Written on Tuesday, August 11… I am now in the Okanagan Valley. I flew up from San Francisco (where I had just completed a week of meetings) on Friday evening, stayed one night at Gran’s house then drove to Predator Ridge on Saturday. With respect to the Terrace Mountain forest fire, the big debate has been how to get into the evacuated area to remove the remainder of our personal effects. Some of these items we could always do without, but as the days passed by a list developed of missing medications, expensive items (the Nikon digital SLR), a friend’s briefcase loaded with important papers and so on. Returning to Hong Kong without this stuff would have been a logistical nightmare. On Monday, August 10th we called every single number possible – Central Fire Command, the RCMP, phone numbers listed on official web sites covering the fires – but with no luck. Of course, each call we had a big sob story of us returning to Hong Kong in a few days and “just want to get our stuff out.” Typically the answer: “Nobody goes in.” This was partly the result of another event the evening I arrived where the Terrace fire jumped the fireguard again as it had the week earlier that prompted the 2nd evac. The fire was quickly contained but the event meant the fire was even closer to La Casa, Westside Road and ultimately Fintry.

Eventually Bob (one of our guests but name changed to protect a variety of parties) hit the jackpot. Bob made some calls and leveraged his way into the fire services fraternity having a strong fire services connection himself. Bob was quite funny with a story that cut quickly to the chase, “This is who I am… got evacuated… friend’s family leaving country soon… medicines, important papers, valuables… SO HOW DO I GET IN?” (Said with tone that assumed they would say “Okay, Bob!) Once he hit the jackpot things moved pretty quickly.

“How long do you need to be there? How many people?” the voice on the other end asked.

“Not long, maybe ten to fifteen minutes. We’ll be in one vehicle, three people including myself who know where all the necessary items are in the cabin,” Bob replied.

“How soon can you be at the checkpoint?”

“How soon?” Bob asked as he looked at me. I held up one finger for one hour. “One hour,” Bob said then he hung-up the phone. “They are radioing ahead to say we’re coming. One vehicle, let’s go.”

By this point we had a plan figured out, who would go, how many vehicles etc. Bob said, “One vehicle, three people.” Okay, forget the plan. I had the largest rental vehicle and the only one permitted to drive the vehicle. We literally ripped everything out of the car, (car seats etc) dropping them on the pavement for others to deal with and started on our way.

Five km from the police checkpoint a volunteer operated pre-roadblock stopped us. They asked us where we were going then flagged us on. “The final checkpoint is another five clicks,” they explained. Not long later we arrived at the checkpoint to find the RCMP. Bob jumped out to speak with them and reportedly it was a pretty simple conversation. (At left, the RCMP roadblock as seen when exiting.)

“Are you Bob?”

“Yes,” showing them his ID.

“We’ll follow you,” the officer instructed.

Twenty minutes later we arrived at Fintry Delta. With the exception of the helicopters loading up with fire retardant at the provincial park nearby, Fintry Delta looked like we were driving through a ghost town. In fact, for anyone who has seen the original Andromeda Strain (from 1971 and an amazing science fiction story in which speculative science is at the core of the plot – way better than the latest version) that’s what it felt like. Tess had a less complicated, undramatic interpretation: “It looks like people just dropped everything and left." Good point, in the movie people were lying dead on the ground. We didn't see that.

We pulled up to the cottage. Bob and Tess jumped out. We were concerned that the cottage would be locked and we wouldn't have any keys. (Normally a neighbour looks after the keys.) Therefore, while I backed the car into the driveway with the police watching, Tess ran around back to be certain we would be able to get inside. Sure enough as I stopped the car I heard the door unlocking from the inside. The next fifteen minutes was one mass clear out, literally throwing everything we could get our hands on into suitcases and then the car. Tess was highly organized ahead of time while we drove, so we each had a role: I was in charge of packing the car while Bob and Tess cleared specific rooms. With a few minutes to spare, we each did a final sweep of the house. Each one of us opened the fridge at least once but quickly closed it. The RCMP observed the entire operation from across the road. Tess made a comment like, "We should have brought them donuts." (RCMP parked across the road. Note the blue ribbon tied to the top of the bush at the end of the driveway. We saw different coloured ribbons with "Search Team" written on them in front of each house. Apparently the colour indicates if the residents have been accounted for and if the home needs to be searched if the fire came too close.)

I walked out into the backyard that faces the water… stuff was strewn everywhere indicating a “drop and run” situation. Kids clothes and toys were left about. (Normally each night the kids bring in their toys and clothes from the backyard and rocky beach.) Toys, chairs, clothes, the dock and outside of the cottage were lightly splattered with red fire retardant. A thick film of dust covered everything, kicked up by water bombers landing and taking off, and helicopters re-loading with water just offshore. Even in the fifteen minutes clea
ring out the cottage, helicopters flew overhead with fire retardant (sample at left) and while others landed to intake water. The cottage was right next to an emergency heli-base set-up on Fintry Provincial Park. I’ll post pictures of that in a few days.

Afterwards we thanked the RCMP escorts profusely and gave them a few souvenirs that we found amongst our luggage.  By this point they were quite friendly and any skepticism of us diminished. Several weeks earlier, two roaring forest fires in Westbank (the media referred to the location as West Kelowna, which didn’t win friends with Westbank residents!) had a number of looting incidents. The police were taking no chances this time around. They escorted us back out and we headed back to Predator Ridge. (At left, the RCMP escort us back out of Fintry Delta. The mound of dirt next to the RCMP van is what Seb calls "Sebastian's Mountain." Years ago it was much taller then him. Today not so much.)

Now, Bob is a joker. Aren’t we all? Once we were well past the exit checkpoint he sent a text message back to the friends and family who were waiting for a report on our mission: “Where’s the key?” A few texts back and forth (the key, what, huh?) and soon Bob’s phone rang with Tess’ sister on the other end.

Bob answered excitedly “Hi, hey listen I need to know where the key is to the cottage SOON. The cops are here with a shotgun and if I don’t come up with a key pretty soon we’re gonna get charged with obstructing justice or something… oh wait, Tess figured it out. Gotta go, bye!”

That night, my business conference calls behind me (a whole story other story I won't get into) kids settling down for the night, the adults were eating dinner. Tess’ sister asked, “Was that guy really holding a shotgun?” Tess, Bob and I eyeballed each other and went silent.

“Wait a minute, what’s going on?”

“Uh, we were actually already halfway back to Vernon by that point!”

Yes, it’s still possible to have a good laugh in the middle of a nightmarish vacation.