Devastating... and yet...

I had a chance to tour the burn area in Lamoille Canyon this morning, as the USFS is allowing very limited vehicle-only access to the area for the next couple of days, before closing it again to visitors.

It was devastating to see, and I was repeatedly in tears.

It was fascinating, as the bones of the canyon, and its history, were laid out and vulnerable.

It was powerful, and timeless, as if I were seeing the canyon for the first time.  I was often disoriented, as familiar landmarks became strange... or disappeared.

And it was stunningly beautiful, in an austere, moonscape way.

As you approach the canyon, the heroism of the firefighters is on display, as time after time, inch after inch, you can see where they fought back the fire, where they held the line, at roads and trails and the dozer line they created.

The juxtaposition of what remains of this gorgeous fall and the hideous scar from the fire is heartbreaking. In some places, the fire still makes the recent rain turn to steam.

Very quickly, it becomes apparent that this fire was a fury, not only killing the brush but erasing it from the moonscape it created.

Most of the lower canyon recreation sites burned.  Oh, they were able to protect the USFS picnic ground, and Thomas Canyon Recreation Area, too.  

But the climbing areas burned, and burned hot. The grasses and brush that stabilized the climbing trails are gone. The anchoring trees are gone. 

Sport Rocks

Dead Snag wall, with the namesake dead snag burned.

Colossus. 

Sunshine, an ice climb whose approach is now rubble.

Scout Camp, probably the most popular ice climb in the canyon, with its tree anchors gone. 
This photo also shows the Beaver Tail ski area, along with much of the route for the Talbot-Lamoille Trail.  

The trailhead for the Secret-Lamoille Trail is ravaged, and the first half mile of trail is denuded. The fire made runs at the northeast aspects of gullies farther along the trail, meaning future users will be in and out of burn areas for the first two-plus miles of their trip.

The trees and brush that stabilized the Y Chutes are gone.

The approach to Terminal Cancer got much easier,
as a lot of the heinous bushwhack at the base is gone.

It goes on and on. You get the picture. Think of a recreation site in the lower canyon, and it burned.

And yet...

And yet...

The Canyon has changed in my lifetime, several times. And now it has changed again. You can see the remnants of the Canyon's history now that once was lost to the trees.

Here, you see a bit of the old road up the canyon, built by the Civilian Conservation Corps during the Depression.  When I was a child, the narrow, scary road was the only way a vehicle could get into the canyon.  I still remember how terrified I was when we drove through the Narrows... the road one skinny car wide, with no guard rail.

There, you see the remains of the old flume line, the foundations from the power generator, from the CCC barracks.

Pete's Cabin, there for all to see.

The fire slowed as it climbed uphill, and largely spent its fury by the time it reached Thomas Canyon.

And that's where they made us turn around.  Not safe, they said, even though that was the part of the canyon that didn't burn.

It was enough, though.  My heart and my eyes were full.

Even injured, the canyon was beautiful.  Majestic. The melted guard rails will no longer stop your car from plunging down the same steep cliffs that were there before. Mankind's nod to safety is fleeting.

The same stone sentinels soar overhead, framing a changing sky of clouds. The scars from the flood year are there, vulnerable, waiting to be ripped open again by the spring flows.

And the sound has changed.

The birdsong now echoes from the cliff faces, with no trees to stop the music.

The cliffs made sacred by time, and by the ashes of a friend,

stand guard while the mountains heal.

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