I never thought a wildfire could sweep through my town. Until it did

This First Person column is written by Joe McWilliams, who lives in Slave Lake, Alta. For more information about First Person stories, see the FAQ.

I used to find the charm in conifer trees growing right up to and indeed within communities. Alberta towns such as Jasper and Banff, are two good examples. Or Bragg Creek, which is built within a forest.

How pretty, I used to think, when visiting those places.

Now, all I can think of is that if the conditions are right, a fire is going to do a lot of damage. That's because of the wildfire that ripped through my community about 13 years ago.

In 2011, I was the editor of the local newspaper in Slave Lake, Alta., and was running around town trying to get a decent photograph of the encroaching wildfire.

It didn't occur to me — not even once — that fire could sweep into town, sending us running, abandoning all we owned to the flames.

Slave Lake felt like it was a lot less at risk — due to nearby spruce and pine stands — than those mountain communities. It wasn't and isn't the same kind of place. A good part of the economy is based on cutting down trees and turning them into products. If trees were left standing anywhere near town, it was just because nobody had gotten around to cutting them down yet. And anyway, the forest was separated from the town by a wide highway.

Forest fires are common in the boreal forest. I had reported on many of them over the years, some large, many small. One thing they never did was get into a town. Or if they were near a town, they at least were always stopped before they did much damage to property. The provincial government forestry folks knew what they were doing. I knew they were very good at what they did; I'd been reporting on it for years. I had great confidence in them. There'd been some close calls, but the water bombers, plus all the other resources, always seemed to win in the end. A lot of trees got burned, but that was about it.

So even when the fire that started east of Slave Lake on Saturday, May 14 was roaring toward town on the 15th, pushed by a 100-kilometre-per-hour wind, I still wasn't worried. It was just another interesting story I was covering.

"Look at all that smoke," I thought. "Wow! That'll make a great photo."

On the afternoon of the 15th, after driving around to see what we could see, my wife and I were surprised to find access to the southeast part of town blocked by a police officer. He told us the fire had entered town and nobody was being allowed in; only out. 

I couldn't believe it and didn't take it seriously. We sneaked in on foot and got to our house. I wasn't thinking clearly at all. 

But there wasn't much time to contemplate about what we'd bring with us. Within a few seconds, someone was pounding on the door, telling us we had to go. As we exited, we saw a house across the park on fire. That's when I finally accepted the fire was actually in town and I put my camera away.

A sense of grim acceptance came over me. I was not emotional at all. We had to assume our home would be lost.

Later that day, we saw the town office and library complex on fire as well as the car dealership across the street in flames (it turned out only about a dozen vehicles burned) and felt not a thing would be left standing. With that image in our minds, we joined the long line of cars south on Highway 2. 

WATCH | Residents flee the 2011 Slave Lake wildfire:

Residents share their videos of Slake Lake fire in 2011

9 years ago

Duration 2:01

This report by the CBC's Alicia Asquith from May 16, 2011 features the first hand accounts of the fire in Slave Lake. Much of the video was captured by residents as they were fleeing the flames.

When we were allowed back in 12 days later, we realized we were among the lucky ones who didn't lose a home or business. The fire came close — three houses away — but by sheer luck, the entry point of the fire and the consistent direction of the gale-like wind kept the blaze on a fast-moving northwesterly path. It went right by our home, leaving nothing much standing in its way, with the rest weirdly untouched, until it finally petered out in the northwest corner of town.

Thanks to support from the province, Slave Lake was able to throw a lot of resources into reducing wildfire risk in the months and years after the 2011 disaster.

Today, my neighbourhood in Slave Lake exists in two distinct parts. On one side, old houses; on the other, brand new ones, all built after 2011.

Huge amounts of fuel (dead and down trees, mostly) were removed and an aggressive mowing and hazard-reduction burning program initiated.

Thirteen years later, the sense of urgency on that score has declined a great deal. And it's making me nervous. Because when the embers start flying, stuff will burn.

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