The fire moves slowly, but the ground is starting its upward slope. Heat rises and the narrow walls of the canyon act as a chimney. Soon, the flames will run up the hillside.
In other parts of the forest, fire crews have cleared the fir trees and the lower branches of the pines—the ladder fuels that can push a fire upward. But there are more than a million acres in the Plumas National Forest alone. Far too many for crews to maintain. Here, the firs and lower pine branches remain intact. This fire will be well fed.
At the Plumas County Sheriff’s Office, the dispatcher is unaware of the threat. Since taking the job earlier that year, she has lived on energy drinks, melatonin, and Advil, and what occupies her now isn’t the fire she knows nothing about but a back that’s throbbing from sitting too long in her chair.
Later, the transcripts from that day will be shared in the media, dissected by the incident team, but in those initial moments, the dispatcher’s voice and pulse are steady.
She doesn’t yet know how close the fire is or how quickly it will spread.
Dispatcher: 911, state your emergency.
Caller: There’s smoke. There might be a fire.
Dispatcher: What’s on fire? A structure? Vegetation?
Caller: I don’t know. Maybe a house?
Dispatcher: Where’s the smoke coming from?
Caller: Near Collins Road.
Dispatcher: Do you see flames?
Caller: (Pause.) No. No flames.
Dispatcher: Fire units are on the way.
Even when fully staffed, the sheriff’s office has only about thirty people to address a critical response. But, unconcerned, the dispatcher isn’t yet thinking about that.
Then, ten minutes later, the second call comes.
Dispatcher: 911, state your emergency.
Caller: I think there’s a fire. Near our house. I smell smoke.
Dispatcher: We’ve received a report of a possible structure fire outside of Johnsville.
Caller: We’re on Juniper Court. (Muffled conversation.) My neighbor says the fire’s on the other side of the highway.
Dispatcher: How far away is the fire on the other side of the highway?
Caller: I don’t know. A couple hundred feet, maybe.
Dispatcher: And how large is the fire?
Caller: Big. Like, a dozen acres at least. You need to send someone. My mom—she’s in a wheelchair.
Dispatcher: I’ve alerted fire and rescue crews. You need to get out of there, okay? If you’re seeing flames, you need to leave. Don’t bother with your belongings.
The dispatcher’s training kicks in, and familiar questions start to needle. How many roads in and out of the area? How heavily populated? Are there livestock to evacuate? Getting farm animals to safety can take hours.
All these questions lead to the most important ones: How much time will the residents of Collins Road and Juniper Court need to evacuate?
And do they have that much time?
It’s only a dozen acres, according to the caller. The dispatcher believes there is time. Those first pencil-thin wisps that rise in the sky stoke caution, not panic.
But heavy with soot, ash, and branches, the column of smoke rises ever higher until it hits a layer of cooler air and collapses like a bowling ball dropped in water. The smoke spreads across the sky. Stretches across the ridgeline.
The calls grow more frequent, and more alarming.
Dispatcher: 911, state your emergency.
Caller: (Frantic.) The hill is on fire.
Dispatcher: Where are you calling from?
Caller: It’s getting really bad out here.
Dispatcher: We have reports of fires on Collins Road and Juniper Court. Are either of those near you?
Caller: No. I’m on Beaumont.
This doesn’t make sense to the dispatcher. Beaumont is a mile south of the other locations. She wonders if more than one fire is burning. Or if it’s larger than initial reports suggested.
Dispatcher: Where is the hill from where you are?
Caller: (Voice shaky.) It’s close. A quarter mile?
Dispatcher: Are you able to evacuate?
The caller’s next words are unintelligible; then, panicked, he begins to shout so loudly that the dispatcher’s ears thrum for several seconds.
Caller: My God, it’s all burning! It’s all fucking burning!
The man’s location puts him seven miles northeast of Ridgepoint Ranch. In two hours, the fire has burned five miles.
And now, having reached the hill, it’s starting to climb.