Dixie Fire
In July 2021, a wildfire broke out in Northern California, quickly turning into a catastrophic event that burned 3,900 square kilometers of land, making it the single largest wildfire in California history. It was named the Dixie Fire, after a road near its ignition point.
To put it into perspective, the area burned by Dixie was larger than Luxembourg (2,586 square kilometers) and about eight times the size of Lake Tahoe. It was also the first recorded fire to burn portions of the high forests of the Sierra Nevada. Sparked by a fallen tree hitting a Pacific Gas & Electric (PG&E) power line near Cresta Dam, the fire ravaged the landscape for 104 days before being fully contained on October 25, 2021. It obliterated the town of Greenville in just 30 minutes, destroyed more than 1,300 structures, and damaged 94 other buildings across Butte, Plumas, Lassen, Shasta, and Tehama counties, forcing thousands of residents to evacuate their homes—some of whom would never return. This wasn’t the first time a power grid failure in California triggered a wildfire: in 2018, the Camp Fire1 started due to yet another PG&E-related incident.
The primary cause of these wildfires is human activity—often accidental, but also due to ignorance of basic fire safety, such as properly extinguishing a campfire. The second major cause is summer storms that bring lightning and strong winds without rain, fueling fires rather than quelling them. However, the underlying factor in these massive wildfires can ultimately be traced back to human-driven climate change2, which has progressively made California drier and more fire-prone.
Today, we walked nearly the entire day through the remnants of forests burned by Dixie three years ago. Photos don’t quite capture the reality of it. The air is thick with dust and ash, even without wind, and there’s a constant worry about those massive, half-broken logs leaning precariously against other trees—one of them could come crashing down at any moment as you pass underneath. I’ve often complained about the poor maintenance of these forests, but how could anyone possibly restore such widespread devastation? And how much would it cost the state of California? From what I’ve seen, less-traveled trails seem to be abandoned entirely, left to volunteer groups and associations to maintain.
Maybe it was the thought of reaching a town at the end of the day, but I wasn’t too mentally engaged in today’s stretch—another 22 miles (35 km), including a long six-mile climb. After lunch, with the climb behind us, we had only seven miles left, which we quickly decided to shorten as soon as we crossed a dirt road. It meant more switchbacks and a steeper incline, but in an hour and a half, we reached the spot where we hoped to hitch a ride to Quincy. However, just when we thought the day was over, we realized that the road we ended up on wasn’t busy at all. A girl perched on the roadside told us that, in the past twenty minutes, only a single car had passed by. In these situations, all you can do is put your faith in luck and hope for the best.
And luck was on our side—sort of. While I was literally standing in the middle of the road chatting with a man in a pickup truck who had stopped despite going in the opposite direction, another car sped past us and abruptly pulled over about fifty meters ahead. A young guy got out, limping slightly, and walked toward us. He worked for the postal service and, yes, he was headed to Quincy.
Upon arriving in Quincy, the town mode kicked in immediately. We already had a place to stay—our host for the night would be Pounder, a trail angel who hiked the PCT back in the 90s and is now an active member of the PCTA—so our list of concerns was reduced to just one: finding good food and fresh fruit.
Tomorrow morning, we’ll have to sort out food for the stretch to Chester, the next town on the route, which we’ll reach after passing the much-anticipated midpoint of the trail. But for tonight, we’re just enjoying a solid meal at a Mexican restaurant and some good conversation with the other hikers3 staying at Pounder’s place.
