Summer Guide 

Page 5 of 9

Douse the Flames, Not the Fun
Out West, it may be time to bid adieu to the campfire.
By Matt Pacenza

Scorching hot temperatures in Utah's urban valleys have driven more of us out of town in search of cooler climes. Recreationists by the droves are climbing to higher altitudes, or floating and swimming on rivers and reservoirs, desperate to escape the heat.

Global climate change that's blanketing the West with daytime highs routinely above 100 degrees also imperils our forests. Up to 90% of deadly wildfires are caused by careless wilderness visitors, who accidently spark wildfires when they fire weapons, drag chains, launch fireworks—and build campfires. Each of those activities, banned or discouraged in Utah while we remain in "extreme drought," can ignite blazes that cause massive damage, like the unattended campfire that started the Pack Creek Fire south of Moab earlier this summer, tearing through nearly 9,000 acres, destroying several homes and causing at least $10 million in damage.

The West's new reality is leading some to suggest it may be time to bid farewell to the campfire as a routine accompaniment in the great outdoors. Every now and then, perhaps, a fire can be lit safely, but seldom here in the West, hot and dry for months on end.

Marjorie "Slim" Woodruff—a teacher, guide and writer who lives near the Grand Canyon in Arizona—wrote a 2019 essay for High Country News titled "It's Time to Ditch the Campfire."

She remembers when fires were banned in the Grand Canyon backcountry in 1972. At first, backpackers like her "considered this an outrage." But soon, they adjusted—and realized they preferred camping without them. Woodruff became an evangelist for fire-free camping and backpacking.

"I became notorious for my refusal to let my companions build an illegal fire at the bottom of the Grand Canyon," she wrote. "And then, to let them build a fire anywhere. We had a stove; we had warm clothing. Why did we want to destroy old wood and leave an unholy mess? We didn't, everyone decided."

On the phone from Arizona in June, during a brief break at home before returning to a backpacking trip, Woodruff listed other reasons she refuses to make campfires: They stink. They produce hazardous air pollution. They transform a wilderness environment.

"You walk into a pristine area, you're destroying the plant life, you're sterilizing the soil and you're using up rare wood," she said. "Nothing will ever grow there again."

The Pack Creek fire is hardly the only massive blaze caused by a campfire. Back in 2013, a chilly hunter made a fire near Yosemite National Park and accidentally ignited the Rim Fire, which burned for nine weeks, leveling 400 square miles at a cost of near $127 million.

Local public officials aren't quite yet telling Utahns they can't ever make campfires, but this summer, they have banned fires—even those made in fire rings in developed campgrounds—in nearly the whole state. As of late June, most of the state's Bureau of Land Management lands are under so-called "Stage 2" fire restrictions, the strictest orders.

"What we are seeing statewide is an exceptional drought having a devastating effect on moisture," says BLM State Fire Management Officer Chris Delaney. "We don't normally see these conditions till the end of August, early September. Public lands aren't shut down, but we need people to use their lands responsibly."

Delaney understands that people love a campfire when they're in nature with their friends and families. Campfires are for many the quintessential totem of the camping experience, the vehicle for s'mores, spooky stories and sing-alongs.

Delaney is optimistic that people will obey the rules and be able to sometimes have a fire, even as climate change extends the "no-burn" season longer and longer each year.

"I think we can train the public to maintain and extinguish a campfire rather than ban them outright at all times," he said. "We can train people, just like we taught people how important seatbelts are. We need to."

Campfire Alternatives
Round up flashlights, lanterns, headlamps, flameless candles, cell phones (gasp) or other battery-operated devices that meet the fire ban and create a faux fire at your picnic table or wherever it's inviting to gather.

Make a "flameless campfire" (courtesy of the goodheartedwoman.com blog)
• Stand logs teepee-style anywhere you like. Surround with stones.
• Drape logs with strings of white and orange battery-operated twinkle lights from hobby or dollar stores, if available.
• Place 2 to 3 Mason Jar solar lanterns in among the logs
• Purchase 2 to 3 LED light lid inserts (from Walmart) and use with 2 to 3 wide-mouthed colored Mason or Ball jars (look for yellow, orange, red and/or purple if available; otherwise, line jars with colored cellophane and fill with battery tea lights or twinkle lights.) Place those jars among the logs.
• Set flameless candles inside the stone ring to illuminate the stones.
• After dark, sit around the "fire" wrapped in blankets and tell ghost stories.

If gas flames are allowed, invest in a portable propane fire pit (and haul it and the fuel with you).

Let the stars be your campfire. Lie back on an air mattress, cot or recliner; bundle up with blanket as needed; and let your eyes adapt to the dark skies. Share your stories as you gaze out into the Milky Way.

Plan meals ahead of time. If only wood and charcoal fires are prohibited, a propane stove/grill is ideal for cooking food, from pancakes to s'mores.
If all flames are prohibited, research how to build a solar oven. Or, cook meals at home in advance and bring dishes like fried chicken, quinoa, pizza and mac 'n' cheese to enjoy at outdoor temps. And prep "no-cook" cuisine: wraps, salads, dehydrated entrees, sammies, snacks and desserts.
Keep warm with blankets and jackets; for insect control, bring repellent.

—Jerre Wroble