Dead burned trees cover steep slopes along the Feather River in California’s northern Sierra Nevada. Serpentine outcrops shine grey-green, granite gleams white; brick-red columbine and golden monkeyflower cluster around rocky seeps; and pockets of fire-follower Clarkia sprawl along the roadside dropping dried magenta petals. I’ve not been here often since the first big fire 15 years ago and this drive, once my commute to work, feels like going home as an adult to see how my childhood neighborhood has changed.
highway tunnel in Feather River canyon serpentine
Feather River at confluence with Rock Creek (looking downstream) - note burned slope on upper right
The Storrie Fire was first to ignite (August 2000) in this logged, mined, developed for hydro-electric complex of river, tributary creeks, and canyons in the North Fork Feather River (FR) watershed. Highway and railroad (first used in 1937) parallel the river engineered into granite and serpentine canyon walls, through two tunnels, and over many bridges.
highway and railroad bridges over the Feather River
Union Pacific train crosses a granite wall near Elephant Butte in the Feather River Canyon
water from another drainage is piped to Belden Power House
The second fire was the Rich Fire in July-August 2008 when dry lightning caused catastrophic wildfires throughout Northern California. The third fire, Chips, began four years later in August 2012 north of the Storrie fire origin. These three wildfires burned over 160,000 acres (some burned multiple times) and today the FR canyon and tributary canyons are a mosaic of scorched dead trees, post-fire scrub and re-sprouted trees. Remnants of the former mixed conifer montane forest survive in the deeply dissected drainages.
Slope burned in the Chips Fire above Belden, CA
My destination, Caribou, is a narrow road off the main highway following a branch of the FR upstream towards Lake Almanor and Lassen National Park. The only level land in Caribou is adjacent to the river on one bank. Beyond that, canyon walls slope upwards abruptly on both sides of the river. Massive steep hills of granite, serpentine and intricately stacked sedimentary rock give the feeling of being high in the mountains. Actual elevation along the river is 3,000 feet, but the adjacent ridges exceed 5,000 feet.
rock outcrop along Caribou Road
Caribou was a wind tunnel the day I visited. An unusual summer storm the previous night lingered and strong winds blew into the mouth of the canyon from the southwest, funneled up-canyon. The pattern of burned and unburned areas confused me. Riparian habitat along the river was unburned, but the slopes above the riparian tree tops were totally scorched. A few old sugar pines had survived the fire although their lower trunks were deep black, as if the ground fire moved so quickly the flames didn’t ladder up the trees — also because the trees had no branches for the lower 50 feet and were on wicked steep slopes.
sugar pine burned at base on slope above the river
After reading the recent fire history, I understood these fire patterns — the 2000 and 2008 fires burned slopes on opposite sides of the river, the 2012 fire overlapped the first two, but all spared the actual river channel and adjacent riparian forest strip. This arrangement of torched slopes with unburned deep drainages continues throughout the watershed. The current four year drought and harsh rocky soils stalled recruitment of new woody plant seedlings and re-sprouts, but invasive weeds had thrived. I didn’t see large expanses of weeds because Plumas National Forest began weed eradication a few years earlier, funded by Union Pacific Railroad payments to the US Forest Service of $102 million (Storrie) and $72.13 million (Rich) for the fires caused by railroad maintenance.
upper slopes burned in Rich Fire
Chaparral here post-fire is sparse with manzanita, buckbrush and deer brush dominant. Riparian habitat along the river has willows and alders at the water’s edge, merging upland with incense cedar, bay laurel, California coffeeberry, black and live oaks, Douglas fir, ponderosa pine, and the occasional sugar pine. Wild grapes and non-native Himalayan blackberries form dense thickets at the water’s edge, but this year the blackberries are small and dry.
North Fork North Branch Feather River
One lush spot was a vigorous seep oozing water from rocky outcrops supporting columbine, monkeyflower, yampa, long past bloom leopard lilies, rushes, reeds, and other grasses. I was excessively thrilled to see dripping running water not associated with the river — a drought mentality I didn’t realize I held. The wind was so strong it blew me over, twice, into this seep as I crouched to look at the plants and take photos.
seep with columbine with one monkeyflower (lower center) and dying lilies (far right with brown curling leaves)
seep with tiny white yampa flowers
Living through catastrophic wildfires and extreme drought has consequences. My wildfire experiences were in 2001, 2005, and 2008, miles downstream of Caribou. Joy for what survives mingles with despair for what was lost. Relief the disaster has ended overlays fear that it will begin again (and it does). Waiting out evacuation in town with other evacuees, even when you stay with friends, gives the familiar town an alien aspect. Stolid-faced, we doggedly pursued routine daily needs. We survived by following the recipe, our lives punctuated by moments of despair and what if. This was our schedule: sleep, eat, talk to other evacuees, piece together random bits of information (wondering which, if any, is true), listen to the scanner, hang out in local online chat rooms with everyone else who has no clue what the fire is doing and where the actual fire perimeters are.
Often the fire is delineated by satellite imagery based on temperature because the smoke obscures aerial observation and grounds fire-fighting planes and helicopters. We breathe smoke; smoke is the medium in which we live. Buildings, cars, sidewalks, plants, lawn chairs — everything is sooty, visibility is restricted, and daytime is like twilight.
For years afterwards the smell of wood smoke evokes fear. Planes and helicopters overhead cause panic. I know the distinctive sounds of borade bombers and CalFire helicopters even when asleep and at 2am I’m making evacuation plans before fully awake.
Fire is part of nature's cycle and is necessary. Life goes on.
Part Two will continue reporting post-fire conditions in Caribou, focusing on rare plant and animal responses and human presence in the Feather River canyon area. A species list of plants and animals cited will be in Part Two.