Dark Days... and Adapting to a New Normal

I know I've written similar sentiments previously, but it seems like the hits just keep on coming this year. In the last 12 months here in the Sierra foothills, we've had catastrophic wildfires, public safety power shutoffs, short-term drought, pandemic, civic unrest, another wave of pandemic, more wildfires, horrible air quality due to smoke fro

m the wildfires, unprecedented heat (and even more wildfires), and now the threat of a new round of public safety power shutoffs. And in the last 36 hours, a fire that consumed more than 200,000 acres. All of these things have happened against a backdrop of national division, fomented by a President who seems to believe chaos and divisiveness benefit him politically. I'll admit - I'm exhausted by these dark days.

Despite all of this, however, it seems that many of us are finally realizing that climate change is a real thing. Record-setting heat in early September may be changing people's minds, I suppose. Personally, I find the science that connects our increasingly extreme weather with climate change compelling. I also find the evidence of the connection between our consumption of fossil fuels and our increasingly warm planet equally convincing. We've done this to ourselves.

That said, our current situation is obviously complex. I'm not suggesting that climate change alone is responsible for these destructive fires. We've built homes and entire communities in areas that used to be ranches, forests, and farms. We've tried to put out every fire for decades; we've forgotten how to use fire as a tool in many cases. As somebody put it on Twitter today, the number of fires we're seeing at the moment is the result of poor policy decisions. The magnitude of these fires is the result of poor policy and a changing climate. I remember being shocked when the Rim Fire near Yosemite burned 50,000 acres in a single day in 2013. In 2014, the King Fire east of my home in the Rubicon River drainage ran 10 miles in one night - and I was astounded. Yesterday, the Bear Fire exploded, apparently consuming nearly a quarter of a million acres in 24 hours. Words fail me.

From my perspective, we absolutely need to change our ways. We need to reduce our use of carbon as a fuel source (the burning of which creates the greenhouse gas carbon dioxide). That said, we also need to adapt. Even if we quit fossil fuels cold turkey tomorrow, we'll still be dealing with a warming planet - and all that entails. Adapting to this new reality, I think, is our most critical need in the next decade - if not the next several years.

What does adaptation look like? Certainly we need to address building standards and land use patterns to make our communities more resilient and more fire resistant. We need to find ways to support (financially and otherwise) innovative businesses that address our fuel load problems, including businesses that are "renting" sheep and goats to other landowners to consume brush and fine fuels on the urban-wildland fringe.

But perhaps adaptation also requires us to look to the past. The old timers I grew up around in Tuolumne and Calaveras Counties talked about using fire to improve forage for livestock. I've heard stories about sheepherders setting fires on their way out of the mountains in the late fall; about foothill ranchers burning brush to make way for grass to feed their cows. These fires improved livestock feed, certainly; they also reduced fire danger. I suspect these ranchers learned about prescribed fire (although they didn't know that term) from their fathers and grandfathers - who ultimately learned it from the Native Americans who lived here first. The knowledge of how to do this - and the regulatory ability to actually get it done - has largely skipped my generation.

And perhaps adaptation means taking a hard look at the "fire-industrial complex" - the notion that throwing more equipment and trained personnel at any problem will solve it. I don't mean to diminish the efforts of the professional firefighters who put their lives on the line every time the alarm sounds - they do amazing work! That said, we have begun to engage local communities in preventing fires (through fire safe councils, especially); perhaps we need to acknowledge that ranchers, timberland owners, loggers, and other resource "professionals" have much to offer in responding to these catastrophes.

As I write this, I realize that my perspective may be clouded by the "fog of war." We're in the midst of an immediate crisis; my thoughts will (and should) evolve as the current threat diminishes. But once these fires are out, we can't lose this window of opportunity to talk about adaptation. These are dark days indeed, but perhaps they will force us, finally, to have the hard conversations that will be necessary if we are to adapt.