By JIM CARKONEN
Express Correspondent
I was enjoying the usual wonderful afternoon fishing on Silver Creek in my float tube.
My friend Jim Coyle had just departed and I was the only angler on the water.
I was not sure of the cause, as it was a perfectly clear day, but we had earlier noticed a small brushfire erupt on the steep hill just above the Nature Conservancy cabin around 3:30 p.m. As a guide for Sturtevants Mountain Outfitters, I carry a cell phone in my float tube for emergencies, and I had immediately placed a 911 call.
From my tube at the top of the S turns I watched the fire burning on the knoll above the cabin, but with a mile separation and burning uphill and away, I did not feel threatened.
With little warning, the wind suddenly shifted to my direction and picked up speed to about 30 knots. In a matter of seconds, the creek transformed from the placid place we all know and love into Dante's Inferno, just erupting into flames.
From last summer's events I was familiar with a fire's ability to leapfrog with burning embers, but have never witnessed it first-hand. Without burning a single thing between the cabin and the creek, a glowing ember no doubt jumped the one-mile distance and landed in a nearby field.
The experience from that moment on was surreal. One minute I'm playing a fish and the next minute I'm running for my life.
I frantically exited the north bank of the creek through the soft marsh and made a half-mile sprint to the car. I could feel the intense heat from the rapidly progressing flames penetrate right through my waders. The sky turned black and the thick smoke stung my eyes. It became difficult to breathe. Flames from the tall, dry sage and grasses were 15 feet high at the edge of the water and were moving horizontally with the gale. The water of the skinny creek was the only thing separating me from the fire.
My car was parked at Kilpatrick's Bridge. I could hardly find it through all the smoke, and by the time I reached it the fire was surging between the duck blind and the bridge. A DC-3 began dropping orange fire retardant. Several emergency responders were on the scene. In just the few minutes it took me to reach Highway 20, the fire raced up the large hill behind Purdy's pond.
I escaped the scene uninjured but rattled. I called my wife, who comforted my shattered nerves, and also my friend George Rizzo, a career firefighter, to get advice on treatment for smoke inhalation.
What irony that a place renowned for such serenity can trigger such a horrific event.
And what did I learn from this experience? One, to never underestimate the unpredictable ability of fire to travel at warp speed. And two, that I can't run nearly as fast in wet waders through cattails as I can with Nikes on the basketball court.
I'll be back as soon as I rid the smoke and ash from my Tahoe.
Until then, the next time people ask me how the fishing was at Silver Creek, I will simply tell them the truth: "It was really hot, man!"
Jim Carkonen, in less smoky times.
Courtesy photo
