
'Perfect storm': Jasper's deputy fire chief says 2024 wildfire was matter of time
'Especially with the pine beetles, when all of the trees were red, it was really obvious to just look out your window and see dead trees all through the valley. And you think, oh, we have a million dead Christmas trees standing in our forest.'
Article content
But, as much as someone can prepare for the thing, when the thing actually comes, it's a whole different level of hell.
Article content
Smith was born and raised in Jasper. His mother was born in Jasper. His grandparents were married in Jasper close to a century ago. And, throughout those generations, nothing came close to last year's wildfire.
Article content
'Having a catastrophic event like this, it turned into a bigger event than we'd feared,' he said. 'You hope that all of your planning and resources will fall into place and you'll have a good chance to stop it. Of course, what we've seen in the last 15, 20 years, around the province and all over the world, for that matter, is where you get these situations where it goes beyond. It's perfect-storm conditions. It's weeks of hot, dry weather and crazy high winds and it turns into something much, much more.'
Article content
Article content
Last year, when they found out on July 22 that the fire was bearing towards town, the fire department knew it had less than two days to prepare for whatever was going to be thrown its way. Firefighters from nearby towns and counties, Grande Cache, Hinton and Parkland County, arrived to help out. And, when it became clear that the town was going to take a direct hit from the fire, what amounted to an all-points bulletin was issued from the command centre. Any available firefighter would be welcome.
Article content
They worked on prepping the critical infrastructure; the hospital, RCMP station and utilities. All those scenarios they had worried about were playing out to the nth degree. And then the smoke plume flattened out, plunging afternoon into night. And then came the winds. Smith said his crew saw patio furniture strewn about Jasper's streets.
Article content
Article content
And then came the embers, propelled by those winds. The crews got to the fires as quickly as they could, but all they could do was play catch-up. And what Smith remembers is just how quickly it was all over.
Article content
The return
Article content
The day Smith will never forget is when the gates were lifted and residents came back into town. The fire department awaited their arrival.
Article content
'The event itself was very traumatic, but the emotions really played in afterwards,' he said.
Article content
'The day that people got to come back to town was super dramatic, way more super emotional than just some people coming back to seeing that their house was OK. We didn't anticipate that. We were just happy, like, really happy. So, we decided to meet them as they opened the gates to let people into town. We really didn't anticipate the reaction of folks returning, because, you know, they were very emotional. Once they saw the fire department, they were losing it, big time. I don't think I've ever seen so many people crying, bawling.'
Article content
But Smith understands the July 22 commemoration will bring back raw emotions for his firefighters and their fellow Jasper residents. He said about a third of his crew lost their homes a year ago. The fire department moved to having four full-time staff, to allow volunteers some more time off to heal. While Smith didn't lose his home, his son, a railway engineer, had to move back in with mom and dad. They're also hosting a seasonal worker. The Smiths' once-empty nest is full again. He said for many residents, the anniversary will be a reminder that a year has passed, and they still don't have permanent homes to live in. It will remind them just how slow the rebuild is going. The municipality is expecting the recovery to be a decade-long process.
Article content
As well, the fire department makes sure to rotate staff when it comes to speaking at public events or to the media. If one person has to keep reliving the day the fire hit town, it's too much.
Article content
Article content
What Smith is happy about is that the department hasn't lost any volunteers. He said the trends in volunteer departments is that they shed members after major, traumatic events. But the mental well-being of the team is always on his mind.
Article content
'It's tricky with mental health,' he said. 'Every single person's going to react differently. They're going to have different experiences, different expectations. Some of them were really good in the beginning and then, later on, realized maybe they weren't as good as they thought they were. Some of them were quite shocked the ovewhelming factors of everything that happened. We have had a lot of support. They started to bring in teams early, from Alberta Mental Health Services and we had some private guys coming in as well. We've really followed that up as a department and as a municipality and we've got a program in place for folks.'
Hashtags

Try Our AI Features
Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:
Comments
No comments yet...
Related Articles


Vancouver Sun
11 hours ago
- Vancouver Sun
Cops, crime, creeps and keeping cool in creeks: The summer life of a B.C. police dog
A man plays with his dog in a wooded Coquitlam glen, tossing a ball with a splash into the crystal-clear waters of their top-secret swimming hole. It's a warm summer day, the heat not quite reaching oppressive levels, but the air is still thick and heavy. The dog marks his appreciation for the dip by shaking off a cloud of water right beside his minder. The scene is an idyllic, if common, moment. Man. Dog. Ball. Slobber. Gun. Badge. Start your day with a roundup of B.C.-focused news and opinion. By signing up you consent to receive the above newsletter from Postmedia Network Inc. A welcome email is on its way. If you don't see it, please check your junk folder. The next issue of Sunrise will soon be in your inbox. Please try again Interested in more newsletters? Browse here. The latter two might not be commonplace, but they're what set Const. Ross Findlay and his partner, Kanto, apart. Plus, they're on duty. While some of their fellow officers can cool off in a coffee shop or pull on some striped cargo shorts for a bike patrol, Kanto doesn't have that option. But Findlay's unmarked SUV does have some special features built-in to keep his partner from turning into a hotdog. There are fans built into two rear windows, pulling in strong drafts of air to the rear compartment, plus internal fans that keep it circulating. The heavy-duty air conditioning can run when he's away from his vehicle, as a secure idle system allows the vehicle to remain running to keep the interior cool while maintaining security. There is also a temperature monitoring system for the truck with a dedicated control panel; it will alert Findlay if the car is getting too hot by honking and flashing the lights, or by buzzing a remote he keeps with him if he's out of earshot. The cruiser also has literal buckets of water for Kanto to drink. But nothing beats a splash in the creek. 'They're gonna get out of the truck and a chance to lay in the shade or something a handful of times a day,' said Findlay, 'but in the peak of the summer like this, on day shifts, I'm getting him out once a day for a swim.' The location of their secret spot, close to a major highway, will remain unreported, lest Findlay draw the ire of his fellow dog-handlers who also frequent it — and there are many of them. The Lower Mainland District Integrated Police Dog Service (LMD IPDS) is the largest in Canada, and one of the biggest overall in North America, with 48 pairings that provides 24/7 coverage to five cities and 28 RCMP-policed communities. The joint RCMP and municipal police program answers more than 10,000 calls per year, from the Lower Mainland, to Pemberton, to Boston Bar. Findlay, a member of the IPDS for seven of his 15 years in law enforcement, is with the New Westminster police. He's been paired with Kanto since he was a puppy, his first canine partner. 'It's different. They don't talk as much,' he laughed, when asked the difference between having a canine and a human partner. 'They are good listeners. He listens very well, actually. 'It's a perfect job. We get paid to hang out with a dog all day. And they're our best friend, right?' All of the RCMP's dogs come from the same place — Innisfail, Alta., where they have established a formal breeding program for German shepherds that's now into its 25th year. The Police Dog Service Training Centre (PDSTC) sees 50 per cent of their puppies become working dogs; when they bought puppies before, only one-in-six would make the cut. When Findlay — who was, ironically, studying to be a veterinarian in university before switching to law enforcement — first met Kanto, he was sure he would be one of them. 'My first impression was, 'Well, I've got a lot of work to do, to get him to like me.' Understandable. He was just put on a plane and in a truck, and then came out to me,' he said. 'But I could tell he was … from the second we started doing a little bit of training. I'm like, 'Oh, he's a strong dog. He's gonna be worth it when we get to a good place.' ' Step 1 was just getting used to each other. Findlay would just sit in Kanto's dog run for hours on end, sometimes just reading a book. Then he added in some hand-feeding. And the bond began to grow. 'Animals, they're not machines. They're like us. They need the time to bond and build that trust,' he said. 'Some are quicker than others. He took a while. It was probably a good six, seven, eight months until he started to like me … It's a unique experience. Building that bond can take a long time, a lot of one-on-one time, just immersing yourselves kind of together. They're going to become your best friend and partner. So it just takes time.' Now, they're experts at communicating with each other. A tongue click from Findlay, a verbal command or even body language gets his point across. But some day in the not-too-distant future, Findlay will be starting with a new dog, as Kanto — who turns eight in September — is closing in on retirement age. He's lived with his handler for most of his life, but now will get a new appreciation for the couch and the hearth instead of the back of a black Chevy Tahoe. Findlay says he'll probably still come for rides in a non-working capacity, and fully expects him to be a 'bull in a china shop' — he'll make sure anything of value is put away — for the first few weeks of his retired life before settling in. Then there will be his new role: pet. 'He likes me. He likes my wife. And then my two kids (one and four); it's been a good progression since they were born,' he said. 'Now it's at the point where they can pet him a little bit, and he's fine with it, but you can just tell by his body language, 'Like, why are you touching me?' ' You know, as pesky little siblings can be. 'I think he just sees me as dad. Not an alpha. Not a food source. It's just … 'That's dad,' ' said Findlay, joking that he has better success getting his partner to heed his wishes than his children. 'Kanto knows to listen. You only have to tell him once. Kids, they may take a couple times.' jadams@


Calgary Herald
5 days ago
- Calgary Herald
Jasper visitors warned: 'We don't need another cathartic experience for your tourism entertainment'
Article content Article content The thing that's striking about a wildfire's aftermath is how random the damage is. One neighbourhood is razed, the next is intact. One home stands on a street, while the rest of the houses were destroyed. A decimated Esso station by the rail tracks sits right across the street from a Montana's restaurant that's intact and open for business. The fire spread into town by burning embers that were catapulted into neighbourhoods by high winds. So, it was as if Mother Nature played a fiery game of Russian Roulette. A house got hit and started to burn, while the next street avoided the fire. Article content 'It was hit and miss,' said Ward. Article content And that random nature of the fire makes it hard for residents to process what happened to their town. Some lost everything, some didn't. And, mentally, that might be tougher than if the entire town had burned. Article content Survivor's guilt is a very real thing in Jasper, said Smith. And he recognized it when Jasper was reopened and people were first brought back into town to find out if they'd lost everything — or not. Article content Article content 'The first impression when you come into town was, gee, it's not so bad, everything's here,' said Smith. 'But you drive down main street, and then you get to the far end, and it was like, oh yeah, wow. They were bringing in residents in busloads to drive around and show them the areas that were affected. And then the other folks come in, and then there's the other side of that. They feel bad because their stuff didn't burn.'


Edmonton Journal
5 days ago
- Edmonton Journal
Jasper visitors warned: 'We don't need another cathartic experience for your tourism entertainment'
Article content Article content The thing that's striking about a wildfire's aftermath is how random the damage is. One neighbourhood is razed, the next is intact. One home stands on a street, while the rest of the houses were destroyed. A decimated Esso station by the rail tracks sits right across the street from a Montana's restaurant that's intact and open for business. The fire spread into town by burning embers that were catapulted into neighbourhoods by high winds. So, it was as if Mother Nature played a fiery game of Russian Roulette. A house got hit and started to burn, while the next street avoided the fire. Article content 'It was hit and miss,' said Ward. Article content And that random nature of the fire makes it hard for residents to process what happened to their town. Some lost everything, some didn't. And, mentally, that might be tougher than if the entire town had burned. Article content Survivor's guilt is a very real thing in Jasper, said Smith. And he recognized it when Jasper was reopened and people were first brought back into town to find out if they'd lost everything — or not. Article content Article content 'The first impression when you come into town was, gee, it's not so bad, everything's here,' said Smith. 'But you drive down main street, and then you get to the far end, and it was like, oh yeah, wow. They were bringing in residents in busloads to drive around and show them the areas that were affected. And then the other folks come in, and then there's the other side of that. They feel bad because their stuff didn't burn.' Article content