A Day on the Fireline

I watched 16 acres of grass fields burn to the bare soil at Mason Neck State Park last week and I enjoyed every second of it. Not in a sinister way, but in a dignified and humbling kind of way.

Warm-season grassy meadow, field 1 of 4 before burning

Fire has not always been something even remotely interesting to me. It didn’t scare me, but it just never sparked my interest - at least, not until I had the opportunity to work with fire for the greater ecological good. After witnessing my first prescribed burn on Friday, my whole world was flipped upside-down.

Many adjectives describe fire: terrifying, destructive, erratic, voracious, maybe thrilling or even mesmerizing. The problem is, more than half of them carry a negative connotation. Now check out my list of adjectives to describe fire: rejuvenating, bold, beautiful, warming, cleansing and invaluable. I’m here shed light on any burning questions you might have regarding fire in the conservation world.

Please enjoy the following introduction video (I will never be a good impromptu speaker and I have already accepted that so just enjoy the embedded message):

Obviously I can’t talk and focus on the radio at the same time

Think back to watching the news as a child and viewing a scene with brave firefighters venturing into towering flames. Sometimes it was a house, sometimes it was in the great outdoors with rolling ridgelines and thickets of evergreens spanning for miles. Regardless of the situation, we all had a moment each time where we thought to ourselves, “I hope those firefighters can put out that awful fire and emerge safely”. That awful fire. We go on with our lives thinking about how terribly destructive that fire was and how it shouldn’t have been there in the first place (excluding accidental urban fires). What if I told you that fire was a beneficial (and quite normal) phenomenon in which ecosystems could not survive without?

Numerous ecosystems require natural fires to promote healthy regeneration of plants, fungi, animals, and other organisms. Prairies, deserts, chaparral, warm-season grass fields, glades, and even forests all rely on fire to remain healthy and productive - this is the basic premise of fire ecology. Historically, humans have done their best to prevent wildfires, but now it is of utmost importance to bring the fire back into our conservation efforts and embrace its power.

This old growth forest is a prime example of an ecosystem undisturbed by fire

Long story short, creating controlled wildfires helps to prevents larger, unwanted fires from occurring and racking up serious damage. That is where resource managers come into play - they identify land that requires burning, assess the best conditions in which they can burn safely, and then execute the prescribed burn. These prescribed burns (or prescribed fires) are awesome for a couple of reasons:

• “Reduces hazardous fuels, protecting human communities from extreme fires;
• Minimizes the spread of pest insects and disease;
• Removes unwanted species that threaten species native to an ecosystem;
• Provides forage for game;
• Improves habitat for threatened and endangered species;
• Recycles nutrients back to the soil; and
• Promotes the growth of trees, wildflowers, and other plants;”
• Taken from the US Forest Service Prescribed Fire Page

By now you’re probably thinking, “Ok, sign me up - let’s light some stuff on fire!” But let’s think: prescribed fires are inherently prescribed, just what the resource manager ordered, right? They are intentional and performed by professionals who have dedicated hours to learning the complicated mechanisms behind fire behavior and management. It ultimately comes down to the right people carefully prescribing “the right fire at the right place at the right time” (US Forest Service).

Some of the burn crew monitoring the fire

This brings me back to Mason Neck. This burn was executed by a VSP team of certified Wildland Firefighters. Unfortunately, I was just a week away from becoming certified, so instead of burning I snagged a front row seat and experienced my first burn behind the fireline. You’re probably wondering what it’s like to be on the fireline - let me show you!

Standing in the observation tower from a nearby trail, I was able to see it all. The drip torch had strategic placement every time it swept across the field. The light fuel grasses (quick to dry out & catch, thin, burns hot) were very flashy, which served as a constant reminder to those on ignition crew to keep trucking along and don’t even let the green briars in your way slow you down - otherwise your safety will be quickly compromised. I witnessed the fire tactics achieve success as each member placed their internal struggles on the back burner.

Watching unburned fuels voraciously consumed by flashy fire is impressive, but nothing prepared me for the overwhelming roaring and crackling noises accompanied by a massive fire. Nor was I prepared for the scorching-hot radiation singeing my face, or the brutal convective winds forcing heat, gases and debris upwards in a deadly spiral and frivolously scattering away.

“The green” unburned fuels vs. “the black” fuels exhausted, field 1 of 4

Nothing prepared me for that humbling experience of a chapped face smeared with bits of ash, struggling to locate fresh Oxygen as the local winds briefly smothered me with Carbon Monoxide. As I found out, prescribed burns are wildly effective (and beautiful) management tools but you cannot underestimate their inherently scorching, dangerous and unpredictable nature. Truthfully, it was better to be unprepared so that when my time comes to serve on the fireline, I can safely prepare for anything.

Now, the real reward comes during the spring and summer seasons. Soon enough those fields will flourish with lush green grasses, courting Spring Peepers and Red-spotted Newts, foraging Cottontails and vibrant pollinators of all families in the animal kingdom.

Encounters With An Ancient Forest

Have you ever come across a huge tree that requires 3 people to wrap around its trunk? How about 6 people? Picture this: thousands of colossal trees with little undergrowth, undisturbed by logging, expanding for hundreds of meters on rolling ridgelines laid in front of you. There are few forests that feature some “champion” trees on the east coast, and Caledon State Park features one of those forests.

My position with the Virginia Service & Conservation Corps (VSCC) entails volunteering at several Virginia State Parks to maintain the natural, cultural, and historic resources that are featured within the parks I serve. I perform meaningful activities such as trail construction and maintenance, invasive species removal, prescribed fire burns, disaster relief, and other related duties. Ultimately, it is a unique way to serve my local community (one large, overarching goal of Americorps) and to assist park rangers in maintaining public lands.

However, I don’t believe the phrase “serving my community” does my position justice. Rather, it should be changed to “serving my ecosystem”, because my position with the VSCC primarily focuses on maintaining and conserving natural resources through meaningful service. Since humans play a substantial role in all ecosystems around the world, it is justified to say I “serve my ecosystem” in the most productive manner possible. And this past week, I had the pleasure of serving my local ecosystem at Caledon State Park nestled on the historic Potomac River in King George, Virginia.

Please enjoy this awkward 3-minute introduction to part of my service at Caledon this past week:

Allow me to reiterate: there are some ancient, gigantic trees at this park. I mean ginormous trees. Ranger Joey said many of these trees are upwards of 250+ years old. Now how often do you actually stumble upon trees that lived through the signing of our Constitution and the Civil War?

Old growth forests serve many unique purposes that are merely augmentations of regular forests on a grander scale. The cool part of trail work at Caledon is once we are finished with the mountain biking and hiking trail, everyone will be able to experience the old-growth forest firsthand in the most unobtrusive way possible. But for those who have never ventured into an old growth forest, let me impart some ecological wisdom on you:

-          Old growth forests are critical ecosystems that store massive amounts of Carbon, both above (in plants) and below the ground (in soil as peat)

-          Biodiversity of plant life and animal life is rich for a multitude of reasons, but mostly due to

o   A wide variety of microniches available (varying canopy levels with different degrees of sunlight, multiple tree species, topographic changes, etc.)

o   The perpetuation of forest stability and continuity due to little/no disturbance

-          Old growth forests maintain, replenish, and/or dictate:

o   CO₂ and O₂ cycles

o   Water purification

o   Soil stabilization and nutrient regeneration from decaying organic matter into useful minerals, compounds, etc. for other organisms to utilize

o   Local climate control, and plenty more

Old-growth forests enable insects like this common decomposer, the Patent Leather Beetle, to thrive and hibernate without human disturbances

Many trees, shrubs, herbs, grasses, etc. thrive in old-growth forests like Caledon, but let me tell you about this inconceivably large Red Oak tree (Quercus rubra) I stumbled upon after we finished work one day. This Red Oak in question is precisely the same oak pictured above and below.

The canopy of this Red Oak extended well beyond the top of the picture

A native eastern & midwestern tree, the Red Oak is well renowned in timber production as quality lumber for a multitude of purposes to the benefit of humans. The species is considered all-purpose, hardy species adapting rapidly to most soil and light conditions. Red Oak acorns, unlike their White counterparts, must endure exposure of ≤ 40° F for 3 or more months in order to properly germinate. After that, two years must pass before development of that little acorn is complete and it can be considered a viable individual for reproduction (granted, it will still be a small tree in two years’ time).

When I wrapped my comparatively miniscule arms around the durable, aged bark of this 247 year old Red Oak, my mind raced through all the special conditions this tree met each and every year to survive. How cold were the winters back in 1770? What kind of animals passed by this particular Red Oak that had the opportunity to browse on the acorn but instead didn’t? Did any human ever gaze at this tree at one point and visualize it as a quaint table to have tea & porridge on? What has this Red Oak seen but will never have a voice to reveal to us?

This Red Oak met some pretty special conditions, as did the rest of the old-growth forests here at Caledon State Park.

It Knows Everything I Don't Know

Some people say it is the most magnificent thing you’ll ever see, incomparable to your heart’s most tangible desires. Undeniably captivating. Its beauty is unmatched, but only if you choose to see the beauty.

Great Exhuma, Bahamas

Man has sought control over it, yet it is something from which we protect ourselves.

It is constantly renewing itself in a cyclical, habitual manner that is usually predictable yet unpredictable all the same.

It is unforgiving, grim, and at many times distressingly heartbreaking.

It welcomes – rather, it expects – competition in the most savage form. The only options are to fight for, or defend your life.

You can see it, you can touch it, you can experience it… but you’ll never adequately understand it. It has no boundaries, it has no ambitions, and the sky is barely the limit.

It has the power to foresee everything we cannot. It is by no means discriminatory but yet is highly selective. It allocates a purpose for every biotic (living) and abiotic (non-living) factor in this global ecosystem we deem our stomping grounds.

It is hardy as the ocean shoreline bombarded by storm waves, yet simultaneously fragile as a powdery snowflake gently resting on a car windshield.

It knows nothing I know yet it knows everything I don’t know.

Looking into the sunset on Hummingbird Cay, Great Exhuma, Bahamas – Research Trip, March 2013

Nature provides ample corridors upon which your entrapped mind can wander, expand its boundaries and connect its fragmented islands of knowledge to facilitate learning in various ways.

I’m here to breach the window standing in between what you see, what you don’t see, and what you think you see in nature. Having already breached those preconceived windows myself, I discover something new every day only to discover that I know so very little about this planet.

I can only open a few doors to peek at fundamental elements of nature, but you have to take the step and explore the path on your own.

Unidentified intertidal bivalves anchor to rocks on the uninhabited Hummingbird Cay

This is my call to action. A call to encounter the awe-inspiring story nature offers within reach. A call to discover everything nature knows that we don’t know.

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Thank you for reading, if you got this far! This initial entry was purely for introduction purposes. I view nature from a vastly different perspective than most people. I firmly believe that in order to holistically interpret the nature around you, all preconceived paradigms must first shift and subsequently broaden to accommodate and process it all.

My hope is for you, my reader, to walk in my shoes first before you can fully appreciate my entries in the manner in which they are intended. Only once you appreciate something for more than face value do you begin to care for said thing.

With that being said, many fun and useful facts are on their way in proceeding entries (yes, I heard you all in the back asking about the factual writing I promised). I did, however, incorporate one major factual tidbit that introduces a relevant portion of restoration ecology – take a second look if you didn’t catch it the first time.

Love,

Lauren