An explosive Grand Canyon wildfire brings terror, loss and tough questions: ‘It came like a freight train'

The Guardian

18 hours ago

When lightning struck on 4 July along the remote North Rim of Grand Canyon national park, sparking a small wildfire in a patch of dry forest, few predicted the terror and loss that lay ahead.
Fire managers decided that conditions seemed ideal to let the blaze burn at a low intensity – a practice known as 'control and contain' that helps clear out excess fuels and decreases the chance of a more catastrophic wildfire in the future. Rains from previous weeks had left the forest floor moist and weather forecasts indicated the summer monsoon season would arrive soon.
But a week later, the park's strategy fell apart. On 11 July, the fire burst through its containment lines and began to rapidly pick up speed – exploding tenfold in a day.
'The fire sounded like a freight train coming towards us,' says a firefighter, who was part of the National Parks Service crew battling the blaze.
By 12 July, it seemed the destruction was unstoppable. Over the next 24 hours some 70 buildings would be destroyed, including the historic Grand Canyon Lodge, dozens of visitor cabins as well as park administrative offices and residences. Images of the smoldering lodge and the smoke-filled canyon filled news stories and social media feeds.
Suddenly, it felt like the whole world was questioning the decision to not put the blaze out immediately. Almost two weeks after it began, the so-called Dragon Bravo fire is still only 2% contained and encompasses nearly 12,000 acres (4,856 hectares), as more than 750 firefighters have battled the blaze.
The park's North Rim has long been the sleepy cousin of the more bustling South Rim, bringing in just 10% of the park's annual visitors, and inspiring loyal fans. News of the tragedy has hit Grand Canyon lovers hard. The area has been shut down for the remainder of the season, and hundreds of national park and concession employees have suddenly found themselves without homes and jobs. An untold number of summer vacations to the park have been cancelled.
But there is also a more existential loss. A place beloved by visitors and employees for its beauty and solitude has suddenly been ripped away. And the heart of that sanctuary, the Grand Canyon Lodge – the park's Notre Dame – is in ruins.
'It's hard to put into words how devastating the loss of the Grand Canyon Lodge is,' wrote one longtime Grand Canyon North Rim park employee on social media. 'The Lodge and North Rim weren't just buildings and trails – they were a home to us … and now it's gone. It feels like a piece of who we are has burned with it.'
As the initial shock subsides and the reality of the loss sets in, questions are swirling about how the tragedy occurred – and how to move forward.
In hindsight, the decision not to tamp out the fire swiftly has drawn the most scrutiny. But the Grand Canyon fire crew member who was on scene in early July, who asked not to be identified for fear of losing his job, said it seemed like a reasonable call based on assessment at the time.
For the first few days after it broke out, the blaze behaved exactly as expected. But then on 11 July the humidity level suddenly plummeted. Embers began jumping containment lines in the dry air as strong winds changed direction and the fire escaped down a drainage, picking up momentum as if gasoline had been dumped on it. By the next day it had exploded from 120 acres to 1,500 acres.
Some 500 visitors at the North Rim had already been evacuated due to another fire burning outside the park, dubbed the White Sage fire. The remaining residents were evacuated, and the park's fire crew began hosing down structures. But the team was lacking adequate equipment and manpower, the firefighter said.
According to the firefighter, some of the department's already limited resources had been sent to fight the White Sage fire. They were missing two fire engines and a bulldozer, and they needed more boots on the ground. Plus, aerial suppression support would not arrive until the next day.
By nightfall on 11 July, the fast-growing fire had surrounded the crew and they were instructed by managers to take cover in the North Rim's fire station. Soon, he said, the fire was everywhere. Nearby, another group of firefighters were trapped on a helipad, flanked by flames 100ft (30.5 metres) tall.
'We were trapped,' recalled the firefighter. 'We thought we were going to die. Propane tanks from surrounding buildings were exploding all around us. Our homes and our friend's homes were burning and there was nothing we could do.'
Located at a cool elevation of 8,000ft on the Kaibab plateau in northern Arizona, Grand Canyon national park's North Rim is a four-hour drive from the more famous South Rim. The isolation is what makes it special for park employees and visitors, but the largely undeveloped region is also especially vulnerable to wildfire. A single paved road connects the park to Jacob Lake, a small village some 50 miles away.
The ponderosa pine forest ecosystem of the Kaibab plateau relies on regular low-intensity fires to stay healthy, but those fires were supressed by federal policies throughout most of the 20th century. National park managers have attempted to restore the Grand Canyon's natural forest ecosystem over the last two decades through prescribed fires, or by allowing lightning-sparked wildfires to burn.
The strategy went off without a hitch as recently as July 2022, when a lightning strike started a fire on the North Rim that grew to only 1,300 acres as fire crews tightly managed the boundaries of the blaze.
However, other examples have been less successful. In June 2006, a lightning-sparked fire trapped several hundred visitors after strong winds pushed the flames beyond its containment lines. The only paved road out of the park was blocked by flames, but law enforcement officers led visitors to safety on a web of winding dirt roads.
Ken Phillips, who worked at Grand Canyon for 27 years and served as chief of emergency services, believes the decision to let the Dragon Bravo fire burn was a mistake. He also points out that lives could have been lost if visitors had not already been evacuated due to the White Sage fire.
'The North Rim did not need to burn the way it did and put firefighters in harm's way,' he said. 'There is a history of escaped managed wildfires at Grand Canyon. It is very tragic that the lessons learned from those fires weren't heeded in this situation.'
In response to a request for comment about the handling of the fire, a spokesperson directed the Guardian to a public statement from Ed Keable, the Grand Canyon superintendent, that described the wildfire as a 'devastating event'.
In a previous statement to the Arizona Republic, Rachel Pawlitz, a park spokesperson, defended the initial handling of the fire and also contradicted what firefighters said they experienced on 11 and 12 July. 'We've lost buildings but hundreds of lives were saved due to the fact that this fire was expertly handled,' she said. 'The firefighters did not put themselves or others at risk when they managed the initial firefight, pushing historic wind gusts that caused the fire to jump multiple containment features and move toward facilities instead.'
Built in 1936, the Grand Canyon Lodge sits at the tip of a peninsula jutting out into the canyon allowing unmatched views of the natural wonder. Visitor cabins, perched on the rim nearby, are shaded by towering old growth pine and spruce trees.
Kathryn Leonard, the state historic preservation officer for the state of Arizona, calls the style of the historic buildings 'national park rustic'. The lodge and cabins echo the surrounding environment with rock walls made from Kaibab limestone and roofs supported by exposed ponderosa pine trusses.
The Grand Canyon Lodge was uniquely 'idyllic' and 'open' according to Leonard. Once visitors entered the building, they could walk down a stairway where a sun room with leather couches featured a giant south-facing picture window looking out onto the Grand Canyon, some 5,000ft deep and 20 miles across. The best view in the house was on the lodge patio where visitors leaned back in Adirondack chairs and watched the sunset while sipping a beer.
Pictures of the lodge that circulated on social media after the fire showed that all but two Adirondack chairs had been destroyed. Everything else was ash except for the limestone walls.
'I couldn't believe that the lodge was gone until I saw the photo,' said Phillips, the former emergency services manager. 'The loss of the entire North Rim developed area is like the death of a close friend.'
'The scale of this loss is breathtaking,' agreed Leonard. 'Historic resources are non-renewable and the workmanship in the cabin and lodge interiors can't be replaced.'
Yet Leonard is also cautiously optimistic that some elements of the building can be salvaged. 'There could be a way to rebuild that does not attempt to replicate what was there but honors it.'
Beyond the charred facilities, the more lasting damage could be to the Grand Canyon's environment itself.
The forested area on the Kaibab plateau where the Dragon Bravo fire is burning encompasses the recharge zone feeding Roaring Springs, the park's sole drinking water source. Rain and snowmelt percolate down through the ground to feed the springs located several thousand feet below the canyon rim. Surface water in the area also flows off the plateau and into Bright Angel Creek.
'From a hydrology perspective, the fire is a disaster,' said Mark Nebel, who until recently retiring, oversaw water monitoring at Grand Canyon.
Nebel worries that ash, sediment and chemical fire retardant may seep through the ground and into the aquifer that feeds the springs. These pollutants will also likely be swept into the Bright Angel watershed this summer as flash flooding is expected to occur as a result of the fire.
'The drinking water quality in the park could be impacted for many years,' added Nebel.
As Arizona governor Katie Hobbs has called for an investigation into park service decisions and firefighters continue to battle the blaze, North Rim employees find themselves reminiscing about happier times.
John McFarland, a former maintenance mechanic who lived and worked on the North Rim for 30 years, recalls how he organized a Fourth of July parade at the park every summer that was followed by an 'epic' water gun fight in front of the lodge. Many of the buildings he cared for are gone, but he is taking the loss in stride.
'The Grand Canyon is still there,' he said. 'Some of the old growth trees are still there. The place will come back.'