Twenty years ago, at 4 p.m. on July 6, a wave of flame swept along a ridge on Colorado's Storm King Mountain, killed 14 firefighters, and became a benchmark for wildland firefighting with repercussions that continue to this day.
On Sunday, firefighters from across the nation will gather at the site of what became known as the 1994 South Canyon Fire, about seven miles west of the resort town of Glenwood Springs in central Colorado, to mark the anniversary and take stock of its legacy.
For many of the specially trained crews that battle mountain wildfires in the American West, it was a blaze that made it more acceptable for firefighters to speak up or even decline assignments they consider too dangerous—once a rare occurrence that could result in a firing or ostracism in a profession that requires aggressive, type A personalities. No official report articulated that change, but among many firefighters it was an understood lesson of South Canyon.
The South Canyon blaze, which scorched 2,115 acres, accelerated technical advances in battling wildfires, from a new generation of fire shelters—small, protective "mummy" bags carried by firefighters that can be their defense of last resort from flames—to improved communications. "Immediately, we all had radios," said one South Canyon survivor, Eric Hipke.
South Canyon also sparked more scrutiny of fire officials' decision-making and strategies in battling deadly fires, and led to changes in the National Weather Service's fire weather forecasting division, which doubled its number of fire weather forecasters and found ways to deliver up-to-the-minute weather information—including crucial details about wind, which can fuel a fire and its direction—to forecasters in the field. (Related: "Overwhelming Cause of California Wildfires: Humans.")
After South Canyon, "incident meteorologists became rock stars," said Chris Cuoco, the meteorologist whose accurate prediction of a dangerous weather shift during the South Canyon Fire never reached the firefighters on the mountain.
It's widely accepted within the firefighting community that these and other lessons of the South Canyon Fire have saved lives during the past two decades. Even so, the dangers of fighting wildfires in the hot, dry summer remain real.
Wildland firefighter deaths
The tragedies at Yarnell Hill and South Canyon are among the worst wildland firefighting disasters in U.S. history.
RYAN MORRIS, NG STAFF
SOURCES: NATIONAL INTERAGENCY FIRE CENTER; USGS
On June 30 last year, a well-predicted storm with high winds turned the Yarnell Hill Fire in Arizona back on itself, and flames overwhelmed and killed 19 members of the Granite Mountain Hotshots, a crew from nearby Prescott specially trained to battle brush fires. It was the greatest loss of life for a U.S. wildland fire crew in a single event in more than a century, since a blaze called the Big Burn of 1910 charred more than three million acres in Montana, Idaho, and Washington state, killing an estimated 78 firefighters.
A Similar, Even Deadlier Fire
The circumstances that led to the deaths on Yarnell Hill were hauntingly similar to those in South Canyon.
Both cases involved well-trained and aggressive firefighters: smoke jumpers, hotshots, and "helitacks" in South Canyon; hotshots on Yarnell Hill. Smoke jumpers parachute into fire zones, helitacks arrive by helicopter, and hotshots most often by bus or on foot. All three categories of firefighters must be prepared to battle rapidly spreading wildland fires wherever they occur.
Both fires were started by lightning, were not fought all-out at first, and threatened homes and towns. Severe storms that triggered the fatal runs of both fires were accurately predicted, but with only minutes to spare. The crucial forecasts then ran into communication foul-ups and did not reach the vulnerable crews in time, if at all. The fatal blasts of each fire occurred at the worst time of day for fire: late afternoon on days with high temperatures, low humidity, and tricky winds.
In South Canyon and on Yarnell Hill, firefighters waited too long before trying to escape. In both cases, supervisory personnel were handing over duties to a more qualified command team, a normal procedure as fires grow more complex, so there was a lack of immediate oversight and firefighters were pretty much on their own. In both cases, the fire crews were trapped in narrow canyons that magnified the effects of fire.
The South Canyon Fire scorched 2,115 acres in central Colorado. The shirts mark the places where smoke jumpers deployed fire shelters and survived on what came to be called Lunch Spot Ridge.
PHOTO BY JIM KAUTZ, US FOREST SERVICE
So why didn't the lessons from South Canyon prevent the tragedy on Yarnell Hill?
Eric Marsh, the supervisor of the Granite Mountain Hotshots crew that was on Yarnell Hill, was known as a strong, magnetic leader, but he tolerated and even encouraged discussion and dissent. Several years ago, after fighting a fire on the Front Range of Colorado, Marsh had made a long detour and led his crew on a visit to the South Canyon Fire memorial.
"We're going to remember this experience and never let it happen to us," a member of the crew who was not with Marsh's team for the Yarnell Hill Fire recalled thinking at the time about the lessons of the 1994 blaze—including the importance of avoiding life-threatening situations while battling a wildfire.
But on Yarnell Hill last year, it did happen to Marsh's crew.
The reasons that 19 members of Marsh's hotshots crew left a relatively safe ridgeline and headed for a safety zone they never reached will never be explained fully, because none survived. But the fire's threat to Yarnell was likely a factor, based on fragmentary communications to and from the hotshots. From the crew's vantage point, the fire's threat to homes and people in Yarnell was visible. Members of the crew photographed the fire as it turned toward the town, where 126 homes and other structures eventually were lost.
The crew members watched as a storm turned the escalating fire in their direction. They headed down into a box canyon toward a safety zone, a ranch complex they could see in the valley below that appeared to be far closer than it actually was, an optical illusion reported by others who later retraced the crew's steps.
With barely more than 600 yards to go before reaching the ranch, the hotshots were met by flames roaring up the canyon. They used chainsaws and hand tools to clear a zone where they could deploy their fire shelters.
"I'm here with Granite Mountain Hotshots, our escape route has been cut off," Marsh radioed, fighting to control his voice. "We are preparing a deployment site, and we are burning out around ourselves in the brush, and I'll give you a call when we are under the sh... the shelters."
The Yarnell fire is now the focus of a wrongful-death lawsuit brought by family members of a dozen of the firefighters. The families claim that Arizona and Yavapai County officials were negligent in managing the response to the blaze, allegations the officials deny.
A memorial near the site where 12 firefighters died on Colorado's Storm King Mountain.
PHOTOGRAPH BY DAN JACKSON
"A Deep, Deep Blessing"
In Colorado during the past two decades, the South Canyon Fire site on Storm King Mountain has become a shrine to the 14 firefighters who died there. A long, steep, and well-worn trail leads to the crosses that mark the spots on the mountain where they died. Survivors, families of the fallen, and firefighters who go there often are joined on the mountain trek by others who come out of simple curiosity or to pay respects.
As the 20th anniversary approached, Gary McCaleb, a firefighter who knew Don Mackey, one of those killed, visited the site for the first time and reported on social media that "it was a deep, deep blessing to be able to go to the monument; to walk the trail, to at long last let some of the deep, damned grief and loss be left behind in tear-stained dust."
Visitors to the site place caps, T-shirts, loose change, and religious medals on and around the crosses, the same sort of mementos found at the Vietnam Veterans Memorial in Washington, D.C.
When the South Canyon Fire exploded into a blowup, a sudden burst of flame that sweeps all before it, there were 49 firefighters scattered across an area later known as Hell's Gate Ridge, which extends like a mighty arm of Storm King Mountain. Mackey, the smoke jumper in charge, directed one group to safety. He then faced a daunting choice: Stay with the group headed for safety, or hike back into dense brush to check on a dozen firefighters who were digging and cutting a fireline, a trench about 18 inches wide, to try to contain the flames. He turned back to join the firefighters in the brush, an act of selflessness that became known in the wildland fire community as a "Don Mackey moment."
A view of Storm King Mountain days after the massive fire of July 6, 1994.
PHOTO BY JIM KAUTZ, US FOREST SERVICE
With fire below him in the canyon, Mackey's boots ground into loose shale as he power-hiked to catch the endangered firefighters, who had seen the fire erupt in the gulch below them and had turned back, heading away from the flames along the fireline they previously had cleared. Mackey caught up to them where the line turned 90 degrees upward, toward the ridgetop.
Hipke, a survivor, remembers flames "curling and whipping" behind them. The group paused when two smoke jumpers in the lead—Jim Thrash and Roger Roth—halted. Thrash looked at Roth and asked, "Shelters?" He was asking whether the crew members should get under their fire-resistant shelters, or perhaps use them as shields as they continued on.
Hipke, right behind them, did not stop. He ran for it. As he powered up the side of the ridge, a billowing gust of extreme heat, followed by flame, caught him just yards from the top, slammed him to the ground and burned his hands to shreds. Hipke managed to struggle to his feet and hurtle over the ridgetop to safety. Mackey, Thrash, Roth, and nine others, all members of the Prineville Hotshots from Prineville, Oregon—Kathi Walsleben Beck, Tamera Jean Bickett, Scott Alan Blecha, Levi Brinkley, Douglas Michael Dunbar, Terri Ann Hagen, Bonnie Jean Holtby, Rob Johnson, and Jon R. Kelso—did not make it out.
Two helitacks, Richard Kent Tyler and Robert E. Browning, Jr., were manning a helicopter landing zone on the ridgetop when the fire exploded. Once they saw the flames erupt, they hiked along the ridgetop seeking a place where their helicopter could pick them up, but they too were caught by flames and killed. The remaining 35 firefighters on the mountain survived, several with relatively minor burns.
Hipke's injuries healed, and he returned to fighting fires as a smoke jumper a few months later. Fifteen years later, he became an audiovisual specialist for the U.S. Forest Service and began thinking about making a fire-training video about the South Canyon Fire. He did so this year, in time for the 20th anniversary. The video is available on YouTube.
Watch: The South Canyon Fire from the perspective of the 11 firefighters present in 1994.
A key lesson from the video: Firefighters in charge "should listen to everyone on the crew," Hipke said. "That's not the way it used to be."
And fire crews, Hipke said, should be more aggressive in voicing their concerns about dangerous situations. During the South Canyon Fire, he said, he and other firefighters failed to tell Mackey that they were worried about venturing so far into dense brush without a sure way out.
"As workers we want to work, so we shut up," Hipke said.
This photo of Arizona's Yarnell Hill Fire was taken by Christopher Mackenzie, one of the Granite Mountain Hotshots who was later killed in the blaze.
PHOTOGRAPH BY CHRISTOPHER MACKENZIE
"Extreme" Fires Increasingly Common
In the two decades since the South Canyon Fire, at least two things have made firefighting more treacherous: More people have moved into previously unpopulated forests and brushlands, and fires have become more extreme, in part because of years of heat and drought. The term "extreme fire" is now used to describe fires that behave beyond the bounds of past experience. (Related: "Why Big, Intense Wildfires Are the New Normal.")
"I've never seen fire behavior like this before" has become a common refrain of seasoned firefighters. Extreme fires are characterized not necessarily by huge acreage burned, but by the dangerous alignment of violent weather, drought and heat, proximity to homes, and fast-burning vegetation. Adding to the problem is forest management that has a troubled record of trying to impose a healthy mix of fire suppression, deliberate burning, thinning, and logging in the face of the violent nature of some fires, amid a changing scientific and regulatory environment.
Even as the firefighting world changed after the South Canyon Fire, the federal, state, and local agencies with wildland fire responsibilities have struggled to address issues posed by the rising number of homes under threat. The U.S. Forest Service estimates that 32 percent of all housing in the nation, or roughly 37 million units, is on lands where "humans and their development meet or intermix with wildland fuel."
Firefighters visit a makeshift memorial last month in Prescott, Arizona, for the 19 firefighters who died fighting last year's Yarnell Hill Fire.
PHOTOGRAPH BY MAX WHITTAKER / THE NEW YORK TIMES / REDUX
The threat is not always imminent—in Connecticut, for example, two-thirds of all lands are classified as "intermix" zones, but there is no major wildland fire problem. The vulnerable West, however, has seen an influx of millions of homes in recent decades into zones that are threatened. And despite efforts to educate homeowners with catch-phrase programs such as "Prepare, Stay, and Defend," "Living With Fire," "Survivable Space," and others, there is no consensus regarding how much risk firefighters should take in battling wildfires when homes are present.
"We don't know what the mission really is," said Kevin Erickson, a South Canyon Fire survivor and former firefighter.
Today, there is broad agreement in the firefighting community that the Yarnell Hill blaze should have been attacked more vigorously and contained before the fire became so deadly. In the wake of Yarnell Hill, various studies of the tragedy also have cited familiar themes in explaining the damage: drought that made brush particularly dry, communications failures, fire crews that could have been safer if they had been less aggressive.
But to Tom Shepard, who was the superintendent of the Prineville Hotshots crew that lost nine members to the South Canyon Fire, that blaze has left a positive legacy as well.
"It took 15 years for me before I went back up and walked that hill," Shepard said on Hipke's video. "I didn't know how I was going to react to that. Needless to say, it was an emotional time for me." Of firefighters today, Shepard said, "If they see something they don't understand, something out of whack, they're encouraged to speak up. It takes 20 people to run a hotshot crew. Not just one, it takes 20.
Why did my comments regarding the strong division in Prescott over this issue and the censoring of comments on the issue by the local Daily Courier get deleted???
Guess censorship is alive and well at the National Geographic as well???
Bottom line. The 19 would be alive today if they had followed LCES and NOT descended into a box canyon full of fuel in what they already called "squirrelly" weather.
Blame anything you like, but the 19 made that decision all on their own. They took a shortcut off the ridge and died doing so. Sad, but TRUE.
For their families to jump on the false bandwagon of your type of censored support and sue the State, County, Dept of Forestry, and name several individuals as responsible for the DEATHS of their men, is reprehensible. Hundreds of millions of dollars in lawsuits. Greed.
God bless the families of those ACCUSED of these accidental deaths and THEIR families.
I remember like it was yesterday. The fire first started in our little town, Paonia, CO, on the Fourth of July 1994. Then two days later they pulled most of the firefighters off to send them to Glenwood.
These men AND women put their very LIVES on the line for the homes people live in and the surrounding forest. The home owners MUST take precautions BEFORE there is a fire. Like trimming the trees near the home, using steel roofing instead of asphalt shingles that are EXTREMELY Flammable in these fires. And creat a fire stop area around the house. If homes were better prepared it would help but not prevent them from these wildfires, But the more we can do to help them on our own the less likely there will be any more deaths.
We owe a debt of gratitude to these brave people. Let's do all we can to support them when they need it the most!!!
@Michelle anderson Did the South Canyon fire garner as much national attention as the Yarnell Hill fire? Did the surviving families file wrongful death lawsuits? Did the nation donate 16 million to their families? Are there numerous memorials throughout your town? Did the State provide 500k for a memorial for the South Canyon heroes? Prescott is inundated with the tragedy on a near daily basis. Just wondering if this is the norm ~
No, what's stupid is continuing to build on land that is unsafe.
Look at tornado alley and the major population zones built along the San Andreas fault. Or the areas involved in this article, Instead of learning the lessons that events at these sites offer, the american public continues to spread in to these areas and then build on them!
That my friend is the definition of stupid.
If an act of nature wipes out millions of dollars in infrastructure, don't re-build in the same place! But instead of using common sense Americans build bigger which then makes the next natural disaster more costly. It is beyond ridiculous.
We can't change nature, we have to love with it. Nature is more powerful than all mankind (until we decimate the planet) so it is us that has to change its habits, not nature.
Nature has been causing problems in the aforementioned areas for centuries, probably millennia. It is going to stop just because humans decide that these areas are pretty or maybe nicety live at.
"The definition of stupidity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results." — Albert Einstein
The U.S.A could learn a thing or 2 from old Alf it would seem, no?
@Sharon Burke@Michelle anderson I would have to think that most of this is because the vast changes in social media. We didn't have things like FB and other sites to share information so easily so in my opinion no it would not have received the national attention that the Yarnell fire did.
@Sharon Burke@Michelle Anderson I
was in my second year of firefighting in New Mexico when Storm King
happened. It did not garner as much national attention. If there were
any lawsuits, they did not make the news either, nor the large
outpouring of donations. I think one difference is the firefighters that died at Storm King were not 'locals' and were from 3 outfits not just one Hotshot crew. Another is that there had not been a precedence of lawsuits on wildland fire deaths. I believe 2001 was the first time a lawsuit was brought, following the Thirtymile Fire in Washington State.
It was the first time line officers, like Don Mackey, were singled out
for decisions made/not made that made them responsible for the lives of
firefighters. Even those line officers that worked for government
agencies were looking for personal liability insurance or were going to
quit fire fighting. Fire is dangerous. Fire is unpredictable. We all
know that going in, and our families understood it too. Not saying we
don't need changes on the line in communications, but again weather and
fire paired with some topography issues makes some areas dead zones
limiting radio or cell communications. LCES (lookouts, communications,
escape routes, safety zones) acronym came out of the tragedy of the
deaths during the 1990 Dude Fire, improvements came from tragedy of
Storm King, and they were evolve now following Yarnell Hill. Nothing can
be perfected when dealing with imperfect humans and often unpredictable
fire. When humans build in wildland fuels they should not expect to always be safe from nature and fire.
I have the upmost respect for you and your brethren regardless that I do not live in a country that would need services like yours. You are amazing people and the U.s. Is a better place for you.
I can't see why military planes cannot be flown over fire areas when radio communication is needed as military planes provide a downward arc of radio coverage, the higher the better.... Maybe that is something you could suggest to your superiors?
@Kim Slezak@Sharon Burke@Michelle anderson@Michelle Anderson Thanks for the response Kim. The 19 Hotshots were a Prescott crew; some were local residents and others came from Tucson and other towns/cities. Prescott probably won't have another Hotshot crew. The lawsuits filed by 12 survivors also name individuals, 2 Incident Commanders and another from a different agency, as well as the State of Arizona, Az Dept of Forestry, Yavapai County, etc.
I think you nailed it about the problems with communications. In mountainous areas, you will have dead zones. Add wind to that and communications will be tough especially as a fire intensifies. But that is the nature of firefighting in mountainous areas. Our equipment is subject to those limitations.
The LCES should keep firefighters safe unless command makes gross errors. I didn't see that in the Yarnell Hill fire.
Bottom line, there are very few fires where someone on the fire doesn't make some kind of mistake. Fires are unpredictable and things can move quickly. Period.
And yes. Communities should never count on firefighters to save their homes. There are laws requiring defensible space that they often ignore. They should also know where all their paperwork is, their portable valuables, medications, etc. and be ready to vacate ASAP if necessary.
A million homes are not worth the life of one firefighter.
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