Campfire ban coming for B.C.'s Lower Mainland, Vancouver Island this week
A campfire ban will take effect across much of the Coastal Fire Centre later this week, according to a B.C. Wildfire Service spokesperson.
Fire information officer Kimberly Kelly told CTV News on Tuesday that the Category 1 fire ban will take effect Thursday at noon for all areas of the Coastal Fire Centre except the mid-coast and Haida Gwaii.
The Coastal Fire Centre encompasses the Lower Mainland, Vancouver Island, the Sunshine Coast and other coastal areas of the province as far north as Bella Coola.
A Category 1 fire is defined as a campfire no larger than half a metre wide by half a metre high.
Bans on larger Category 2 and 3 open burning have been in place for most of the Coastal Fire Centre since the end of May.
Campfire bans imposed by the wildfire service typically apply to areas outside of municipal control. Municipalities have the authority to implement their own fire prevention rules within their boundaries.
Open fires are the largest source of human-caused fires in B.C., according to the wildfire service. Bans on open burning are implemented to reduce the likelihood of human-caused fires during times when an increase in lightning-caused fires is anticipated.
'Anyone found in contravention of an open fire prohibition may be issued a ticket for $1,150, required to pay an administrative penalty of $10,000, or, if convicted in court, fined up to $100,000 and/or sentenced for up to one year in jail,' the wildfire service says on its website.
'If your fire causes or contributes to a wildfire, you may be fined up to $1 million and/or sentenced to up to three years in jail, as well as be responsible for all firefighting and associated costs.'
Hashtags
Try Our AI Features
Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:
Comments
No comments yet...
Related Articles
CTV News
7 hours ago
- CTV News
Ontario woman shares warning after a near-miss ceiling collapse at her short-term rental
A woman says AirBNB is refusing to refund her stay after the roof of her rental collapsed with her family inside. CTV's Karis Mapp has the story. A woman says AirBNB is refusing to refund her stay after the roof of her rental collapsed with her family inside. CTV's Karis Mapp has the story. A woman from Ottawa says she was staying at an AirBNB in Kitchener when a section of the ceiling collapsed near her family. Victoria Nguyen told CTV News she was in the city to introduce her young son to his great-grandparents. Her brother and father got to the AirBNB first. 'They sent me a picture,' Nguyen recalled. 'It was sagging, like the ceiling was sagging.' She was stunned when she saw it for herself. 'I was just shocked. I just looked at the ceiling. I was like, 'Oh, man. That looks like it's going to fall at any time.'' Nguyen said she was aware there had been water damage to the ceiling a week before her arrival. A test message from the host, which she shared with CTV News, described it as 'a small patch (3x4 feet) in the kitchen ceiling that bulged out a little.' She was also assured there was 'no safety hazard and the ceiling is intact.' Then, three days into her stay at the rental, the unthinkable. 'It happened right in front of my eyes because I was feeding my baby,' Nguyen explained. 'Suddenly, without any notice at all, [the ceiling] collapsed. It was loud, surprisingly. It was heavy. The drywall went down and it nearly missed my father.' airbnb ceiling damage short-term rental kitchener ottawa Ceiling damage at a short-term rental in Kitchener. (Courtesy: Victoria Nguyen) She said, had the timing been different, someone could have been seriously hurt. 'Me and my son were in the area all morning, so if something had happened to him, I just can't imagine. It was definitely scary.' Nguyen tried to contact the host to let him know about the ceiling collapse. After multiple failed attempts, she reached out directly to AirBNB who offered her a 30 per cent refund. 'I think it's because we stayed there for three days and it happened on our last day there,' she explained. 'But, to me, I feel like it doesn't matter which day it happened on. The point was that this never should have been listed at all.' CTV News also reached out to the host who denied contacting Nguyen about the damaged ceiling before her stay. He claimed she embellished the story in hopes of getting a full refund. airbnb ceiling damage short-term rental kitchener ottawa Ceiling damage at a short-term rental in Kitchener. (Courtesy: Victoria Nguyen) Nguyen said she was sharing her story because she wanted to warn others. 'I think AirBNB should have higher standards for the safety of their guests and take these situations more seriously. We're lucky that no one got hurt.' One expert said it's not unusual to hear about damage to a short-term rental. 'They're just trying to make money off of people that will deal with that because they're just short-term,' said Stefan Juzkiw, the owner and founder of Juzkiw Law in Toronto. 'When the owner, or AirBNB host, tells you there's an issue, you want to be very cautious and try to investigate fully. Ideally, you want places that are reasonably safe.' CTV News also reached out to AirBNB. A spokesperson from the company said the listing for the Kitchener rental has been suspended until the host confirms the ceiling problem has been addressed. AirBNB also said Nguyen would be issued a full refund.
CBC
18 hours ago
- CBC
Search for B.C.'s Best Symbol: Animal Semifinals
If you were to have asked settler British Columbians what their favourite symbol of this area was 100 years ago, few would have said orcas. "They were seen as an animal that was quite terrifying and something to be feared," said Andrew Trites, director of the University of B.C.'s Marine Mammal Research Unit. "Even the name they were given, killer whales, that should be a red flag right there," he said. Because of some dangerous encounters with humans and the fact that whales and humans were often viewed to be in competition for salmon, headlines like "Killer Whale Spreads Fear" and "Criminals Of Ocean" were seen in B.C. newspapers in the 1940s and 1950s. At one point, there was the idea of using machine guns near Seymour Narrows to shoot them. But according to historian Jason Colby, public perception of orcas among settlers changed rather dramatically in the 1960s, as they began to be put in captivity and studied. "Even though that practice is rightly criticized these days, it was really the spark that transformed our relationship with them," he said. "When we brought them into our urban spaces and started experiencing them as individuals … it was a powerful factor in shifting the way people not just thought about orcas, but how they thought about how we treat all wildlife in the region." In that sense, according to Colby, the orca became a proxy for B.C.'s burgeoning environmental movement — including the campaign to stop holding them in captivity — and with that became a symbol of something far greater than its own species. Or put another way, symbols often become powerful not because of what they do, but how the culture around them changes. "The shifting economic value or environmental values, the shifting priorities about how we interact with the local landscape and seascape," said Colby. "I think it's a pretty powerful symbol of how we changed in terms of our values and priorities, and it remains so today." Yet despite the shift among settler attitudes over the past 100 years, many coastal First Nations have deep, longstanding and sacred relationships with orcas. According to Nuu-chah-nulth First Nations' teachings, orcas are the guardians of the sea, and for the Tsleil-Waututh people, the whales are a source of spiritual power and teachings. In 2018, when an orca mother carried her dead calf through the Salish Sea for 17 days, the Tsleil-Waututh Nation called it a "direct communication" from the whales to remind them of their responsibilities to the lands, waters and beings. From 64 symbols to just 16 left While the orca may be a powerful symbol, can B.C.'s official bird, the mighty Steller's jay, produce a big upset? The Search for B.C.'s Best Symbol has reached its third round, and with it, the number of daily matchups this week goes down to two. The winners will advance to the quarterfinals, which begin next week. Voting closes at 10 p.m. PT — may the best symbols advance!
CBC
19 hours ago
- CBC
These family cabins held decades of memories. The Chance Harbour wildfire destroyed them within days
Broken glass crunches under Marguerite Pike's green rubber boots, as she walks through a pile of ash-covered debris. She bends down and picks up a couple of glass plates that have melted together. Beside her is the blackened, twisted metal frame of what used to be a bathtub. This is the ruins of Pike's happy place — the cabin she owned with her husband, Ken, for over 30 years. It was destroyed by the Chance Harbour wildfire, which was burning out of control on Newfoundland's Bonavista Peninsula for nearly two weeks. "I choose not to think about it," said Pike, as she stands on her wooden dock holding a large, framed photograph of her cabin before it was wrecked by the flames. "That's how bad it is. That you don't think about it at all." The wildfire, which began in the Chance Harbour area on July 14, has burned an estimated 1,820 hectares of land over the last fortnight, according to the provincial wildfire dashboard. As of Friday, it's labelled on the dashboard as "being held." Residents estimate at least 40 cabins have been lost in the Chance Harbour wildfire, mostly in the small inlets of Warrick's Cove, Pudding Cove and Deer Island Tickle along the Bonavista Bay. The people with cabins in these coves describe the area as a tight-knit community that feels more like family. While many cabins in the area are people's summer getaways, Pike says she and her husband spent half of the year at their place in Warrick's Cove, including on holidays such as New Year's and Christmas Day. Fishing with the grandkids and family cookouts are moments Pike reflects on fondly as she stands on her dock. But she can't point to a favourite memory. "Every day was a memory," she said. Decades of hard work destroyed Ryan Pitts guides his boat along calm waters on a coast he knows like the back of his hand. Pitts has lived on the Bonavista Peninsula his whole life. He docks his boat at a wharf in Canning's Cove, the community he was born in and where his parents still live. It takes about an hour and 15 minutes to drive his boat from that wharf to the heart of cabin country. Ever since the fire broke out, he's made that journey in his boat — aptly named the "Moral Support" — nearly every day, braving the flames and thick smoke to help people salvage what they can from their properties. WATCH | Cabin owners say tranquil community is turned upside down after Chance Harbour wildfire: Emotions high as cabin owners get closer look at Chance Harbour wildfire destruction 5 hours ago The Chance Harbour wildfire has been burning out-of-control for around two weeks, and is causing widespread destruction in cabin country on the Bonavista Bay. While many cabin owners lost their properties to the fire, others stayed nearby and fought the flames themselves. The CBC's Jessica Singer reports. During his journeys, Pitts has also been capturing the destruction on his cellphone, sending videos and pictures to friends to update them on the status of their cabins. He also shares what he sees on social media, scenes he describes as looking like a war zone. He opens his phone and clicks on a video that shows thick plumes of black smoke billowing into the sky and huge flames quickly eating up rows of evergreen trees. "I just started recording it cause cabins mean a lot to us here," he said. "Some people think you're losing a cabin, it's not a big deal, but to us, it's a huge deal." Pitts says Newfoundlanders pour their hearts and souls into their properties, which are sometimes situated on land that has belonged to family or friends for generations. People save up every bit of money they can get to build a cabin, he says, and spend decades working on renovations and upgrades. As Pitts sits at the helm of his boat on Wednesday morning, there's a bit of a chill in the air. It's overcast, but the water is calm, almost still. A couple of helicopters circle over a forested area about an hour away from cabin country, dropping buckets of water onto hot spots that are puffing up grey smoke. The chaos he's witnessed over the past week has mostly subsided, but the destruction it left in its wake has transformed the picturesque landscape he's known since childhood. He points out a fully intact dock with a red picnic table sitting on top of it that leads to a plot of scorched, black earth. On another plot of land, one of his friend's cookout sheds is now a flattened piece of metal roofing and shattered glass. He docks the boat in Pudding Cove at his aunt's place. What used to be a bright yellow cabin with red trim is now a pile of debris and ash. Twisted metal bed frames and curtain rods lie on charred ground. Pitts's dad Marvin lifts a pot and pan from the wreckage that he hopes to bring home and salvage. "Hard to see. Hard to believe what I'm looking at," he said. "A lot of memories, gone, just like that." While many families are grieving the loss of their safe havens, there are a number of cabins still standing. Pitts says this is thanks to the hard work of residents who chose to battle the blaze themselves. 'There's times I feel a little guilty' Ray Little bought his cabin in Deer Island Tickle seven years ago, a place his father and four brothers helped build in 1991. While his cabin is still fully intact, traces of the fire's wrath are within reach, as charred tree branches and blackened bark lie just a few feet away from his cabin. The reason the flames didn't reach his place is because he spent eight days battling through plumes of smoke and dowsing his property with water. Despite the Department of Fisheries, Forestry and Agriculture advising people in the Great Chance Harbour area to leave their cabins, Little and a few friends travelled back and forth from their homes in nearby communities to Deer Island Tickle to fight the blaze with a water pump and hose. Little has been a firefighter with the Musgravetown Volunteer Fire Department for over 20 years, and he says he always made sure he was far away from any flames, and when the smoke got too thick, he'd hop on his boat and wait until it cleared. Wearing rubber boots, a mask, and his regular street clothes, Little and his friends saved three cabins in the area. "To save something that we loved, it means something," said Little. "On the other side, there's times I feel a little guilty. Why is mine standing, somebody else's is gone?" Perry Ash also saved his cabin in Deer Island Tickle, though he had no firefighting experience until his property was in danger. When the wildfire first broke out, Ash rushed to his cabin and discovered his brother Ricky's place next door was already destroyed, and the flames were coming up to his house. Ash spent two days throwing five-gallon buckets of water onto his deck and cabin, fighting through smoke without a mask. Eventually, he got access to water pumps and after a week of hard, physical labour, he saved his property. His firefighting uniform was a pair of jeans, a button-down shirt and new sneakers from Costco. "I had more strength than I ever thought I ever had," said Ash, standing on his deck. Little says he and most other people he knows in the area don't have insurance on their cabins. It's either too costly, or they haven't found a plan that covers fire insurance, as there are no fire hydrants in the area and fire trucks can't get to the small inlets. Trevor Holloway also didn't have insurance on his cabin in Pudding Cove, which was demolished by the wildfire. The only things his family was able to save was a generator and a scooter. He says his family put as much as $80,000 into their cabin, which they have slowly been renovating and building for around 30 years. It was a place "built by hand and love." Other family members had a cabin next door, and he says everyone would get together to share meals and laughs. Many people who lost their cabins won't be able to rebuild what was lost, says Holloway. It is either too expensive an endeavour, or family members are growing too old to do physical labour or travel by boat to their properties. Holloway says his family might build a shack on the beach to replace what they lost. For now, he says many people in the community feel lost, and are finding solace in memories of their happy place. "It was devastating to see, such a mess," said Holloway. "Of all the memories just gone in smoke. Hard to explain how much joy is gone."
