Returning 5 years post-fire
Five years ago in early September, we were returning home from weeks of displacement. Luckily we had been able to stay with my sister and her family, 70 miles away. A few days before, when we checked the fire maps published by CalFire for the first time, we held our breath as we found our little neighborhood and discovered all the homes were still there. Unfortunately thousands in our community lost it all, but we just happened to be on the “lucky” side of town.
All photos by author — Boulder Creek, California during CZU Lightning Complex fire, August 2020
As we drove into our valley, the sky was still hazy, as the firefight was still underway. Our fridge reeked like a garbage dump that knocked you over when you walked in the door. It took more than a handful of cleanings to fade to a usable state, but many weren’t salvageable and the streets were lined with trashed fridges for months.
September 2020 • Boulder Creek, California during CZU fire
For a couple of weeks, we couldn’t use the water without boiling it first and the electricity took a few days to turn back on. Our town had a water fill-up station, which was a vital lifeline in those days, but the station lasted for over three years, as folks still struggle to recover their basic infrastructure. Recovery is a long road. Five years post-fire, progress is slow, and the scars are everywhere.
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For over 10,000 years prior to their forced removal, the Cotoni, Achistaca and Quiroste peoples stewarded these lands, and fire was a vital tool in their culture. The San Francisco Bay Area is a land forged by fire. Our ecosystems thrive with regular slow, low-intensity fires. Many endemic species actually require fire for survival, the coastal redwood being one of them.
Big Basin’s ecosystem • 2016
Unfortunately with the systematic genocide and encampment of the natives in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, those core practices were lost and many of our forests have been unmanaged or razed bare leading to an unnatural and fire-prone landscape, with understories piling high with debris and invasives choking out essential fauna.
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Amidst the quickly changing times around the turn of the 20th century, Big Basin Redwoods was a haven of the area. It’s a magical place, a temperate rainforest, that’s home to a thriving stand of old growth coastal redwoods with adventures a plenty. It has waterfalls, epic giants, mountain meadows and the renowned Skyline-to-the-Sea trail traversing its length.
Big Basin Redwoods, Skyline-to-the-Sea trail • 2016
Big Basin Redwoods State Park was the first state park ever established in California. As many nearby mountainsides were stripped bare, a local group of concerned citizens banded together to create the Sempervirens Fund, California's first land trust, with a primary goal of saving this amazing open space. Due to their valiant efforts, the park opened to the public in 1902, originally called California Redwoods Park. It was a blueprint for our state park system and sparked a formidable wave of conservation.
Vintage postcards from Big Basin Redwoods 1920–1950s
Unfortunately so much of that history was lost in 2020. The CZU Lightning Complex Fire swept through 97% of the park and destroyed nearly all the historic buildings, most of the infrastructure and the brand new museum that was ready to open shortly. Two hundred years after its native inhabitants were brutally removed, mother nature wiped her clean once again, this time via lightning storm. It devastated our local community; check out Big Basin’s story for deeper perspective.
Luckily redwood ecosystems are hardy, and Big Basin’s future is bright. Although rebuilding efforts are slow, the opportunity is massive. The future of this park is inclusive, forward-thinking and environment-first. The human footprint will be more strategic, visitor experience will be improved and Native American culture will be embedded. To learn more, check out the recently published Facilities Management Plan. The timelines are still decades long, but I’m happy to see progress being made. The park reopened in a limited capacity in 2022. Still today reservations are required on weekends and holidays, there’s no potable water and amenities are extremely limited.
2016 • Skyline-to-the-Sea-Trail, Big Basin • 2025
Even after five years post-fire, many of my favorite trails won’t be traversable for many years to come, and not a single building has yet to even be designed. While the park used to welcome over a million people per year, less than a tenth of that have visited in the past five years combined. The full park rebuild is still more than a decade away.
In the meantime, I can rest easy though because the park is in good hands and nature will continue to regenerate on her own. Additionally tribal burning practices and prescribed burns are now commonly being utilized throughout our county.
Unfortunately many communities aren’t so lucky. Climate change is scary, and natural disasters cause decades long setbacks, if recovery is even possible at all. If you want to hear more of a firsthand account, check out my full climate journey or climate survivor stories. So how do we prepare? My advice remains the same: enjoy every day, never stop learning + invest in your local community. Exploring local parks is my favorite way to accomplish all three.
Post-fire landscapes of Big Basin Redwoods • 2025
Returning to Big Basin Redwoods post-fire was shocking at first; I was almost unable to take in the stark lack of the place I once knew. But slowly over the past couple of years, I’ve begun to recognize this beloved land, and nature continues to rebound in unique and interesting ways. Visiting has become a healing, almost homecoming-esque experience.
While walking amidst these ancient survivors, five years after fire devastated their world, I’m inspired. It’s hotter and sunnier, and the flora and fauna are noticeably changed. Yet these sequoias stand strong through it all, connected beneath the surface, allowing them to withstand the fiercest storms for thousands of years.
In a landscape scarred black and sprinkled with patches of sky, I look up. Hundreds of feet above my head, their branches are sprouting and showing off their evergreen, just as they’ve done for millenia. In them, I see resilience. Touching them, I feel their power. A lasting, sacred everglow.
Redwoods of Big Basin • 2025
Keep growing.