

then heads to a fi tness center for two hours of 

physical conditioning, which in cludes running two miles, weight lifting and strength 

training. 

During wildfi re season, approximately 

April 1 to October 31, crew members are 

on-call 24 hours a day and must maintain a 

45-minute response capability to their headquar ters in Rapid City. 

The rules are tough. The demands are 

high. And the work is grueling. But that’s 

because peo ple’s lives and homes are at stake 

when wildfi res are raging. The crew has to be 

ready. 

Looking at a leader 

Dulcie Running Hawk, 34, is a squad 

boss with the Black Hats. That makes her respon si ble for the day-to-day work and safety 

of four other crew members —whether 

they’re clearing downed debris or fi ghting 

fi re. 

“When we’re on a fi re, it’s my re spon si -

bil i ty as a squad boss to make sure these 

four people make it home every night,” said 

Running Hawk. 

Safety is paramount on the fuels projects 

as well, Running Hawk said. That means 

South Dakota Black Hats 

Good Guys Defend the Forest

More about South 

Dakota’s fi re 

mitigation

Black Hats Squad Boss 

Dulcie Running Hawk
37

At Home in the Woods

watching for hazardous site con di tions, and 

ensuring that safety procedures are being 

followed, and workers are prop er ly rested 

and hydrated. 

Running Hawk has been with the Black 

Hats since its inception. In a sense, it’s a destiny for her because fi re has long been a part 

of her life. 

When she was young, her father worked as 

a seasonal wildland fi refi ghter and later headed a 

20-person fi refi ghting crew from the Cheyenne 

River Sioux Indian Res er va tion in west-central 

South Dakota. 

At 17, she joined his crew. For the next 

three years, Running Hawk learned the trade 

and honed her skills as a wildland fi refi ghter. 

It was hard, physical work. It was even harder 

working for her father. She wanted to quit 

more times than she can remember. 

“It was quite interesting working with 

my father,” she said. “He had to be harder 

on me because I was his daughter. There 

were so many days when I would come back 

and complain to my mom about how hard 

fi refi ghting was. When I talked about quitting, 

she said, ‘It’s up to you.’ ”

Running Hawk stuck with it until she 

met and married her husband at age 20. They 

immediately moved to Germany where he 

was stationed in the U.S. Army for nearly four 

years. 

In 1991, the couple returned to the 

United States and settled in Rapid City. By 

then, she was the mother of four children. 

In January 2002, fi re intervened in her 

life again. Running Hawk had been working at the Federal Beef Plant in Rapid City 

when it was heavily damaged by fi re. Shortly 

thereafter, the business closed. 

Running Hawk began searching for work 

and a means to support her family. That’s 

when she heard about the state’s efforts to 

assemble a fuels mitigation/wildland fi refi ghting crew. She knew it was something she 

could do. 

In short order, she and 19 others were 

hired and trained. Most were in ex pe ri enced at 

fi refi ghting. A few had pro fes sion al treecutting experience. All brought diversity to 

the team which, unlike the original Black 

Hats, is not entirely Amer i can Indian. 

Fire in the Hills 

The crew had barely gotten its feet wet 

when a large wildfi re broke out in the Black 

Hills near the town of Deadwood. 

Running Hawk was there. Suddenly, 

everything she’d learned 17 years before came 

fl ooding back. It was exciting, nerve-wracking and exhausting all at the same time, she 

said. 

“Being out on a fi re is very scary,” Running 

Hawk said. “You don’t know what the fi re 

is going to do. The fi re can change. A lot can 

happen. You have to know where your safety 

zones are, what the weather is doing, what 

kind of terrain you are work ing with.

“But I like the excitement of being a 

fi refi ghter. You know you are out there saving 

lives and property. Afterward, when the fi re 

is put out, you know you did a good job and 

your crew did a good job. I like that feeling.”

Work on the fuels-reduction project is 

just as rewarding, she said, because the homeowners have been both appreciative of their 

efforts and happy with the results. 

“When you are on fuels, you are also doing 

it to protect the houses in case of a fi re breaking out in that area,” said Running Hawk. 

“When we’re done with our job, we know 

that a house has a better chance of being safe 

from a wild fi re.” 

South Dakota’s 

Black Hats
38

At Home in the Woods

KATHY VOTH WAS ON DUTY as a 

public affairs offi cer for the Bureau of Land 

Man age ment (BLM) when the trag e dy at 

Col o rado’s Storm King Moun tain occurred in 

1994. As the terrible human toll of that July 

day mounted, Voth began to think about ways 

to lessen the risks faced by fi refi ghters, a process that continued even as she was helping 

to plan the memorials for the 14 fi refi ghters 

who died. 

“Part of my job was to help create a memorial trail and to work with the families on 

the biographies of the fi refi ghters,” she said. 

“It was a painful time, and I started to think 

that there really had to be a better way for us 

to manage fi re than to put our fi refi ghters in 

danger.” 

One of the purposes of the Storm King 

Mountain Memorial Trail is to help people understand what hap pened there, and to allow for 

re fl ec tion on how future trag e dies can be prevented. Voth carried that chal lenge with her to 

Utah, where she relocated with BLM in 1997.

Something clicked one day as she talked 

with a colleague about goats. Voth had a pet 

goat at home, and she knew from experience 

that goats would eat almost anything. Why 

not, then, teach them to eat the often-unappetizing fi re fuels that make life so dangerous 

for those who fi ght fi re?

Today, Belly Girl, Complainer, Thumb-biter 

and some 75 other goats constitute a cadre of 

Utah-based fuel reduction spe cial ists eating 

their way to happiness. At the same time, the 

goats are dem on strat ing their effectiveness in 

lessening hazardous ladder fuels like oakbrush 

that can carry a fi re. 

The Utah goats are part of a study being 

conducted by Utah State University, Utah 

National Guard and BLM. The effort is being 

funded by the Joint Fire Science Program, 

which is a consortium of federal agencies that 

share fi refi ghting re spon si bil i ties. The goal of 

the study is to provide com mu ni ties, agencies and goat producers with com pre hen sive 

information about using goats to reduce fi re 

fuels. 

Voth started out with the idea that the 

goats would primarily be em ployed by federal 

agencies like BLM, but as she worked through 

the process it turned out that communities 

were interested too. After a demonstration 

project at Utah’s Camp Williams, in the summer of 2002 Voth moved 15 mem bers of the 

herd to Wood land Hills, a Utah community 

that faces extreme fi re dangers. 

“The cost of doing the work me chan i cal ly 

is horrendous, and you still have to process 

all the fuel,” said Assistant Fire Chief Jeff 

Anderson, who campaigned for the goats to 

be brought to Woodland Hills. “I think the 

goats do a better job. They trample the duff 

with their feet and break it down, and they’re 

willing to eat the aftergrowth.” 

Sean Hammond, a recent Utah State 

graduate who works with Voth, explained 

the process. “Veg e ta tion is a living thing, 

and it needs to be trained. Goats will eat the 

growth points, and if you con sis tent ly graze 

that down over a three-to-fi ve year period it 

will stop resprouting because the reserves in 

the root system will be de plet ed.”

At Camp Williams, goats had been used 

since 1996, but it took a wildfi re in July 2001 

to fully dem on strate their ef fec tive ness. Lt. 

Colonel Bob Dunton, an en vi ron men tal offi cer 

with the Utah National Guard, is responsible 

for fi re management at the military facility. 

Although from the be gin ning he saw goats 

as a biological control that made sense, not 

everyone shared his view.

“There was some skepticism from Camp 

Williams staff when the project was fi rst 

introduced,” he said. “Not everyone took it 

seriously, and they didn’t see what role the 

goats could play in wildfi re management.”

That changed after a large wildfi re started 

on-post as a result of a training exercise. 

Dunton, with 10 years’ experience in wild land 

fi refi ghting, fi ve as a smoke-jumper, saw fl ame 

lengths drop from 15 feet to two feet as they 

approached the goat treatment sites. Nearby, 

in an area where a hand crew had worked, the 

results were not nearly as dramatic. 

‘Fuel-reduction specialists’ dem on strate effectiveness

Goats Take Bite Out of Fire Risk
39

At Home in the Woods

Dunton said that there is now broad-based 

support for the use of goats at Camp Wil l iams, 

but he added that such an undertaking does 

require effort. 

“It is not an easy project,” Dunton said. 

“You have to move the animals, keep them 

fenced, care for them and otherwise meet 

their life needs,” which include providing 

water and, as a dietary supplement, salt.

There also might be issues for land managers who fi nd that an area treated by goats 

loses aesthetic value. But for Dunton, who is 

currently working to secure funding to bring 

goats back to Camp Williams, the benefi ts 

outweigh the potential problems. 

“Fire suppression costs are high, and if a fi re 

migrates off our boundaries the issue is even 

bigger than suppression,” he said. “If a fi re were 

to move off-post into neigh bor ing areas the 

possible legal ramifi cations would be extreme.” 

According to Voth, goats are most ef fec tive 

in shrub-dominated environments. 

“We’ve experimented with pine trees, 

and the goats will knock the bark off and eat 

the lower branches. But that leaves a lot of 

standing dead timber, which is good fuel. 

So where the goats work best is reducing 

the amount of vegetation in the understory, 

particularly in areas where people are living 

in the wildland/urban interface.”

As a targeted fuel treatment, goats can 

provide an attractive alternative to pre scribed 

burns, for which the proper tem per a ture, 

wind and humidity are necessary. And unlike 

hand crews, goats do not produce slash piles 

that have to be burned later. There is also a 

cost factor —based on Voth’s “goat calculator,” 

it would cost $31,000 for 200 goats to clear 

one square mile, compared to $132,000 for a 

hand crew. 

One of the roadblocks that Anderson initially encountered in Woodland Hills was local 

ordinances that prohibited the use of male 

goats and the construction of electric fencing, 

which is necessary to keep the goats in and 

predators out. Both he and Voth appeared at a 

city council meeting and ultimately persuaded 

council members to relax the fence ordinance; 

it was also agreed that male goats would not 

be used.

Voth admitted that some amount of education is always in order. “People have traditionally heard all these things about goats, like 

they are hard to manage, they can get out of 

any fence, they eat anything. So it is really going to take some ongoing dem on stra tions to 

help people become comfortable with how it 

works.

“It’s like driving a car. The fi rst time is kind 

of scary, but after a while it’s no big deal.”

Kathy Voth, Hank 

Williams (in back), 

and Agnes
40

At Home in the Woods

Another issue is what to do with the goats 

during the winter. Unlike California, where 

fuel-eating goats can work year-round, Rocky 

Mountain states can only use the goats until 

the weather turns in early fall. Since a certain 

amount of training is necessary to teach the 

goats that something like oakbrush can be 

food, continuity is benefi cial. 

“You could sell the goats for meat each year, 

but then you have to get new an i mals,” Voth 

said. “You don’t want to get rid of them at the 

end of the season because they’ve just learned 

how to be useful, and they’re also able to teach 

the next gen er a tion.” 

Voth, who was recently assigned to a 

BLM offi ce in Fort Collins, Colorado, to 

coordinate the goat program full-time, is 

working to complete a handbook that will 

guide those interested in using goats as 

part of a com pre hen sive fi re fuel reduction 

strategy, ad dress ing critical issues such as 

where to put the goats and how to manage 

and care for the animals. (One hint: Do not 

have a breeding pair of goats out on the 

range.)

If nothing else, Voth hopes the hand book 

will help communities, agencies and goat 

producers know what questions to ask. She 

is also looking for new demonstration sites. 

(For those interested, Voth can be contacted 

at (970) 295-5718; her e-mail address is 

kvoth@cc.usu.edu.)

As for Anderson, he intends to bring in 

goats of his own now that Voth’s herd has left. 

“They never complain, they’re friend ly, 

and they’re up by six working,” he said. 

“It’s a solution that benefi ts everybody.”

Kathy Voth holding Emmy 

Lou, with Rufus (brown), 

Hank Williams (white), 

Agnes (far left), 

40
41

At Home in the Woods

IN ONE COMMUNITY goats have al ready 

become a much beloved part of the landscape.

Laguna Beach is a small town of 24,000 

residents in Southern Cal i for nia with sandy 

beaches, picturesque canyons and coastal 

hills. In October 1993, a dev as tat ing fi restorm swept across 14,000 brush-covered 

acres and engulfed much of the town, damaging or destroying 441 homes. 

For the last seven years, a small army of 

goats has been on regular patrol in Laguna 

Beach, eating the dense veg e ta tion that can 

fuel a fi re. 

“The community understands based on 

the 1993 fi re why it is necessary to reduce 

the fuel levels,” said Mike Phillips, an 

environmental specialist with the city who 

helps coordinate the goat program. “The 

goats are a cost- effective means of doing 

that. And there is an added benefi t—people 

really like them.”

Phillips said it is not uncommon to see 

buses and cars come by to visit the goats 

when they are working downtown behind 

City Hall. There are also wine-and-cheese 

parties at local homes when the goats are 

stationed nearby. 

Laguna Beach fi rst started using goats in 

the early 1990s. City Man ag er Ken Frank 

brought the idea with him from Northern 

California when he moved south. After the 

fi re, Laguna Beach received a hazard mit i -

ga tion grant from the state of California 

and FEMA to expand the program. 

Frank, who lost his home in the 1993 

fi re, said the value of the goats was clear 

even in the midst of that de struc tive blaze. 

“The fi re was moving toward our 

North Laguna neighborhoods, and before 

the fl ames reached the houses you could 

see them diminish when they hit the fuel 

breaks. Where we had the fuel breaks 

in North Laguna we didn’t lose a single 

house.”

But according to Frank, goats are not a 

panacea. 

“Even where we saved the houses in 

North Laguna, fi refi ghters were putting 

water on roofs. And heavy winds did push 

the fi re across a 150-foot fuel break that the 

goats had created,” he said. “Goats are more 

effective and effi cient than most other fuel 

reduction programs, but they are not a substitute for fi refi ghters.” 

In Laguna Beach, goats are one piece of 

the community’s overall wildfi re mit i ga tion 

strategy and their use is strongly supported 

by the local fi re department, which im ple -

ment ed the goat program and continues to 

oversee it. 

Today an average of 500 goats work 

year-round and cover approximately 1,445 

acres annually. Fuel reduction is split 

between public lands around the town 

perimeter and strategically located private 

lots. The goats work a circuit and re-treat 

areas on a regular basis, costing the city 

general fund $198,000 per year. Paying for 

the goats has not been an issue —Phillips 

said it is one of the most popular mu nic i pal 

programs. 

The city’s agreement with the goat 

contractor establishes a specifi ed amount of 

land to be treated; it is up to the contractor to determine how many goats will be 

nec es sary to achieve the goal. For example, 

heavy rains might mean more goats are 

needed to keep up with the increased 

vegetation. 

The contractor also handles all of the 

logistical arrangements associated with the 

goats, such as erecting the 200-foot by 

300-foot pens in which they work. An onsite herder is responsible for their day-today care. 

To determine the cost-effectiveness of 

the goat program, Laguna Beach con duct ed 

a fi eld test. A 10-person hand crew and 550 

goats were each put on a one-acre lot. The 

hand crew took 7.5 hours to clear the acre 

while the goats took less than seven hours. 

The crew cost the city $1,125 (based on 

$15 per hour per person), compared to the 

A Wine and (Goat) Cheese Affair More about goats 

and fi re mitigation
42

At Home in the Woods

$542.46 per-day cost of the goats—a savings 

of $582.54.

“And the test was somewhat skewed 

because we used relatively fl at terrain,” 

Phillips said. “It would have been much 

more diffi cult for the hand crew had we 

put them on steeper hillsides.” The city still 

uses hand crews on individual lots in the 

interior of the town. 

Frank and Phillips had a few sug ges tions 

for other communities that might consider 

a goat program:

✔ Address environmental impacts. Before 

introducing goats hire an en vi ron men tal 

consultant to walk the area and iden ti fy 

sensitive plant species to be pro tect ed. 

Also be aware of existing en vi ron men tal 

reg u la tions. 

✔ Be sensitive to community concerns. Talk 

to residents before putting 500 goats on a 

hillside — in Laguna Beach there were questions about the goats’ effect on water quality. 

✔ Consider the long-term commitment. Goats 

may not be as cost-effective if they are on 

shorter, te mporary as sign ments or if they 

work on smaller areas. 

So far, there has not been a major wildfi re in 

Laguna Beach since 1993, but even after small 

fi res the city gets calls from res i dents asking 

when the goats can come.
43

At Home in the Woods

CONDUCTOR DAVE MARTINEZ of the Durango & 

Silverton Narrow Gauge Rail road stands on the open 

platform of a century-old passenger car and looks 

down the length of the train. 

It’s boarding time. Families, checking their tickets, 

are fl ocking to bright, golden-yellow coach cars. Once 

on board, pas sen gers scurry to fi nd their seats, pulling 

on jackets in an tic i pa tion of the high-altitude chill. 

Hard-core rail fans, camcorders in hand, dash to the 

lo co mo tive for last-minute close-ups of steam and 

smoke. 

As the fi nal authority on the train, Martinez 

must see that passengers are safely aboard, supplies 

are prop er ly stored and the departure time is observed 

before the train can move onto the line.

Engineer Monty Caudle looks down the right side 

of the train from his seat in a vintage steam locomotive and waits for the conductor’s signal.

Martinez shouts, “All aboard” and waves. Caudle 

nudges the throttle for ward. The train’s whistle 

blows... long–long–short–long. The signal is always 

the same as the engine ap proach es its fi rst public 

crossing. But each engineer has a dis tinc tive hand 

on the whistle cord, and everyone in the yard knows 

who’s driving No. 482 today.

There is both a mystique and a dogged 

determination to the Durango & Silverton 

Narrow Gauge Railroad. It’s the vintage steam 

locomotives, the adventure of riding through 

southwestern Colorado’s breath tak ing vistas 

and the taste of the West’s gold-rush era that 

beckon visitors from around the world. 

But in the summer of 2002, Col o rado’s 

wildfi res brought the railroad to the prec i pice 

of disaster by threatening its very existence. 

Warning signs 

Since 1882, when the railroad—then 

known as the Denver & Rio Grande—

began hauling gold and silver from ore 

mines, coal-fi red steam locomotives have 

powered the train. It runs on rails that are 

just three feet wide, hence the name “narrow 

gauge,” which enables the train to navigate 

steep hills and tight, mountain turns. 

But those coal-fi red engines blow out burning cinders that can, and often do, start spot fi res. 

Steep grades along the route from the 

railroad’s base in Durango to its northern 

terminus in the town of Silverton, about 

45 miles away, enhance the chance that a 

fi re will start because the locomotives are 

literally “pouring on the coals” to make the 

climbs. 

“Being a coal-fi red steam engine, we create 

ash and sparks,” says Allen C. Harp er, president 

of the Durango & Silverton (D&SNGRR). “As a 

result, we’ve always had spark arrestors on the 

stacks of the train to catch sparks that come up 

through the chimney. We have always taken 

pre cau tions to make sure that following every 

train, there was a cart with a two-man crew 

that would look for any sparks that came out, 

or look for fi res and call for as sis tance.” 

Routinely, the railroad takes advantage of 

winter precipitation to perform pre ven tive 

wildfi re maintenance on its rights of way, 

which extend about 50 feet on either side of 

the track, offi cials say. 

The maintenance includes setting controlled fi res in high-risk areas to elim i nate 

overgrown ground cover, cutting back brush 

The Little Train that Could

Despite Wildfi re Threat, Railroad Stays on Track

Allen C. Harper, 

president of the 

Durango & Silverton 

Narrow Gauge Railroad
44

At Home in the Woods

and, if necessary, removing volatile pine trees 

growing too close to the tracks. 

Normally, the work takes place in the 

mid-to-late spring months, says Evan 

Buchanan, director of train operations. 

But by January 2002, suspicions were 

already growing among weather, fi re and 

forestry specialists that the winter’s dry 

conditions could trigger a serious wildfi re season. If that prediction held true, 

D&SNGRR offi cials reasoned, it could only 

increase the railroad’s ever-present fi re risk. 

So instead of waiting for spring, 

D&SNGRR maintenance crews immediately 

began routine wildfi re mitigation work. 

What usually takes a month or so lasted 

nearly fi ve, railroad offi cials say, because the 

crews did even more work than usual as a 

hedge against the wildfi re forecasts. In all, 

about 15 miles of the highest-risk railroad 

right of way were treated. By May, railroad 

offi cials also began meeting with the local fi re 

au thor i ty and with federal forest service staff 

to determine if extra precautions were needed. 

A different type of spark arrestor was 

installed on each steam engine smoke stack 

to help reduce the size and fre quen cy of escap ing cinders, a rec om men da tion made the 

previous fall by the U.S. Forest Service. 

The two-person carts started hauling an 

attached “water wagon,” which carries 300 

gallons of water, a pump and 400 feet of fi re 

hose. The water supply trailed a few minutes 

behind each train to quickly douse any spot 

fi res. 

Railroad maintenance crews were trained 

by the federal forest service in wildland fi refi ghting techniques. 

Train dispatchers began keeping a closer 

eye on weather and fi re forecasts, and began 

documenting the predictions and trends. 

The railroad purchased a diesel engine 

that could be used as a stopgap measure to 

keep the train running if the fi re danger grew 

too high. 

By this time, D&SNGRR offi cials were 

cau tious ly optimistic they were ready to meet 

the wildfi re threat. They would soon fi nd out 

that what they’d done still wasn’t enough. 

Danger and decisions

June 2002. The Missionary Ridge Fire 

roared to life. The fi re forced the evac u a tion 

of about 2,300 homes and burned dangerously close to Durango. 

By the time the fi re was out 40 days 

later, it had claimed about 73,000 acres, 56 

homes, 27 outbuildings and dealt a severe 

blow to the local economy through lost tourism revenue and, ultimately, jobs. 

“When things started getting bad and we 

saw the Missionary Ridge Fire, we knew then 

that we were going to have trouble,” Harper 

said. “We started taking more and more 

precautions. We talked to the federal forest 

service daily. They went out of their way to 

cooperate.” 

The railroad added special sprayers to the 

steam engine smoke stacks to mist the exhaust and cinders passing through the spark 

arrestors. 

A boxcar carrying 1,000 gallons of water 

was added to each of the four trains that 

run during the summer tourist season. The 

boxcar, which sits behind the lo co mo tive and 

coal tender car and ahead of the passenger 

coaches, also had fi refi ghting equipment on 

board to quickly suppress any fi res. 

The Mis sion ary Ridge 

Fire reaches Vallecito 

Reservoir, 23 miles 

northeast of Durango
45

At Home in the Woods

By now, the Missionary Ridge Fire had 

been burning for nearly two weeks and 

another new wildfi re, also near Durango, had 

begun. Fears in the community were rising, 

and despite the railroad’s efforts to adapt to 

the fi re danger, pressure was mounting on 

Harper. 

Some Durango residents called Harper 

and asked him to shut down the train because they were afraid it would cause fi res 

and they could lose their homes, he says. 

Others supported the idea of keeping the 

train running. 

Local businesses, some confl icted by the 

situation, called too. To lose the train oper a tion, they argued, would deal a serious 

economic blow to the com mu ni ty and their 

trade. But so would a fi re in their town —

a concern that also reportedly had local 

offi cials considering legal action to force the 

railroad to tem po rari ly cease operations. 

Business owners in Silverton, a town of 

400 that depends on the train for tourist 

trade, wanted the railroad to keep running. 

According to news accounts, some business es were predicting they would have to 

close if the train stopped bringing them 

customers. 

For the railroad itself, the jobs of about 250 

D&SNGRR employees were at stake, too. 

Harper found himself in an agonizing 

squeeze play, so he got on the train and went 

for a ride. That’s when he knew what he had 

to do. 

“I was coming down Hermosa Hill and 

you could see the Missionary Ridge Fire on 

one side and then we went by a spot fi re on 

the right of way and I said ‘we have struggled long enough,’” Harper recalled. “We 

made the decision to shut it down for the 

fi rst time in the history of the rail road.” 

Steaming ahead 

Though Harper was down, he wasn’t about 

to be out. Determined to get back up and running, railroad offi cials quickly devised a new 

plan to get the trains back on track. 

One day later, they were operational again 

in a scaled-back capacity. The normal 45-mile 

route was broken down into three segments 

that enabled pas sen gers to still make the 

whole trip to Silverton using a combination 

of steam-powered train, diesel-powered train, 

railbus and a motor coach bus. 

The steam engines were put back on the 

line—running only in the fl at areas with 

ready highway access so that emer gen cy 

vehicles could quickly get to a fi re if one 

started. Pas sen gers could ride just the steam 

segment or disembark at a small station and 

board a train pulled by a diesel engine for the 

second leg of the route. 

The diesel, which does not emit as many 

burning cinders as the steam locomotive, 

would then make a fi ve-mile, round-trip 

excursion along the High Line where the 

track runs along the edge of a cliff, af ford ing 

a breathtaking view of the Animas River 400 

feet below.

At yet another small station, pas sen -

gers then could get on a bus and ride to 

Silverton for shopping and lunch before heading back down to Durango. Or, they could 

“The biggest thing I learned was to be better prepared, and we are. We are 

smarter. Our railroad is ready. My people are ready.”

— Allen Harper

A work crew from Fire 

Ready, a local fi re 

mitigation company, was 

hired by the railroad to 

clear brush and cut trees 

along the right of way 

The crew takes a break as 

No. 482 climbs Hermosa 

Hill 
46

At Home in the Woods

take a railbus for a 12-mile side excursion 

through the high country. Passengers paid just 

$20 for each leg — one-third of the normal 

$60 ticket price for the whole ride. 

Mindful of the worsening fi re danger, the 

railroad purchased two old tank cars and in 

three days rebuilt them and added custom 

fi refi ghting features. 

Each car, which can carry 7,000 gallons of 

water, was equipped with water can nons that 

could shoot a large volume of water up to 

250 feet away. The cars ran ahead of the passen ger trains to wet down the right of way to 

minimize the chance of a fi re starting from a 

wayward spark or ember. 

Financial peril 

Though Harper kept the railroad running—even through another four-day shutdown caused by a late-summer wild fi re near 

the tracks—it was far from being fi nancially 

on track for the season. 

An estimated 35,000 pre-sold tickets, 

worth about $1 million, had to be 

refunded. Harper had to release 100 season al em ploy ees as he struggled to make 

enough money to keep his 84 full-time staff 

work ing. 

“The big picture is that the Durango & 

Silverton Narrow Gauge Railroad is a na tion al 

treasure and it needs to be pro tect ed and 

guarded,” Harper said. “Those 80 year-round 

people are family and I have to take care of 

them. I couldn’t just send them all home. You 

can’t re as sem ble the people who keep this 

railroad going. We have a great railroad and it 

deserves to be saved.”

Overall, Harper estimates that he lost 

about $4.5 million in revenues. He spent 

another $500,000 on extra gear, equip ment 

and overtime needed for the wildfi re efforts. 

And as of spring 2003, the cost of the wildfi re mitigation measures had totaled about 

$740,000. 

“The train does 80 percent of its rev e nue 

in 100 days,” Harper said. “The wildfi res 

wiped out 40 of those 100 days. It was devastating for everybody.”

The economic losses spilled over into the 

community as well. Business for local companies reportedly was down more 30 percent. 

Local governments saw a drop in sales tax 

revenue from the railroad’s losses. 

In the early fall of 2002, with the fi re risk 

still present, railroad offi cials con tin ued wildfi re mitigation efforts, hiring a local company 

known as Fire Ready to do more clearing and 

brush removal along the right of way. 

Harper also bought four more old diesel

engines that, when re fur bished, can be used 

in the future to tem po rari ly replace the 

steam engines in the event of an ex treme fi re 

emergency. 

Through the winter, railroad crews cut 

fi rebreaks in high-risk areas and con tin ued 

clearing more brush. In late spring, the 

annual weed-re duc tion pro gram along the 

tracks was completed for the year. 

Future of promise 

Despite the hardships, railroad offi cials see 

promise in the future of the historic Durango 

& Silverton, a railroad that has survived other 

All aboard! Pulling out of 

the Durango station

“The Durango & Silverton Narrow Gauge Railroad is a na tion al 

treasure and it needs to be pro tect ed and guarded.” 

 — Allen Harper
47

At Home in the Woods

dev as tat ing natural and eco nom ic disasters 

through the years. 

The 2002 wildfi res taught them that 

it takes more than a deep passion for rare, 

steam-locomotive trains and an iron will to 

survive disaster. It takes knowledge, pre pared -

ness and adaptability. 

“We went through a learning curve last 

year,” says Paul Schranck, D&SNGRR general 

manager. “Most of this stuff we im ple ment ed 

we hadn’t done before. But we all have a 

high stake in this rail road and we wanted it 

to work. We talked and came up with ideas. 

Now, we have fi ne-tuned these things so that 

we know it works well.

“Fire is something you have to con stant ly 

be aware of,” Schranck added. “You have to 

stay a week ahead of it. If you think you need 

some thing, have it out there. Don’t wait for 

something to hap pen.” 

Harper agreed. 

“The biggest thing I learned was to be 

better pre pared,” he says, “and we are. We are 

smart er. Now, I’ve got the diesels. I’ll be able 

to run two full trains every day, even if the 

drought comes again. Our railroad is ready. 

My people are ready. Nothing will shut me 

down this year. I’ll keep rolling.”

No. 482 follows the twists and turns of the 

Animas River north to Silverton. Inside the engine, 

fi reman Mike Nichols stokes the fi rebox with an-

 oth er 20-pound shov el ful of coal to keep the iron 

giant steadily chugging along. 

Just past Sultan Mountain, a deep ravine tightly 

cradles the tracks. Suddenly, the rugged terrain opens 

into a fl at mead ow where several creeks join the 

Animas River. 

This is Silverton, once the end of the line for the 

railroad in its boom mining days. It is bound on all 

sides by the moun tains— age-old keepers of the 

precious ore that gave life to this picturesque town. 

No. 482 pulls right into the middle of town. A 

feast of historic Victorian build ings, now home to 

quaint shops and eateries, beckons passengers. For a 

few hours, visitors stroll down wooden board walks and 

explore the rich lode of com merce before the threeand-a-half-hour trip back to Durango. 

Evan Buchanan, director 

of train operations

Back on board, Caudle eases the throttle forward 

and the train steams toward home. 

As the Durango Depot comes into view, the train 

slows to a hissing, steamy crawl. End of the line for 

this trip.
48

At Home in the Woods

WHEN VOLUNTEER HOLLY COYLE offered 

Estes Park, Colorado homeowners in for -

ma tion about how to protect their homes 

from wildfi re in this mountain community, 

she was sur prised to learn that some people 

actually christen their plants.

“I can’t cut down Mother Juniper,” one 

elderly woman told her.

For Coyle and her fi ve-member team, 

changing perspectives became the major challenge in the summer of 2002.

“A lot of people know about de fen si ble 

space,” said Coyle, an en vi ron men tal sciences 

and forestry major in school. “But that doesn’t 

mean they want to cut down a tree in their 

yard or even know how much they should cut 

back.”

Coyle is a member of the Student 

Con ser va tion Association (SCA) Fire Ed u ca tion 

Corps—a national program made up of college-aged volunteers spe cial ly trained to teach 

people how to create defensible space around 

their homes and, when possible, to help them 

do the work.

And when homeowners are resistant to 

cutting vegetation away from their homes, 

volunteers like Coyle are taught to come up 

with creative solutions.

“Instead of slashing the tree, we treated 

‘Mother Juniper’ as if it was an individual 

structure — creating a 30-foot defensible 

space around it,” she said. The team placed 

rock barriers around the tree and swept up 

pine needles that had accumulated beneath it.

When SCA members do an evaluation, 

they begin by looking at the home’s risks and 

vulnerabilities.

“We go over a checklist with the ho me -

own er that covers things such as clearing out 

heavy fuels 30 to 100 feet from the home, 

fi re truck access, and what type of roofi ng the 

homeowner has,” said Jenna Messmer, an SCA 

public information intern.

Then they provide homeowners with 

suggestions about how to reduce those risks. 

Most involve some kind of action— such as 

cleaning up dead pine needles or removing 

dead vegetation next to the home. Sug ges tions 

can include structural changes as well, such as 

installing a non-fl ammable roof.

Though the program is free and vol un tary, 

not everyone readily embraces sug gest ed 

changes. In the case of one com mu ni ty, it took 

a fi re close to home to get residents’ attention.

Lessons by fi re

In July 2002, the situation in Estes Park 

and vicinity changed dramatically when the 

Big Elk Fire Sends Wake-Up Call 

Alison Eckberg of the 

Student Conservation 

Association goes over 

the checklist for Bob 

Clark’s property in 

Estes Park
49

At Home in the Woods

4,000-acre Big Elk Fire erupted 10 miles 

southeast of town.

As local offi cials evacuated the Little Valley 

and Big Elk Meadows subdivisions, fi refi ghters 

from the Big Elk and Estes Park volunteer fi re 

departments quickly assessed structures and 

surrounding landscapes to determine whether 

or not each home could survive the fi re.

According to Estes Park Fire Chief Scott 

Dorman, homes with defensible space around 

them earned green fl ags posted prominently 

in driveways. Red fl ags were given to those 

properties without defensible space.

Jerry Guthrie, chief of the Big Elk 

Mead ows Volunteer Fire Department, said 

the purpose of this type of sweep is to make 

sure fi refi ghters don’t waste valuable time and 

resources trying to save a house that is fundamentally indefensible.

Guthrie and his colleagues were not shy in 

telling residents why their homes were given red 

fl ags. The bad news left many in a state of shock.

Not one house was lost in the Big Elk Fire. 

But the fact that 70 percent of the homes in 

the subdivisions were tagged with red fl ags 

indicated to Dorman that mit i ga tion measures 

were badly needed.

As the fl ames died down, residents 

streamed through the Estes Park Vol un teer Fire 

Station wanting to fi nd out what they could 

do to keep from getting red-fl agged the next 

time. The SCA team was ready to help.

According to Coyle, the Estes Park community mantra became, “We don’t want our 

home to burn. We don’t want a red tag on 

our home. We want you to come out and 

we’ll do anything you say for us to do.”

SCA’s phone rang off the hook, and 

Dorman’s department—working closely with 

SCA—attended homeowners’ meet ings giving defensible space pre sen ta tions throughout 

the summer. By the end of August, the SCA 

team had eval u at ed 164 homes.

The evaluation

Estes Park homeowner Bob Clark was one 

of those who called. 

“We had the Big Elk Fire right behind us, 

just four or fi ve miles over the ridge,” Clark 

said. 

Like many homeowners, Clark didn’t 

know how much he should cut back and he 

was concerned about his roof.

“I thought they’d jump all over the fact 

that I have a cedar roof,” he confessed when 

Coyle and Messmer visited his home. Clark 

told them he was thinking of re plac ing it with 

one made out of asphalt.

“Metal is actually best,” Messmer quickly 

explained. “It lasts longer and it’s even more 

fi re resistant than asphalt.”

Messmer and her team carefully went 

through a checklist of short- and long-term 

improvements Clark could make to create 

defensible space, such as cutting branches 

away from woodpiles or clearing pine 

needles from the gutter and from under 

porches. Long-term projects in clud ed thinning out a grove of small trees.

As part of the evaluation, Clark’s street 

address was entered into a com put er ized 

mapping system that would tell Estes Park 

fi refi ghters which homes had been evalu at ed. Once recommended improvements 

were made, an SCA volunteer would enter 

the new in for ma tion into the system.

“You build your home in an area like 

Estes Park and you want to keep the trees 

because they are one of the reasons you 

moved up here in the fi rst place,” Clark said. 

“SCA helps you fi nd the small things you 

can do to protect your home and keep the 

aesthetics.”

Bringing in a team

Scott Sticha, the Rocky Mountain Na tion al 

Park fi re mitigation offi cer in Estes Park, 

served as community co or di na tor for the SCA 

program in 2002.

“The Big Elk Fire was a wake-up call to 

this community,” Sticha said. “The message 

about defensible space was so important. I 

never would have been able to do that kind of 

outreach without SCA.”
50

At Home in the Woods

Bringing an SCA team into a com mu ni ty 

can be costly. For a fi ve-member team fully 

trained in wildland/urban interface concepts, 

with two vehicles, technology, housing 

and stipends, a community is looking at 

$85,000 for one summer.

“This may sound like a lot for a commu ni ty to spend, but if you com pare that 

to the millions of tax dollars spent daily 

fi ghting wildland fi res, we’re a very cost 

effective group,” said Jody Handly, SCA 

fi re education corps program di rec tor.

“Some communities may not have the 

fi nancial resources, but they can provide 

housing, vehicles, offi ce space or other amenities,” Handly said. “The real qual i fi ca tion is 

need and the willingness to work with us.”

Agencies that have supported teams in 

the past include the Bureau of Indian Affairs, 

Bureau of Land Management, National 

Park Service, U.S. Forest Ser vice, Idaho 

De part ment of Lands, Idaho Re source 

Conservation and Development Councils, 

Anchorage Fire Department and Colorado 

State Forest Service. Funding for the Estes 

Park effort was provided by the U.S. 

Department of Interior.

She said grant monies are often avail able to 

fund an SCA team. She works with community coordinators to help fi nd ways to pay for 

a team, either by securing grants or fi nding a 

partner willing to share costs.

“I don’t turn communities away for not 

having the money,” Handly said. “We work 

with them to try and locate supporting 

partners.”

Communities interested in sponsoring an SCA team in their area can apply 

online with the Fire Education Corps at 

www.thesca.org.

The SCA team with 

homeowner Bob Clark
51

At Home in the Woods

UP IN COLORADO’S LITTLE VALLEY AND BIG

ELK MEADOWS SUBDIVISIONS, residents kept 

green ribbons tied to trees in front of their 

houses for months as proof that their homes 

had passed the brutal triage that took place 

during the Big Elk Fire in July 2002.

“The green ribbon was like a badge 

of honor for people whose property was 

deemed defendable,” said Estes Park Fire 

Chief Scott Dorman. “When we go through a 

neigh bor hood threatened by wildland fi re, we 

make rapid decisions on whether we think a 

house is defendable or not.”

Justin Dombrowski, wildland fi re man age -

ment offi cer for Boulder, Colorado, explained 

the fi refi ghters’ perspective. 

“Basically, fi refi ghters scout for a place to 

take a stand against the fi re,” he said. “When 

you talk about fi refi ghters taking a stand, you 

can’t take any chances. Firefi ghters look for 

fi re-resistant home con struc tion and spatial 

openings around a house where they can survive in that spot. We have to look at access and 

what kind of safety zones are available.”

Despite Dorman’s years of preaching defensible space to the community, and much to 

the dismay of many residents, 70 percent of 

the homes in Little Valley and Big Elk Meadows 

earned red fl ags during the triage. A red fl ag 

meant the home was not deemed defendable 

and that the fi re department would not devote 

any resources to defend it. 

During the triage, fi refi ghters looked for 

several things to determine wheth er the house 

would get a red or green fl ag. The distance of 

the veg e ta tion from the home, the com po -

si tion of the roof and the slope of the property 

all were major factors in deciding whether it 

could be saved.

“We also looked at the density of the 

vegetation, the structure of the house and 

whether there was accessibility for fi re 

trucks,” Dorman said. 

When there is a gentle slope to the 

property, there can be a distance of 30 feet 

between vegetation and the house. The steeper 

the slope, the further away the vegetation 

needs to be. Other con sid er ations include 

water availability and the kind of fi re that is 

moving toward the property. All of these variables must be calculated within seconds as fi re 

crews make their rapid assessments. 

If a property fails just one of the cri te ria, it 

is usually red fl agged. “Sometimes a special 

hazard also qualifi es a home for a red fl ag,” said 

Dorman. In one case, a property was red fl agged 

during the Big Elk Fire because it had 18 fi ftyfi ve-gallon barrels of lacquer stored there.

Although not a single house burned in 

the Big Elk Fire, for days and weeks following 

the blaze residents streamed through the Estes 

Park Volunteer Fire Station to fi nd out what 

they could do to keep from earning a red 

fl ag next time. “We’ve given a lot of advice to 

residents on what makes a good defensible 

space,” Dorman said. 

As time passes, Dorman is concerned that 

Estes Park residents may again grow in dif -

fer ent to wildfi re mitigation. That’s why he 

and his crew were hard at work preaching the 

mitigation message even before the last green 

ribbon was taken down. 

Green Badge of Honor More about the 

Big Elk Fire and 

home triage

SCA member Emily 

Moss limbs a tree in 

Estes Park

Justin Dombrowski,

Wildland Fire 

Management Offi cer,

city of Boulder
52

At Home in the Woods

FOR YEARS, Paul Blumhardt has wor ried 

about fi re in the woods. 

That’s because nearly 650 homes border 

the edges of those woods, full of closely 

grown trees, downed limbs and high-standing grasses. There’s an el e men ta ry school 

nearby. And a few churches as well. 

Blumhardt, city forester for Bismarck, 

North Dakota, hasn’t been the only one worried. Bismarck Fire Department of fi cials had 

identifi ed those woodlands in the city’s southwestern end as their primary wildfi re concern. 

The problem, offi cials said, is that there 

hasn’t been an effective way to fi ght fi re 

in those woods or to keep a blaze, pushed 

by frequent prevailing winds, from racing 

through the trees to nearby homes. 

Until now. 

On the cutting edge 

Simply put, the solution was a trail —

a 25-foot-wide swath that was carefully 

cleared of trees and downed limbs to create 

an access for fi re equipment and personnel 

into three separate but adjacent woodland 

areas. In total, the three trail sections run 

ap prox i mate ly 3,700 feet. 

Blazing a Trail to Safety

Fortunately, said Blumhardt and As sis tant 

Bismarck Fire Chief Kermit Schaefer, those 

trees have not caught fi re — yet. But in recent 

years, there have been some sizeable fi res in 

other forested areas around Bismarck, a city of 

55,392 fl anked by aging woodlands that begin 

on the banks of the nearby Missouri River. 

Drought conditions in 2001 and 2002 increased the risk and incidence of fi re, drying 

out the stands of cottonwoods, green ash and 

box elder. A severe wind storm in July 2001 

took its toll on the green ash and box elder, 

downing many limbs and trees already weakened by decay and disease. And the fl oor of 

the woods grew thick with tall brome grass, 

now tinder dry. 

That’s why Blumhardt was so intent on 

fi nding a way to make the project a reality. A 

lack of funding to pay for the work had been 

standing in his way. 

But in early 2002, the North Dakota Forest 

Service helped change all that. 

The agency was offering special cost-share 

grants to pay for projects that help reduce 

wildfi re risks to communities. The U.S. Forest 

Service allocated the money to North Dakota 

through the National Fire Plan. The money is 

administered by the state forestry agency. 

It was just the help Blumhardt had been 

looking for. He applied for funding to help 

construct the trail — one of three phases of 

this wildfi re prevention project — and in 

August 2002, a grant for $10,158 was awarded. The city spent an additional $4,255 in cash 

and in-kind services for the project match. 

The real work begins

Next, Assistant City Forester Jeff Heintz 

went to work to design the trail system. Access

points were needed in three sections of 

contiguous woodlands, all of which border 

subdivisions of mobile homes, apartments, 

condominiums and single-family dwellings. 

Heintz not only wanted to create adequate 

access, but also preserve the city-owned 

woodlands and the privacy those trees offered 

the adjacent homeowners. 

Before clearing work 

began, dead brush 

and branches lay deep 

behind Tatley Meadows
53

At Home in the Woods

So he crafted a meandering trail through 

the woods, leaving a 150-foot-wide buffer 

of trees between the homes and the trail. The 

curving shape of the trail was designed to 

make it look more natural and to discourage 

everyday traffi c from driving into the woods.

Each tree to be removed was in di vid u al ly 

marked and strict guidelines were put in place 

so that no adjacent trees would be damaged in 

the process of creating the trail. 

The city then contracted with a local tree 

service to construct the trail. To do that, tree 

specialists cut trees and dead limbs, hauled 

out the downed timber, and cleared the trail’s 

dirt surface of small stumps and tree debris. 

The access path, known after it was built 

simply as “the fi re trail,” was com plet ed 

in just eight days in early January 2003. 

The project received high marks from local 

offi cials and nearby residents. 

“I’m just so pleased to have that trail in 

there,” said Blumhardt. “The lack of access is 

something that has really bothered me for a 

long time. Now if there is a fi re in the woods, 

the fi re department can get in and knock it 

down before those homes are threatened.” 

Schaefer agreed. 

“Before, we had absolutely zero access into 

that area with our brush trucks, and minimal 

access for fi refi ghters on foot,” he said. “If a 

fi re had started, we would have had to fi ght it 

from the perimeter of the trees and let things 

burn. We knew we could mount a defense, 

but that would have been it. We weren’t going 

to be able to attack the fi re offensively. 

“Now, the trail is going to give us both an 

access point to get in there and a fi re break to 

slow fi re down,” Schaefer added. “We are more 

apt to control the fi re now than ever before. The 

fi re will not control us.” 

Homeowners see benefi ts 

For Marvin and Marion Suess, whose property is adjacent to the middle trail section, the 

fi rebreak was a welcomed sight. Children often 

go into the area to play, they said, sometimes 

building make shift forts and occasionally starting small bonfi res. 

One such fi re, in the summer of 1998, 

was small enough that fi refi ghters could put 

it out using fi re extinguishers, Marvin Suess 

said. But it took extra time for fi refi ghters to 

get to the fi re, he added, noting that they initially tried to gain access through a neighbor’s 

property and couldn’t get through. 

“Our concern has always been kids that 

might start a bonfi re and it would get out of 

control,” said Marvin Suess. “There’s a lot of 

dead wood back there. All that dead [brome] 

grass back there, that stuff burns like gas.

“This trail is a great idea,” he added. “The 

only way the fi re department could get in 

A fi nished section of fi re 

trail, its edge marked by 

the orange-tipped stake
54

At Home in the Woods

there before is with a fi re ex tin guish er or 

have a heck of a lot of hose. Now it will give 

them an opportunity to get in there quick and 

douse a fi re.”

To help stop the spread of fi re, Suess said 

he and many of his neighbors regularly mow 

a wide strip of the brome grass beyond their 

property lines to create their own fi rebreaks. 

Jeff Avery has lived in the Tatley 

Mead ows Mobile Home Park for 12 years. The 

longest piece of the trail now runs behind his 

home. Because of the buffer zone, the trail 

is barely visible. But it is a relief to know it’s 

there, he said. 

“We lose a lot of trees every year just because of the high winds we have here,” Avery 

said. “There’s a lot of dead stuff back there. Fire 

has been a concern for me because we are so 

close to the wooded area, especially as dry as it’s 

been the last couple of years.” 

Avery and some of his neighbors also 

regularly mow beyond their property lines to 

keep down the tinder brome grass, he said.

Tatley Meadows park offi cials said that of 

the 357 homes in the park, about 10 percent 

of them border the woodlands. But Blumhardt 

and Schaefer both consider the entire park at 

risk if there were a fi re in the woods, because 

of the dense pop u la tion, the proximity of the 

trees to the homes and the possibility that 

strong winds could blow hot embers into the 

neigh bor hood. 

Future efforts planned 

Though the trail construction was the primary concern, both Blumhardt and Schaefer 

said more work remains to be done before the 

project is considered com plete. 

Local offi cials are planning a public 

education campaign for the residents of all 

three areas to teach them about the dan gers 

of wildfi res and how to better protect their 

homes. The campaign will discourage residents from dumping lawn clippings, storing fi rewood and, in the case of young sters, 

building forts in the wooded area. All have 

been a problem in recent years. 

Blumhardt is eager to secure ad di tion al 

funding to clear out the downed timber in the 

buffer zone between the trail and the residences. Both he and Schaefer agree that the 

fi re danger will remain high until that phase 

of the project is complete, especially if the 

current dry cycle continues well into 2003, as 

pre dict ed. 

With hundreds of woodland acres border ing the city’s limits, Blumhardt and 

Schaefer agree that more trails are needed. For 

now, though, they’ve taken a giant fi rst step in 

man ag ing wild fi re for the city on the river.

Map of the Bismarck 

Fire Trail and 

surrounding area

Missouri

River

Tatley

Meadows

Mobile 

Home 

Park

Map Features

Fire Trail

Woodlands

Urban Development

Ditch/Reservoir

Missouri River
55

At Home in the Woods

FOR OTHER COMMUNITIES with wild land/

urban interface areas, Bismarck City For est er 

Paul Blumhardt and As sis tant Bis marck Fire 

Chie f Kermit Schaefer offered these sug ges -

tions to be better prepared for wildfi res: 

✔ Review past wildland fi re incidents from 

an operational standpoint. Were there 

issues with access, fi refi ghter safety or inad e quate equipment? Talk to the front-line 

fi refi ghters (post-incident analysis) to get 

their per spec tive on what worked, what 

didn’t and what would make a similar 

incident go better in the future. 

✔ Build a resource team from among other 

city departments or agencies. Meet regularly to share issues, ideas and to establish 

working relationships before you need 

them. There’s strength—and solutions —

in numbers. If needed, tap into the expertise avail able from county, state and federal 

agencies. 

✔ Do a risk assessment. Are there sizeable 

woodland or grassland areas in and around 

the city? (Wildfi res aren’t con fi ned to 

Blazing Your Own Trail

just mountainous forests.) If there were a 

fi re in one of those areas, could it pose a 

problem to people and property? Include 

your city’s worst-case wildfi re scenarios in 

the as sess ment process. For cities without 

a local for est er, tap into state and federal 

forestry agen cies for advice on risks and 

so lu tions. 

✔ Be open to creative solutions. Let the sky 

be the limit when you look at ways to 

solve the problem. Think beyond what you 

know and imagine what is possible. 

✔ Explore funding sources, both from other 

government agencies and the private 

sector. Don’t let a lack of money stand in 

the way of im ple ment ing a solution. 

✔ Communicate and educate. Let others 

know what you’re doing, why the project 

is needed and what they can do to be part 

of the solution. Target au di enc es should include internal staff, other city de part ments, 

local offi cials and the general public. 

Consider post-project updates to show 

how the so lu tion is working or if more 

still needs to be done. 

More about 

Bis marck’s fi re trail
56

At Home in the Woods

Teamwork Fuels a Modern Gold Strike 

Alder Gulch, 

Nevada City, 1899

IN THE MID-1800S, Virginia City and Nevada 

City, Montana, were among count less western 

towns born from the rush for gold. 

Exhaustive historic preservation efforts 

on more than 200 buildings and about one 

million artifacts have kept these two frontier 

mining towns on the map since then. 

Today, it’s all virtually priceless for many 

reasons. The area is rich with history of 

the Montana territory. Together, the towns 

represent the largest assemblage of re main ing 

gold-rush era buildings in the country. This 

western Americana col lec tion is second in size 

only to one at the Smithsonian In sti tu tion in 

Wash ing ton, D.C. 

But these treasures also are at great risk 

from wildfi re. 

The buildings are wooden and old. The 

towns are clustered along the bottom of a 

canyon, with adjacent wildlands and sagebrush-dotted grassland. Prevailing winds 

could bring a fi re to their doorsteps in a fl ash. 

That’s why state historic pres er va tion ists are 

mounting an aggressive defense to help keep 

wildfi re from claiming the last of Montana’s 

wild frontier. 

To do that, they’re parlaying ingenuity, 

partnerships, money and hard work into a 

wealth of op por tu ni ty. 

Revisiting the past 

Protecting the past from the fi res of the future began in 1998, just months after the state 

of Montana purchased the buildings, land 

and artifacts in both towns for $6.5 million. 

Collectively, they are now worth an estimated 

$20 million. 

A Montana family had owned the properties since the 1940s and done much of the 

restoration and collection of ar ti facts—some, 

like a rare French organ, are one-of-a-kind. 

But in recent years, proper upkeep of the 

buildings and landscape had become increasingly diffi cult. 

So the state bought 248 buildings in both 

towns, 160 acres of land and the artifacts—all 

with an eye toward pre serv ing a valuable part 

of Montana’s heritage. Simultaneously, the 

legislature established the Montana Heritage 

Preservation and Development Commission to 

acquire and manage these and other revenuesustaining historic properties on the state’s 

behalf. 

To commission staff, the fi re danger 

was immediately evident. Thick, overgrown 

vegetation was everywhere. Cedar-shingle 

roofs on many of the build ings were so dry 

that one spark could have lit them like a torch. 

In Nevada City, there was no ef fec tive water 

supply to fi ght a fi re, leaving the town and its 

lone occupant virtually defenseless. 

The priorities were clear, says Jeff Tiberi, 

Heritage Commission executive director. The 

fuel load had to be reduced, and fi re-suppression capabilities had to be improved. 

“The fi rst thing we did was to go out and 

buy a [fi re department] water tender that 

the City of Great Falls was surplusing,” Tiberi 

said. “That gave the Virginia City Volunteer 

Fire Department a way to haul a large amount 

of water, which is especially important for 

Nevada City.” 

The commission was able to purchase the 

1973 truck, which holds 3,500 gallons of 

water, for $10,000 in state funds. Then, it was 

able to purchase portable radios that can provide direct communications between the local 

fi re department and key com mis sion staff in 

the event of a fi re.

But Tiberi knew that these fi rst steps 

were only the beginning of the “needs” list. 
57

At Home in the Woods

“We had already done some things [to guard against wildfi res] but we didn’t work on 

it vigorously until the 2000 fi res happened.”

 — Jeff Tiberi

Jackson Street, Virginia 

City, in the 1860s

Besides catching up with 20 years of deferred 

general maintenance, the wildfi re threat was 

ever present. New ideas and resources were 

needed. 

Building a network

So Tiberi began weaving a network of 

experts, labor and funding that could help 

develop a game plan and take action to better 

protect the towns. 

“Our initial approach was to work with 

the Virginia City fi re department because we 

knew they were going to be the front-line 

people,” Tiberi said. “They recognized how 

critical the situation was and gave us suggestions on fi re protection.”

Tiberi also organized a working group 

of fi re experts that included fi refi ghters and 

offi cers from the Virginia City, Helena and 

Great Falls fi re departments, the State Fire 

Marshal’s Offi ce and others. 

“We went to these people and said ‘the 

state has invested a considerable amount of 

money in this and we need your help. What’s 

the best thing we can do to protect these 

things?’” Tiberi recalls. 

The group, which continues to serve in an 

advisory capacity, did an overall as sess ment 

of the towns and prepared reports outlining 

recommended actions. 

Tiberi then turned to his state agency 

counterparts for assessments and rec om -

men da tions. The risk management division 

looked at potential safety and liability issues 

for a number of hazards. State electrical inspectors evaluated the wiring in the buildings 

with power to assess electrical condition and 

safety. 

Federal resources, such as the Bureau of 

Land Management (BLM), the U.S. Forest 

Service and the National Park Service were 

tapped as well. 

With the ideas fl owing, the next critical 

issue was money. Again, through Tiberi’s 

network of experts, potential funding sources 

started popping up. 

So did a virtual bombshell.

Season of fi re 

It was the summer of 2000. 

Un prec e dent ed wildfi res had ravaged much 

of Montana for months. By October, when the 

smoke had cleared, nearly one million acres 

throughout the state had burned. 

“We had some very signifi cant fi res that 

could have totally destroyed these towns if they 

had gotten closer,” Tiberi noted. “Some days, 

there was so much black smoke in the sky that 

it looked almost like a nuclear explosion. It was 

terrifying at times.” 

Though wildfi res never got close enough 

to either town to pose an imminent threat, 

Tiberi says the smoke from those fi res did, 

virtually shutting them both down for 

a month at the height of tourist season. 

Economic losses were estimated at $50,000. 

A steam-powered train that ferries visitors between Virginia City and Nevada City, 

located a little more than a mile apart, had to 

be temporarily suspended because of the dry 

conditions and high fi re danger. 

“Those wildfi res were a wake-up call for 

us,” Tiberi says. “Walking around that town, 

almost like a ghost town with all that smoke in 

there, you think, ‘boy, we could lose everything 

here.’ It was a pretty sobering thought. And 

when you think about your responsibility, not 

only to the past 140 years but to the future 140 

years, you know you have to do something.”
58

At Home in the Woods

A member of 

Americorps’ Montana 

Conservation Corps 

pulls up knapweed in 

Virginia City

As a result, work priorities shifted. 

“We had already done some things [to 

guard against wildfi res] but we didn’t work on 

it vigorously until the 2000 fi res hap pened,” he 

added. “It quickly moved our wildfi re mitigation 

projects to the front burner.” 

The issue of funding jumped to the forefront as well. 

The commission stepped up its efforts to 

secure grants from a number of sources—

most of which were discovered by Tiberi’s 

growing network of experts, which now 

included state and federal emergency management agencies. 

The result resembles a modern-day gold 

strike. 

Since 2000, the commission has been 

able to secure a $59,000 grant from BLM, a 

$300,000 “Save America’s Treasure” (SAT) 

grant for Virginia City from the National 

Park Service, and a $60,735 hazard mitigation grant from the Montana Division of 

Disaster and Emergency Services. Mitigation 

grant money is made available to the state by 

the Federal Emer gen cy Management Agency 

(FEMA). 

Virginia City, the current county seat, was 

eligible for a SAT grant because it is a des ig nat ed 

National Historic Landmark District. 

All grants, which fund a variety of fi re and 

wildfi re mitigation actions, have cost-share 

matches that the commission is meet ing with 

state dollars, donations and in-kind services. 

Safety solutions

Getting the most effective fi re pro tec tion 

for both Virginia City and Nevada City, involves more than one swift, decisive action, 

Tiberi has learned. It takes a combination of 

solutions. 

By spring 2003, a lot of work had been 

accomplished and still more was planned. 

These efforts include: 

Managing fl ammable fuels 

To keep a wildfi re from spreading both into 

the towns and to the buildings, veg e ta tion and 

other fl ammable fuels need to be man aged. 

To do that, the thick, overgrown veg e -

ta tion near or around structures in both towns 

has been carefully thinned or com plete ly 

removed, according to Randy Kleindorfer, 

commission operations chief and Virginia City 

volunteer fi re chief. 

Surrounding lands, replete with sage brush 

and knapweed—both considered dangerous, 

“fl ashy” (highly fl ammable) fuels — have 

been aggressively treated. Acres of sagebrush 

have been thinned or removed with an eye 

toward reducing fi re spread and preserving 

the landscape in a more manageable state. 

In outlying areas, aerial and ground-level 

chemical spraying has been used to elim i nate 

the prolifi c knapweed, which Kleindorfer 

describes “like a wildfi re itself.” In Virginia 

City—home to 140 year-round residents—

the weeds have been pulled by hand to avoid 

the chemical exposure. 

The commission also has purchased a 

chipper to recycle the removed brush and is 

actively encouraging Virginia City residents to 

thin vegetation around their homes as well, 

offering the use of the chipper to help with 

brush disposal, Tiberi says. 

In the heart of Virginia City near the 

historic district, loads of downed, stormdamaged trees and branches have been removed to keep from feeding a ground-level fi re. 

In both towns, large piles of old lumber 

that had been left lying up against build ings 

have now been re-stacked some dis tance away 

to eliminate a secondary fuel load.

The majority of the fuels work has been done 

over two seasons by crews from the Montana 

Conservation Corps, an or ga ni za tion that enables 

young adults to build life skills, while improving 

the en vi ron ment and local communities. 

Funding for the projects came from part 

of the BLM grant, from part of the SAT grant 

and from the Montana Noxious Weed Trust 

Fund. Additional work was slated for spring/

summer of 2003. 

Improving water capabilities 

Without question, one of the greatest 

shortcomings of the wildfi re protection 
59

At Home in the Woods

A worker connects the 

water feeder line to 

one of the pressure fi re 

hydrants installed in 

Virginia City

efforts was the lack of water to fi ght a fi re. So 

the commission embarked on a multi-phase 

project to establish a reliable and effective 

water supply. 

In Nevada City, there was only one possible water source that was close enough to 

effectively protect 100 buildings—a huge, 

creek-fed pond, left over from a decades-old 

gold-dredging operation. But a state high way 

separates the water from the town, with no 

way to bridge the two. 

So the commission hired contractors 

to horizontally bore deep underneath the 

highway and lay 2,000 feet of 6-inch water 

main. They added a 1,000-gpm, diesel-powered irrigation pump that can be fi red up, 

as needed, to move water through the line 

and feed four hydrants that were installed 

at key locations within Nevada City. A fi fth 

hydrant was installed between the pump and 

the water main to direct the water into the 

hydrant system. 

In the summer of 2003, two more 

hydrants were scheduled for installation 

to complete the system. Plans also include 

drilling a well to provide a secondary water 

source. A new, three-phase electric pump will 

be installed and used to move water from 

that well. 

In addition, a sprinkler system will be installed along Nevada City’s perimeter. The sprinklers will be used to water ad ja cent groundlevel vegetation, creating a 40-foot green area 

between the grasslands and the town that can 

serve as a defensible space. 

If a wildfi re threatens, the sprinklers can be 

activated to produce a water curtain to help keep 

fl ames from advancing into the town. To avoid 

potential archeological issues, the sprinkler 

system will lie on top of the ground during 

spring, summer and fall months. The piping 

will be drained, re moved, and stored during 

the winter to avoid freezing. 

The 2003 water projects are being funded 

with the state/FEMA hazard mitigation grant. 

Virginia City’s water supply is well-established. However, there are some hard-to-reach 

areas, primarily in two narrow alleyways 

behind more than a block of side-by-side 

buildings, where mounting a fi re defense has 

not been possible. 

To fi x the problem, a total of fi ve ad di tion al 

hydrants are being installed in the alleyways. In 

addition, three portable “water cannons” are 

being purchased. Both projects will be funded 

by the SAT grant. 

The “cannons,” one for each alleyway, can 

be put on the ground, hooked to a hydrant, 

and shoot large streams of water to protect 

the buildings and fi ght on com ing fi re. The 

third cannon will be housed at the fi re department and used where needed. 

Reducing roof vulnerability 

In a wildland/urban interface, a struc ture’s 

roof can be among the most vulnerable areas. 

Wildfi res easily produce fl aming embers 

that can travel airborne for more than a mile. 

Often, they land on, and ignite, roofs. 

In both towns, most of the roofs are covered 

with cedar shingles, a virtual hotbed for embers. 

Over the years, many of the shingles had blown 

off, dried out or de cayed. 

So 70 buildings have been re-roofed, using 

cedar shingles treated with a fi re retardant. 

That combination both pre serves the historic 

integrity and offers a degree of fi re resistance. 

For even more protection, 1 ⁄2 -inch drywall was added above the sheeting so that if 

a roof did catch fi re, it would help hold back 

the fl ames for a period of time. That gives 

fi refi ghters a better chance of keeping the fi re 

from spreading inside, damaging the structure 

and its artifacts. 

More work was planned for the summer 

of 2003. A fi re-retardant chemical was scheduled 
60

At Home in the Woods

A completed pressure 

hydrant at the end of a 

newly fi lled water line 

ditch in Virginia City

to be applied to cedar shingles on existing 

roofs of a number of other historically signifi -

cant buildings in both towns to afford better 

fi re protection. 

‘Fire Awareness Day’ 

The Virginia City Volunteer Fire 

Department hosts an annual “Fire Aware ness 

Day.” The event is open to the public. A variety of experts provide wildfi re pre ven tion 

and noxious weed control information to 

residents. Area fi re de part ments are invited 

to tour the town, en abling fi refi ghters to become familiar with the town’s physical layout 

and the spe cial ized strategies needed to fi ght a 

fi re there in the event they are called upon to 

help in the future. 

Reducing additional fi re threats

Though wildfi re remains a major risk, 

so does the possibility of a fi re starting from 

other sources. 

To address those risks, the commission has 

had electrical wiring in several key buildings 

—such as an Opera House, two hotels, a large 

restaurant and a historic home — upgraded to 

meet current safety codes. 

The commission has aggressively posted 

“No Smoking” signage throughout both towns 

to help educate the more than 70,000 annual 

visitors. Smoking in Vir gin ia City’s historic 

public areas is pro hib it ed by local ordinance. 

As a backup to the signage, pea gravel has 

been added between the slats of the town’s 

boardwalks to prevent a discarded cigarette 

from dropping into a crack and starting the 

wood walkways along the buildings on fi re. 

In addition, fi re detection and alarm 

systems for the buildings are being in stalled, 

as funding becomes available, to give the 

fi re department better defense capabilities 

through early notifi cation. 

Lessons learned

Tiberi credits the fi re-protection im prove -

ments largely to the network of resources the 

commission has been able to establish. 

“The success of these things is fi nding and 

building bridges among all these different 

entities,” Tiberi says. “It’s also important to 

maintain these bridges, which takes a considerable amount of effort but it’s certainly 

worth it in the long run.” 

The same formula for success holds true 

in securing project funding, Tiberi adds, 

which has been “a godsend” for the historic 

towns. 

“We learned about a lot of these grants 

through e-mail notifi cations from many of our 

partners,” Tiberi explains. “You have to become aware of these grant programs and deadlines, and make time for your staff to follow 

up on them. The grant world is very competitive but if you have a good product and a good 

need, you will rise to the top.” 

Though current and future mitigation

efforts will greatly improve the towns’ 

chances of surviving a wildfi re, both Tiberi 

and Kleindorfer say their work will never be 

done. 

“We’re a whole lot better off now than 

when we started,” Kleindorfer says. “We 

have reduced the fuel loads. We’ve got way 

more equipment now to help fi ght a fi re. 

We’ve treated shingles on these buildings. 

We’ve created defensible spaces. And there’s 

a lot more public awareness. But we’re not 

going to stop. We have to keep going.”

Says Tiberi, “The lesson we are learning 

now is that this [mitigation] is a process. It is 

not a destination. Fire will always be a danger. 

You always have to look at new technology 

and experiment a little. You can’t let mitigation move to the back burner. The future of 

any historical site can change in a matter of 

moments.” 
61

At Home in the Woods

FOR A WEEK EACH AUGUST, the Black Hills 

of South Dakota become the heart and soul 

of what some term the “largest free-wheeling 

mo tor cy cle rally in the world.”

In short, it’s known as “Sturgis,” named 

for the small town where motorcycle en thu -

si asts have gath ered for more than 60 years to 

ride and race amid some of the most beau ti ful 

scenery in the country. 

But for the 2002 Sturgis Motorcycle 

Rally, a dangerous threat was lurking at 

every turn. That threat was wild fi re. And it 

had local, state and federal fi re and for est ry 

offi cials worried. 

The rally draws hundreds of thou sands of 

motorcyclists, who traverse the rolling, forested “Hills” and beyond. There are thousands 

more non-rally visitors. And in the midst of 

it all stands the 1.2-million-acre Black Hills 

Na tion al Forest. 

In the summer of 2002, South Dakota 

was in its third consecutive year of drought. 

Already, there had been several wildfi res, one 

of which devastated nearly 11,000 wooded 

acres and came within a whis ker of burning 

the town of Deadwood, another favorite spot 

of rallygoers. 

Combined, the expected half-million 

visitors and tinder-dry con di tions meant one 

thing: a disaster was waiting to hap pen. 

“With the fi re conditions that were 

present, one ignition could have brought 

another catastrophic fi re,” said Joe Lowe, 

coordinator for the South Dakota Wildland 

Fire Sup pres sion Division, a state agency 

charged with wildland fi re sup pres sion, 

training, education, and pre ven tion. “And 

with a large number of people in the Hills, 

it would have presented us with major evacu a tion problems.” 

‘Don’t Burn the Rally’

Fire-Prevention Campaign Hits the Mark

Main Street, 

Sturgis, South Dakota
62

At Home in the Woods

Taking the offensive

So the South Dakota Interagency Fire 

Council, a consortium of fi re, for est ry and 

land management agen cies, took the offen sive. In July, the state’s governor imposed 

fi re re stric tions. That meant a ban on all open 

fl ame; restricting smoking to inside vehicles, 

buildings or designated areas; and requiring spark-arrestors on all motorized vehicles 

traveling off-road. 

Still, there was the issue of how to deal 

with so many out-of-state vis i tors un fa mil iar 

with the extreme fi re danger. It was clear, 

offi cials said, that a mas sive public ed u ca tion 

effort was needed as well. 

Black Hills National Forest offi cials turned 

to the National Interagency Fire Center in 

Boise, Idaho, for help. With local resources 

already stretched thin, offi cials wanted a 

national wildfi re prevention and education 

team to come to South Dakota and de vel op, 

implement and manage a fi re-prevention 

campaign for the Black Hills and the rally. 

It was a daunting task with a short timeline. Four specialists in the areas of fi re 

prevention, education and com mu ni ca tions 

from Alaska, California and Utah were quickly 

handpicked to form the team. Two spe cial ists 

from the South Dakota Wildland Fire Suppression Division were added as local li ai sons. 

With the rally just one week away, the 

team fi rst met with area fi re and forestry 

offi cials to es tab lish objectives that would 

meet the overall goal of reducing the in ci -

dence of human-caused fi res. 

In the Black Hills National Forest alone, 

people cause half of all fi res and the problem 

is growing, according to Dean Berger, the forest’s fi re man age ment offi cer. Adding a large 

infl ux of people would increase the al ready 

high risk exponentially, Berger reasoned. 

Embarking on a campaign 

So a multi-faceted campaign was 

de vel oped, centering on the theme, “Don’t 

Burn the Rally.” Key elements involved an 

ex ten sive public outreach program and 10 

roving fi re patrols that could keep a watchful 

eye on conditions and quickly suppress any 

fi res that did start. 

Now the question became: how to really 

get people’s attention so that the fi re pre ven -

tion message would sink in. The team needed 

something that was both eye-catching and 

lasting. 

So team leader Bud Rotroff went looking 

for something that would be symbolic of the 

Damage from the Grizzly 

Gulch Fire reminded 

riders to be careful
63

At Home in the Woods

rally. That’s when he found Al Rieman, president of Black Hills Harley-Davidson. 

Just two weeks earlier, Harley-Davidson 

had unveiled its new 2003 model-year motorcycles, specially designed to com mem o rate the 

manufacturer’s 100th an ni ver sa ry. Everyone 

had been waiting to see them. And Rieman 

had just gotten one. 

Sharing the concern about a potential wildfi re, Rieman readily agreed to let the team photograph the motorcycle for a poster that would 

sport the rally theme. To round out the image, 

team members re cruit ed a Sturgis fi refi ghter and 

Smokey Bear, and set them all against a scenic 

Black Hills back drop. 

With that, the face of the rally’s fi re-prevention campaign was born. And within 72 hours, 

1,500 of the special posters were hitting the 

streets, along with thousands of other signs, 

brochures, stickers, placemats, Smokey Bear 

pins, bandanas and other fi re-prevention pieces. 

Patrolling for fi res 

By then, the fi re patrols were also at full 

throttle. Considered one of the most critical 

elements of the campaign, the patrols were 

used to talk to the public about the fi re danger, 

to hand out prevention materials, and to detect 

and extinguish fi res. 

Each patrol, working a 12-hour daily shift, 

consisted of a fi re truck and two or three 

volunteer fi refi ghters rotating from among 36 

Black Hills fi re departments. Those units traveled to towns, camp grounds, picnic areas, and 

wooded areas—where many bikers are known 

to camp—to check on conditions and to talk 

about the fi re danger and pre ven tion. 

In addition, three volunteer fi re de part -

ments in strategic areas staffed their sta tions 

’round-the-clock for 10 days, aug ment ing the 

Black Hills National Forest’s 26 full-time fi refi ghting units and other local fi re de part ment 

efforts. 

Again, the goal was to provide a faster 

response to fi res and other emergencies. It was 

a formula that proved effective when fi refi ghters were able to quickly extinguish a few small 

fi res during the rally that started from lightning strikes. 

“The public’s reaction to the patrols was 

really positive,” said LaVerne Hermanson, 

patrol coordinator and one of the team’s local 

liaisons. “They were out there and visible every 

day, which made people think. The fi refi ghters 

felt a great sense of ac com plish ment, too.” 

Public outreach 

The story was the same in downtown 

Sturgis, which forms the hub of the rally, according to Beth Adam, team liaison and public information offi cer for the State Wildland 

Fire Suppression Division. 

There, rallygoers were very receptive to 

information about fi re safety and pre ven tion, 

said Adam, who set up and helped staff a 

booth as part of the campaign’s public outreach. 

Left to right: Sturgis 

Fire Chief Ron Koan 

discusses fi re patrol 

effort with Joe Lowe 

and Dean Berger

Smokey and the 2002 

Sturgis Motorcycle Rally 

National Fire Prevention 

Team
64

At Home in the Woods

“Education is defi nitely the key,” she said. 

“The awareness has been tremendous this year. 

People were very respectful of the fi re ban. I 

heard very few complaints about not having a 

campfi re. They were seeing the damage that the 

Grizzly Gulch and Little Elk wildfi res in this area 

had already done and they understood why we 

were con cerned.”

By the end of the 10-day campaign, 

there were few places the message hadn’t 

reached. Signs, posters and brochures could 

be seen in campgrounds, businesses, state and 

federal parks, and other public gath er ing 

places throughout the Black Hills. 

Local media ran stories and public service 

announcements promoting fi re prevention. 

Shopping mall marquees fl ashed the rally 

theme. A Web site carried up-to-date in for -

ma tion on both the fi re restrictions and preven tion measures. 

In all, more than 34,000 fi re-prevention

pieces were handed out and more than 

10,000 personal contacts were made, team 

offi cials report. 

Hitting the mark 

It is exactly that effort—and the co op er a tion 

of rallygoers—that fi re offi cials point to as 

the reason the 2002 rally closed with one 

remarkable statistic: no major human-caused 

fi res, despite an estimated at ten dance of nearly 

500,000. 

“It’s a success story,” Lowe said. “I expected 

there to be fi re starts and we didn’t have any. 

Without this campaign and ev ery one’s efforts, 

I think we would have had a lot more humancaused fi res because people would not have 

been responsible for their actions and adhered 

to the burn ban that had been put in place.” 

John Twiss, forest supervisor for the Black 

Hills National Forest, was impressed by the 

campaign as well. 

“The results were excellent,” said Twiss. 

“When it’s that dry and you have that many 

people in the forest, we had the potential to 

have forest fi res and we didn’t. I really attribute a lot of that to the pre ven tion effort that 

went on there and the innovative approach 

they took.” 

Berger agreed, noting that the $100,000 

price tag for the team, the patrols and the 

prevention materials was well worth the cost. 

The project was funded by the U.S. Forest 

Service through a special ap pro pri a tion available when extreme fi re conditions and threats 

exist. 

“Human-caused fi res generally are the 

most expensive on fi re-suppression costs and 

damage,” Berger said. “They often cost $1 

million or more,” he added, citing the $10 

million to $12 million cost of the 2000 Jasper 

Fire that burned 86,000 acres in the southern 

Black Hills, as an example. 

For the 2002 Grizzly Gulch Fire in 

Deadwood, which preceded the rally by 

just a month, suppression costs alone 

were es ti mat ed to be more than $7 million. 

Busi ness es there reportedly lost in revenue another $2.8 million in the nearly three days 

the town was evac u at ed. That rev e nue loss 

now approaches a reported $10 mil lion. 

Dollars and cents notwithstanding, the real 

savings is in protecting human life and property, offi cials agree. 

“What this team did is amazing,” said 

Berger. “In a short period of time, we educated a tremendous number of people, including 

those who live in the Black Hills year-round. 

If this effort even prevented one major fi re, 

not only in the Black Hills but elsewhere in 

the country because of what people learned, it 

was well worth it.” 

Bill Bell and Brandon 

Mattson post signs in a 

campground 

Bill Bell hands out 

Smokey bandanas and 

fi re prevention ma te ri als 

to bikers entering Custer 

State Park
65

At Home in the Woods

TALK TO JUST ABOUT ANYONE who lives or 

works in the Black Hills of South Dakota, and 

one common theme emerges: it is not just a 

scenic area dominated by a sprawl ing federal forest. It is where people live. It is where 

people play. It is who they are. 

So when devastating wildfi res hit the 

“Hills” in the summer of 2002, it wasn’t 

just someone else’s problem. It was per son al. 

Vigilance soared. And so did the fear of more 

fi res. 

It was hot. It was dry. And nearly 500,000 

motorcyclists were coming to the Hills for the 

Sturgis Motorcycle Rally, a weeklong event of 

riding and racing held every August. 

That fear put fi re-prevention efforts front 

and center. And it helped to build a unique 

public-private part ner ship that set out to 

make a dif fer ence. 

The objective was to create and pro duce 

a symbolic image that would capture the attention of rallygoers and convey an all-impor tant message: “Don’t Burn the Ral ly.” 

The message had been developed by a 

national wildfi re prevention and ed u ca tion 

team, brought to South Dakota at the request 

of Black Hills National Forest offi cials to 

create and execute a public fi re education 

cam paign for area visitors. 

It just so happens that the majority of those 

visitors were a unique au di ence—motorcyclists. So team members began brainstorming. An idea began to form. And the 

hunt for help was on. 

Partners in Prevention

Putting a Face on the Rally

More about the 

Sturgis Rally:

Creating the poster

Al Rieman, president 

of Black Hills HarleyDavidson
66

At Home in the Woods

Maury LaRue, fi refi ghter 

and pho tog ra pher

The hunt for help 

The team needed something visual that 

could tie the prevention mes sage to the rally. 

And they needed it fast. The rally was beginning the next day. That’s when team leader 

Bud Rotroff found Al Rieman. 

Rieman is the president of Black Hills 

Harley-Davidson, a motorcycle dealership 

with stores in Rapid City and Sturgis, the 

heart of the rally. He was born and reared in 

the Black Hills. And he knew only too well 

that danger was never far away. 

“Living here, our awareness was quite 

high,” said Rieman. “Every day, you would 

kind of scan the horizon looking for telltale 

signs of fi re. These are our Hills. And if there 

is danger to the Hills, we take it personally. 

It’s not like, ‘Well, the gov ern ment forest is 

going to burn down.’ It would be like setting fi re to my garage.”

Collaboratively, Rieman and the team hit 

on the idea of incorporating a mo tor cy cle 

into the image that would be used to sell the 

fi re-pre ven tion theme. 

And Rieman had just the bike in mind— 

a 2003 FLHTC Dresser, one of three models 

made specially to com mem o rate the man u -

fac tur er’s 100th an ni ver sa ry. 

Harley-Davidson was set to publicly unveil the special models at the rally. Everyone 

was waiting to see them. Rieman knew that 

anything showing one of those motorcycles 

would attract at ten tion. 

“People coming in for the rally wouldn’t 

necessarily know how volatile our situation 

was,” Rieman said. “It was going to be very 

im por tant to get them to take steps to help 

protect our area. That’s why we picked a motorcycle that would get people’s at ten tion. We 

were hoping to get people to stop, read the 

message, and think.” 

Ideas then started to fl y among the team 

on how to tie in the other key el e ments of 

the theme—fire, prevention and the Black 

Hills—and on what the fi nal product 

would be. 

Suddenly, it became clear that one more 

important component was needed: some one 

to take the picture. It was no small task. This 

image would be seen all around the Hills. It 

would be “the face” of the rally fi re-prevention campaign. 

It didn’t take long to fi nd a solution. 

Sturgis volunteer fi refi ghters Maury LaRue 

and Tom Monahan happened to be pro fes -

sion al photographers and owners of T&M 

Photographic Studio in Sturgis. They were 

eager to help. 

“As professional photographers, we 

thought we could create a good image,” said 

LaRue. “As pro fes sion al fi refi ghters, it was our 

calling to do this.” 
67

At Home in the Woods

At the same time, Rotroff enlisted the 

help and support of the Sturgis Area Cham ber 

of Commerce. The cham ber got on board 

immediately, of fer ing fi nancial support and 

free use of the offi cial rally logo, which the 

chamber owns and nor mal ly charges a licensing fee to use. 

Creating an image 

By the next afternoon, the key el e ments 

of the image had been chosen and the photo 

shoot was under way. The fi nal grouping featured the 2003 Harley, rep re sent ing the rally; 

a Sturgis fi refi ghter, representing the fi re element; and Smokey Bear, universal symbol of 

fi re prevention—all set against a scenic Black 

Hills back drop. 

By now, it also had been decided that the 

image would become a four-color poster. So 

the team enlisted the help of Jackie Twiss, a 

graphic artist on staff with the Black Hills 

National Forest, who quickly pulled together 

a design. 

Now to fi nd a printer, especially one who 

would be willing to pay for production and 

could provide a quick turnaround. The weeklong rally was already two days old. 

Rieman recommended Fenske Media 

Corporation, a commercial printing com pa ny 

in Rapid City that had done some work for 

the dealership and had very high-tech ca pa -

bil i ties. So Rotroff went hunt ing again. And 

again, the answer was an emphatic “yes.” 

Getting ahead of disaster

Dave Fenske, president of the fam i lyowned business, has seen the devastation 

disasters can cause. The printing company has 

de signed and produced books for clients in 

several states chronicling the effects of fl oods, 

tornadoes and wildfi res. 

“The rally is a big function of the Hills,” 

said Fenske, one of four brothers who own 

the company. “We were all very aware of the 

fi re situation that was going on here this summer. We want to pre serve the forest around 

The photo shoot

Paul Minor, executive 

director of the Sturgis 

Area Chamber of 

Commerce
68

At Home in the Woods

us and be pro ac tive. And this poster was an 

op por tu ni ty for us to get involved this time 

ahead of a disaster.” 

Two team members and Twiss met with 

Fenske graphics staff to put the fi nishing 

touches on the poster design. 

Just two hours later, a proof copy of the 

poster was ready. By the next morn ing, 500 

of the fi nal version were already printed and 

out the door. Another 1,000 posters soon 

followed. 

Within hours, the posters were being put 

up in businesses and public gath er ing places 

throughout the Black Hills. The reception was 

overwhelmingly positive. 

“Every business I went into was support ive,” said Paul Minor, executive di rec tor 

of the Sturgis Area Chamber of Com merce, 

who helped with distribution. “In fact, I had 

businesses making room in their windows 

and moving other posters to put this one up. 

People on the streets were even hitting me up 

for copies.” 

The results were positive too. Fire and 

forestry offi cials reported no major humancaused fi res during the rally. Credit was given 

to the team’s public fi re-prevention education 

campaign, of which the poster was a major 

element. 

From conception to production, the poster 

came to life in a scant 31 ⁄2 days, Rotroff said, 

largely because of the strong public-private 

partnership that came to geth er in the name of 

fi re pre ven tion. 

“This poster demonstrates how commu ni ties can get together to ac com plish a 

common goal,” Rotroff added. “Without the 

co op er a tion of all our partners, es pe cial ly 

the busi ness es, we couldn’t have done this.” 

The estimated $10,000 cost was underwrit ten fi nancially and through in-kind 

services by Black Hills Harley-Davidson, 

T&M Photographic Studio, Fenske Media 

Corporation, Sturgis Area Chamber of 

Commerce and the South Dakota In ter agen cy 

Fire Council, a consortium of fi re, forestry 

and land management agencies. 

It was an effort that all partners said they 

would do again if the need is there. 

“This is a story of how fi res can be 

avoided because a dime spent on pre ven tion 

can save a dollar in cost,” said Dave Fenske. 

“We ap pre ci at ed the team’s efforts of getting 

ahead of the fi res and we were proud to be a 

part of it.” 

Minor agreed. “The poster was really successful. It defi nite ly caught people’s attention. 

In fact, it actually became a collector’s item. 

By the end of the rally, they had virtually 

dis ap peared. 

“But then,” he added, “with Smokey Bear, 

the fi refi ghter, the motorcycle and the Black 

Hills in the background, how can you forget a 

message like that?” 

The fi nished poster
69

At Home in the Woods

08:45 A.M. — MAURY LARUE STARTS HIS

FINAL CHECK of a shiny, red quick-attack fi re truck 

and its contents. Shovels. Hand tools. Boots. Hel met. 

Nomex jacket. Gloves. Smokey Bear stuff. It’s all there. 

He starts the truck’s pump to make sure it will fl ow 

water if needed. That’s OK too. Now he is set. An oth er 

day of fi re patrol is about to begin.

LaRue, 55, is a fi refi ghter with the Sturgis 

Volunteer Fire Department in South Dakota. 

He has been patrolling for days. So far, it has 

gone fairly well. But it is another hot, dry 

day. And another op por tu ni ty for the thing 

people in the forested Black Hills dread most: 

a wild fi re. 

The risk for fi res is high in the sum mer 

of 2002. South Dakota is tinder dry from 

three years of drought. And for the last several 

days, nearly 500,000 mo tor cy clists have been 

thundering in and around the Black Hills, 

including Sturgis, as part of the 2002 Sturgis 

Motorcycle Rally. 

A wildfi re isn’t just a distant pos si bil i ty. It’s 

a real probability. 

In July, only weeks before the rally, 

wildfi res burned thousands of acres in the 

“Hills” on either side of Sturgis, pop u la tion 

6,400. The largest fi re, named Grizzly Gulch, 

started just outside nearby Dead wood, forcing 

evacuation of the town’s 1,530 residents and 

thousands of tourists for three days. Seven 

homes and 15 out build ings were lost; the rest 

of town narrowly escaped the same fate. 

LaRue was there for both fi res. Since then, 

he has seen countless times the charred, 

blackened Hills left behind—a reminder of 

the beauty that once was, and now is lost. He 

knows it is up to each of them on fi re patrol 

to help avert another tragedy. 

9:15 a.m. — LaRue skillfully maneuvers the 

fi re truck on a scenic, winding road that passes 

Rainbow Cliff en route from Sturgis to Deadwood. 

Scores of mo tor cy clists crowd the road in both 

directions. Despite the heavy traffi c, he manages to 

scan the Hills, looking for wisps of smoke or other 

telltale signs of fi re.

As he approaches a wooded area near the 

roadside, he slows and turns onto a “road” of 

beaten-down grass. A few hundred yards to 

the left is a makeshift campsite. Beyond that, 

another. It is a common sight during the 

weeklong rally when, for many bikers, the 

Hills literally be come home. And that means 

LaRue has work to do. 

The patrols are more than just a ride in 

the country. They are part of a cal cu lat ed 

plan to keep rallygoers, tourists and the 

forest itself safe from fi re. The mission is 

to spread the word that the fi re danger is 

high and safety is paramount, as well as to 

quickly detect and extinguish fi res. 

At the helm of the patrols is a na tion al 

wildfi re prevention and ed u ca tion team, 

brought to the Black Hills at the request of 

area fi re and forestry offi cials to plan and 

execute a public fi re education campaign 

during the rally. 

The effort is a necessity, offi cials say, 

given the mix of dangerous fi re con di tions 

and the large infl ux of people, mostly from 

out of state, spread through out more than a 

million acres of the Black Hills. 

Keeping the Forest Safe from Fire 

On Patrol More about the 

Sturgis Rally:

A day with the patrol

Maury LaRue, 

Sturgis Volunteer Fire 

Department
70

At Home in the Woods

A similar patrol effort was piloted during 

the 2000 rally, targeting just the northern 

Black Hills. It was successful, fi re offi cials 

say, but limited in scope, resources and area. 

Lessons learned from that effort provided 

the basis for the more extensive operation in 

2002. 

9:30 a.m. — LaRue stops his fi re truck short of 

the fi rst camp. The “No Camp fi res” sign posted days 

earlier on a nearby tree is still there. He grabs a clipboard and some fi re prevention materials and casually 

walks up to a group of bikers. His manner is pleasant 

and calm. 

After an exchange of greetings, he asks if they 

are aware of the high fi re danger and the current fi re 

re stric tions. The group says they are. They’ve seen the 

signs—and the burned Hills. LaRue asks if they have 

any questions. They don’t. He thanks them for doing 

their part for fi re safety. It is on to the next camp site. 

To establish the patrol network, pre ven -

tion team members geo graph i cal ly divided 

the Black Hills, which encompass most of 

western South Dakota, into three fi re-watch 

areas from north to south. They invited the 

38 volunteer fi re de part ments throughout 

the area to par tic i pate. Of those, 36 were 

able to lend equipment and personnel to the 

effort. 

Next, the team assembled fi re pre ven tion 

materials — conveniently gathered in a 

Smokey Bear goodie bag, complete with 

trademark paw print — and held a kickoff 

meeting. There, fi refi ghters were briefed on 

patrol objectives, the fi re restrictions, key 

cam paign messages and per son al safety. 

Ten patrol units were established to cover a 

daily shift from 9 a.m. to 9 p.m. for a 10-day 

watch period that began in ad vance of the 

rally. Those patrols aug ment ed similar efforts 

by local fi re de part ments and the Black Hills 

National Forest’s 26 full-time fi refi ghting 

units. 

In addition, one fi re department was 

designated in each of the three watch areas 

to be on duty around-the-clock to provide a 

quicker response to fi res that did break out. 

9:35 a.m. — At the next campsite, LaRue meets 

Jerry, “Easy” Ed and their buddies. All are from out of 

state. They are ex pe ri enced rallygoers. They know and 

love the Hills. They understand the danger. And they’re 

more than OK with the rules. 

“Coming here every year, you just know 

that August up here is dry and hot,” says Jerry 

Frank, 42, of In de pen dence, Mis sou ri. “You 

usually expect to not have a campfi re. This 

year was drier. We’ve seen the fi re damage and 

the signs.”

“Easy” Ed Claud, 33, is an eight-year rally 

veteran from Nunda, New York. He has seen 

fi re restrictions before, adding that warning 

signs are “defi nitely a good idea,” because rallygoers from other states may not be aware of 

the fi re conditions. 

“We always ride by and check out what 

Smokey says,” Claud said, referring to large 

likenesses of Smokey Bear used by the U.S. 

Forest Service to show the fi re-danger level. 

“I’ve seen it where it was so dry, you had to 

form a circle and smoke in a circle. I always 

come pre pared.” 

Those words are music to LaRue’s ears. 

The two men defi nitely “get it,” he says. Their 

attitude is typical of what he en coun ters as 

he talks to hundreds of rallygoers, many of 

whom readily invite him into their campsites 

to hear his message. 

“When I go on my fi re-severity patrol, 

the minute we pull up at a campground and 

grab signs, they say ‘hey man, we know. No 

fi res,’” LaRue said. “Not one person has given 

us trouble. I think people misunderstand the 

wild, in de pen dent nature of the motorcyclists. 

They are just as con cerned as the next citizen 

about the en vi ron ment they live in.” 

1:00 p.m. — Ray Bubb, assistant chief of the 

Lead Fire Department, takes over the patrol. With 

Jerry Frank, from 

Independence, Missouri
71

At Home in the Woods

the day heating up and the prime time for new fi res 

approaching, he wants to head deep into the Hills. 

Bubb is targeting the remotest of areas—checking 

conditions, watching for fi re starts and looking for a 

stray biker who may be camping off the beaten path, 

unaware of the danger and the safety precautions. 

An experienced wildland fi refi ghter, 

Bubb knows the Hills between Deadwood 

and Lead like the back of his hand. He was 

in the thick of it during Grizzly Gulch. He 

still can’t believe what that fi re did to his 

forest. 

“We call this ‘the asbestos forest,’” says 

Bubb as he looks at a stand of charred trees. 

“A three- to fi ve-acre fi re in the big timber 

is pretty normal for the northern Hills. This 

year, we lost some of our as bes tos somewhere. To have a ten-thou sand-acre fi re is 

phenomenal.” 

In the southern Black Hills the story is not 

much different. Dry. Dangerous. Full of people. 

And fresh with memories of recent fi res, like 

the 86,000-acre Jasper fi re in 2000— the largest 

and costliest in state history. 

3:30 p.m. — Assistant Chief Bill Bell, 48, and 

fi refi ghter Brandon Mattson, 18, both of the Custer 

Volunteer Fire De part ment, have the day’s duty in 

the southern Black Hills. As they cruise the Harry 

Mills Campground, one of many recreation spots in 

the Black Hills National Forest, they notice there are 

no fi re warnings posted in the area. 

So Bell pulls out his trusty tools: a wooden stake, 

a “No Campfi res” sign, a staple gun and a hammer. 

He and Mattson survey the area and pick a spot for 

the sign between the campfi re ring and the barbeque 

grill. This summer, the grates on all grills have been 

wired shut to help reinforce special fi re restrictions 

that prohibit open fl ame of any kind. 

Within minutes, a vanload of people pulls up. 

Bell greets them and begins a con ver sa tion. They 

are a family of six, on their way to Colorado from 

Illinois for their fi rst family vacation in 16 years. 

They wonder if they can stop and have a picnic. 

Bell assures them it’s OK as long as they don’t 

start a campfi re. As they continue to visit, he 

weaves information on the fi re danger and the current re stric tions into the con ver sa tion. The family 

says they have seen national news cov er age of the 

sum mer’s devastating wildfi res. They are only too 

happy to do their part to prevent another fi re. 

Off to the side, Bell spies a shy, little girl watching him intently. He stops and re trieves his Smokey 

Bear goodie bag from the fi re truck. As Bell hands the 

7-year-old girl several Smokey Bear items — pencils, 

rulers, stickers — he explains the im por tance of being 

fi re-safe, es pe cial ly in the forest. She is clearly thrilled 

with the treasures. And he has touched one more 

person with the idea of fi re pre ven tion. 

Grizzly Gulch Fire damage 

around White Rock, part of 

the “asbestos forest” near 

Deadwood

Sturgis Assistant Fire 

Chief Bill Bell hands out 

Smokey Bear ma te ri als
72

At Home in the Woods

It is the public contacts that fi re offi cials 

and team members are in ter est ed in know ing 

about. What is learned in the fi eld, they say, 

can be used to make the patrol effort better in 

the future. 

By the end of the rally, the 10 fi re patrols 

had made more than 6,000 public contacts, 

handed out thousands of pieces of fi re prevention materials and had driven more than 

20,000 miles. As a whole, patrol mem bers 

consider the effort and the public education 

campaign a success. 

“It didn’t matter who you talked to, what 

time of the day it was, or where they were,” 

LaRue says. “The people we met loved knowing that we were con cerned about fi res and 

about them. They told us ‘We love coming 

to the Black Hills and we don’t want it 

destroyed.’” 

Bubb is a believer too. 

“This is the fi rst time in 14 years of rallies that I have not been called out during 

duty hours to extinguish a camp fi re,” he 

says. 

9:30 p.m. — As night falls, Bubb heads back 

to the Sturgis fi re station to com plete his tour of 

duty. There is another truck equipment check to 

conduct. A fi eld report to write. And a transition 

briefi ng to give to the fi refi ghters who are on duty 

through the night. 

Today, he concludes, was a good day. There were 

no fi res. Maybe it was luck. But maybe it’s because, 

somewhere along the way, people have been paying 

at ten tion. 

“Easy” Ed Claud, from 

Nunda, New York

(Left to right) Maury 

LaRue, Ryan Grover, 

his sister-in-law Kristin 

Grover and his brother 

Kenley Grover, all from 

Provo, Utah
73

At Home in the Woods

“The truism is that wherever you have wildlands... you will have wildland fi re.”

 — Stephen J. Pyne, World Fire

THE HISTORY OF THE BOULDER VALLEY in 

Col o rado is in many ways the history of the 

American West.

For hundreds of years, the land of the 

Boulder Valley was used by American Indians 

to hunt and plant, and the area was a winter 

home for the Southern Arapahoe. Tribes of 

Comanche, Ute and Cheyenne also fre quent ed 

the valley.

When the gold rush came to what is 

now Boulder County in 1858 and the fi rst 

per ma nent, non-native settlement was 

established, it heralded a fundamental shift 

in the use of the land. Three years later, the 

Arapahoe and Cheyenne tribes re lin quished 

their land rights and settlement of the 

region in ten si fi ed. 

By the time Boulder City was in cor po -

rat ed in 1871, the town was already taking 

shape, and soon the University of Col o rado 

would open and the railroad would arrive. 

Subsequent years would bring still greater 

change, as in fra struc ture expanded to accommodate the infl ux of new res i dents and 

tourism became an increasingly im por tant 

part of the local economy. 

Census fi gures help tell the story of the 

city’s growth: In 1920, there were 11,006 

res i dents, in 1940 there were 12,958, and 

by 1950 there were 20,000. As new in dus -

tries emerged and housing opportunities 

ex pand ed, the pop u la tion grew to 72,000 

people in 1972. Today, there are more than 

96,000 Boul der residents, with an ad di tion al 

25,000 students at the University of Col o rado. 

Overall, more than 291,000 people live in 

Boulder County.

But even in the midst of this dramatic 

change, townspeople showed a de ter mi na tion to preserve the environment around 

them. According to the city’s offi cial Web 

site, “Even before the turn of the century, it 

was clear to early Boulder residents that the 

mountain backdrop was a special place, and 

the city began to acquire Mountain Parks 

property[.]”

That commitment remains a hallmark of 

Boulder’s development, demonstrated more 

recently by the purchase of thousands of acres 

of open space and the adoption of a com pre -

hen sive growth management plan. In all, the 

city owns 60,000 acres of un de vel oped land, 

which is larger than Mesa Verde National Park 

in southwestern Colorado. Boulder County 

has another 70,000 acres that it is has preserved as open space.

Yet by retaining so much of the natural 

environment, residents of the Boulder Valley 

have created a challenge for them selves: How 

can they continue to live safely within the 

beauty of rustic settings while ad dress ing the 

wildfi re threat that is such an enduring part of 

nature? 

‘Rural renaissance’

Stephen J. Pyne is a professor at Ar i zo na 

State University and a leading expert on fi re 

and its role in shaping global landscapes. In 

his 1995 book World Fire, he addressed the 

wildfi re risks associated with what he called 

the new “rural re nais sance”— the shifting of 

populations from urban to rural lands:

From the perspective of fi re protection the 

intermix environment is often the worst 

of all worlds.... There is little zoning for 

fi re control. There are few building codes 

to reduce hazards such as wooden roofs. 

There is scant pressure to reduce wildland 

fuels around dwellings. Open spaces that 

serve as buffer zones shrink as houses and 

woodlands ex pand.... Narrow roads to 

sheltered homesites, rustic wooden houses 

with shake-shingle roofs, lush vegetation 

dripping over walls and roofs, distances 

from prying offi cials and taxes—all this 

is why the exurban communities were 

created. To render them fi reproof is to recreate the en vi ron ments from which the 

residents fl ed in the fi rst place.

A Bolder Boulder

County Races Ahead with Wildfi re Mitigation
74

At Home in the Woods

In the years since that was written, destructive wildfi res have reinforced the point 

and highlighted the challenges with alarming regularity. More than 7 million acres and 

71,000 fi res burned in the United States in 

2002, affecting homes and com mu ni ties to an 

unprecedented degree.

But during this same period something 

else has also been happening — legions of 

creative, dedicated people from all walks of 

life have joined forces and are working to 

lessen wildfi re risks in communities located 

within the wildland/urban interface.

As Pyne wrote in his 2001 book Fire: A Brief 

History: “Technical solutions are possible, and 

widely known. Eliminate wood-shingle roofs. 

Clear vegetation from around structures. 

Design roads for easy entry and exit.... Create, 

in brief, a suit able system of building codes 

and fi re practices to keep the landscape from 

erupting into deadly fl ame. The problem, 

however, is not one of tech nol o gy or knowledge — the means to cure the disease are at 

hand — but of values.” 

And perhaps nowhere has that been more 

clearly demonstrated than in the Boulder 

Valley, where technical know-how and shared 

purpose are coming together in an effort to 

create an environment in which people and 

fi re can more peacefully coexist.

Window of opportunity

Fittingly, the impetus for change in the 

Boulder area was fi re. In Boulder County, the 

Left Hand Fire in 1988, the Black Tiger Fire 

in 1989 and the Old Stage Road Fire in 1990 

together claimed dozens of homes and thousands of acres. 

At around the same time, fi restorms were 

striking other populated regions in the West, 

particularly in California, where the Oakland 

Hills erupted in fl ames in 1991 and stretches 

of Malibu, Altadena and Laguna Beach burned 

in 1993. 

This spate of fi res heightened public 

awareness and opened a window of op por -

tu ni ty for the Boulder fi re com mu ni ty. In the 

years since, remarkable progress has been 

achieved, underlined by a multi-jurisdictional 

approach that emphasizes coordination, education and partnership.

As important as what was done, though, 

is how it was done. Behind each ac com -

plish ment is a story in which people have 

worked together—often in the face of opposition and sometimes with little initial hope 

of success—to take a positive step toward 

improving fi re management in the wildland/

urban in ter face. 

During the 1990s, the Boulder area saw 

three initiatives with far-reaching effects come 

to pass: 

✔ a campaign to phase out wood roof 

cov er ings in the city; 

✔ a push to design a new subdivision with 

wildfi re safety at the forefront; and 

✔ a plan to identify and mitigate fi re risks in 

the county.

A detailed look at each of these efforts 

shows how people throughout Boulder are 

making a difference. 

Full court press

When Boulder Fire Chief Larry 

Donner first proposed in 1993 that the 

The Black Tiger Fire, 

1989

“...the wood shingle industry sued the city of Boulder and sued me 

personally for def a ma tion of the industry because I said that ‘wood burns.’”

 — Larry Donner
75

At Home in the Woods

city’s build ing code be amended to prohibit 

wood roof coverings—including shakes and 

shingles — he knew it would be a long, diffi cult process. 

The local building and planning board, 

which is responsible for enforcing the code, 

would have to sign off on the proposed 

ordinance. The elected city council would 

have to approve it. Arguments from the wood 

roofi ng industry would have to be anticipated 

and addressed. And perhaps most im por tant ly, 

residents would have to be persuaded that the 

change was a nec es sary and prudent step.

One thing happened, however, that 

Donner didn’t anticipate— he was sued. 

“Shortly after the city council passed the 

ordinance, the wood shingle industry sued the 

City of Boulder and sued me per son al ly,” he 

recalled. “They sued me for def a ma tion of the 

industry because I said that ‘wood burns.’ ”

But as the trial would ultimately dem on strate, 

the Boulder Fire Department had done its homework before proposing the ordinance. 

The process actually began a couple of 

years earlier, when in the course of up dat ing 

the city’s codes the department tried to locate 

a wood shingle on the market that main tained 

its fl ame-resistance rating after actual weather 

testing. At the time, the department couldn’t 

fi nd any shingles that passed the Uniform 

Building Code (UBC) weather tests and 

qualifi ed for re-cer ti fi ca tion beyond the initial 

three-year period.

“So we made the decision to ban wood 

shingles entirely—treated or untreated,” 

Donner said. Even though parts of Boulder 

are not immediately adjacent to the wild land/

urban interface, it was also decided that the 

roof ordinance should apply citywide. 

 “Western Boulder is next to some wildlands,” Donner said. “We have pre vail ing 

westerly winds, so any fi res that would 

start to our west would quickly be blowing 

toward the city given our normal weather 

patterns. We knew that if we had sig nifi cant 

spotting and started some roofs on fi re that 

we were at high risk for urban con fl a gra tion 

just due to the high numbers of wood shin gles 

we had.”

Donner and his colleagues brought the proposal to the building and planning department, 

which reacted favorably, and together they took 

the next steps. Ac cord ing to Boulder Deputy 

Fire Chief Steve Stolz, who was head of the 

department’s division of prevention in 1993, 

“We started our plan ning by looking at what 

we would put out in front of the community, 

our rationale for the change. We also knew the 

wood roof in dus try would not go quietly and 

let us do this.”

At the many community forums, ad min is -

tra tive hearings and council sessions that followed, the fi re department made its case, and 

there was surprisingly little reaction from residents. While a handful of com mu ni ty members 

voiced some opposition, most showed little 

interest, even though the initial proposal would 

have required that all homes in the city change 

to non-wood roofi ng within 10 years.

“The public was generally very good,” 

Donner said. “If you have a meeting and explain 

the problem, the public will un der stand. Even 

though we hadn’t had any catastrophic fi res, most 

people here were familiar with the problem.” 

As expected, though, the wood shake and 

shingle industry did take notice, and rep re sen ta tives soon arrived in Boulder. While Boulder 

was the fi rst community in Col o rado to pursue 

a ban on wood roof cov er ings, it was not the 

fi rst jurisdiction in the country to do so. In 

fact, Los Angeles was going through a similar 

process at about the same time. Donner thinks 

he knows why Boulder drew so much 

at ten tion. 

“Other communities have banned untreat ed wood shingles, but what alarmed the 

wood shingle industry is that we went after 

the treated shingles as well,” he said. “They 

didn’t want us to take any action because they 

thought other communities might copy us.”

The proposed ordinance was eventually approved by the city council, with one key modifi cation. Rather than a 10-year phase in, the 

council elected to provide a 20-year window 

Boulder Fire Chief Larry 

Donner
76

At Home in the Woods

during which existing wood roof coverings 

could be replaced. The ordinance also prohibited wood roof coverings on new homes and 

mandated replacement of wood roof coverings when repairs exceeded 50 percent of the 

roof total.

“We intentionally took the strategy of 

phasing it out because we didn’t want to take 

people who were established in the commu ni ty and cost them money un nec es sar i ly,” 

Donner said. “I think that was key in selling 

the code provisions to the city council. We 

know that roofs wear out. It took the com mu -

ni ty a while to build itself into the situation, so 

we can take a little time to build ourselves out 

of the sit u a tion.”

After the ordinance passed, a lawsuit was 

fi led in federal court by a group rep re sent ing 

wood shake and shingle roofi ng in ter ests. In a 

December 1994 ruling, while agreeing with 

the wood roofi ng industry that the Boulder 

or di nance was too vague because it did not 

defi ne wood, the judge said that the city had 

in fact acted on a rational basis.

The judge also dismissed Donner — who 

had been on the witness stand for six hours 

during the trial — as an individual de fen dant 

in the lawsuit. Soon after the court’s de ci sion, 

the ordinance was rewritten to defi ne wood 

and it went into effect in 1995. While Boulder 

lost the battle it won the war, and for Donner 

the fi ght was worth it. 

“We’re now seven years into it and we’ve 

had a turnover of approximately 30 to 40 percent of the roofs in Boulder,” he said. “It helps 

reduce our concern for urban con fl a gra tion. 

We still have an interface problem, but at least 

it won’t be compounded by acres of wood 

shingles downwind from the interface.” 

Deputy Chief Stolz drew a number of lessons from the experience. “The process can 

be painful at times. It requires re search and 

analysis. The building offi cials are a critical 

component, and it takes lots of cooperation 

with them. The timing has to be right. In any 

ju ris dic tion, there are windows of op por -

tu ni ty. You have to be patient and persistent. 

Education is a huge component. You need the 

support of the community and the political 

es tab lish ment.” 

And if all that doesn’t work? “Take another 

run at it,” he said.

The high road

On the north side of Boulder, the Dakota 

Ridge subdivision sits nestled against grasslands and rolling foothills, on the edge of a 

greenbelt that encircles the city.

The fi rst phase of construction began in 

November 2000 and features design princi ples of “new urbanism,” which promotes 

interaction among residents by combining homes with places for people to work 

and socialize. Eventually, Dakota Ridge will 

contain 400-plus residential units, including 

single-family homes, town-houses and condo min i ums. It will also have commercial and 

civic sites, and a park.

At fi rst glance, the Dakota Ridge sub di vi sion 

looks like any other. New houses sit on gently 

winding streets and young trees line the 

sidewalks, against a backdrop of open skies. 

Nearby, con struc tion workers continue adding 

to the de vel op ment. 

But in fact, a road that runs around the exterior of the development makes this subdivision quite different. 

From a fi refi ghting perspective, many 

subdivisions near wildlands share similar 

drawbacks in their design that make the 

job of protecting the homes from wildfi re 

diffi cult. Marc Mullenix, the wildland fi re 

The Dakota Ridge 

subdivision
77

At Home in the Woods

division chief for the city of Boulder, has seen 

the problem in subdivisions through out the 

United States, particularly in the West.

“What typically happens in the interface 

is that you end up with homes directly up 

against the open space,” he explained. “The 

diffi culty is that the water is on the inside 

where the road is and the homes are on the 

outside. So to protect these homes you have 

to park an engine in the subdivision, hook up 

to the hydrant and wrap the hoses around the 

outside of the houses.

“Then you have to go and put fi refi ghters in 

harm’s way.”

The process that led to the construction 

of Dakota Ridge actually began in the early 

1990s, when local developer Rich McCabe 

moved to build on the 57-acre site, which at 

the time was one of the last major pieces of 

undeveloped land in the city. From the beginning, the project received signifi cant attention.

“It is a unique subdivision,” said Brent 

Bean, a senior planner with the Boulder 

Planning Department. “It is on the fringe of 

the city and it is right at the step of the foothills in open space areas.”

Bean, whose father was the fi rst plan ning 

director for Boulder, said that once the project 

was introduced the city’s planning and fi re 

departments worked closely with McCabe and 

his team. As it turned out, there was common 

ground that served the interests of everyone, 

and it involved a bold proposal — place a 

road around the exterior of the subdivision, 

with hydrants, to act as a buffer between the 

housing and the open space. 

This view of 

con struc tion at 

the Dakota Ridge 

subdivision clearly 

shows the road that 

forms a fi re barrier 

from the wildland
78

At Home in the Woods

As the process moved forward over an 

eight-year period, there were numerous 

meetings among the various partie s involved — including, at times, the de vel op er, 

the builder, the design consultant, city 

planners and fi refi ghters, and local res i dents. 

When a plan for the new community fi nally 

came together, the exterior road was a 

prominent feature of the design. 

For fi refi ghters like Mullenix, the benefi ts were clear. “The road on the outside up 

against the open space acts as a fuel mod i -

fi ca tion, and then we have the water out there 

also,” he said. “That gives fi refi ghters a place 

where they can work effi ciently and safely.” 

Justin Dombrowski, the wildland fi re 

management offi cer for the city of Boul der, 

explained why the direct access offered by an 

exterior road is so important, es pe cial ly in a 

large fi re where resources are limited. 

“To protect a typical subdivision, we’d 

have to put one engine at every single house, 

plus extra mobile engines,” he said. “We staff 

eight engines, and that’s for an entire city of 

100,000 people. Even working with our volunteer fi re departments, we don’t have enough 

resources to do that. With a design like this, 

we can have a couple engines fl oat around the 

outside and protect the entire subdivision.”

From McCabe’s perspective it was a 

win-win, even though it meant increased 

de vel op ment costs. “The perimeter road 

works with the principles and goals of new 

ur ban ism,” he said. “Having the street on the 

perimeter next to the prairie lands allows 

the public to enjoy it, walking or driving 

down the street. They have a clear view of all 

that wonderful open space. And it turns out 

the wildfi re element fi ts quite well with that 

design concept.”

According to Nan Johnson, who at the 

time was with the Boulder County Land Use 

Department and later moved on to a similar 

position with the city of Boulder, the out come 

demonstrates not only the im por tance of 

private-public part ner ships, but part ner ships 

within gov ern ment. 

“If the fi re department hadn’t said 

anything about it, the planning department probably wouldn’t have picked up on 

it,” she said. “Wildfi re design is just not 

something that planners have a background 

in. It was a unique thing and it was a good 

col lab o ra tion.”

In addition to the exterior road, the subdivision will include other fi re-safe elements. 

For example, a manicured, three-acre park 

will be strategically located, and the landscaping will avoid fl ammable and combustible 

vegetation like pine trees. 

McCabe, who moved to Boulder in 1961 

and has worked as a developer there since 

1965, said he has heard “nothing but good 

things” about the subdivision’s design. 

McCabe also noted that approximately 10 

acres on the original site were given to the 

city to be preserved as open space. 

When the exterior road was fi rst pro posed, 

the 1990 Old Stage Road Fire was fresh in 

everyone’s mind. That fi re, which destroyed 

10 homes and covered 2200 acres, burned 

land that would one day be home to Dakota 

Ridge. More than 10 years later, in July 2002, 

the Won der land Lake Fire struck near the same 

area — and a wide trail de signed for fi re trucks 

to drive on behind the sub di vi sion was widely 

credited with aiding fi refi ghters’ response.

The road that circles Dakota Ridge has had at 

least one other important benefi t. According 

to McCabe, it works as an effective buffer 

against encroaching prairie dogs.

A WHIMSical idea 

The Black Tiger Fire began in the Rocky 

Mountains near Boulder in July 1989 and 

quickly swept through nearby residential 

areas. After a four-day rampage, the blaze had 

claimed 44 homes and structures and burned 

more than 2,000 acres. At the time, it was the 

worst fi re loss in Colorado history. 

In the months after the fi re, the Boulder 

Board of County Commissioners began to 

look for ways to help minimize the loss of 

life and property from future wildfi res. Out 

“To talk about hazards to homeowners, we realized that we needed to have 

a better understanding of them ourselves.”

— Nan Johnson
79

At Home in the Woods

of this effort, the Boulder County Wildfi re 

Mitigation Group was born. 

As the group met, it became apparent that 

helping responders pre-plan and ed u cat ing 

the public about risks would be top priorities. 

But according to Nan Johnson — who joined 

the county planning staff in 1991 and started 

attending sessions of the wildfi re mitigation 

group soon thereafter — something else grew 

equally apparent.

“To talk about hazards to homeowners, 

we realized that we needed to have a better 

understanding of them ourselves,” she said. 

“We needed to know what the hazards were, 

where they were and what it would take to 

mitigate them.” 

Johnson came to the group with a background in Geographic Information Systems 

(GIS), and she and others thought that the 

county’s already-existing GIS system could be 

an effective way to pull all the pieces together 

and show fi re pro tec tion issues in a dynamic 

way. As the discussions grew increasingly 

more tech ni cal, it was decided that a separate 

working group would form to examine the 

issue.

That was the beginning of what is now 

called the Wildfi re Hazard Identifi cation and 

Mitigation System, or WHIMS, and the beginning of a years-long crusade for Johnson and 

her colleagues. 

Although the county already had access to 

some helpful material, such as lot bound aries, 

ownership records and other parcel data from 

the assessor’s offi ce and to po graph ic fi gures 

from the U.S. Geo log i cal Survey, the specifi c 

fuel-type and ho me own er assessment in for -

ma tion needed to plug into GIS for a complete picture did not exist. 

So the WHIMS team elected to go out 

and get it, developing a questionnaire and 

planning one-on-one, on-site interviews 

with area landowners. “We decided we were 

going to take a project area and start with 

one local fi re district,” Johnson said. “We 

also put a lot of time into fi guring out what 

questions to ask.” 

At the same time, the Colorado State Forest 

Service undertook a survey of its own to generate critical data about area fuel types.

Johnson said that defi ning what makes a 

hazard was a learning process for everyone. A 

turning point came when the group shifted 

from its initial assumption that water and access were the chief culprits. 

“We learned through our fi refi ghters that 

they aren’t, because in this county we don’t 

have water and we don’t have access,” she 

said. “So the emphasis in the surveys became 

building location, construction, landscaping 

and defensible space.”

One other key question remained: Who 

should conduct the surveys? A lengthy 

debate followed, and it was fi nally decided 

that — despite the size of the job — volunteer 

fi refi ghters should handle the assignment.

“They are the ones that need to respond to 

these events,” Johnson said. “They are the ones 

that need to know the property. That is their 

constituency. The homeowners need to get 

the correct answers and need to be asking their 

volunteer fi refi ghters these questions.”

Getting the 20 fi re protection districts in 

Boulder County on board involved a series of 

discussions in which the WHIMS team had to 

demonstrate the tangible benefi ts of the project. There were also concerns about how planning departments and insurance com pa nies 

might use the information gathered. 

Marc Mullenix (fore ground) 

and Justin Dombrowski, 

Boulder Fire Department
80

At Home in the Woods

“Those concerns still exist, and that’s the 

reason why some districts haven’t par tic ipat ed,” Johnson said. “It is a matter of trust 

and of seeing benefi ts. We made a commit ment to homeowners and told them what 

the in for ma tion is for — for educating and 

mo ti vat ing.”

WHIMS information packets were mailed 

out beforehand so residents would not be 

surprised by a visit from a survey team. The 

information packets were as sem bled by local 

inmates. 

Today, some 10 years after the process 

started, more than 6,000 homes have been 

evaluated. While the county maintains the 

central database, the information is shared 

with the local fi re districts, and they are putting it to good use.

Mike Tombolato, who as Boulder Coun ty’s 

fi rst wildfi re mitigation co or di na tor was heavily involved in the development of WHIMS, 

is now chief of the Cherryvale Fire Protection 

District. According to Tombolato, WHIMS has 

grown into a true multi-purpose tool. 

“We use it for pre-planning and hazard assessments,” he said. “We pro vide the 

assessment data to homeowners for ed u -

ca tion, to engine companies for re sponse, 

and to mutual aid for addresses and roads.”

Every summer, Cherryvale has a wild land 

crew performing mitigation, and once the 

fi re season slows that same crew updates the 

WHIMS assessments to keep in for ma tion as 

current as possible. In terms of homeowner 

education, Tomboloto said WHIMS offers immediate benefi ts.

“We’ve started making our assessments 

on Palm Pilots,” he explained. “Now we 

can make the assessment, plug into a laptop 

and printer, and give the assessment to the 

homeowner in real time. We can show them 

how to make their hazard rating come down. 

For example, we can show that if you move 

the propane tank, here is how the assessment 

would change, and why.” 

The city of Boulder has its own version of 

WHIMS, called FIRMIT (for fi re mit i ga tion), 

and it, too, has become an important ed u -

ca tion tool.

“We originally thought the surveys would 

take ten minutes,” said Dombrowski, the 

Boulder wildland fi re management offi cer. 

“But they averaged thirty to forty-fi ve minutes 

because of the one-on-one education. We 

know that the best ed u ca tion is face-to-face 

at the per son’s house, by the local fi refi ghter 

who is going to be the one re spond ing to the 

house if needed.” 

The county maintains wildfi re hazard 

maps online at its Web site, as well as a 

WHIMS manual at www.co.boulder.co.us/

lu/wildfi re. For Johnson, it is important that 

mitigation always be talked about in tandem 

with identifi cation. 

“The mapping and hazard rating is just a 

tool, it is part of a bigger pro gram,” she said. 

“WHIMS is not just about mapping, but fi nding out what the hazards are, getting them 

into a medium for educating and training and 

planning, and then getting programs implemented based on that.”

To that end, Johnson hopes to see expand ed uses of WHIMS and FIRMIT data to 

Nan Johnson, city of 

Boulder
81

At Home in the Woods

include code and policy changes as well as 

more involvement with planning. “Hope ful ly, 

it won’t take another big fi re to do it,” she 

said.

A question of when

While much has been accomplished 

throughout Boulder County, signifi cant work 

remains. The challenge ahead con tin ues to 

occupy the efforts and thoughts of fi refi ghting 

professionals and their partners in the government and the community. 

New residents arrive in Boulder every 

day, many from places where wildfi re is not a 

“We know that the best ed u ca tion is face-to-face at the per son’s house, by the local fi refi ghter 

who is going to be the one re spond ing to the house if needed.” 

 — Justin Dombrowski

threat and for whom the earlier fi res are not 

a memory. And as with many ju ris dic tions 

nationwide, mitigation must often compete 

for funding and support among other critical 

needs. It is a balancing act that requires equal 

parts dedication and cre ativ i ty. 

For communities in the wildland/urban 

interface, questions about wildfi re have to 

be prefaced by when and where, not if. In 

the Boulder Valley, that fundamental truth 

is fi rmly rooted in the fi res that continue to 

burn across its lands, and in the efforts of 

residents to pull together and live safely there 

anyway. 

✔ Formation of the Boulder County Wild fi re 

Mitigation Group, which brings gov ern -

ment and community leaders together with 

fi refi ghting professionals and area residents 

to address issues of shared concern.

✔ Creation by the city of Boulder of a fulltime wildland fi re coordinator position to 

help manage wildland fi re issues on city 

properties and to work with ad ja cent fi re 

departments.

✔ Formation of the Boulder County Wild land 

Fire Cooperators to address train ing and 

coordination among area fi re agen cies and 

cooperators.

✔ Initiation by the city of Boulder of a compre hen sive prescribed burn program in the 

wildland/urban interface.

✔ Development of a GIS-based risk as sess ment 

tool for Boulder County, known as the 

Wildfi re Hazard Identifi cation and Mit i -

ga tion System (WHIMS).

✔ Passage by the city of Boulder of an or di -

nance phasing out all wood roof cov er ings.

✔ Creation by Boulder County of a full-time 

wildfi re mitigation coordinator position 

to help deal with wildland fi re threats in 

wildland/urban interface areas of the county.

✔ Implementation of a Boulder Coun ty site 

plan review ordinance requiring a wildfi re 

mitigation plan for any new house as a 

condition of oc cu pan cy.

✔ Establishment of the Boulder County Ec o -

sys tem Cooperative, designed to identify 

and promote innovative ec o sys tem restoration opportunities on public and private 

lands. 

✔ Passage of a public safety tax in the city of 

Boulder that funds mitigation and ed u -

ca tion efforts, including a seasonal Wildfi re Response Group that reduces fi re fuels 

on city open spaces. 

✔ Development of a task force composed of 

the various county wildland fi refi ghting 

jurisdictions that can deploy within the 

county or to nearby counties as a quick-attack hand crew or fi re suppression team. 

✔ Creation of a wildfi re evacuation plan for 

the city of Boulder and neigh bor ing commu ni ties, with permanent signs posted on 

evacuation routes.

✔ Establishment of a helicopter fi refi ghting 

program that makes a helicopter and crew 

available for the Boulder area and beyond 

during fi re season. 

Successful Boulder-Area Wildfi re Mit i ga tion Initiatives
82

At Home in the Woods

AS SNOW FELL IN LATE OCTOBER 2002 on 

this quaint mountain resort community on 

the Colorado River, more than 250 res i dents 

along the Mitchell Creek corridor breathed 

a collective sigh of relief. For the fi rst time 

in months, the moisture falling on slopes 

denuded by the Coal Seam Fire did not pose a 

major fl ooding risk.

“It’s been a long year,” said Lee Bowles, 

mother of two and a resident of the highrisk Mitchell Creek area on the west side of 

Glenwood Springs. “Since the fi re you constantly watch the skies, and rush home every 

time it looks a little dark. Living under the 

constant threat, it wears on you.”

Residents were evacuated a half dozen 

times during the summer of 2002. Some of 

the evacuations turned out to be false alarms, 

but other storms fi lled streams, gullies and 

roads with chocolate-brown debris. On two 

occasions, fl oodwaters inundated basements, 

blocked roads and dam aged vehicles. 

The Coal Seam Fire started on June 8, 

2002, when a coal seam burning un der ground 

for nearly a cen tu ry ignited veg e ta tion in 

South Canyon just west of town. Fanned by 

intense winds and record drought conditions, 

the volatile blaze jumped the Colorado River 

and Interstate 70, threatened thousands of 

homes and businesses, damaged or destroyed 

more than 30 structures, and scorched more 

than 12,000 acres of public and private land.

But before the fi re was even put out and 

damage statistics tallied, Glenwood Springs 

residents were preparing for a post-fi re aftermath of fl ooding and the related ash, debris 

and mudfl ows.

“It became real apparent that this fi re was 

a repeat episode of Storm King,” said Garfi eld 

County Sheriff Tom Dalessandri, referring to 

the deadly July 1994 blaze and the 10-foot 

mudfl ows that closed Interstate 70 shortly 

thereafter. “We knew that we’d experience at 

least some effects of mud and water, so just a 

few days into the fi re we started planning.”

The mud/fl ood team

“We don’t rely on any one system.” 

— Andrea Holland-Sears, BAER team hydrologist

Local residents and government offi cials 

put a disaster task force together to help mitigate fl ood risks to 120 residential prop er ties 

in areas left most vulnerable after the Coal 

Seam Fire. The structures in harm’s way were 

an eclectic com bi na tion of prop er ties that 

included a mobile home park, a fi sh hatch ery, 

a ranch and million-dollar houses that snaked 

along side Mitchell Creek on the west side of 

town.

The Mud/Flood Task Force met weekly 

throughout the summer to discuss issues, 

share resources and ensure that re sponse 

and recovery efforts were well coordinated. 

During a roundtable discussion in late 

September 2002, several mem bers of the 

group gave invaluable advice to com mu ni ties 

that might one day face similar post-fi re fl ood 

threats.

Dalessandri said that a Burned Area 

Emergency Rehabilitation (BAER) team provided crucial in for ma tion regarding post-fi re 

effects and how to keep homes and lives safe 

from fl ooding. Brought in by the U.S. Forest 

A Community Unites

Glenwood Springs manages post-fi re fl ood risks

Residents of West 

Glenwood evacuate 

beneath an afternoon 

sun dimmed by smoke 

from the advancing 

Coal Seam Fire
83

At Home in the Woods

Service and the Bureau of Land Management, 

the BAER team was com posed of highly 

skilled soil scientists, geologists, ecologists, 

engineers, foresters, botanists and other specialists trained to assess damage caused by fi re.

The team suggested numerous post-fi re 

emergency management and mitigation 

strategies for Glenwood Springs, in clud ing 

additional weather monitoring equipment, 

resident weather-spotters, localized treatment of denuded slopes, apparatus to channel 

anticipated mudfl ows away from improved 

property, advance-warning systems, evac u ation procedures and meet ing points that would 

allow local emer gen cy managers to account for 

area res i dents.

The early-warning system that was installed 

on the mountainsides above Mitchell Creek was 

comprised of three com put er ized sensors to 

measure rainfall. The sensors were programmed 

to alert authorities if they reported rain quantities capable of producing a “land movement 

event.”

Members of the BAER team also rec om -

mend ed that the Mud/Flood Task Force not 

rely completely on the early warning system.

Andrea Holland-Sears, a hydrologist for the 

BAER team and a member of the task force, 

said, “The early warning system is a tool, not 

the only one in place. We don’t rely on any 

one system. We have other resources, such as 

the community, to depend on.”

Those community resources included 

people from a variety of backgrounds who 

worked with offi cials on evacuation plans 

for the community. The task force was made 

up of emergency response personnel, in for -

ma tion offi cers, natural resource specialists, 

non-profi t organizations, gov ern ment ad min -

is tra tors, dispatchers and private citizens.

Egos checked at the door

“That sense of community has to be there 

before people can be willing to come to geth er.”

— Bill Kight, U.S. Forest Service

The fi rst meeting of the Mud/Flood Task 

Force was facilitated to encourage the communication that would be critical to the 

group’s success.

“I can’t emphasize how important it was 

for all departments to knock down the barriers and start communicating freely,” HollandSears said. “We couldn’t have set up that early 

warning system as suc cess ful ly as we had 

without understanding how the law enforcement radio system operated. 

“As a hydrologist, I normally don’t even 

know how radios work, but working with 

the Glenwood Springs police, we were able to 

solve a lot of problems that we wouldn’t even 

had found out until after the fi rst event.”

Bill Kight of the U.S. Forest Service said 

that community members pitched in above 

and beyond the call of duty.

“That sense of community has to be there 

before people can be willing to come together 

and lay down their territorial problems and 

their egos and say, ‘We need to address this 

situation,’” he said.

Kight cited the placement of jersey barriers 

along Mitchell Creek as an ex am ple of cooperation among multiple ju ris dic tions. “Putting 

in the jersey barriers happened really fast,” 

he said. “I think the BAER team was even 

surprised at how quickly some of the things 

happened. 

The Natural Resources Conservation 

Service (NRCS) emerged as a key task force 

partner, implementing communitywide fl ood 

mitigation strategies. Since NRCS has more 

latitude than most federal agencies to per form 

Remains of a house in 

West Glenwood
84

At Home in the Woods

work on private land, it made sense for the 

group to coordinate those efforts.

Going door-to-door, Dennis Davidson 

from NRCS gathered the approvals that were 

necessary before the work of lowering the 

fl ood potential throughout the Mitchell Creek 

corridor could begin.

Together with the Colorado Department 

of Transportation and the county road and 

bridge department, NRCS cleaned debris 

from streambeds to prevent culvert block ag es, 

placed hundreds of concrete jersey barriers to 

channel anticipated debris fl ows and helped 

with sandbags around the homes at greatest 

risk.

“Our fi rst real work was to get the jersey 

barriers into place,” Davidson said. “We put in 

625 barriers stretching 6,000 feet along the 

creek and other vulnerable areas.” Mitigation 

efforts also included the removal of debris 

from Mitchell Creek itself, fi lling a total of 54 

dump trucks.

“Under the water protection program, we 

were able to secure emergency funding from 

the Bureau of Land Management and begin 

work that was considered ‘urgent and compelling’ within a few hours of the fi re,” Davidson 

explained. The county also re leased $100,000 

in emergency funding within the fi rst week of 

the fi res to address fl ooding risks. 

“We had three storms in August that produced debris, fi lling up driveways,” Davidson 

added. “I’m certain homes would have 

fl ooded without these barriers.”

Managing expectations

“We can’t guarantee your safety. You have 

to guarantee your own safety.”

— Garfi eld County Sheriff Tom Dalessandri

According to Dalessandri, one of the 

major challenges was setting a tone for the 

recovery that gave residents realistic ex pec -

ta tions for the risks they faced without being 

alarmist. Though residents grew weary of the 

evacuation alerts, Dalessandri and his staff felt 

a re spon si bil i ty to warn people of po ten tial 

hazards.

“We proved that the best information 

is real information,” Dalessandri said. “We 

were very careful what we told people, but 

we didn’t withhold information. We were 

very sensitive to their needs, but at the same 

time we were very frank about everything. We 

didn’t sugarcoat our an swers. We made it clear 

to people what was available and what was 

not.

“That honesty paid off in the long run,” 

Dalessandri added. “Though people may 

be frustrated or tired from this long ordeal, 

they’re still believing that there’s credibility in 

what we have to say.”

The goal was to avoid unrealistic ex pec -

ta tions by letting residents know the extent to 

which government could help them, and the 

ways in which residents could help them selves 

by taking re spon si bil i ty for their own welfare. 

“Communication is the key, I think, that 

made it possible for all of us to work together 

better and keep that level of trust,” Kight said. 

“You don’t make prom is es you can’t keep.”

But fi nding ways to reach the 8,000 residents in Glenwood Springs with ac cu rate and 

timely information remained an issue. One of 

the solutions involved using a re source center 

to fi eld questions from the community, which 

Dalessandri knew had been effective in the 

aftermath of the 9-11 terrorist attacks.

“When the Coal Seam Fire erupted, we 

moved our resource center from the county 

building and relocated it to the high school 

because there was need for ample parking,” 

he said. “We fi ltered news to the center and 

A burned house along 

Mitchell Creek
85

At Home in the Woods

we disciplined ourselves to make sure the 

information got to the public affairs people.” 

Dalessandri and his colleagues also attended numerous community meetings and 

led residents on tours of neigh bor hoods damaged by fi re or fl ood. In for ma tion regarding 

evacuation pro ce dures and disaster mitigation 

measures was made available in both English 

and Span ish.

The task force even got into the pub lish ing 

business, starting its own bilingual newspaper, 

The Mud/Flood Gazette, which was distributed 

throughout town. 

Ron Vanmeter, public information offi cer 

for the Garfi eld County Sheriff’s Offi ce, said 

that the experience taught him a simple truth. 

“We’ve learned that peo ple’s need for updated 

and current information is crucial,” he said. 

“Once the public is given just the facts, then 

it’s a matter of time and trust.”

Teamwork pays off

“This is how government is supposed to 

work.”

— Victor Gabossi, Glenwood Springs ho me own er

Victor Gabossi is fairly confi dent that his 

house will survive the next fi restorm. In addition to the fuel loads taken out on the hillside 

during the Coal Seam Fire, Gabossi replaced 

his wooden roof with asphalt shingles. He 

even built a rock wall and a wide concrete 

driveway to serve as fi re break between the hill 

and his home.

By late September 2002, the Glenwood 

Springs resident was more worried about 

losing his home to a mudslide.

“I think we’re going to have some major 

storms before the vegetation grows back,” he 

said, as he looked up at a group of volunteers 

reseeding the hill behind his home. More than 

70 vol un teers from all over Colorado assisted 

in the restoration project to help prevent 

future mudfl ows. 

Gabossi pointed up the barren hillside to 

an earthen berm behind his home.

“I didn’t even know I had a gully behind my home until after the fi re,” he said. 

“The brush was so thick you couldn’t see it. 

After a foot of mud covered my front yard, I 

talked to Dennis Davidson from NRCS and he 

“I didn’t even know I had a gully behind my home until after the fi re. The brush 

was so thick you couldn’t see it.”

 — Victor Gabossi

Jersey barriers protect 

a farm near Mitchell 

Creek
86

At Home in the Woods

came out and made sure that berm was high 

enough to divert the water away from my 

home. 

“I think among the local offi cials, the 

county commissioners and NRCS, it’s 

been great teamwork, Gabossi added. 

“This is how government is supposed to 

work.” 

Dalessandri attributed the generally harmonious interagency cooperation to two factors: no single agency had suffi cient resources 

to manage the problem on its own, and local, 

state and federal agencies each had a unique 

role to play in the recovery.

Even funding responsibilities were shared. 

Although the total cost of the mitigation 

efforts reached $5 million, Dalessandri said 

help from state and federal agencies allowed 

the county to absorb costs within its regular 

budget. 

Emergency managers freely ac knowl -

edged one other critical part of their success — luck. Glenwood Springs was spared 

the monsoon downpours that hit Durango 

in southern Colorado and caused massive 

mudfl ows.

“Each rainstorm we had moved debris in 

increments, rather than all at once,” HollandSears said. “I have to keep re mind ing folks 

that slope stabilization efforts are effective 

only to a point. Very large rain events can 

overwhelm even the best de signed mitigation 

measure.”

In Durango, where the Missionary 

Ridge Fire consumed more than 70,000 

acres in June 2002, dozens of homes and 

businesses were damaged when August 

monsoon rains brought major mudfl ows —

despite strategic efforts to protect proper ties from fl ooding.

The terrain was too steep and the rains 

were heavier than those in Glenwood 

Springs, according to NRCS District 

Con ser va tion ist Dan Lynn. “We had to encourage one Durango family to leave their 

newly built home,” he said. “There was 

just no way we could protect them.”

A roadmap for action

“Based on our mitigation strategies, we 

defi nitely saved homes and we may have saved 

lives.”

— Sheriff Dalessandri

The concrete barriers remained in place 

along Mitchell Creek well into 2003, a 

reminder to nearby residents that postfi re threats would likely be long lasting. 

Dalessandri, for one, was already looking ahead and planning his com mu ni ty’s 

re sponse to future disaster events. 

Thanks to his experiences in the sum mer of 

2002, he had developed a roadmap for action: 

establish pre-designated com mand posts and 

staging areas; pre-deploy basic equipment 

such as laptop computers, radios and cell 

phones; share emergency contact information; set-up procedures for ac cess ing supplies, 

such as water or ice; and develop strategies for 

demobilizing as the incident subsides.

According to Dalessandri, all these things 

may be easily overlooked during day-to-day 

operations but are vital during an emergency. And perhaps the most crucial element 

to an effective disaster operation, he said, 

is ensuring that everyone is on the same 

page “with the same mission in mind, the 

same agenda and the same priorities to help 

victims.” 

Dalessandri felt certain that the co or -

di nat ed efforts among emergency responders did make a meaningful difference to 

the Glenwood Springs community and its 

res i dents. 

“Based on our mitigation strategies, we 

defi nitely saved homes and we may have saved 

lives,” he said. “How many? It’s hard to say. 

But the work is in place so we can ensure that 

we have given our best effort to prevent any 

signifi cant loss — be it person or property. 

With that perspective, we can declare it a 

success. 

“This project has been a classic example of 

how federal, state and local government can 

work well together.”
87

At Home in the Woods

IF YOU LIVE IN AN AREA where fi res have 

burned the hillsides, even a relatively small 

amount of rain can cause ero sion and po ten -

tial ly devastating fl oods. Homeowners, business 

owners and renters can protect themselves by 

purchasing federally backed fl ood insurance, 

as long as their community participates in the 

Na tion al Flood In sur ance program (NFIP).

There is a 30-day waiting period after 

purchase before the policy becomes ef fec tive, 

so it pays to plan ahead.

For a single-family home, fl ood in sur ance 

coverage is available up to $250,000 on 

Add Flood Insurance 

to Wildfi re Safety Checklist

More about 

fl oods following fi res

Burned house beside 

Mitchell Creek

View of West Glenwood 

with Colorado River, 

Interstate 70 and burned 

hillside at left

a structure and up to $100,000 on contents. Renters can also insure contents up to 

$100,000. Business owners can purchase 

cov er age up to $500,000 on a structure and 

another $500,000 on con tents.

To buy fl ood insurance, call your insur ance agent. If your agent does not write 

fl ood insurance policies, you can fi nd an 

agent who does by calling the NFIP’s toll-free 

number at 1-888-FLOOD29 or TTY 1-800-

427-5593. You can also check your local 

phone directory or visit the FEMA Web site at 

www.fema.gov/nfi p.
88

At Home in the Woods

NOTHING MAKES A VIDEO ABOUT WILDFIRE PROTECTION more popular than a wildfi re in your own backyard.

It makes for good footage, too.

Those were some of the lessons learned 

when the Jackson/Teton County Fire 

De part ment in Wyoming remade its own edu ca tion al video in 2001–2002, A Ho me own er’s 

Guide to Wildland Fire Protection.

But those lessons were not the only ones 

learned.

Bringing it all back home

The Jackson Hole region in western 

Wyoming is surrounded by some of the largest 

areas of undisturbed forests and wilderness 

in the lower 48 states. Mixed in among that 

sprawl ing wilderness are ap prox i mate ly 1,500 

homes, ranging in value from $150,000 to $10 

million, as well as some large commercial tracts. 

“We’ve had a wildland/urban in ter face 

problem here for about a million years,” says 

Rusty Palmer, fi re mar shal and deputy county 

fi re warden.

Concern about the problem prompted the 

fi re department to make a wild fi re mitigation 

video in the early 1990s. Palmer likes using 

video to get across the mit i ga tion message. 

“There are a lot of ways to get your message out that are less expensive,” he says. 

“There aren’t a lot of ways to get your message out there that are better. It’s visual. It’s auditory. It’s redundant. People can play it over 

and over. It really hits home with folks.”

However, by 2000 there were prob lems 

with the 30-minute video made almost 10 

years earlier. It opened with footage of a 

large Minnesota fi re, and included about 

18 minutes of footage produced by the 

National Fire Protection Association in the 

early 1980s, sand wiched between seg ments 

shot in a studio with local residents. The 

tran si tions were not smooth and the people 

and tech niques looked outdated.

“The message was OK, but it had things 

about cheatgrass in Nevada. It was hard for 

local folks to latch on to,” Palmer says. The 

Evacuees Star in Local Film Remake

department decided to make another, more 

up-to-date and localized video about wild fi re 

mitigation for homeowners. 

The fi rst step in making a new and up-todate video was to make a new and up-to-date 

budget. The fi rst video cost only $3,500. The 

new one was budgeted (and completed) for 

$25,000. Of that amount, $15,000 came 

from local sources. 

The fi re department began ac cu mu lat ing 

funds for the project over several years in a 

wildland fi re account. “We knew we were 

going to make it, so we started budgeting a 

long time ago,” Palmer says. “It was a normal 

evolution for us.” 

Additional local funds came from Teton 

County and the town of Jackson, and as 

in-kind donations from the Jackson Hole 

Chamber of Commerce, Movie Works Theatres 

and the fi re department. A $10,000 grant 

from the Western States Wildland/Urban 

Interface Grant Program provided the balance.

The second step was the decision to take a 

“down-home” approach to the new video. By 

emphasizing local people and places, viewers 

in the area would see faces they knew and settings they lived in, to bring home the message 

that they needed to take action in their own 

backyards. While celebrities are numerous in 

the area, the department decided not to use 

any in the video. 

The third step was the careful process 

of choosing a fi lmmaker. Candidates were 

required to submit a proposal and three work 

samples to be carefully reviewed by a panel of 

four department members. 

Panel members included Palmer, who was 

involved in the making of the orig i nal video 

and was accustomed to viewing videos for 

their public education value. Another panel 

member was a trainer and division chief who 

was accustomed to viewing videos for their 

instructional value. The other two panel members did not have specifi cally video-related 

back grounds.

“I was glad that we got them to submit 

at least three pieces of work,” Palmer says. “It 
89

At Home in the Woods

gave us a general sense of what they would be 

able to accomplish.” 

The panel decided to make the video 30 

minutes long. Shooting would start in 2001 

and the video would be delivered early in 

2002. Cost was a concern, but was not preeminent. 

Perhaps most important, the panel reacted to the quality of the fi nished product in 

the sample fi lms they reviewed. In ad di tion 

to technical quality, panel members were 

concerned about “whether or not the fi lm 

touched them, made sense,” Palmer says. “We 

wanted to make sure the overriding message 

was un der stood.”

The department received bids from three 

fi lmmakers, and settled on SavaFilm, a local 

production company whose samples demon strat ed what Palmer calls a “good sense of 

content.” Sava Malachowski, the chief cameraman for SavaFilm, had already proceeded to 

get a fi refi ghting red card after submitting the 

bid. The card would allow him access to shoot 

on the fi re lines at wildfi res or controlled 

burns if any occurred in the area.

Palmer says that other than Malachowski 

and the video crew, the project initially met 

with more apathy than resistance from the 

community.

That soon changed.

Fire was the unexpected star

The company was about one-third of the 

way into production when the Green Knoll 

Fire broke out just fi ve miles from Jackson 

on July 22, 2001. The fi re proceeded to burn 

for days, threatening hundreds of homes and 

causing nearly 200 evacuations as it consumed 4,470 acres.

“With the Green Knoll, we completely 

changed what we were doing,” Palmer 

says. “The whole emphasis of the film 

changed.”

One change was the focus on a large local 

fi re that provided an inarguable dem on stra tion 

of wildfi re risk. “For tu nate ly, the fi lmmaker 

was red carded so he was able to get a lot of 

dramatic footage,” Palmer points out. “That 

was a value-added benefi t.”

In addition, the occurrence of an actual 

fi re enabled the fi lmmakers to incorporate 

stirring interviews with local people who had 

been evacuated because their homes were 

surrounded by fi re, and who could testify 

what it felt like to face the prospect of losing 

their homes to wildfi re. “That was a piece we 

hadn’t even thought about until we started 

talking to them and hearing their stories,” 

Palmer says.

The fi re also changed the attitude of local 

people toward the video project itself. Palmer 

recalls, “The minute Jackson Hole was on fi re, 

they were asking, ‘When’s the fi lm going to 

be done?’”

Ironically, the fi re department’s initial 

project proposal itself had stated, “Clearly 

one of the strongest attitudes to overcome in 

prevention activities is an ‘it won’t happen 

to me’ attitude. Few people build ing within 

the interface think about the potential for 

wildfi re before they build. Many think about 

it only after a local catastrophe or near miss. 

The impact of people seeing the aftermath of 

interface fi res does have an effect.”

Point made.

Sava Malachowski and 

Valerie Schramm of 

Savafi lm

Jackson/Teton County 

Fire Marshall Rusty 

Palmer
90

At Home in the Woods

even those clips generally appear as if they 

could have been shot in Wy o ming.

Thirty people appear in the video —

counting homeowners, wildfi re experts and 

others — and most are from Teton County. 

The local people, the local settings, the 

footage of the searing local fi re and the 

interviews with those who had feared losing their homes all work together to make a 

powerful message that fi re mit i ga tion starts 

here, and now. 

Despite the fi re-induced changes, the 

video came in within budget and essentially on time. Scheduled for completion in 

Feb ru ary, the video actually premiered in April. 

It came out right at the start of the 2002 fi re 

season, a prime time to begin mitigation efforts.

Palmer says the most important part of the 

distribution plan was saturation of the local 

market. Reaching homeowners’ as so ci a tions 

was relatively easy, he says, because the fi re 

department had an ex ist ing relationship with 

them.

“They have private water supplies we like 

to use, so we’re in touch with them at least 

once a year,” he explains, adding the de part -

ment used an existing mailing list for sending 

a copy of the video to each as so ci a tion. In 

addition, he says the department presented 

programs to six or seven of the organizations.

Local distribution also included public 

venues, particularly libraries. Copies were 

made available for rent at local video stores, 

but Palmer says people did not seem in ter -

est ed in renting it, perhaps because they 

could borrow it at no cost from the library 

or purchase their own copies for $5.

The fi re department showed the video 

to businesses and presented it in schools, 

along with similarly targeted pre sen ta tions 

on topics like the psy chol o gy behind teenage arson and fi re safety in kitchens.

They got more than 30 follow-up calls in 

less than one year from people who had seen 

the fi lm and wanted additional help in reducing their risks. 

Bill Nash and his 

house were featured 

in Savafi lm’s “A 

Ho me own er’s Guide 

to Wildland Fire 

Protection”

And the envelope please...

Topics covered in the completed in struc -

tion al documentary — formatted for VHS 

video —include the wildland fi re problem 

in Teton County and the United States, basics 

of fi re behavior, choosing a wise location 

for struc tures, home design and building 

ma te ri als, creating a survivable landscape 

and creating a space that can be defended by 

fi refi ghters.

The new video includes a few clips of 

footage shot elsewhere in the country, but 
91

At Home in the Woods

By the end of January 2003, the fi re 

department had distributed 500 copies of A 

Homeowner’s Guide to Wildland Fire Pro tec tion. 

The video has been distributed through out 

the state and is available on request to callers. 

It has been broadcast statewide on Wyoming 

Public Television and was shown twice during 

the 2003 National Fire Plan Conference in 

New Orleans, a federal/state/local conference that works on implementing the national 

strategy for managing wildfi res. The conference was at tend ed by 400.

In addition, A Homeowner’s Guide to Wildland 

Fire Protection won an Aurora Gold Award in 

an international in de pen dent fi lm and video 

competition for its creativity, message effectiveness and technical ex cel lence.

Palmer says even though people are more 

likely to lose their homes to a struc tur al fi re, 

they are more fearful of wild fi re — and the 

video provides an op por tu ni ty for fi refi ghters to educate people about wildfi re mitigation and reducing home fi re danger. When 

mem bers of the fi re de part ment present the 

video at meetings or visit a home to talk 

about risk reduction, they may also talk 

about such topics as wood stove safety and 

smoke detectors. 

But the video is only one of an as sort ment 

of educational tools. The fi re de part ment uses 

personal visits, a PowerPoint presentation and 

literature that ranges from items to stick on a 

refrigerator to two handouts for homeowners

— one on how to mitigate while building a 

A few of the many 

homes deep in the 

forest near Jackson 

Hole
92

At Home in the Woods

home, the other on good main te nance for 

mitigation. The department also works with 

outside groups that help educate owners and 

help create defensible space. 

Whenever fi refi ghters make an ed u ca tion al 

visit to a home, Palmer says, “We go loaded 

with brochures. We may not have the opportunity to go back.”

Lessons learned

Along the way, Palmer discovered that 

fi lmmaking is a highly collaborative process 

that requires ample time for com mu ni ca tion. 

“We spent a huge amount of time in discus sion,” he says. “That was one of the things 

that caught me off-guard.”

If Palmer had it to do again, he says he 

would learn more about video pro duc tion at 

the start. He had a “little epiph a ny” about the 

different views of a video held by fi lm mak ers 

and fi refi ghters. “I’m looking at it as a tool 

with a budget,” he explains. “They’re looking 

at it as a piece of art.”

He thought making a fi lm was just about 

writing, shooting and editing, but he found 

those elements to be just a small part of the 

process. Other important factors included the 

quality of light, excess noise in the area and 

the color of the background. He recalls editing sessions with Malachowski and director/

writer/editor Valerie Schramm. 

“We completely reorganized the fi lm 

at one point,” Palmer says. “We looked 

at the fi rst cut and it just didn’t seem to 

fl ow.” While he had not expected to spend 

so much time on the video, he is glad he 

did. “I’m 100 percent more educated and 

knowledgeable than I was before I start ed,” 

he says.

Malachowski agrees that good com mu -

ni ca tion contributes greatly to the quality of 

the fi nal video. “Filmmaking is a very collaborative process and the quality of a fi lm 

is always a sum of inputs from ev ery body 

involved in it,” he says. “Find ing time to communicate among various col lab o ra tors is very 

important.”

The effort put into the video is paying off 

in mitigation around Jackson Hole, according to Palmer. Homeowners in subdivisions 

threatened by the Green Knoll Fire are making 

changes. Those who participated in the fi lm 

feel particularly compelled to take action. 

Residents who used to resist clearing trees because of their sentimental value, Palmer says, 

are now cutting trees.

He attributes much of the success of the 

video to the use of local people, the footage 

of the Green Knoll Fire, and particularly to the 

interviews with those whose homes had been 

threatened.

“I wanted local folks to hear the emotion in their voices,” he says. “It’s some thing 

we wouldn’t have had (without the fi re). It 

anchored the credibility of the fi lm by using 

those local folks who actually experienced it.”

Copies of A Homeowner’s Guide to Wildland 

Fire Protection are available in VHS format 

for $8.20 each, which in cludes shipping, 

through the Jack son/Teton County Fire 

Department; P. O. Box 901; Jackson, WY 

83001; (307) 733-4732.

Valerie Schramm and 

Sava Malachowski
93

At Home in the Woods

IN THE GREATER HELENA, MONTANA AREA, 

wildfi re survivability is a hot topic. 

With awareness of the problem grow ing, 

so too are solutions—including efforts to 

stem the effects of wildfi res on the private and 

public lands that expand beyond Montana’s 

capital city. 

Roadsides, hillsides and open-space areas 

are being treated to reduce fi re fuel loads. 

Neighbors are joining neighbors to protect 

their homes and properties — nestled amid 

the heavy timber — from cat a stroph ic wildfi re. 

It is all part of a bigger plan to fortify a 

three-county area in western Montana that is 

home to the city of Hel e na. 

Wildfi res have hit these counties — Lewis 

& Clark, Jefferson, and Broadwater — more 

than once. Many are hoping that the next time 

fi re comes, it will be a different story. 

Trial by fi re 

Local efforts to change the landscape of 

wildfi re began in 1984, after a fast-moving 

fi re swept through both pri vate and federal 

land, jumping the Missouri River and burn ing 

into a designated wilderness area. 

For many, the damage left an in del i ble 

mark. Clearly, a wildfi re prevention effort was 

needed, especially since homes were being 

built in the area. 

So Sonny Stiger, a retired fi re be hav ior 

analyst with the U.S. Forest Ser vice, or ga nized 

the Tri-County Fire Working Group, a volunteer group of citizens, foresters, fi re service 

per son nel, elected offi cials and timber contrac tors from the three counties. 

Initially, the group’s goal was to better 

educate citizens and local governments about 

wildfi re mitigation as a means of reducing 

future fi re losses. 

Early efforts were painstakingly slow. 

There was little money to fund prevention 

education activities. And few people at that 

time recognized the long-term effects, and 

dangers, of an emerging wildland/urban 

interface. 

Counties Give Wildfi re a Run for Its Money

Four years later, wildfi re struck again —

this time burning about 80,000 acres in 

Jefferson County. It was yet another wakeup call, offi cials say, that wildfi re mit i ga tion 

efforts needed to be stepped up. People 

were con tinu ing to build and live in wildland areas, unaware that their choices were 

potentially putting them at risk. 

Measuring the risk

The landscape in the tri-county area is 

breathtakingly beautiful, and perilous. Much 

of it is heavily timbered hillsides, steep slopes 

and native grasslands. The distant horizon is 

dominated by the rugged peaks of the Rocky 

Mountains. 

Lewis & Clark County is the largest in 

population—about 56,000 people—and 

land mass, sprawling about 3,500 square 

miles. Roughly 66 percent of the land is govern ment-owned. There are four federal forests 

and three des ig nat ed wilderness areas, one of 

which, the Helena National Forest, spills over 

into neighboring Jefferson County. 

Jefferson County adjoins Lewis & Clark 

from the south and borders the Helena metro 

area. It is about half the size and about onefi fth the population of Lewis & Clark but 

likewise is seeing growth, and risk, in the 

wildland/urban interface. 

Broadwater County, just east of Jefferson, 

is the most rural of the three — about 1,200 

square miles dominated by large ranches and 

forested areas on two mountain ranges that 

sweep down into a populated valley. About 

4,400 residents live in the county, some with 

homes that hug timbered tree lines. Though 

Broadwater County doesn’t yet have the same 

level of residential development in the interface as the other two counties, the terrain and 

propensity for wildfi re put the residents who 

are there at risk. 

Mindful that the population growth 

would continue, the tri-county group 

launched a mapping initiative shortly after 

the 1988 wildfi re to identify the level of 

risk for the interface areas of three coun ties.
94

At Home in the Woods

Pat McKelvey and 

Montana Governor 

Judy Martz

The effort took years to complete because 

money to fund the work was in short supply, 

but the group’s de ter mi na tion never wavered. 

In 2000, a grant from the Federal Emergency 

Man age ment Agency (FEMA) helped fi nish 

the job. 

The result is a Fuel Hazard Rating Map, 

which geographically shows the level of 

risk —from low to extreme — in the in ter face 

areas, much like a fl oodplain map does for 

fl ood-prone areas. The map now helps local, 

state and federal agencies focus their efforts 

and resources on wildfi re mit i ga tion projects 

in the highest-risk areas fi rst. Current and future 

homeowners can use the map as well to see how 

vulnerable they may be to a wild fi re. 

Converging forces 

In 1999, wildfi re fl ared again. Several 

homes in Lewis & Clark County were threatened but this time there was a sur vi vor—one 

home that had been sur round ed by defensible 

space. Suddenly, wildfi re mit i ga tion was beginning to make sense. 

That same year, Lewis & Clark Coun ty—

also at high risk for earthquakes—pledged 

to become an all-hazards, disaster-resistant 

community. The move brought seed money 

and technical assistance to bolster its mit i -

ga tion efforts. Little did anyone know that a 

virtual fi restorm was about to strike.

Drought conditions in the summer of 

2000 brought Montana its worst wildfi re season ever. Months of fi res claimed more than 

one million acres throughout the state. 

In the tri-county area, there were at least 

fi ve major fi res—one of which cut off escape 

routes for wild land residents in Lewis and 

Clark County, preventing them from fl eeing to 

Hel e na. 

Fortunately, no lives were lost and countless homes were saved, which local offi cials 

attribute to effective fi refi ghting. Nonetheless, 

the fi res did take a toll, claiming nine homes 

and more than 50,000 acres among the three 

counties. 

In the wake of those fi res came a new understanding of, and commitment to, wildfi re 

mitigation for both government offi cials and 

residents. 

Mitigation fi res up 

Since then, there has been a fl urry of 

activity through out the tri-county area, which 

local offi cials credit largely to the efforts of Pat 

McKelvey, project manager for prevention and 

mitigation for Lewis & Clark County.

McKelvey was hired in October 1999 to 

coordinate the county’s disaster-resistance 

projects. Now, he also facilitates the efforts of 

the Tri-County Fire Working Group, helping 

with project development, building publicprivate partnerships and fi nding the money 

to turn planned mit i ga tion into reality. 

On a grand scheme, McKelvey says, the 

biggest need throughout the three counties 

has been to reduce the fuels on which a wildfi re can feed and spread.

With such a large area in need of work, 

the Tri-County Fire Working Group turned to 

the Fuels Hazard Map to begin pri or i tiz ing its 

efforts. 

The starting place was easy to pick. 

According to the map, the area in and around 

Helena is rated as an extreme danger because 

of the fuel loads there—a critical point given 

the city population and the interface growth. 

So the group partnered with the city’s 

parks department to create fuel breaks on 

Mt. Helena, a 950-acre city park that sprawls 

across one of two large hills at the edge of 

Helena. 
95

At Home in the Woods

A fi re in that park could be dev as tat ing, 

beyond just losing the natural re sourc es. If a 

wildfi re were to burn up the slope, it could 

take out emergency com mu ni ca tions towers 

atop the hill that service the sher iff’s offi ce 

and the fi re dispatch center. Or, prevailing 

winds could easily push a fi re down the slope 

and into Helena. 

Using a combination of pruning and thinning trees, and removing “ladder fuels”—low 

vegetation that can spread a fi re to the treetops—about 40 acres were treated on Mt. 

Helena and around two subdivisions on the city’s 

south side that could be in the path of a fi re. 

The fuel breaks will both slow the spread 

of fi re and provide a buffer zone from which 
96

At Home in the Woods

fi refi ghters can mount a defense to keep a 

fi re from spreading to the city. The $77,000 

project, funded by FEMA, was completed in 

2003. 

On the other hill, known as Mt. As cen sion, 

the tri-county group hired a con trac tor to thin 

about 25 acres on a 144-acre tract of land—

again to help better control a wildfi re. The 

project now helps to protect about 25 homes 

within the city of Helena and has motivated 

adjacent landowners to create defensible space 

projects on their own properties, which increases the overall benefi t of the work. 

Bringing the message home 

Though these two projects are con sid ered 

critical fi rst steps, McKelvey is quick to point 

out that successful mitigation takes more than 

treating public lands. It also takes the efforts 

of private landowners. 

To that end, McKelvey and the tri-county 

group developed a program to help in di vid u al 

homeowners in all three counties at risk for 

wildland/urban interface fi res better protect 

their residences. 

The idea of the voluntary program is to 

encourage homeowners to do “disaster-resistant 

landscaping” up to 150 feet from their pri ma ry 

residences, with the aim of improving the 

home’s survivability in a wildfi re. 

Examples of approved landscaping methods include pruning trees, thinning densely 

forested areas, cleaning up downed material 

such as trees and brush, and dis pos ing of 

leftover vegetation debris. 

To provide more incentive, par tic i -

pat ing homeowners can get 75 per cent of 

their costs, or a maximum of $1,000, reim bursed by the tri-county fi re group. The 

ho me own er must pay the re main ing 25 

percent—in cash or sweat eq ui ty—and 

anything above the $1,000. 

To determine eligibility for the program, a site inspection of the home and 

property is done by a member of the 

tri-county group to assess the level of fi re 

risk due to vegetation. If the home qualifi es, the inspector and homeowner jointly 

develop a defensible space plan for the 

property. 

The homeowner then has a few months to 

have the work completed and the fi re hazard 

abated. The treated con di tion must be maintained for 10 years or until the ho me own er 

sells the property. 

As of April 2003, about 220 homeowners 

in all three counties had participated in the 

program. McKelvey is using a $250,000 grant 

from the National Fire Plan, a co op er a tive 

effort among the U.S. Forest Service, the U.S. 

Department of Interior and the National 

Association of State Foresters to help manage 

the effects of wildfi res on com mu ni ties and 

the en vi ron ment.

McKelvey is pleased with the numbers 

and eager to see even more participation. The 

program was a hard sell in the be gin ning, 

because many homeowners like living in a 

wooded area and don’t want to sac ri fi ce their 

trees. 

“There’s a real anxiety here to cut ting 

trees,” McKelvey says. “They think we want 

to come clearcut the trees out to 150 feet and 

that’s not what we’re doing. Mitigation work 

doesn’t mean totally removing all the fuel 

and the trees. They can still have an aes thet ic 

landscape.” 

In reality, McKelvey says, the land scap ing 

work not only helps to reduce the fi re risk, 

Mt. Ascension
97

At Home in the Woods

but it promotes good forest health, provides 

wildlife habitat and preserves the beauty of 

the area. 

The idea is catching on. McKelvey gets 

new applications for the program every week. 

“We’re fi nding that once we do one 

property, we get more calls,” McKelvey adds. 

“Word-of-mouth and seeing these things 

done is the best way to spread the message.” 

The tri-county group now has expanded 

the program to include larger parcels of 

woodlands that are not adjacent to a home 

and privately owned land that adjoins key 

roadways. 

Paving the way 

The landowner roadway projects are critical, McKelvey says, because they tie in with 

yet another tri-county project: road side fuels 

treatments for public-access roadways. 

The goal of the roadside mitigation project is to reduce forest fuels up to 150 feet 

on either side of roads that are open to the 

public. Doing so improves emergency vehicle 

access, increases the effectiveness of the roads 

as fi re breaks, provides safe escape routes for 

homeowners in the area and enhances fi refi ghter safety during a wildfi re. 

The projects—funded by another Na tion al 

Fire Plan grant—ultimately will provide 

a fuel break for the whole city of Helena, 

McKelvey says, because the roads generally 

parallel the city limits. 

In another case, the existing road system that rings an entire subdivision is being 

treated, thanks to the efforts of the local homeowners’ association. 

Though fuels reduction projects are helping to minimize a current threat, Lewis & 

Clark County offi cials also want to impact 

future development in the interface, thereby 

breaking the “disaster-rebuild-disaster” 

cycle. 

To do that, they’ve created uniform 

Wildland Subdivision Standards that aim to 

better protect new residential de vel op ments in 

the county’s interface areas. 

The proposed standards — expected to 

be adopted by county commissioners in 

2003 — provide uniform, minimum require ments for such things as subdivision 

design, fi re pro tec tion availability, water supply, access/evac u a tion, roof ma te ri als and fi re 

pro tec tion plans.

Once approved, the standards will have 

the regulatory force of an ordinance and 

will ensure that future subdivisions mit i gate 

for wildfi re. The standards also will prevent 

development from increasing the fi re hazard 

because of poor roads, lack of water and/

or not providing defensible space around 

homes. 

“With all subdivisions, you need ingress 

and egress, otherwise you put people, includ ing our volunteer fi remen, at risk and 

I personally refuse to do that,” says Mike 

Murray, a Lewis & Clark county com mis sion er 

and member of the tri-county group. “As an 

elected offi cial, I will no longer approve a 

subdivision with the same egress. There has to 

be a second way out.” 

Individual fi re departments in Jefferson 

County do the same type of review, ac cord ing 

to County Commissioner Tom Lythgoe, also 

a member of the Tri-County Fire Working 

Group. 

Broadwater County Commissioner Elaine 

Mann said that all new subdivision plans in 

Chipping the slash on a 

hillside near Helena
98

At Home in the Woods

that county also have to undergo a fi re department review. 

Giant step forward 

McKelvey sees the group’s ac com plish -

ments as a giant step forward. Still, he says, 

there is no quick fi x to the dangers of wildfi re. 

“There’s such an enormous amount of 

fuel out there,” he says. “What we’re doing is 

a drop in the bucket. But in the areas we’ve 

treated, we are absolutely better off. In the 

area of public awareness, we are substantially 

better off. 

“We have seen a paradigm shift in the 

thought process for people in Lewis & Clark 

County,” McKelvey adds. “Peo ple are ac cept ing 

this mitigation work. They un der stand it’s the 

stuff you do prior to a fi re ever beginning. It’s 

not things you do when the fi re is raging over 

the hill.”

Murray, a county commissioner for 10 

years, agrees, noting “at best, we are twenty 

to twenty-fi ve percent of what we hope to 

achieve. 

“We have a lot of people who are moving in from urban areas who want the urban 

dream,” Murray notes. “They think the more 

trees you have around your home, the better. 

Part of the example we are showing people 

is that it can still look nice and be fi re safe 

and not have trees up against your house and 

home.” 

In Jefferson County, Lythgoe is seeing the 

same domino effect which, in the long term, 

he says, is “going to save some homes.” 

Mann says Broadwater County is still in 

the infancy stage when it comes to wildfi re 

mitigation. Changes are slow to come, she 

adds, because people still don’t realize how 

and why they are at risk for wildfi re. 

“Our planners didn’t realize there could 

be a grass fi re that could burn subdivisions on 

the valley fl oor,” she says. “Now they do.”

As the Broadwater County rep re sen ta tive 

for the tri-county group, Mann is trying to 

funnel back information to residents and 

other local offi cials to boost the need for 

education, which she con sid ers fundamental 

to being pro ac tive and fa cil i tat ing changes on 

all levels. 

Commissioners from all three counties agree that there is more to success than 

just doing the work. It takes an organized, 

vi sion ary effort. It takes partnership and it 

takes money. 

“You have to get the right folks to the table 

and you have to look for some mon ey,” says 

Lythgoe. “What has worked for us is to get 

multiple counties involved. We have commissioners, emergency ser vic es co or di na tors, 

state forestry people, staff from the Bureau of 

Land Man age ment and the U.S. Forest Service 

all showing up to this month ly meeting, 

setting goals, achieving goals and problem 

solving.” 

And, Lythgoe adds, it doesn’t hurt to have 

a powerhouse like McKelvey. 

“The reason we are so successful is Pat 

McKelvey’s enthusiasm and his ability to put 

these things together and get things done. 

He has done a really good job of making the 

public aware of the hazards of living in the 

forest.” 

Property with new 

defensible space
99

At Home in the Woods

All Signs Point Toward Mitigation

Contest yields old-time jingles

MOTORISTS IN JEFFERSON COUNTY, 

COLORADO, are likely to encounter a series of 

six signs spaced a minimum of 200 feet apart 

along state and coun ty roadways with the follow ing advice:

Our forests are dry

Our grass is drier

Don’t be the one

Who starts

A fi re

Jeffco Fire Minder

The message is clear: Wildfi re mit i ga tion is 

an important activity in Jefferson County and 

everyone is encouraged to participate.

For those who traveled our nation’s highways between the mid-1920s until the 1960s, 

the signs may bring back fond mem o ries 

of hours spent in the car when the BurmaShaveTM ads helped break the mo not o ny of 

long drives.

The idea to post messages in the BurmaShave tradition originated in the fall of 2001 

amid early pre dic tions of a severe wildfi re 

season in 2002. Jefferson County Public 

In for ma tion Director John Masson and County 

Attorney Bull Tuthill pre sent ed the idea and 

sample jingles to the board of county commissioners. (Masson says copy right is not a 

problem. While Burma-Shave prod ucts are still 

available, the sign concept is not protected.)

The three county commissioners support ed the idea unanimously.

Masson immediately took charge of the 

project, digging in on two fronts. First, he had 

to fi nd clever slogans to use, and second, he 

had to bone up on sign con struc tion, installation and maintenance. Support from the commis sion ers was an important factor in making 

the project fun and successful, according to 

Masson.

“People were willing to bend over backward to expedite it,” he says. “It helps to have 

the leadership of the county.”

‘If you have something to say, send it this way’

Masson sought slogans mainly through the 

Jefferson County Web site. He posted contest 

information on June 17, 2002, including 

a description of the roadway signs project, 

contest rules and how to enter. He also posted 

sample signs, in clud ing the following retired 

Burma-Shave sign as an example:

The Blackened Forest

Smolders Yet

Because

He Flipped

A Cigarette

Burma-Shave

By July 15, the contest deadline, 154 

eligible entries had been submitted via e-mail 

from all around the country. Each sub mis sion 

contained a wildfi re mitigation mes sage 

expressed in fi ve lines of up to 20 characters 

each. Masson’s goal was to narrow the fi eld 

The inspiration for 

the Jeffco Fire Minder 

signs — an actual 

Burma-Shave slogan 

from 1960 (pho to graph ic 

re con struc tion)

Burma-Shave is a 

registered trademark of 

American Safety Razor 

Company
100

At Home in the Woods

to 12 slogans, one for each of the county’s 

interface-zone fi re pro tec tion districts, with 

one set to spare.

To choose the winners, he enlisted the 

aid of the county commissioners, along 

with representatives of Denver’s two major 

daily newspapers—The Denver Post and the 

Rocky Mountain News—and Jefferson County 

Open Space and Fire Safety Ed u ca tors of 

Colorado.

Each judge was given a complete list of 

eligible entries. Nine stood out as clear winners and the remaining three were selected 

from among eleven runners up. By the end 

of October 2002, twelve slogans had been 

chosen. With the ex cep tion of one jinglewriter from Colorado Springs and another 

from Boulder, Col o rado, all win ners were 

from Jefferson County, including one person 

who penned two winning entries.

Just as the original Burma-Shave signs 

ended with a tagline, so too did Masson want 

to fi nd a tagline for the Jefferson County 

signs. A contest was held among county employees to fi nd one. The public in for ma tion 

staff judged approximately 45 entries and 

Open Space employee Thea Rock won with 

her entry: “Jeffco Fire Minder.”

All contest winners received $100 gift certifi cates and residential fi re ex tin guish ers with 

the following words of gratitude:

Thank you for your winning entry

posted on signs that now stand sentry.

For penning for us this safety reminder,

we dub you a Jeffco Fire Minder.

Behind the signs: process and protocol

From a motorist’s point of view the appearance of the roadway signs may seem serendipitous, but the process for getting them there was 

more complicated than meets the eye. Masson 

says many factors had to be considered before 

the idea came to fruition.

Cost. This was the fi rst hurdle Masson 

encountered. The original estimate was $300 

per individual sign—a whopping $1,800 per 

series. That estimate was reduced to $200 

per sign with a volume discount. However, 

even at that, these estimates —based on using 

the county’s own antiquated hand-stenciling 

equipment — were still too high.

“I could have been very easily dis cour -

aged,” Masson says.

But he persisted, and when he found out 

that the county was getting new, state-ofthe-art digitized equipment— dropping 

the cost to $40 per sign or $240 per set, 

including installation— he was encouraged. 

However, when plans changed to make the 

signs bigger and sturdier than originally 

planned, an outside contractor offered the 

best price— between $90 and $100 per 

sign.

Color. Original Burma-Shave signs were 

red with white lettering, but red is now reserved for stop signs and emer gen cy messages 

in Jefferson County. Yellow is for cautionary 

warnings; blue is for in for ma tion; white is for 

speed limits and other rules. Masson considered purple and green for the mitigation 

signs, but eventually chose blue with white 

let ter ing.

Placement. Masson asked the 11 county 

fi re pro tec tion districts serving areas that 

are entirely or partially forested to identify a 

state or county roadway where they thought 

the signs would be most ap pro pri ate. For 

maximum effect, it was important to place 

the signs in high-traffi c areas. Other factors 

included the distance be tween the signs and 

the road, and safety.

“If you’re trying to get somebody to read 

a sign and you’re on a curve, you don’t want 

them running off the road,” Masson says.

Regulation and durability. Re quire ments 

vary from city to city and within un in cor po rat ed areas of the county. There are rules 

about sign size, rules about the size of the 

lettering, and rules about the durability and 

refl ectivity of materials needed to make the 

signs. Speed limits affect the size of signs 

and lettering, and then there are rights of way 

to be con sid ered, managed by the Colorado 

“This is a positive kind of thing a com mu ni ty can do. This affects ev ery one.”

— John Masson
101

At Home in the Woods

De part ment of Transportation. All of these 

variations affect cost.

In the end, the signs were constructed from 

heavy blue aluminum with an anti-vandalism 

coating. Eight-inch lettering was used (readable at up to 55 miles per hour), and the signs 

stand 12 inches high and are 48 to 96 inches 

wide, depending on the number of letters used 

in each individual sign.

Installation. The Jefferson County Road 

and Bridge Department installed the signs 

using a county-owned truck especially 

designed to do the job. Special equipment 

punches metal footings several feet deep into 

the ground, then signposts are inserted into 

the footings.

Masson says each sign required two posts. 

“They’re big enough in square footage that 

in a wind they can literally self-destruct,” he 

explains.

Plans to move the signs from one lo ca tion 

to another have been made, so mo tor ists who 

drive the same route often will get a chance 

to see several messages over time.

Maintenance. The fi re protection districts 

play an important role in main te nance of the 

signs, reporting any vandalism or need for 

replacement.

“We want them to be the watchdogs 

and mentors for the signs,” Masson says. The 

districts may delegate some of that activity, 

enlisting scouts and other vol un teers to be 

stewards of the signs.

The project took longer to implement than 

Masson had originally planned. The fi re season 

started a month early for Jefferson County, 

and included part of the Hayman Fire, which 

broke out on June 8 and eventually burned 

137,760 acres and 133 homes. It is considered 

the worst wildfi re in Colorado history.

Masson contacted the fi re chiefs in each 

of the 11 fi re protection districts early in 

the summer. Two of them said they liked the 

program but were overwhelmed by fi res. The 

project was slowed because of the wildfi res, 

but it was not stopped.

The fi rst signs went up in the spring of 

2003.

Signs and sayings for other times and places

Masson can see further applicability for 

Burma-Shave-style signs beyond wildfi re mitigation in Jefferson County.

“Some [of our] emergency providers have 

called to say there are other messages they’d like 

to get out, such as safe driving,” Masson says.

Even if the cost of the signs in Jefferson 

County had been closer to the original $300 

estimate, Masson is confi dent the com mis -

sion ers would have supported the project 

because fi re danger was so high and the 

commissioners were so strongly in favor of 

the signs.

“Anyone who’s been associated with 

wildfi re knows about the impacts,” he says. 

“This is a positive kind of thing a com mu -

ni ty can do. This affects ev ery one.”

Funding could come from several 

sources. Masson suggests that businesses, 

chambers of commerce and volunteer organizations might support the project through 

direct assistance and fund-raisers. The signs in production
102

At Home in the Woods

COLORADO MOUNTAINS

ARE HERE TO ADMIRE

DO ALL YOU CAN

TO PREVENT A FIRE

OBSERVE FIRE BANS!

JEFFCO FIRE MINDER

A MATCH OR BUTT

FROM CARELESS FOLK

OUR BEAUTIFUL FOREST

GOES UP

IN SMOKE

JEFFCO FIRE MINDER

DON’T FLING YOUR BUTT

BESIDE THE TRAIL

AND WE WON’T FLING

YOUR BUTT

IN JAIL

JEFFCO FIRE MINDER

KEEP OUR FIRES

WHERE THEY BELONG

TOO MANY FORESTS

ARE ALREADY

GONE

JEFFCO FIRE MINDER

The top six winners in the Jefferson County Fire Minder 

slogan contest

The key factor, he says, is broad com mu -

ni ty support. Cooperation is essential on the 

part of elected offi cials, emergency managers, fi re protection districts and transportaA Fire Minder sign near 

Ken Caryl Ranch in 

Jefferson County

JUST ONE SPARK

IT IS NO JOKE

AND ALL OF THIS

GOES UP

IN SMOKE

JEFFCO FIRE MINDER

CARELESS FIRES

IN A FLASH

CAN TURN

OUR MOUNTAINS

INTO ASH

JEFFCO FIRE MINDER

tion supervisors. In addition, Masson points 

out that the project can inspire discussion 

and heighten awareness and all ages can 

par tic i pate.
103

At Home in the Woods

PLANS HELP.

Plans spell out who will help fi ght wildfi res, what equipment will be available, how 

local agencies and federal partners will work 

together, who will cover what ter ri to ry, who 

will pay for what, and how the var i ous parties will communicate (down to the level of 

telephone numbers and radio fre quen cies and 

repeaters). 

Plans also become long-range plan ning 

tools, helping all the agencies involved in 

fi ghting wildfi res acquire over time the training and equipment most needed in their area. 

The state of Colorado thinks plans are 

so important that it requires them of any 

county that wants to par tic i pate in the state’s 

Emergency Fire Fund (a fund the counties pay 

into regularly and from which money is available for fi ghting large wildfi res). 

But putting together a really good plan is 

not easy. Just ask the folks in Routt County, 

Colorado.

All issues considered

In 1990, Chuck Vale became the direc tor of emergency management for Routt 

County, which surrounds the ski resort 

town of Steamboat Springs in the northern 

Colorado Rockies. Three years later, the sheriff asked him to develop a county plan for 

fi ghting wildfi res. Colorado law gives sheriffs legal responsibility for fi ght ing wildfi res, 

and this sheriff del e gat ed that responsibility 

to Vale. 

Giving the job to the emergency man ag er 

proved to be advantageous. Vale says it created 

continuity. While the sheriff is up for reelection every four years, he has held his position 

for more than a decade. 

“It was one of the great stepping stones of 

where we ended up,” Vale says. “It opened the 

door for us to fi gure out cooperative issues.”

Vale decided he did not want to create a 

plan that would just sit on a shelf. He wanted 

to make a usable document that would be 

short and to the point. As he says, “If nobody 

blows the dust off, what did we write it for?” 

One of the diffi culties in creating an effi cient, usable plan is the number and diversity 

of the groups involved. They include federal 

agencies (such as the U.S. Forest Service and the 

Bureau of Land Man age ment), state agencies 

(including the Colorado State Forest Service), 

county commissioners, the sheriff, the county 

and other local emergency man ag ers, mayors 

and city councilors, and sometimes urban and 

rural fi re chiefs. Some of the par tic i pants are 

primarily focused on land man age ment, some 

on budgets, and some on fi refi ghting—both 

structural and wildfi re.

Cooperation Leads to Coordination

Cooperation at local level plays key role in Routt County, Colorado

Routt County 

Emer gen cy 

Management Director 

Chuck Vale
104

At Home in the Woods

Vale noted that in many cases policy 

makers signed plans while those who would 

actually be involved in battling blazes didn’t 

even know about the documents. To prevent 

that, he included representatives from the 

county’s six fi re protection districts in the 

process. 

As talks went forward, those present 

brought their own perspectives to questions 

small and large. Smaller concerns, for example, included matters such as who would 

pay for a chewed-up hose. The bigger issue, 

Vale says, was clarifying how to decide who 

was in charge of what fi res, which is critical for reimbursement issues as well as for 

organizing fi refi ghts. Whose area a fi re is in, 

he explains, “is not real clear when you look 

at these wildland fi res. The question be comes, 

‘Am I helping you or are you helping me?’” 

The details and the diversity of per spec tive 

made for long discussions, but pro duced good 

results. Vale sums it up, “If we could get people to focus on their particular issue or gripe 

and fi nd a solution to it in the doc u ment, they 

were perfectly content.”

After hashing “just about every con ceiv -

able issue” a plan was developed. In ad di tion 

to the plan agreed to with the federal agencies, the local participants also es tab lished 

the Routt County Wildland Fire Council, 

con sist ing of the fi re chiefs, sheriff, county 

emer gen cy manager, and attorneys representing the city of Steam boat Springs and the 

county. 

All the local parties signed a mem o ran dum 

of understanding, which committed them to 

coordinate on a plan for wildfi re prevention 

and suppression, procedures for reporting and 

fi ghting wildfi res, public education programs, 

training and budget requests to the county 

commissioners. 

In retrospect, Vale says the plan was readily 

accepted in part because the stake hold ers did 

not feel that they had anything to lose. During 

the relatively wet period that ended in the 

fall of 1999, the threat of major wildfi res was 

minimal, so planning for fi re was not a major 

concern and the wildfi re demands on personnel and equip ment were relatively few.

But that all changed.

The ‘divorce’

On October 25, 1997, a violent windstorm felled trees on 20,000 wilderness acres 

in Routt County. In a single day, the county 

had suddenly acquired a huge potential threat, 

as the mass of downed trees created the fuel 

for a possible major wildfi re in the rugged 

hills. The blowdown was a harbinger of the 

problems to come.

The West was seeing the beginning of 

what proved to be a multi-year drought. The 

Oak Creek Fire 

Protection District Chief 

Chuck Wisecup
105

At Home in the Woods

incidence of wildfi re increased through out 

the whole region. In Routt County, the number of wildfi re starts more than doubled in a 

year, from 44 in 1999 to 100 in 2000.

The fact that more and more homes had 

been built in heavily timbered areas and on 

steep hillsides also began drawing increased 

concern. 

When the 93-acre Deguine Fire broke out 

in May 2000, District Chief Chuck Wisecup of 

the Oak Creek Fire Protection District was able 

to muster just 60 per son nel and 30 pieces of 

equipment. “And that was pretty much everything in the county,” he says. “There is no 

single entity in Routt County that can handle 

a major incident on its own.”

Suddenly attention began to focus on exactly what resources the county had on hand 

to fi ght wildfi res.

In November of that year, Vale and the 

other members of the Wildland Fire Council 

submitted an 80-page Report of Findings and 

Recommendations of the Wildland Fire Council for 

the Routt County Board of County Commissioners.

The report pointed out “a lack of capacity and 

ca pa bil i ty in... wildland fi re throughout the 

county.”

Routt had only two paid personnel and 90 

volunteers for all its fi re, rescue and emergen cy medical services. Two de part ments 

did not have enough fi refi ghters to meet 

min i mum standards for struc tur al fi refi ghting, and three others barely did, which also 

meant it was “apparent there are no additional fi refi ghters for mutual aid or wildland 

fi re suppression extended attack.” If each 

de part ment stuck by its com mit ment to keep 

a minimum level of cov er age in its own district, the report point ed out, then “mutual 

aid... is non-existent[.]”

The report listed all the fi refi ghting equipment in the county, which illustrated the 

problems with fi refi ghting capability. As Vale 

said in reference to one piece of equip ment, 

“If we’re going to continue to go into the interface, we’re going to have to do better than 

1978 trucks.” 

The obvious problems were bad enough. 

But the report went one critical step further. It 

recommended a “substantial budget contribution” from the county and the fi re protection 

districts of ap prox i mate ly $1.7 million over 

the next fi ve years. It called for acquiring 

three engines and adding three seasonal fi refi ghters each year over three years (for a total 

of nine fi refi ghters). 

Vale says projecting that estimate was 

“probably the biggest mistake of my career.” 

Steamboat Springs Fire 

Chief Bob Struble
106

At Home in the Woods

Already by that point, as the report 

records, city offi cials from Steamboat had 

said they probably would not sign the 2001 

memorandum of understanding with the 

wildfi re council unless the county pledged 

more fi nancial support. Then, when the report called for the county and fi re districts to 

put up $1.7 million over the next fi ve years, 

it seemed to some as if the city was trying 

to tell the county how to spend its money. 

As Vale says, “That’s like me looking at your 

checkbook and telling you how to spend your 

money.” 

County commissioners said they were 

already going above and beyond what was 

required of them. The dispute sparked by the 

report resulted in Steamboat Springs pulling 

out of the Wildland Fire Council. 

“This report is what divided the city and 

county,” Vale says. “This was the divorce decree.... We all agree when it’s a $100 deal. But 

things change when you’ve got a $100,000 

deal.” 

In practice, points out Steamboat Springs 

Fire Chief Bob Struble, the city continued 

to respond to calls outside city limits and 

participated in mutual aid with the other fi re 

districts. But the split at the policy level halted 

progress in planning and im prove ments in 

equipment and personnel, leaving the overall 

wildfi re strategy in disarray as the drought 

intensifi ed.

Ironically, the $1.7 million called for over 

fi ve years proved to be far less than the actual 

cost of fi ghting the fi res that erupted in 2002.

Diffi cult talks lead to ‘group hug’

A year after the “divorce,” Vale says, the 

various groups realized that “divorce isn’t 

going to work. We’ve got to work together.” 

Incumbents and newly elected offi cials began 

to talk, thanks largely to the efforts of Vale 

and the fi re chiefs, along with Routt County 

Commissioner Nancy Stahoviak and Steam boat 

Springs City Councilwoman Nancy Kramer. 

“We went for a year in limbo and for tu -

nate ly it wasn’t a very bad year [in terms of 

fi res],” says Stahoviak, a com mis sion er since 

1993. “We needed to fi gure out a way to get 

to the table to talk about this.” 

She and others invited people from around 

the county to a dinner. “The whole purpose 

of the evening was just to have dialogue,” she 

explains. “It was really a productive evening 

because the people got to know each other 

and what the issues were in their areas.”

They decided to hold a series of meet ings 

over the winter so they could come to agreement about the annual operating plan and the 

memorandum of understanding.

In the meetings that followed, it was as 

clear as ever that all the parties involved still 

had their different particular interests. “Each 

branch of government has different per spec -

tives and responsibilities,” Vale points out. 

The various county, fi re pro tec tion district 

and town organizations he was trying to 

bring together “don’t even agree on what 

day of the week it is sometimes.” All of their 

differences, including per son al i ty confl icts, 

came out. 

Routt County 

Com mis sion er Nancy 

Stahoviak

“Once we got everybody at the table, we made great strides.” 

 — Bob Struble
107

At Home in the Woods

“I believe petty issues are what tore us 

apart and I believe petty issues can tear us 

apart again,” Vale says. Even he had trouble at 

times keeping the large picture in sight. 

“I was too close to the forest,” he admits.

The participants got into details such as 

who calls dispatch, at exactly what point the 

mutual aid and fi nancial arrangements kick 

in after a fi re starts, and who pays for what, 

including who pays if one district’s equipment is damaged at a fi re in another district’s 

territory. “Once we got everybody at the table, 

we made great strides,” Struble says.

The process was helped when a group 

from the Colorado State Forest Service attended one meeting. Vale says State For est er Jim 

Hubbard was “like a preacher. He gets people 

to pay attention, then once they’re hooked, he 

sells them on the idea of cooperation.” Vale 

says Hubbard probably used the word “cooperate” 50 times during the two-hour meeting. 

“I am convinced in the big scheme of things 

Jim Hubbard is still correct when he says, 

‘cooperate,’” Vale says. “People assume it, but it 

may be more an as sump tion than reality.”

In the process, the fi re protection dis tricts 

identifi ed their needs and pri or i tized them, 

and then had the county’s support as they 

applied for grants. Three of the dis tricts won 

grants after the 2002 agreement was signed, 

for a fi re truck, a new fi re station, and an addition to a station.

County Commissioner Stahoviak ex plains 

that when they approach po ten tial funding 

sources, “The question is always asked, ‘How 

are you co or di nat ing your efforts?’ With all 

the fi res that have gone on recently, they are 

looking more closely at how well we’re working to geth er.”

The county also supported mill levy 

increases in some fi re protection districts. In 

another case, the cooperation extended to the 

county Road and Bridge department renting 

space from a new fi rehouse, which meant 

income in the six fi gures for the fi re district 

while the department avoided having to build 

its own facility. 

Another key step was realizing that the 

wildfi re council would work better in two 

separate units, one to handle policy and the 

other to work on more practical fi eld issues.

“The policy and fi eld expertise had been 

getting mixed up,” says Nancy Kramer, a 

Steamboat city councilwoman who was 

elected in 2001. “One group was trying to 

take care of both and it wasn’t working.”

She recalls a meeting when an epiphany 

occurred that establishing the two groups 

would be an appropriate approach. “The 

lights went on,” she says. “There had been 

enough great work done that things slid into 

place. We’ve got all the parts. We just have to 

put them in the right place. In fact, we’ve got 

great parts.”

Under the new organization, the policy 

group consists of elected offi cials and some 

staff and meets approximately twice a year to 

discuss issues like taxes and overall policy. An 

Steamboat Springs 

City Councilwoman 

Nancy Kramer
108

At Home in the Woods

advisory group consists of fi re chiefs and representatives of federal agen cies and some times 

meets as often as twice a month to discuss 

issues like planning for fi res and training. The 

two groups meet together at least twice a year 

and can schedule special joint meetings as 

needed.

At the end of the renewed discussions, the 

fundamental confl icts had been re solved, Vale 

says, and all the parties came together in “a 

big group hug.” 

Process is ongoing

The true value of developing a detailed 

plan for fi refi ghting in Routt County became 

clear in the summer of 2002, when Vale could 

see fi ve columns of smoke from his offi ce in 

Steamboat Springs. The fi refi ghters were in for 

the biggest, longest fi refi ght in the county’s 

history.

They faced 85 fi res that summer, which 

burned more than 40,000 acres in federal 

land alone. But instead of infi ghting through 

that long season, the media reported co op -

er a tion and teamwork. “All summer there 

were positive stories and discussions about 

how ‘they came together and worked together’ 

and the end result was that we all worked well 

together out in the fi eld,” according to Vale.

Struble agrees that the coordinating group 

meetings had made a tremendous difference. 

“Our elected offi cials were aware of what was 

going on,” he says. “They understood the issues.” He adds there was also a good un der -

stand ing of the re la tion ships and re spon si -

bil i ties of the six local fi re protection districts 

and the federal agencies.

District Chief Bryan Rickman of West 

Routt Fire Protection District says the 

smooth operations were “really a cul mi -

na tion of all the work we did [the previous] 

winter.”

A success to be sure, but a plan that is 

really used is never fi nished. Vale is eager to 

keep working on the plan to make it even 

stronger. Particular areas where he sees a need 

for more specifi c planning include:

Emergency notifi cation and evac u a tions.

The 911 call system became so overloaded 

when the 2002 fi res broke out that people 

began calling the local offi cials they knew 

on their cell phones. The fi refi ght also raised 

questions about evac u a tions: Who calls for 

them—the police chief, the sheriff? Can 

offi cials force people to leave? Phys i cal ly, who 

conducts the evac u a tion? If a local area has 

one police offi cer and 150 homes, how does 

it get more offi cers quickly?

Clarifi cation of county priorities.

Evac u a tions were impeded because one route 

was being resurfaced. In addition, the plan 

called for the water supply of the county’s 

Road and Bridge department to be available for fi ght ing fi res, but when fi res actually 

occurred Road and Bridge needed its water. Firefi ghters had to rely on private water 

trucks, which had in com pat i ble fi ttings.

Mutual aid. Vale feels that those who make 

commitments to mutual aid need to “be 

serious about what they’re writing down.” A 

provider may promise all of a department’s 

personnel, though some may be on other 

assignments or vacation. One source said 

three bulldozers and pumps would be available, but Vale says, “When I got ready to use 

them, I didn’t have any.” Further, in a hot, dry 

season like 2002, otherwise likely donors may 

themselves be in need of support. For maximum benefi t, it’s important that a recipient of 

mutual aid know the capabilities of donated 

personnel and equipment. Vale says they are 

fi nding this problem to be deep and widespread.

Pay. Pay provisions among the fi re districts 

were contradictory. According to one, everyone doing similar work on the fi re would 

receive the same rate of pay. According to 

another, workers’ pay might depend on their 

position outside the particular fi re.

Federal assistance. A series of small fi res 

before the big ones provided op por tu ni ties 

for local offi cials to gain experience with 

federal paperwork requirements. But after 

those smaller fi res, Vale says, “I thought the 
109

At Home in the Woods

fi re chiefs were going to hang me. They 

were at the end of their ropes. How much 

more bureaucracy can you bring me?” The 

ex pe ri ence paid off when larger fi res occurred. Still, the match between local needs 

and federal aid is imperfect. For example, the 

federal system works on a rotating schedule, 

bring ing in new fi refi ghting teams every 14 

days. Con se quent ly, on big fi res the local teams 

must deal with new federal partners every two 

weeks. As Vale puts it, “Will you come and stay 

with me for the entirety of the fi re, or will you 

just stay an hour? This is a huge issue.” 

Contracting. Purchase agreements set up 

in advance from the interagency dis patch center in Craig, Colorado, provided for portable 

toilets from across the county. Vale is interested in arranging such services through providers as close to the fi re as possible. Similarly, he 

worked during the 2002 fi re to have fi refi ghters fed by guest ranches that were suffering 

a loss of tourism business, and would like to 

see that become standard policy. 

Vale feels that the increased population in 

the wildland/urban interface zone and the accompanying increased fi re risk call for a more 

robust response capacity, with more fi refi ghters with expanded skill sets. A well-thoughtout annual operating plan, such as the one in 

Routt County, can be an essential component 

of a robust response. It leads to better training, more personnel, more equipment, better 

coordination and tactics in fi ghting a wildfi re, 

greater effi ciency due to area coordination, 

better morale and better public support. 

However, he cautions that the process for 

arriving at such a plan is apt to be un com -

fort able. In Routt County, it involved disagree ment and personality confl icts, as well 

as cooperation and compromise. Vale says it is 

important to come to the table ready to have 

disagreements. Working through them is a 

vital part of the process. 

“The experience of going through the 

divorce helped,” he says. “I’m pleased with 

the work we did in our county even though it 

was darn near suicide.”

Chief Bryan Rickman, 

West Routt Fire 

Protection District
110

At Home in the Woods

Restoring the Land with Fire

MORE THAN 40 YEARS AGO, Silas C. Whitman, 

66, was working with the U.S. Forest Service 

(USFS) in North ern Idaho battling a range fi re in 

a canyon with his uncles and “some of the oldtimers” from the Nez Perce tribe.

“We thought the fi re had been con tained,” 

Whitman recalled. “Then just before bedding 

down for the night, the fi re came ripping out 

of the canyon, roaring like a freight train. A 

tornado of fi re headed right toward us. Then it 

jumped over our heads into the air and disappeared as if taken by the sky. We thought it 

went down the hill and burned everything in 

its path, but it was com plete ly extinguished. It 

was the fi re’s last breath.

“Fire has a spirit. You don’t tease it. You 

respect it.” 

These are the cultural truths taught to 

Whitman when he was growing up on the 

Nez Perce Reservation in north central Idaho. 

But at 20 years old be liev ing is seeing, and 

on that star less night fi re revealed itself to 

Whitman as a life giver and taker.

A speaker at the Colorado Mitigation & 

Wildfi re Conference in September 2002, 

Whitman talked about fi re as a living spirit, an 

intrinsic element that sustains the life cycle of 

the planet’s ecosystem. Whitman, president of 

a land rehabilitation company, told the audience that the ec o sys tem depends on people to 

keep nature balanced through the use of fi re.

But for more than 100 years fi re was consistently excluded from the Amer i can landscape by policy and practice, he said, resulting 

Fire as Spirit, Fire as Tool
111

At Home in the Woods

in overgrown for ests, drastically changed 

fi re behavior and, according to foresters 

and fi re ecologists, an increased number of 

catastrophic fi res. 

Only recently has a consensus begun to 

emerge about how to manage fi re. Today, the 

USFS and other land man ag ers are im ple -

ment ing a new national policy that calls for 

the reintroduction of fi re, not only to reduce 

fuels in the wildland/urban interface but also 

to return forests to a healthier condition.

As a result, traditional cultures are becoming intertwined with modern fi re science.

Fire as tool

For thousands of years, American Indian 

tribes across the continent shaped the landscape with fi re. Today, scholars, re search ers 

and anthropologists credit Amer i can Indians 

for creating the vast prairies in their quest for 

buffalo and other game. 

Though not all tribes used fi re to manage 

the land, Gerald W. Williams, in References on 

the American Indian Use of Fire in Ecosystems, said 

that re search ers have concluded that American 

In di ans utilized fi re for several reasons.

According to Williams, “[T]here were 

some indications that fi re was used to protect 

certain medicine plants by clear ing an area 

around plants, as well as to fi re proof areas, especially around set tle ments, from de struc tive 

wildfi res.”

Other reasons included crop man age ment, 

improving growth and yields, insect colNear Winter Park, 

Colorado
112

At Home in the Woods

lec tion, pest control, clearing areas for travel, 

felling trees and clearing riparian areas. 

Germaine White is a Salish Indian who 

lives at the base of the Mission Mountains on 

the Flathead Indian Reservation in Montana. 

White works at the tribal pres er va tion offi ce 

and serves as vice chair of the Lower Flat head 

Valley Community Foun da tion board of 

di rec tors, as well as par tic i pat ing on many 

other committees and councils. 

In an interview in the Fall 2001 issue of 

Northern Lights magazine, White discussed her 

tribe’s historical uses of fi re:

[B]urning was to maintain campsites and 

keep the camp clean. They kept the trails 

groomed with fi re. There are also many 

of our foods and medicines that have an 

im por tant relationship with fi re. They 

rely on fi re for fertile seedbeds. That nice 

ash layer nourishes them. The canopy is 

opened, too, and all of their competitors are cleaned out. The horses benefi ted. 

Game also relied on the abun dant grasses 

that came in after fi re.... [F]ire was used 

in our daily life and that included our spiri tu al well being. Bi ol o gists talk about fi rede pen dent species. Well, that’s us. We’re a 

fi re-dependent species.

Whitman said that in the California high 

chaparral of the Sierra Mountains, tribes performed prescribed burns on several hundred 

thousand acres as late as 1923. 

“We’ve known for years that in order to 

prevent catastrophic fi res, you have to reduce 

fuel loads,” said Whitman, who served as 

the Nez Perce fi shery program manager for 

13 years. “We understood about fi re manage ment to protect our watershed and fi sh 

population.” 

After a burning they would fi nd berries, 

herbs and medicines. “Nutrients fl owed 

from fi re,” Whitman said. Tribes developed 

a cultural science, even though it was not 

written down. Their traditional knowledge 

of fi re ecology was passed from generation 

to generation like the knowledge of crafting 

beadwork.

Added White, “Perhaps our people did 

not possess an encyclopedia knowledge of 

the land, but they had an intimate knowl edge 

based on a collective, multi-gen er a tion al 

understanding of how natural systems work, 

on millennia of ob ser va tion, habitation and 

experience.” 

According to both White and Whitman, not 

just anyone was allowed to burn. Ig nit ing at the 

wrong time of the year or under unfavorable 

conditions could have been disastrous for those 

living close to the forest. In White’s tribe, only 

those who had expert knowledge were allowed 

to ignite vegetation. 

“Sx paám is the [Salish Indian] name of 

the one whose task it is to set fi res. It means 

he is setting the forest fi res here or there and 

he is setting forest fi res over and over and over 

again,” explained White. “This is a person who 

had an intimate relationship with and knowledge about fi re and had authority to light fi res.”

Northwest tribesmen would “pitch fi re” to 

control a prescribed burn, which was referred 

to as a “climax fi re” that would put itself out.

“They would light a torch at opposite ends 

of a fi eld so the fi re would meet and then 

burn out,” said Whitman. “If the fi re did get 

out of control, they would light backfi res to 

regain control of it.”

Whitman also said that tribes would hold 

meetings about fi re land man age ment at 

which they discussed the pros and cons of 

igniting the forests and when to do it. 

Even though American Indians used fi re 

extensively, European settlers did not, according to Whitman. While many Amer i can 

Indians were nomadic, most new settlers 

remained in fi xed locations. To the European 

pioneers, igniting the forest threatened agricultural crops, commercial timber and communities made of wooden structures. 

Cultures collide 

There were various reasons why fi re was 

limited on the North American land scape 

“Firefi ghtin’ 4 Life” — 

a member of the 

Ute Mountain Ute 

Firefi ghters
113

At Home in the Woods

once European settlement began, but most 

scholars, authors and American Indians agree 

that it came down to dif fer ing core values 

about how the forests should be managed. 

“Early settlers and explorers came here 

and found the land to be very beautiful,” said 

Dana Salway, a fi refi ghter and Salish Indian 

from the Flathead Reservation. “But they 

feared fi re, which was the very thing that we 

used to maintain the land scape.” 

Arizona State University professor Stephen 

J. Pyne, one of the foremost experts on the 

history of fi re, wrote in Fire in America that the 

country’s need for com mer cial timber was 

also a fun da men tal mo ti va tion for the settlers 

to suppress fi re from the landscape.

In 1878, John Wesley Powell, director 

of both the U.S. Geological Survey and the 

Bureau of Ethnology, said in his famous Arid 

Lands report that he wanted to save the forests 

from the wildland fi res he saw ignited by 

American Indians in Colorado and Utah, 

which “destroyed more timber than that 

taken by the people of the territory since its 

oc cu pa tion.”

Another major factor in the exclusion of 

fi re was the Great Idaho Fire of August 1910, 

which destroyed several million acres in Idaho 

and Montana and killed 85 people.

According to Pyne, the burn was a turning 

point in American fi re history because it drastically altered the way the country perceived 

wildfi res. A year later, the USFS fi refi ghting 

program was es tab lished, and with its formation a nationwide approach to wildland 

pres er va tion focused on ex tin guish ing all 

wildland fi res. 

As other government land agencies were 

established, they followed the USFS lead on 

fi re suppression. With an ag gres sive suppres sion policy, the annual acreage de stroyed 

by wildfi res in the United States dropped 

from more than 40 million acres a year in the 

1930s to 5 million acres by 1970. 

But by completely suppressing wild fi res 

without otherwise reducing fuels, the ec o -

sys tem was interrupted, altering the structure 

Members of the 

Ute Mountain Ute 

Firefi ghters during 

the Snaking Fire in 

Colorado, April 2002

and composition of forests and creating a 

tinderbox of diseased and overgrown forests. 

Many trees that would have been nat u ral ly 

expunged from woodlands by regular, lowintensive fi res instead be came infected with 

disease and produced an unhealthy landscape.

According to Managing the Impact of Wildfi res 

on Communities and the En vi ron ment: A Report to 

the President In Response to the Wildfi res of 2000 

(Sep tem ber 2000): 

Over time, these trees became sus cep ti ble 

to insects and disease. Standing dead and 

dying trees in conjunction with other brush 

and downed material began to fi ll the forest 

fl oor. The resulting ac cu mu la tion of these 

materials, when dried by extended periods 

of drought created the fuels that promote the 

type of wildfi res we have seen this year.

In short, decades of aggressive fi re suppres sion have drastically changed the look 

and fi re behavior of Western forests and 

rangelands. Forests a century ago were less 

dense and had larger, more fi re-resistant 

trees.... As a result, studies show that today’s 

wildfi res typically burn hotter, faster, and 

higher than those of the past. 
114

At Home in the Woods

In short, the exclusion of fi re from the 

ecosystem contributed to an increase in the 

frequency and magnitude of wild fi res. 

Fire ecology

There was a short pause when Dan Bailey, 

USFS Wildland/Urban Interface Program 

Coordinator and National Fire Protection 

Association board member, was asked if he 

thought the aggressive sup pres sion policy 

played a role in the recent rash of cat a stroph ic 

wildfi res since the late 1980s.

“That’s part of it,” replied the former 

fi refi ghter. “There are fi res that have to be put 

out. The real issue is that in the past we have 

not looked totally at how to deal with fuels 

and vegetation from a man age ment standpoint. It’s a tough situation to deal with and 

still is. 

“Fires are part of the normal ec o sys tem 

of the land. Today there’s a different attitude 

about how to manage fi re. We’ve done such 

a good job at suppressing in the past, we’ve 

built up the fuels. Now we have those fuels 

alongside housing de vel op ments. Now we’re 

trying to save lives and property and sometimes we’re stretched so thin, we don’t have 

the resources to combat the wildland fi res.”

Firewise Communities/USA, for which 

Bailey is a workshop coordinator, is a 

na tion al program designed to help commu ni ties survive wildland fi re. The goal of 

Firewise is not to suppress fi res, but to educate people living in the wild land/urban interface about how to create defensible space 

around homes, plan fi re-safe sub di vi sions 

and build with fi re-resistant ma te ri als. 

Bailey cited other factors related to the 

increased incidence of catastrophic wild land 

fi res.

“We’ve been in drought conditions for 

several years, with the expansion of homes 

and subdivisions being built in wildland areas 

not conducive to fi refi ghting,” Bailey said. 

“More and more people are moving to wildland areas, from New York to Wy o ming.”

Statistics support Bailey’s assertion. Eight 

out of the 10 fastest-growing states in the 

country are in the interior West. The average 

annual population growth na tion al ly is about 

one percent, while the West is growing at a 

rate of 2.5 percent to 13 percent. As a result, 

communities are expanding into fi re-prone 

areas, often adjacent to federal land. 

“If fi re enters the picture, it’s back to dealing with saving lives and property. Whether 

people see that as suppression or not, it’s what's 

got to be done,” Bailey said. “What’s different 

today is that a lot of com mu ni ties are learning 

about vegetation man age ment and thinning 

around their homes and communities.”

Montana fi refi ghters
115

At Home in the Woods

As early as the 1930s there were land 

managers who tried to return the United 

States to a more natural fi re regime. Pre scribed 

burning is not a new tech nique with federal 

land management agencies, and there have 

been foresters conducting low-level prescribed burnings whenever possible during 

the last 40 years. 

Those efforts, however, were often 

met with public resistance. Reasons varied 

throughout the country, but they included 

worries about prescribed burns getting out 

of control, destruction of buried cultural 

artifacts, air pollution, disturbing animal habitats and killing endangered plant and animal 

species.

But with the emergence of fi re ecology in 

the 1970s, it became more apparent to land 

managers that fi re was indeed an integral 

part of an interdependent system of plants, 

animals and the land.

Previous methods of managing the land 

would not suffi ce as more and more people 

moved into the wildland/urban interface and 

encountered fi re fi rsthand.

The National Fire Plan

As the 20th century came to a close, wildland fi re rivaled record-setting hur ri canes and 

earthquakes for disaster head lines. The unprecedented Yellowstone fi res of 1988 began 

a public debate about fi re management after 

800,000 acres of the national park burned.

More than 10,000 homes were de stroyed 

by wildfi re between 1985 and 2000. In 1994 

alone, 34 fi refi ghters were killed, including 

14 on Storm King Mountain in Glenwood 

Springs, Col o rado. A need for a new fi re plan 

was clear. 

At the request of President Clinton, the 

secretaries of Agriculture and In te ri or developed 

a response to the severe wildland fi res making 

headlines in 2000. The result was the National 

Fire Plan, which included creation of a 10-year 

comprehensive strategy. 

This strategy was developed by fed er al, 

state, tribal and local governments and nongovernmental representatives. Their objectives 

were to improve the management of wildland fi re and haz ard ous fuels, and to restore 

and rehabilitate the ecosystem on federal and 

adjacent state, tribal and private forest and 

range lands. 

Nationwide, federal and state agencies 

are now reintroducing fi re into the landscape in an attempt to return forests to a 

pre-fi re-suppression condition. In 2002, 

land man ag ers removed brush, small trees 

and downed material from 2.5 million acres 

on federal land, using small, in ten tion al ly 

set “pre scribed” fi res and me chan i cal thinning techniques. 

After more than a century of sup pres sion, 

fi re had been returned to the ec o sys tem as 

part of a national, co or di nat ed land manage ment strategy. 

Restoring a cultural landscape

According to Whitman, the “new” fi re 

ecology is recapturing American Indians’ 

historical knowledge about the role and use 

of fi re. White, for one, sees obvious ben e fi ts in 

bringing together traditional tribal values and 

modern fi re science. 

Having an opportunity for the man ag ers 

and elders to work cooperatively could 

really benefi t both groups. The elders can 

provide guidance and direction, the forest 

managers, science and technology. If that 

can happen we can build a powerful management pro gram, a program that is sustainable because it is informed and guided 

by a culture with thousands of years of 

successful man age ment ex pe ri ence and 

carried out by highly skilled professionals 

and technicians.

 — Germaine White,

 Northern Lights Magazine

The cross-cultural dialogue White 

en vi sions has already begun to occur between some government land agencies and 

tribes.
116

At Home in the Woods

Bureau of Indian Affairs (BIA) Re gion al 

Wildland/Urban Interface Fire Prevention 

Manager Val Christianson works with tribes 

throughout the nation to reduce fuels on 

reservations. Part of his job is to make sure 

the BIA is in compliance with the tribes’ 

traditional and cultural conventions.

“We have a very active fuel reduction program that is very holistic,” said Christianson. 

“We work with the tribes and in some cases 

the tribe will actually take over the entire 

management on its res er va tion.” 

In accordance with the National Fire Plan, 

the BIA National Fire Program Offi ce located 

at the National In ter agen cy Fire Center (NIFC) 

in Boise, Idaho, has im ple ment ed a nationwide program to reduce hazardous fuels and 

reintroduce fi re to restore healthier landscapes 

on all federal tribal lands. 

The BIA has been treating fuels under the 

auspices of the National Fire Plan since 2001. 

More than 195,000 acres have been treated 

on Native American land in the past two years 

at a cost of $50 million. 

“We are in constant dialogue with the 

tribes and tribal members about any work 

conducted on the reservations throughout 

the country,” said Dennis Dupuis, BIA-NIFC 

deputy of fi re use and fuels. “We depend on 

tribal leadership to guide us on our projects 

concerning the restoration of their land and 

protection of their com mu ni ties.”

According to Dupuis, the re in tro duc tion 

of fi re to a fi re-dependent ecosystem has a 

two-fold objective.

“With prescribed burnings, fi re can return 

to its natural role in the res to ra tion, main te -

nance and healing of the forests and rangelands,” he said. “Second, the re duc tion of hazardous fuels adjacent to the urban in ter face 

and intermix will protect com mu ni ties when 

wildland fi re does break out.”

Near Santee, Nebraska, fi re was re in tro -

duced to the Winnebago Tribal Rangelands in 

order to reduce fuels and restore the land to 

pre-suppression conditions. The BIA and the 

Natural Resource Branch of the Winnebago 

Agency, in cooperation with the Santee Sioux 

Tribe of Nebraska, began the restoration 

project in June 2001. 

One of the goals of the 2,500-acre project 

is the eradication of the Eastern red cedar 

and the return of Native prairie grasslands—

which were once dominated by Big Bluestem, 

Little Bluestem, Indian Grass and Green 

Needle Grass but which had become heavily 

infested with cedar, dom i nat ing much of the 

landscape. 

The Santee Sioux tribe strongly en dorsed 

the goals of the Winnebago Agency while 

making its own rec om men da tions for a 

healthier landscape. The tribe’s concern for 

the return of its cultural plants to the landscape is what Whitman hopes to see contin ued through out the country. 

“Many of our culturally important plants 

have been threatened or en dan gered,” 

Whitman said. “Native Amer i cans would like 

to use fi re as a way to recover those plants.”

When the drought ends, Dupuis plans 

to move into full production of managing 

200,000 acres of tribal land every year with 

mechanical thinning and prescribed burnings.

Whitman and White both see the Na tion al 

Fire Plan as a blueprint for restoring not just 

tribal land to a health i er condition, but all 

wildlands. 

White envisions a landscape rich and 

abundant with traditional foods and med i -

cines. “I see lots of animals. I imag ine how 

enriched our language and culture would 

be, and how important those culture bearers 

would be who had the tribal knowledge of 

fi re,” she said.

For Whitman, he hopes to see the next 

generation of American Indians combine fi re 

ecology with traditional knowledge, in what 

he referred to as “cultural science.”

Whitman concluded, “We need to encour age land managers to use fi re as a tool to 

shape the landscape and we need to educate 

the public to not be afraid of fi re. You’re 

always going to have fi re. You just have to 

contain it, as opposed to fi ghting it.”

“We depend on tribal leadership to guide us on our projects con cern ing 

the res to ra tion of their land and protection of their com mu ni ties.”

 — Dennis Dupuis
117

At Home in the Woods

JACK COHEN COULD BE CONSIDERED the 

Sherlock Holmes of wildfi re. 

For more than 30 years, he’s been work ing 

the same case. 

He’s been trying to unlock the mys tery of 

wildfi res — how they burn, why they burn 

a certain way, how they impact people, and 

why some struc tures survive a forest fi re and 

others don’t. 

And he’s hit upon an idea to better protect 

homes in the face of wildfi re. 

Cohen, 52, is a research physical sci en tist 

with the U.S. Forest Service in Missoula, 

Montana. He is a pub lished author and nationally known expert on wildfi res. He holds 

a bachelor of science degree in forest science 

with an emphasis on fi re science, and a master 

of science in bioclimatology. 

He’s fought wildfi res as a fi refi ghter and, as 

a scientist, seen countless others in action. 

He’s conducted extensive experiments to 

better understand fi re physics, fi re behavior 

and the effects of wildland fi res on forests and 

structures. 

He’s dug through the remains of hun dreds 

of homes and buildings that have succumbed 

to wildfi res. 

What he’s learned is that protecting your 

home from wildfi re can be done — and it’s 

the little things that count.

Understanding fi re 

Before you can decide what to do, Cohen 

says, it helps to know some thing about fi re and 

to understand what puts your house at risk. 

For fi re to occur, you need three el e ments: 

fuel, heat and oxygen. Take away any one of 

those elements, and a fi re can’t continue to 

burn. 

To actually catch something on fi re, it takes 

direct fl ame contact with a fuel or intense 

radiant heating that breaks down that fuel to 

the point where it ignites. 

In the context of fi re, “fuel” means anything that will combust, or burn. 

In a wildfi re setting, that fuel can be 

things like tree foliage, dead pine needles, 

grass, wood, patio furniture cushions, even 

brooms. 

So how do structures ignite? There are 

three basic ways: 

✔ When fi re creates such intense radiant heat 

that a nearby combustible starts burn ing; 

✔ When the fi re burns right to an object or 

right to the structure, causing the fl ames 

to directly touch and ignite something 

that will burn; and

✔ When fi ery embers, also known as fi rebrands, fl y through the air and land on the 

structure or one or more com bus ti bles, 

starting a fi re. 

Tackling misconceptions 

So how do you know if your home is at 

risk from a wildfi re? 

Quite simply, if you live in or adjacent to 

a wooded area, you’re at risk. If you live on or 

near grasslands or a prairie, you’re at risk. 

But just how big is that risk and what 

causes it? The answers might surprise you. 

There are many misconceptions about 

wildfi res, Cohen says. One of the most common is that houses burn down because they 

are overrun by fi re. 

“Our perception is that this great fl ame 

front comes through and it travels ev ery where 

and incinerates everything,” Cohen says. 

“Except that’s not how it happens. You can 

have a very intense fi re with big fl ames, but 

more often than not, it’s not the big fl ames 

that burn the house down.” 

Here’s why. 

How Homes Ignite 

Building a better defense against wildfi re
118

At Home in the Woods

Crown fi res — where fl ames spread from 

treetop-to-treetop—tend to consume their 

fuel in about 60 seconds, causing them to 

burn out before they can ignite most structures, Cohen has found. 

For crown fi res to ignite the wood wall of 

a house, the fl ames have to be within 100 feet 

of the structure. Though that scenario does 

happen, it’s not as common as people think, 

he adds. 

Another misconception is that houses 

burn because forest fi res give off such intense heat. We assume if a fi re is hot enough 

to burn us as people, it is also hot enough to 

quickly ignite wood. 

But Cohen’s studies have shown that it 

takes far less heat to cause a burn on a person 

than it does to catch other things, such as 

wood, on fi re. A heat exposure that can give a 

person a second-degree burn in fi ve seconds 

takes more than 27 minutes to ignite wood. 

While intense heat can cause a wood wall 

to burn in less time than that, it usually has 

to be within 100 feet of the house to occur, 

Cohen says. 

Greatest threats 

So what does pose the greatest threat to 

houses? 

Most often, it’s the fi rebrands — little fi ery 

bits of burning embers, usually wood pieces, 

which shoot off from the main fi re and get carried to other areas by fast-moving air currents. 

A high-intensity fi re can produce a virtual 

blizzard of fi rebrands, much like snow. And 

some fi rebrands can travel more than a mile 

before landing, Cohen says. When the embers 

do come down, they often start other fi res if 

they land on something that can burn. 

What makes fi rebrands so effective in igniting fi res is that there can be thousands of them, 

depending on what’s burning in the forest, and 

that they can get into the smallest of spaces. 

In short, a fi rebrand can easily start enough 

of a fi re to burn down an entire house. 

“The fi rebrand size that becomes ef fec tive 

is a quarter-inch piece of branch, one-inch to 

three-inches long, that’s come off a burning 

tree,” Cohen says. “There can be a bazillion 

of them fl ying around in the air. That size is 

quite common and quite ef fec tive in creating 

ignitions. The same hot and dry conditions 

that foster extreme fi res enhance the ability 

for those fi rebrands to ignite something.” 

Cohen has seen the mark of fi rebrands 

time and again during fi re investigations of 

burned houses from coast to coast. Some of 

these examples came from wildfi res in Laguna 

Beach, California (1993); north east ern 

Florida (1998); Los Alamos, New Mexico 

(2000); the Bitterroot Valley of Montana 

(2000); and Durango, Colorado (2002). In 

each place, Cohen found struc tures that were 

completely destroyed, even though the trees 

and vegetation around them hadn’t burned. 

“In many cases, we fi nd out that houses 

are totally destroyed with unconsumed vegetation surrounding the structures,” Cohen 

says. “The fi rst clue is that the vegetation isn’t 

as fl ammable as the houses. That means that 

whatever destroyed the house didn’t catch the 

vegetation on fi re. And what we learn from 

that is that it doesn’t take big fl ames to burn 

the house down.” 

Those fi ndings, which he has seen in an 

estimated 70 percent to 80 percent of the 

cases he’s investigated, just reinforced what he 

had already learned from studying fi re behavior and other fi eld experiments. 

It’s the little things that count. 

This home in the 

Bitterroot Valley, 

Montana, survived a 

crown fi re just 300 feet 

away

“...what we learn...is that it doesn’t take big fl ames to burn the house down.”

— Jack Cohen
119

At Home in the Woods

Home Ignition Zone 

In the course of Cohen’s research, a pattern 

began to emerge. And it led him to create what 

he calls the “Home Ignition Zone.”

Basically, the Home Ignition Zone de ter -

mines how vulnerable your house is to wildfi res. Cohen considers “the zone” to begin 

with the house and include ev ery thing within 

100 feet of the home. By reducing the fl ammability of your house and everything else 

within the zone, you can greatly lessen the 

chance that your home will catch fi re, even 

with a raging crown fi re nearby. 

“The Home Ignition Zone principally 

determines vulnerability to all the things that 

can ignite the house — the fl ames and the 

fi rebrands,” Cohen says. “At a very min i mum, 

you want to make sure that there is no fi re 

within 10 feet of your house and then no big 

fl ames within 100 feet.” 

Anyone can create “the zone.” In fact, 

it will be your principal defense against an 

extreme wildfi re. 

To begin, Cohen recommends starting 

with the house and working your way out. 

Keep in mind the “little things” that can contribute to fi re ignition and spread. 

First, assess the roof. The right roof covering is essential to protecting your home 

because the top of the house is so vulnerable 

to fi rebrands. 

“A fl ammable roof will make the dif fer -

ence of your house being destroyed and not 

being destroyed, regardless of what else you 

do,” Cohen says. 

The most common fl ammable roof covering is wood shake shingles. If the shingles 

don’t have a pressure-treated fi re retardant, they 

could be a hotbed for fi re, Cohen says. 

Merely applying a fi re retardant to the 

outside of the shingle generally isn’t good 

enough in the long run, he adds. Sun and rain 

can cause the retardant to break down, leaving 

your shingles unprotected long before your 

roof wears out. 

To know whether your shake shingles 

are fi re retardant, Cohen suggests this 

ex per i ment: 

“Go fi nd the edge of a shingle and take a 

pocket knife and cut a strip of wood off that 

edge,” he says. “Holding the splint vertically, 

ignite the bottom edge. If it won’t sustain 

fl aming without a match or lighter on it, then 

very likely the fi re retardant treatment is still 

working. And that’s good news because it will 

inhibit fi rebrands.” 

Ultimately, he says, you want a non-fl ammable roof, which is any covering other than 

fl ammable wood shake shingles or thatch. 

Roofs covered with composition shin gles, 

metal, slate, clay tile or terra cotta tile fi t this 

bill. If you have terra cotta tile, make sure the 

open spaces around the tile are fi lled. Oth er wise, 

fi rebrands can fl y into those gaps and ignite the 

house from the inside. 

A fi rebrand this small 

can ignite a house

Cohen considers “the 

zone” to begin with 

the house and include 

everything within 100 

feet of it

100 ft. 100 ft.

Home Ignition Zone
120

At Home in the Woods

Survey the house design 

Look at the architectural features of your 

house. Are there areas where fi re brands can 

collect and start a fi re? 

Dormers, split-level roofs and lots of 

nooks and crannies create the perfect nest 

for burning embers. Pay particular at ten tion 

to any and all inside corners. That’s where fi rebrands can easily pile up, Cohen says. 

Wherever possible, cover those cor ners. 

Metal fl ashing, like that used to redirect 

water on roofs, is very effective because the 

fi rebrands will land on the metal rather than 

a surface that readily burns. 

Check your gutters to ensure they are clear. 

They can be a haven for pine needles, leaves 

and other fl ammable debris. 

While you’re at it, eyeball the eaves. 

They’re a favorite place for birds to build a 

nest. And that could be a heyday for a fi rebrand. 

Remember, too, that vents provide the 

perfect opening for a fi rebrand. So add a oneeighth-inch metal screen over the vent opening to create a barrier. 

At ground level, the rule is the same —

corners, corners, corners. 

“Think about where snow accumulates in 

the wintertime, where leaves accumulate on a 

day-to-day basis, where trash blows,” Cohen 

says. “Those are the locations where you can 

start accumulating things that will catch on 

fi re and also where the fi rebrands will collect.”

In those corners, make sure other combus ti bles, such as grass or leaves, don’t pile in 

an inside corner — especially on a fl ammable 

surface. 

Take a walk around 

Next, walk around your house. Stop and 

look at each side. Visualize if there is any thing 

there that can or will easily burn. Look for the 

little things. 

For example, is there dry grass growing 

up against or leading right to the foun da tion 

that could then ignite a nearby wood wall? 

Are there pine needles or leaves lying around 

that lead to the house? Is there dead veg e -

ta tion underneath bushes and shrubs? Is 

there a woodpile next to the house or on the 

home’s deck? 

Remove anything that will burn, es pe cial ly 

if it’s close enough to the structure to catch it 

on fi re. Then make a point to keep those areas 

cleaned out at all times. 

Take notice of your everyday “stuff” 

as well — patio furniture cushions, hemp 

door mats, brooms, recycling bags. Consider 

alternative locations to keep fi rebrands from 

reaching them. 

Treat attachments to your house as though 

they are part of the house when looking at the 

fi re danger — and your risk. 

That means paying attention to things like 

attached garages, breezeways, wood en fences, 

wooden decks, and walkways made of wood 

planking or covered with wood chips—especially if those paths trail right to your house 

or to an adjacent out build ing. 

“If it’s attached to your house and it’s 

fl ammable, consider it part of your house,” 

Cohen advises. “You don’t want fi re to be 

touching it because it can lead the fl ames 

right to your house.” 

Consider replacing a fl ammable walk way 

with stepping stones or crushed rock. If you 

have a wooden fence touch ing the house, 

break the connection with a metal gate. 

Scout out openings like exterior crawl 

spaces or the critter zone under wooden 

porches and decks. If there’s fl ammable debris, such as leaves and pine needles underneath there, remove it. Then screen the open 

area using one-eighth-inch metal mesh to 

create a barrier for fi rebrands. 

Jack Cohen explains 

how fi rewood stored 

beside a structure can 

be a serious problem
121

At Home in the Woods

Consider building a bin for fi rewood, 

again, to keep fi rebrands from landing on top 

of or in between pieces of stacked fi rewood. 

Vegetation counts 

Vegetation is part of the fi re risk, too. So 

focus on what’s growing around your house. 

“Flame contact with the structure is a 

bad idea, so let’s not have anything burning 

within ten feet,” Cohen says. 

Remove any dead plant material. Think 

about creating a buffer zone of rock around the 

base of the house with non-fl ammable plants, 

such as irises and pruned shrubs—all of which 

can help keep fi re away from your structure. 

If you have trees, fi gure out what kind 

they are and how close they are to any 

structures. If you need to, consult a forester 

or landscaper for help in identifying the tree 

species. It’s a little thing you’ll need to know 

to assess your risk.

By and large, Cohen says, live deciduous 

trees do not support high-intensity fi re in 

the treetops. But conifers or evergreen broadleaves — such as live oak — can. If those trees 

are in a dense-enough patch, they can support 

a lot of high-intensity fi re.

If you have high-risk trees, it doesn’t mean 

you’re doomed. 

“You don’t have to cut all the trees down 

around your house,” Cohen notes. “You don’t 

have to live in a parking lot to succeed. But 

you do need to recognize that you may have 

to thin out the trees.” 

Single trees or small clusters of three to 

four trees can be OK as long as the tree canopies have a 20- to 30-foot sep a ra tion from 

other clusters of trees. You want that spacing 

to keep fi re from jumping among the treetops 

and possibly to your house. 

If the trees within your 100-foot zone are 

denser than that, thin them out to avoid problems during extreme wildfi re con di tions. 

Prune all trees so that the lowest branch 

material is approximately eight feet off the 

ground, Cohen advises. That helps to keep 

a low-intensity surface (ground) fi re from 

igniting the branches and spreading to the 

rest of the tree. 

If the area around your house is not 

wooded, but surrounded by grasslands or 

prairie, you can and should create “a zone” as 

well by cutting your grass. 

“Mowing the grass 30 to 60 feet from our 

structures signifi cantly reduces the intensity of 

a prairie fi re to the point where you won’t be 

igniting your home or out build ings as long as 

you don’t have dead grass leading right to the 

structures,” Cohen says. 

“You don’t need as large a zone for a 

prairie as you do for a conifer forest because a 

grass fi re doesn’t produce as high-intensity of 

a fi re as we see in the forest,” he adds. “Grass 

and prairie fi res tend to burn at a lower intensity and for shorter durations.” 

Though burning grass also can produce 

fl ying sparks that can touch off other fi res, 

Cohen says, the problem isn’t as prevalent as 

fi rebrands from a forest fi re.

Lastly, if a neighbor’s house is within 100 

feet of yours, it can be a fuel source for your 

structure. So get together and create over lap -

ping Home Ignition Zones. 

“The neighborhood that doesn’t work together to reduce their vulnerability to fi re will 

surely burn together,” Cohen says. 

The bottom line is that you can defend 

yourself against wildfi re. And “the zone” can 

help you do it. 

“You don’t have to live in a concrete-block 

house with stainless steel garage doors and a 

metal deck all the way around it,” Cohen says.

You just have to remember — it’s the little 

things that count.

If fl ammable materials 

are not removed, an 

overhang can provide 

an easy way for fi re to 

spread to a house
122

At Home in the Woods

Living with Fire

Communities Reduce Risks with Firewise Concepts

ROBIN WYATT-LITTLE GETS EMOTIONAL

when she talks about the brave men and 

women who put themselves in harm’s way to 

protect lives and prop er ty from fi re.

In June 1999, Wyatt-Little came face-to-face 

with the Hillside Fire just outside the central 

California town of Kernville. From a mountaintop, she watched as the out-of-control blaze 

edged its way up a slope toward her home. 

Flames on the other side of the road below the 

home trapped her husband.

“The fi re trucks couldn’t rescue him,” WyattLittle, 60, recalled. “At 66 years of age, he ran 

up our small mountain and escaped the fi re to 

safety.”

A few hours later, the fi re was con tained 

and Wyatt-Little drove down the mountain 

expecting to see com plete dev as ta tion.

“But as I went down the road, here was 

each home rising out of the ashes, with these 

little oases of homes still intact. And I was just 

amazed! It was one wonderful surprise after 

another,” she exclaimed.

Wyatt-Little told her story at a 2003 

Firewise Communities Workshop in 

Bakers fi eld, California. The fi re had come 

within 20 feet of her property and she had 

noth ing but praise for the fi refi ghters who 

contained the blaze. Not a single house was 

lost. 

“I still get goose bumps when I talk about 

it because I describe this as feeling like a child 

when you see a fi re truck coming up the road. 

It’s like your parents are coming to take care 

of everything,” she said.

“A few days later, I was told that maybe 

that’s not the healthiest attitude about fi refi ghters, but it was an honest as sess ment on 

my part because I had not ex pe ri enced this 

before. I’m from Buffalo, New York. What do I 

know about wild fi re?”

It turns out that Wyatt-Little knew enough 

to help keep her home and com mu ni ty from 

burning. The defensible space that she and her 

homeowners’ association had created was the 

reason for all the “oases” she saw that June day.

In April, only two months before the fi re 

broke out, the Kern Valley Fire Safety Council 

had given a presentation at one of her homeowners’ association meetings.

“They scared the daylights out of us with 

a wonderful video on wildfi re,” Wyatt-Little 

recalled. “Within a week, I saw people out 

there clearing and creating their defensible 

space. What we were soon to learn and realize 

was that defensible space works.”

It wasn’t long after that fi rst wildland 

fi re experience that Dan Anglin, co or di na tor 

of the Kern River Valley Fire Safety Council, 

called to ask if she would join the group.

“So now I’m the fi rst one to get out there 

and beat the drums for defensible space,” she 

said, adding a fi nal thought before breaking 

down in front of the 125 Firewise workshop 

participants. “I get real emotional for all of 

you who work on our behalf to make us safe.”

Perhaps Wyatt-Little didn’t realize it at the 

time, but she had broken the cycle of being 

a fi re victim. She too was now work ing on behalf of people in making them safer from fi re.

A diagram provided 

by Firewise on their 

Web site to help home 

owners con struct 

defensible space
123

At Home in the Woods

Across the country, attitudes and policies 

are changing from the traditional view of fi refi ghters as “protectors” and homeowners as 

“victims” of wildland fi re. The paradigm has 

shifted from “protector-victim” to “part nerpartner.”

Wyatt-Little had gone from being a potential victim of wildland fi re to an empowered 

partner and protector of her own community.

What is Firewise?

Firewise is an idea that has been long in 

coming but is now catching on throughout 

the country.

It was the devastating wildfi res in 1985 

that got the attention of fi re service pro fes -

sion als, who began to see a growing number 

of fi re losses in wildland/urban interface 

areas. That year, wildland fi res claimed more 

than 1,400 homes in Cal i for nia and Florida 

alone.

A year later, the National Fire Pro tec tion 

Association (NFPA) and the U.S. Forest Service 

(USFS) held a conference with professionals 

from many disciplines and agencies to help 

defi ne the issues associated with living in the 

wildland/urban interface.

“At fi rst we coordinated and dealt only 

with the government agencies and fi re safety 

organizations to address this growing problem,” said Dan Bailey, USFS Wildland Urban 

Interface Program coordinator and NFPA 

board member.

“But with more and more fi res in the early 

1990s, our thinking shifted away from government dependence on fi nding so lu tions,” 

Bailey added. “We came to the conclusion that 

we had to share the prob lem-solving with the 

communities at risk, and that’s the concept 

we’re dealing with now — the community.”

The result is Firewise, initiated in 1999 by 

the National Wildland/Urban Interface Fire 

Working Team, a con sor tium of federal agencies and national associations.

The team’s goal for the program is not 

only to address current wildland/urban 

interface issues, but also to shape a future 

where homes and businesses are built to 

survive wildland fi res without direct help 

from fi refi ghting resources. If that can be 

accomplished, offi cials say, then the limited 

resources can be focused solely on con trol -

ling the wildfi re.

By February 2003, more than a dozen 

communities in Arizona, California, Col o rado, 

Florida, Idaho, New Mexico, Wash ing ton and 

Utah were participating in the Firewise program, which has earned a National Fire Plan 

Award for its com mit ment to training communities to be more resistant to catastrophic 

wildfi res.

About the workshops

One of the most successful elements of the 

Firewise initiative is the workshop format that 

is used to get the ball rolling in a community.

The workshops — which bring together 

homeowners, planners, community leaders, fi re service representatives, architects and 

developers—are designed to show in di vid u als 

how to perform wildfi re risk and hazard severity assessments and how to build partnerships 

within their own com mu ni ties.

Beginning in 2000, the workshops utilized 

an interactive approach that teaches par tic i pants 

to plan and im ple ment basic fi re resistant community development practices.

The participants use Geographic In for ma tion 

Systems (GIS) mapping software to apply real-life 

lessons in a fi ctionalized setting. 

GIS allows participants to spatially depict 

land use, subdivision design and fi re pro tec tion 

planning issues in a dynamic format. Maps can 

be produced for pre sen ta tion or evaluation 

purposes, and computers enable more extensive 

assessment analysis and rapid decision-making.
124

At Home in the Woods

Workshop participants then divide into 

groups to learn how to conduct wildland fi re 

risk and hazard severity assessments for the fi ctional communities of Bear Heights and Lake 

Heights, in the fi ctional Falls County. Once the 

groups determine the fi re hazard ratings, partic i pants look at ways to reduce those haz ards, 

using a community-based approach.

“What’s great about the Firewise workshops is that they empower all the players,” 

said workshop participant Jody Lyle, a fi re 

information and ed u ca tion specialist for 

Sequoia and Kings Canyon National Parks. 

“The workshop makes everyone responsible 

for a safer com mu ni ty.”

As of February 2003, Firewise had conducted 20 workshops throughout the country, reaching more than 2,000 par tic i pants 

from almost 800 com mu ni ties in 47 states. 

For more information on workshop dates 

and locations, visit the Firewise Web site at 

www.fi rewise.org/communities.

Follow-up and support

Once participants complete the Firewise 

Communities Workshop, they have access 

to a variety of tools and resources that can 

help them create their own community fi re 

management plan.

To help implement Firewise principles 

within a community, the program provides 

additional support features including the Web 

site, resource materials, follow-up technical 

assistance, computer software, textbooks and 

other publications. 

“Firewise is more than just our workshops,” Bailey emphasized. “Our or ga ni za tion 

keeps participants and others informed of 

Firewise concepts through numerous ed u ca -

tion al projects.”

The program also encourages outreach by 

partnering with local businesses.

“We’re working with Home Depot, Lowe’s 

and Ace Hardware with kiosks that dem on -

strate the kind of fi re hazards facing com mu -

ni ties and what kinds of materials individuals 

should incorporate into their homes in order 

to protect them from wildfi re,” Bailey said.

Breaking the cycle

The success in Kernville, California, is 

exactly what Bailey hopes Firewise will generate 

nationwide.

“What we learned about the wildland/

urban interface problem is that we really need 

to keep the focus on the homeowners and the 

community,” Bailey said. “That’s where the 

constant changes occur.

“The community is part of the so lu tion. 

We want to empower each in di vid u al in the 

community so they are no longer caught up 

in the cycle of the ‘protector-victim,’ where 

fi refi ghters come out to save every home 

while trying to battle the fi re.

“Our goal is to train communities on 

how to build fi re-resistant homes, have better 

urban planning and create defensible space 

so they become their own protectors from 

wildland fi re.”

It is an idea that works.

This is a general 

purpose quarter-page ad 

pro vid ed by Firewise for 

a com mu ni ty’s specifi c 

needs
125

At Home in the Woods

THE PROCESS TO BECOME a recognized 

Firewise community is simple, re gard less of 

where you live. Here’s how to get started: 

Step 1: Contact Firewise

Notify the Firewise Communities repre sen ta tive in your state or log onto the 

Firewise/USA Communities Web site at 

www.fi rewise.org to express your interest in 

starting the process.

Step 2: Site Visit

A wildland/urban interface specialist will 

contact you to schedule a site visit. This visit 

will be coordinated with local fi re offi cials. 

During the visit, your specialist will collect 

in for ma tion for a community assessment. 

Step 3: Community Representatives

Gather together community rep re sen ta tives and create a multi-disciplined Firewise 

board. Besides homeowners and fi re pro fes -

sion als, this board can include planners, land 

managers, urban foresters and/or members of 

other interest groups.

Step 4: Assessment & Evaluation

Once the community assessment and evaluation are completed, the wild land/urban interHow To Be A Recognized Firewise 

Community

RECOGNIZED 

FIREWISE COMMUNITIES

Briargate, Florida

Emigration Canyon, Utah

Genesee, Colorado

Greater Eastern Jemez Wildland/Urban 

Interface Corridor, New Mex i co

Hyde Park Estates & Aztec Springs, 

New Mexico

Perry Park, Colorado

River Bluff Ranch, Washington

Sundance, Utah

Timber Ridge, Arizona

Wedgefi eld, Florida

Whiting Woods, California

Wilderness Ranch, Idaho

face specialist will schedule a meeting with your 

Firewise board. The assessment and evaluation 

will be pre sent ed for review and acceptance. 

Step 5: Create Plan

The Firewise board will use the as sess ment 

information to create agree able, area-specifi c 

solutions to your wildfi re issues. The specialist 

may work with your com mu ni ty to identify and seek project im ple men ta tion funds, 

should they be necessary. 

Step 6: Implement Solutions

Local solutions will be implemented 

according to a schedule designed by your 

Firewise board and the wildland/urban 

interface specialist. This in cludes creating a 

permanent Firewise task force or com mit tee to 

maintain the program into the future.

Step 7: Apply for Recognition

You can apply for Firewise Com mu ni ties/

USA status when your implementation 

plan and one local project have been completed. The National Firewise Program will 

confi rm receipt of your application package. Ap pli ca tion forms are available on the 

Firewise Communities/USA Web site.

More about 

Firewise

This house near 

Jackson Hole, 

Wyoming, shows 

excellent defensible 

space provided by the 

clearing in front and the 

driveway in back
126

At Home in the Woods

A Homeowner’s Guide to Wildland Fire Protection

Video

Cost: $8.20 including shipping. Order from: Jackson/Teton County Fire Department; P.O. Box 

901; Jackson, WY 83301 or call (307) 733-4732.

Suggested audience: Homeowners/Fire Service and Educators/Businesses

Are You Firewise? 

Video (11:00 min.)/Notebook 

Introduces basic points homeowners need to consider and steps to take to protect homes 

from wildfi re in wildland/urban interface. Attempts to make homeowners look at their 

prop er ty’s hazard risk the way fi re professionals do. Useful for planners, fi re personnel and 

local offi cials. The “Are You Firewise” notebook, produced by the Colorado State Forest 

Service, includes fact sheets and slides on topics including: fi refi ghting vehicle accessibility 

to homes, water supply, defensible space. Video included. 

Cost: $10 for the VHS video; $50 for notebook with video. To order, write to: Judy Serby, 

Colorado State Forest Service, Colorado State University, Fort Collins, CO 80523-5060, or 

call (970) 491-7559. E-mail: jserby@lamar.colostate.edu. 

Suggested audience: Homeowners/Fire Service and Educators/Businesses

 Community/Local Offi cial

 Planner/Architects/Builders/Contractors

Building a Firewise Home 

Video (20:04 min.)

Provides prevention offi ces and those working with cooperators features that should be consid ered when building a home in the wildland/urban interface. Encourages builders and contractors to learn more about the particular fea tures of homes susceptible to ignition from wildfi re. Includes ways to improve a home’s chances of survival by suggesting to homeowners use 

of alternative materials and design elements, and where to place structure in a fi resafe location 

on lot.

Cost: Free. Contact: Firewise, 1 Batterymarch Park, Quincy, MA 02169. 

E-mail: cblake@nfpaorg. Catalog No. FWC-601-97-V.

Suggested audience: Homeowners/Fire Service and Educators/Businesses

 Planner/Architects/Builders/Contractors

Burning Issues CD

Florida State University and U.S. Department of Interior, Bureau of Land Management

Multimedia program addresses wildland fi re issues. High school and middle school 

stu dents use interactive features to learn about role of fi re in ecosystems. Four fi re ecoventures are available to help students explore prescribed fi re, and home and community 

pro tec tion/planning in wildland/urban interface. Activity requires users to put what they 

have learned to work when a wildland fi re is reported. 

Cost: $2. Order at www.symbols.gov, click on National Symbols Catalog and Fire Ed u ca tion 

or contact: National Symbols Cache, 402 SE 11th Street, Grand Rapids, MN 55744, or call

(218) 327-4282.

Suggested audience: Homeowners/Fire Service and Educators/Businesses

 Students/Teachers/Kids

Recommended publications Resource Guide
127

At Home in the Woods

Colorado State Forest Service Natural Resources Se ries Fact 

Sheets 

For Colorado homeowners and planners to protect homes from wildfi res. Topics include 

defensible space, landscaping, home fi re safety and vegetation. A homeowner wildfi re 

prep a ra tion checklist, Firewise plant list, defensible space diagram and native grass tables 

provide information at a glance. 

Available at www.ext.colostate.edu. Click on Drought/Fire, Fact Sheets, Fire Resources.

Cost: Single copy, free. Ten copies for $1. Contact: Judy Serby, Colorado State Forest Service, 

Colorado State University, Fort Collins, CO 80523-5060, or call (970) 491-7559. 

E-mail: jserby@lamar.colostate.edu.

Suggested audience: Homeowners/Fire Service and Educators/Businesses

 Planner/Architects/Builders/Contractors

Communicator’s Guide : Wildland Fire Book/Web Site 

Book/Web site

Provides background information about all aspects of wildland fi re including: ecological, social and policy aspects of wildland fi re, programming ideas, sample materials and 

resources for communicators. Useful for everyone who communicates to the public about 

wildland fi re including fi re personnel, teachers, and community leaders.

Available at www.nifc.gov under Prevention and Education section. 

Cost: $7. Order at www.symbols.gov, click on National Symbols Catalog, then Fire Ed u ca tion. 

By mail, contact: National Symbols Cache, 402 SE 11th Street, Grand Rapids, MN 55744, or 

call (218) 327-4282.

Suggested audience: Homeowners/Fire Service and Educators/Businesses

 Community/Local Offi cial

 Students/Teachers/Kids

Developing a Cooperative Approach to Wildland Fire 

Protection

Book/Video/Web site

Addressing wildland/urban interface fi re problems requires a community and interagency 

understanding of resource management challenges associated with urban growth, and is 

best accomplished at local levels where problems are most immediate. Describes process 

that may be adopted for use by many agencies for common purpose of fi re protection.

Available at www.fi rewise.org. Click on Resource Section. 

Cost: Free for booklet and video set. To order, contact Firewise, 1 Batterymarch Park, Quincy, 

MA 02169. E-mail: cblake@nfpa.org. Catalog No. FWC-600-97-V.

Suggested audience: Homeowners/Fire Service and Educators/Businesses

 Community/Local Offi cial
128

At Home in the Woods

Federal Emergency Management Agency (FEMA) 

Web site: www.fema.gov

Offers news releases, fact sheets, prevention and preparation information, situation updates, 

and checklists on wildfi res and other disaster information. The FEMA for Kids wildfi re 

section provides educational activities.

Suggested audience: Homeowners/Fire Service and Educators/Businesses

 Community/Local Offi cial

 Students/Teachers/Kids

FEMA Region VIII Wildfi res Web Site 

Web site: www.fema.gov/regions/viii/fi res.shtm

Offers wildfi re-related information for Colorado, Montana, North Dakota, South Dakota, 

Utah, and Wyoming. Includes preparedness, prevention and assessment fact sheets and 

checklists, news releases on wildfi re disaster declarations and assistance, Fire Management 

Assistance Grants, and links to other fi re-related sites. 

Suggested audience: Homeowners/Fire Service and Educators/Businesses

 Community/Local Offi cial

 Students/Teachers/Kids

Fire Education Materials Web Site 

Web site: www.symbols.gov

National Symbols Catalog’s Fire Education section offers a variety of materials for ed u cat ing 

children and homeowners. These newly developed materials expand on traditional fi re preven tion messages and include wildland fi re ecology, fi re behavior, fi re suppression, rec re -

ation al and home fi re safety, wildland/urban fi re protection. 

Offers activity and coloring books, and other products for order by state agencies, fi re 

de part ments, school teachers, and other authorized groups. Provides links to several fi rerelated Web sites with information for educators, and agency and state resources.

Suggested audience: Homeowners/Fire Service and Educators/Businesses

 Community/Local Offi cial

 Students/Teachers/Kids

Firewise Communities

Pamphlet

Provides information to make homes safe from fi res including tips for landscaping and 

main te nance, construction, a disaster plan, and emergency access. 

Cost: Free. Contact: Firewise, 1 Batterymarch Park, Quincy, MA 02169. 

E-mail: cblake@nfpa.org.

Suggested audience: Homeowners/Fire Service and Educators/Businesses

 Community/Local Offi cial

 Students/Teachers/Kids
129

At Home in the Woods

Firewise Communities/USA

Provides an overview of the Firewise Communities/USA program that aims to encourage 

and support action to minimize home loss to wildfi re in fi re-prone communities. Outlines basic steps ideal for small communities, developments and residential associations to 

assess wildfi re risks and create their own networks of cooperating homeowners, agencies 

and organizations to identify and implement local solutions to the wildfi re issue. 

Cost: Free. Contact: Firewise, 1 Batterymarch Park, Quincy, MA 02169. 

E-mail: cblake@nfpa.org.

Firewise Communities/USA: Creating a Firewise Community 

DVD/Video (17:00 min.) 

Firewise Communities/USA is a national recognition program developed to support and 

en cour age fi re-prone communities as they develop area-specifi c solutions to the wildfi re 

issue. Series explains standards that must be met by participants and showcases efforts of 

fi ve recognized Firewise Communities.

Cost: Free. Order at www.Firewise.org. Click on Publications Catalog or contact: Firewise, 1 

Batterymarch Park, Quincy, MA 02169. E-mail: cblake@nfpa.org. Catalog No. FWC-605-

02V (VHS). Catalog No. FWC-606-02-DV (DVD).

Suggested audience: Homeowners/Fire Service and Educators/Businesses

 Community/Local Offi cial

Firewise Communities Workshops are a Successful Part of a 

Comprehensive Program 

Booklet

August 2002 National Fire Protection Association (NFPA) article reprint provides in for -

ma tion about Firewise Communities workshops, and examples of communities across the 

nation and how they participated and benefi ted from the workshops. 

Cost: Free. Contact: Firewise, 1 Batterymarch Park, Quincy, MA 02169. 

E-mail: cblake@nfpa.org.

Suggested audience: Homeowners/Fire Service and Educators/Businesses

 Community/Local Offi cial

Firewise Construction Design and Materials 

Book/Web site

Provides homeowners and builders in the wildland/urban interface with design and 

build ing techniques that can offer more protection from wildland fi res. Photos, drawings 

and diagrams help illustrate information on fi re behavior, including the effects of fuel, 

topography, weather and home site location.

Cost: $2.25 each. Contact: Judy Serby, Colorado State Forest Service, Colorado State Uni ver -

si ty, Fort Collins, CO 80523-5060, or call (970) 491-7559. 

E-mail: jserby@lamar.colostate.edu. Also available at www.fi rewise.org/co/.

Suggested audience: Homeowners/Fire Service and Educators/Businesses

 Planner/Architects/Builders/Contractors
130

At Home in the Woods

Firewise Landscaping 

3-part Video Series/Web site

Part I: Firewise Landscaping Part II: Design and Installation Part III: Maintenance

Provides an overview of landscaping design essentials in wildland fi re-prone areas and 

how a well-planned landscape can offer effective protection from wildfi re to any home. 

Offers suggestions to help homeowners shape their landscape for best effect and Firewise use of materials. Stresses maintenance in keeping Firewise landscape functioning as 

a resistive barrier to wildfi re. Provides landscape professionals with ideas to create visual 

harmony and fi re safety using appropriate landscape design principles. Useful for agency 

representatives when pre sent ing wildfi re prevention information.

Available at www.fi rewise.org. Click on Resources Section, or order free set. Contact Firewise, 

1 Batterymarch Park, Quincy, MA 02169. E-mail: cblake@nfpa.org. Catalog No. FWC-612-

93-V.

Suggested audience: Homeowners/Fire Service and Educators/Businesses

 Planner/Architects/Builders/Contractors

Firewise Web Site

Web site: www.fi rewise.org

Designed to provide wildfi re protection information for fi re services and homeowners. 

Offers wildfi re news, online publications catalog, and resource documents and videos. 

Provides links to several fi re-related websites.

Suggested audience: Homeowners/Fire Service and Educators/Businesses

 Community/Local Offi cial

 Planner/Architects/Builders/Contractors

 Students/Teachers/Kids

Is Your Home Protected From Wildfi re Disaster? 

A Homeowner’s Guide to Wildfi re Retrofi t 

Book/Web site

Institute for Business and Home Safety

Provides homeowners with guidance on retrofi tting and building homes to reduce losses 

from wildfi re damage. Contains suggestions and recommendations on home landscaping, building materials and design, estimated costs, and wildfi re protection checklist on 

precautions to take before, during and after wildfi re strikes.

Cost: Free. Available at www.fi rewise.org. Click on Resource Section. For free guide, contact

Firewise, 1 Batterymarch Park, Quincy, MA 02169. E-mail: cblake@nfpa.org. Catalog No. 

FWC-001-01-BK.

Suggested audience: Homeowners/Fire Service and Educators/Businesses

Living With Fire: A Guide for the Homeowner

Newspaper insert

This guide for homeowners features practical tips on fi rewise landscaping and building 

defensible space, as well as advice on what to do as wildfi re approaches.

Cost: Call the Colorado State Forest Service in Fort Collins, Colorado, for a free copy.

(970) 491-6303.

Suggested audience: Homeowners/Fire Service and Educators/Businesses

 Planner/Architects/Builders/Contractors
131

At Home in the Woods

Living With Wildfi re

Booklet

Sunset Magazine, April 2001

Provides a history of major wildfi res in the western United States. Focuses on pilot 

projects as models for forest fi re reduction. Features successful education outreach, 

disaster pre pared ness and burned land rehabilitation efforts. Provides tips on 

cre at ing defensible space around homes and information to assist homeowners, 

planners and builders determine the fi re-re sis tance of roof types. 

Cost: Single copy $3.50 or $1.25 each (for 100 or more) plus tax/shipping. Write 

to: Living With Wildfi re, Editorial Services, Sunset Publishing Corp., 80 Willow 

Rd., Menlo Park, CA 94025.

Suggested audience: Homeowners/Fire Service and Educators/Businesses

 Planner/Architects/Builders/Contractors

Living With Wildfi res: 

Prevention, Preparation & Recovery

Book

Bradford Publishing, May 2003

Details the process of correctly landscaping property to create defensible space. Also contains helpful information about what to do if you have to evacuate your home, in clud ing 

checklists and other methods of preparation. Includes advice about what to do before you 

return home after a wildfi re. Also includes an extensive list of resources for homeowners. 

Cost: $19.95 Visit www.bradfordpublishing.com or call (303) 292-2590.

Suggested audience: Homeowners/Fire Service and Educators/Businesses

 Community/Local Offi cial

 Planner/Architects/Builders/Contractors

Making Your Home Firewise 

Video (22:29 min.)/Web site

Ideas and techniques for homeowners when constructing or modifying homes in 

wildland/urban interface areas. Gives homeowner initial Firewise property assessment. 

Topics include roofs, windows, eaves, decks, and landscaping. Provides information that a 

prevention offi cer or anyone with cooperative duties can use in presentation or discussion 

for various local groups.

Cost: Free. Available at www.Firewise.org. Click on Firewise Resources. Contact: Firewise, 

1 Batterymarch Park, Quincy, MA 02169. E-mail: cblake@nfpa.org. Catalog No. FWC-620-

01-V.

Suggested audience: Homeowners/Fire Service and Educators/Businesses

 Community/Local Offi cial
132

At Home in the Woods

National Fire Protection Association (NFPA) 

Web site: www.nfpa.org

Information on NFPA’s mission of reducing fi re and other hazards by providing and 

ad vo cat ing codes and standards. Research, training and education are available. Also provides online catalog offering thousands of fi re prevention and education videos, books and 

other products.

Suggested audience: Homeowners/Fire Service and Educators/Businesses

 Community/Local Offi cial

 Students/Teachers/Kids

National Interagency Fire Center (NIFC) 

Web site: www.nifc.gov

Offers current information on wildland fi re, prevention and education, wildland fi re statistics, and links to other fi re-related sites, guides and publications.

Suggested audience: Homeowners/Fire Service and Educators/Businesses

 Community/Local Offi cial

 Students/Teachers/Kids

National Wildfi re Coordinating Group (NWCG) 

Web site: www.nwcg.gov

Offers electronic bibliography of wildland fi re Web sites and order catalogs of wildfi re preven tion materials. Also provides fi re education documents for teachers and educators.

Suggested audience: Homeowners/Fire Service and Educators/Businesses

 Students/Teachers/Kids

The Oakland/Berkeley Hills Fire Book and Video 

Video (22:00 min.)/Book/Web site

NFPA

Case study of 1991 Oakland/Berkeley Hills Fire in California. Documents fi re, explains 

vari ables causing destruction and makes recommendations to prevent similar occurrences. 

En cour ag es discussion and assists planners, local offi cials, fi re service personnel, and homeowners in developing fi re-safe homes and communities in wildland/urban interface.

Cost: Free. Document and video available at www.fi rewise.org. Click on Firewise Resources. To order, 

contact: Firewise, 1 Batterymarch Park, Quincy, MA 02169. E-mail: cblake@nfpa.org. Catalog 

No. FWC-604-92-V.

Suggested audience: Homeowners/Fire Service and Educators/Businesses

 Community/Local Offi cial

 Planner/Architects/Builders/Contractors
133

At Home in the Woods

Planning for Water Supply and Distribution in Wildland/

Urban Interface: Operation Water

Video (22:00 min.)/Book

NFPA

Provides information to assist fi refi ghters, homeowners, and local offi cials plan for water 

supply and distribution in wildland/urban interface. Implementing plan will help meet 

water requirements for specifi ed area and improve fi refi ghting capabilities. 

Cost: Free. To order, contact: Firewise, 1 Batterymarch Park, Quincy, MA 02169. 

E-mail: cblake@nfpa.org. Catalog No. FWC-621-92-V.

Suggested audience: Homeowners/Fire Service and Educators/Businesses

 Community/Local Offi cial

Protecting Your Property From Wildfi re 

Pamphlet

North Dakota Forest Service

Checklist helps homeowners evaluate the fi re-safe condition of their homes or farmsteads 

in their surroundings. Provides a list of circumstances to be evaluated to measure wildland 

fi re safety.

Cost: Free. To order, contact Colleen Reinke, North Dakota Forest Service, 1511 E In ter state 

Ave., Bismarck, ND 58503. 

E-mail: Colleen.Reinke@ndsu.nodak.edu or call (701) 328-9990.

Suggested audience: Homeowners/Fire Service and Educators/Businesses

Saving Homes from Wildfi res: Regulating the Home Ignition 

Zone 

Booklet

American Planning Association Zoning News, May 2001

Examines threat to wildland/urban interface zone where wildfi res can potentially ignite 

homes and determine how development codes can be used to save residential areas.

Cost: $5. Contact: Zoning News, American Planning Association, 122 S. Michigan Ave., Suite 

1600, Chicago, IL 60603. E-mail: zoningnews@planning.org.

Suggested audience: Homeowners/Fire Service and Educators/Businesses

 Community/Local Offi cial

 Planner/Architects/Builders/Contractors 

Smokey Bear 

Web site: www.smokeybear.com

Provides activities for children in kindergarten through 5th grade including forest and fi re 

facts, the Smokey Bear story, and fi re prevention rules. Also has teacher’s and wildland fi re 

communicator’s guides featuring lesson plans on ecology and wildland fi re.

Suggested audience: Homeowners/Fire Service and Educators/Businesses

 Community/Local Offi cial

 Students/Teachers/Kids
134

At Home in the Woods

Telling the Tale of Disaster Resistance 

Book

FEMA

Step-by-step guide on how to document disaster-resistance efforts. Offers guidance for devel op ing story leads, researching and documenting projects, and creating and promoting a 

fi nished product.

Cost: Free copies while supplies last. Contact: FEMA Region VIII Offi ce of Public Affairs, 

Building 710, Denver Federal Center, Denver, CO 80225 or call (303) 235-4909.

Suggested audience: Homeowners/Fire Service and Educators/Businesses

 Community/Local Offi cial

Ten Steps to Being Firewise in North Dakota 

Pamphlet

North Dakota Forest Service

This 10-step wildfi re mitigation brochure provides homeowners with information to help 

create defensible space around the home, and to become more knowledgeable about wildfi re con di tions in North Dakota. 

Cost: Free. Contact Colleen Reinke, North Dakota Forest Service, 1511 E Interstate Ave., 

Bismarck, ND 58503. E-mail: Colleen.Reinke@ndsu.nodak.edu or call (701) 328-9990.

Suggested audience: Homeowners/Fire Service and Educators/Businesses

U.S. Fire Ad min is tra tion (USFA) 

Web site: www.usfa.fema.gov

Provides fi re-related information, links, and publications for fi re service and public. Fire 

service section provides current wildland fi re information and news. USFA’s kids page 

offers fi re games and activities, home fi re safety information, and guide for parents and 

teachers.

Suggested audience: Homeowners/Fire Service and Educators/Businesses

 Community/Local Offi cial

 Students/Teachers/Kids

U.S. Forest Service — Fire and Aviation Man age ment 

Web site: www.fs.fed.us/fi re

Information on latest wildfi re news, wildland fi re safety, prevention and education, and link 

to publications. 

Suggested audience: Homeowners/Fire Service and Educators/Businesses

 Community/Local Offi cial

 Students/Teachers/Kids

Wildfi re Home or Farm Hazard Rating 

Pamphlet

North Dakota Forest Service

Brochure provides homeowners with simple method to conduct a “Wildfi re Home or Farm 

Fire Hazard Rating” for their residences or farmsteads.

Cost: Free. Contact: Colleen Reinke, North Dakota Forest Service, 1511 E Interstate Ave., 

Bismarck, ND 58503. E-mail: Colleen.Reinke@ndsu.nodak.edu or call (701) 328-9990.

Suggested audience: Homeowners/Fire Service and Educators/Businesses
135

At Home in the Woods

Wildfi re Mitigation in the Wildland/Urban Interface

Video (17:52 min.)/Web site: www.cnr.colostate.edu/FS/restoration

Colorado State University

Showcases small-scale harvesting equipment options available for people interested in 

reducing wildfi re hazard on small acreage units. Helps viewer understand change in forest 

structure through past 100 years, and implication to wildfi re activity. Educational for all 

audiences including homeowners and contractors.

Cost: $6 plus tax and shipping/handling. Call (877) 692-9358.

Suggested audience: Homeowners/Fire Service and Educators/Businesses

 Planner/Architects/Builders/Contractors

Wildfi re News 

Web site: www.wildfi renews.com

Useful for fi refi ghters and others interested in wildfi re-related topics. Provides current 

world wide news, fi re reports, maps, and information on fi re protection and prevention, 

safety, and employment. Links to fi re-related sites including fi re agencies and organizations, classifi ed job ads, training, and products.

Suggested audience: Homeowners/Fire Service and Educators/Businesses

 Community/Local Offi cial

Wildfi re! Preventing Home Ignitions 

Video (19:00 min.)/Web site

Describes how a wildfi re can ignite a home. Homeowners will learn how the combustion 

process causes home ignitions, how some homes are destroyed while others survive, and 

how most effective home protection efforts can occur with “Home Ignition Zone.”

Available at www.fi rewise.org. Click on Firewise Resources. 

Cost: Free. Contact: Firewise, 1 Batterymarch Park, Quincy, MA 02169. 

E-mail: cblake@nfpa.org. Catalog No. FWC-623-01-V.

Suggested audience: Homeowners/Fire Service and Educators/Businesses

Wildland/Urban Interface Fire Hazard Assessment 

Methodology 

Book/Web site

Helps homeowners, businesses and planners assess potential of fi re on homes in existing 

housing developments and planned new developments in a wildland environment. Offers 

fi ve-step method for assessing hazards of wildland/urban interface area. 

Cost: Free. Available at www.fi rewise.org. To order, contact Firewise, 1 Batterymarch Park, 

Quincy, MA 02169. E-mail: cblake@nfpa.org. Catalog No. FWC-003-98-BK.

Suggested audience: Homeowners/Fire Service and Educators/Businesses

 Community/Local Offi cial

 Planner/Architects/Builders/Contractors
136

At Home in the Woods

Acknowledgements

U.S. Dept. of Agriculture 

National Resource Conservation Service 

U.S. Forest Service

U.S. Dept. of the Interior 

Bureau of Indian Affairs

Bureau of Land Management

National Park Service

Other Agencies/Organizations

AmeriCorps 

Fire Education Corps 

FIREWISE Communities

National Fire Protection Association 

National Interagency Fire Center

Student Conservation Association

Colorado

Big Elk Meadows Volunteer Fire Dept.

Boulder Fire Dept.

Cherryvale Fire Protection District

City of Boulder, Planning & Development Services

Colorado Offi ce of Emergency Management

Colorado Springs Fire Dept.

Colorado State Forest Service

Durango & Silverton Narrow Gauge Railroad

Estes Park Volunteer Fire Dept.

Fire Ready, Inc.

Garfi eld County Emergency Management

Jefferson County Public Information Offi ce

Mesa Verde National Park

Rocky Mountain Coordination Center

Rocky Mountain National Park

Routt County Emergency Management

Montana

Broadwater County

Jefferson County

Lewis & Clark County 

Montana Division of Disaster and Emergency Services

Montana Heritage Preservation and De vel op ment 

Commission

Northern Lights Magazine

Tri-County Fire Working Group 

U.S. Forest Service Rocky Mountain Research Lab

Virginia City Volunteer Fire Dept.

North Dakota

Advanced Tree Service

Bismarck Fire Dept.

Bismarck Forestry Dept.

Bismarck Planning & Development

North Dakota Division of Emergency Man age ment

North Dakota Forest Service

South Dakota

Black Hills National Forest

Black Hills Harley-Davidson

Custer Volunteer Fire Dept.

Fenske Media Corporation 

South Dakota Black Hats

South Dakota Division of Emergency Man age ment

South Dakota Wildland Fire Suppression Division

Sturgis Motorcycle Rally National Fire Pre ven tion Team

Sturgis Volunteer Fire Dept.

T&M Pho tog ra phy

Utah

Big Cottonwood Canyon Wildfi re Committee

Community Solutions

Sundance Resort

Town of Brian Head

Utah County

Utah Dept. of Natural Resources

Utah Division of Emergency Services and Home land 

Security

Utah Division of State Forestry, Fire and State Lands

Utah National Guard

Utah State University

Woodland Hills Fire Dept.

Wyoming

Jackson/Teton County Fire Dept.

SavaFilm

Wyoming Emergency Management Agency

Photographs

All photographs were taken by FEMA em ploy ees except:

Pages 30–31, bottom: Mesa Verde Na tion al Park

Page 31, top: Justin Dombrowski, Boulder Fire Dept. 

Boulder, CO

Page 52: Jeff Heintz, Bismarck Forestry Dept, Bismarck, 

ND

Page 55: ©Karen Wattenmaker, Na tion al Interagency 

Fire Center (NIFC)

Page 56: Montana His tor i cal Society, Helena, MT; 

photograph by the Sutterly Brothers, 1860s, Salt Lake 

City, UT

Page 57: Montana His tor i cal Society, 1899, Helena, MT

Pages 61, 62, bottom: Sturgis Motorcycle Rally Na tion al 

Fire Prevention Team

Page 63: Sturgis Motorcycle Rally Na tion al Fire Prevention Team

Page 64, top: Sturgis Motorcycle Rally Na tion al Fire 

Prevention Team

Page 67, bottom: Sturgis Motorcycle Rally Na tion al Fire 

Prevention Team

Page 68: Graphic and poster design by Jackie Twiss, 

Black Hills National Forest

Page 75: Boulder Fire Dept. Boulder, CO

Page 94: Map provided by Lewis & Clark County Geograph ic In for ma tion Services Center, MT

Pages 117–121, 136: ©Karen Wattenmaker, Na tion al 

Interagency Fire Center (NIFC) 

Pages 122–124: Art and diagram by Firewise

FEMA Region VIII would like to thank the fol low ing agencies and organizations for their 

con tri bu tions to this project.