California, you're breaking my heart.
The Caldor Fire as seen from Reno in August, 2021
Smoke billowed up above the Caldor fire as we checked into our hotel in Reno. We had planned on staying at our cabin above the west shore of Tahoe, but the area was under a red flag warning, and areas just south of Ward Canyon were being evacuated. We didn’t want to tow the Airstream against the flow of refugees from South Lake Tahoe and Tahoma, and we didn’t relish trying to sleep in the hot, dry wind of our box canyon. Listening for the two-toned “Anne Frank” siren that commanded immediate evacuation. This did not sound like a restful way to spend the last night of our three-week road trip.
Tahoe National Forest Photo
Before our six thousand mile camping trip, we had spent June and July at the cabin, and between the choking smoke and the repeated red flag warnings, we had been eager to leave on our trip to Woodstock, New York and back. Two lightning-sparked fires had already occurred nearby. Helicopters scooped water from Lake Tahoe to dump on the burning trees, and the drumming of their rotors was the soundtrack to our Summer of Smoke.
A west shore view in July, 2021
After two years of drought, It was hard to remember the abundant wildflowers and summer snowstorms we’d enjoyed in previous years. This year the forests were dry as tinder, campfires and barbecues were banned, and any vigorous physical activity gave me a coughing fit.
Our once-annual visits to France had been canceled by a pandemic, and now our Tahoe refuge was being shut down as well. Will the pandemic ever end? Will global warming make drought and fire a permanent state of affairs? I fear this may be so.
California, you’re breaking my heart.