Branford Bike: Big Creek Fire, Emigrant, Montana, Fire Chief, Incident Commander, Mike Grahmn

Monday, July 31st, 2006 - 2:14 PM.
Still waiting for a fire pumper truck to arrive...

Shouts of "help me, help me" broke my sleep at 4 AM on Monday. I was all alone in an unfamiliar bed at the Super 8 motel in Livingston, Montana. The lingering odor of burnt trees from the Big Creek fire filled my room. I dreamt that I was a passenger in a car, late at night, with a person I knew for many years. He was intent on killing us both by speeding into the concrete walls of a long freeway tunnel. We crashed against one wall and then careened towards the other. My life would soon end; I cried into the darkness for help and awoke from my nightmare.

2:26 PM Light smoke rises from the bomb shelter roof

A little after 1 on the afternoon of July 31st Bob Fry, the Big Creek Fire Incident Commander, told me that he had bad news; my home and all the outbuildings were destroyed by the forest fire. I was not shocked by the news but I held out hope that the bomb shelter would survive the inferno. Bob Fry arranged for another fireman to escort my friend Erik and I to view the remains and take pictures. On the way up the mountain our escort talked at great length about the bravery and persistence of his fellow fire fighters. "I want you to know that we did everything possible to save your house" he stated confidently. He was personally sorry that my house burned but "we just were not able to save it" he said remorsefully. Unknown to our escort, I was at my home until the flames reached my driveway; four hours after I called 911 for help. The doctor never showed up for the operation and the patient died. His intern was our driver and escort. We traveled slowly up the mountain like a funeral procession. I sat silently in the back seat and bit my tongue in anger.

I barely recognized the once familiar scenery we passed through on our slow and painful journey up the mountain. Lush green meadows were reduced to smooth patches of black soot broken only by short, charred clumps of grass and stubby, sagebrush stalks. The mountain's slopes, once covered with thick stands of Douglas Fir now stood almost bare; only the seemingly lifeless and blackened skeletons of last weeks lovely and grand trees were left. When we turned into my driveway I knew that that I was almost home. I closed my eyes and imagined what once was; the scent of fresh fir boughs, tall stands of wild flowers gently swaying in the fresh mountain air, the bright sun softly warming my face while a family of Mule deer grazed in the side yard meadow.

Remains of the garage and warehouse

The greenhouse was the best preserved structure on a lunar wasteland.

As we turned towards my home I noticed that only one set of tire tracks previously broke the white ash that covered my driveway. I expected to see the long awaited fire pumper truck and a few brave fire fighters standing in my yard squelching the final flames and cooling the remains of my home and business. As we turned the bend I saw that the driveway was empty. My home and Branford Bike were reduced to a pile of still smoldering rubble. Small flames licked against the back wall of the shop while red hot coals glowed brightly where the oak shipping desk once stood. I learned later that the single tire tracks were left by a fireman who stopped by only to confirm that all the structures were destroyed and to turn off the propane tanks. I climbed up the embankment and stood where the entrance to Branford Bike once was. I peered into the basement that was now a concrete fire pit filled with charred shards of crumpled steel and glowing red embers. I raised my hand to shade my eyes so I could peer into the bomb shelter that still stood intact at the back of the house. It looked fine but the intense heat and acrid smoke prevented me from venturing closer.

I stared in disbelief at the destruction that surrounded me. Even the ravages of war seemed to pale when compared to the vicious inferno that engulfed my home and Branford Bike. The destruction was almost complete like in the city of Hiroshima in August of 1945. A single charred timber rose where my deck once stood. Blown out and melted double pane windows littered the yard. A trail of molten aluminum, once a satellite dish, flowed down the hillside. The bark of every tree was coal black and most stood like skeletons against the smoke shrouded sky. The earth was covered with black soot and where the fire burned hotter, grey and white ash. Barely a plant stalk or blade of grass poked above the ash and soot; in some parts of the yard the ground was as smooth as the surface of a pond.

Side yard view with the still burning cistern terrace in the background

William Pitt's recently sold home burned to the ground

As bad as my situation was I felt sorrier for my neighbors. A young couple recently purchased the property across the street from me. Their home, which used to belong to William Pitt, was entirely consumed by the unsubdued forest fire. A little ways down Sagittarius Skyway the Buices lost their double wide home to the ferocious fire. Across the street from them, Everett Johnson, almost lost his brand new home. The blazing inferno tore into his garage while fire fighters, who had a pumper truck parked across from the end of his driveway, were forced to battle 50 foot flames with a 3/4 inch garden hose. The three car garage was quickly devoured by the ravenous inferno which then moved on to the wooden deck that surrounded Everett's home. The electricity failed and the garden hose went limp. The resourceful and courageous fire fighters used a saw to cut the burning deck away from the house. Finally a helicopter dumped water on the scorched and smoldering home. Everett lost part of his deck, a guest cabin, an outdoor hot tub, a three car garage, all the vehicles in it and most of the trees in his 20 acre yard.

Several weeks later I learned that the Fire Chief and Incident Commander, Mike Grahmn, took pictures of Everett's garage as it burned. Mike told me that " he got a great shot of Old Glory while the firestorm raged behind it". In the same conversation Mike also told me that he took pictures of my house in flames from Sagittarius Skyway as it burned on Sunday afternoon. He explained that he took pictures of burning houses so the owners would be protected from charges of arson in case insurance companies asked questions. "Camera's are standard equipment for all firefighters" he confidently stated.

Everett Johnston's home partially survived

Isham Buice's double wide trailer home was completely incinerated

In disbelief I asked Mike how he was able to take pictures of my burning home when I did not see any fire trucks nearby. Mike explained that he was alone and had spent the night at Marie and Jim Kelley's house at the end of Sagittarius Skyway. He drove his pickup truck to the top of the knoll on Sunday morning and watched the fire and took pictures. When the firestorm passed over the knoll he parked his truck next to the Kelley house and sought refuge there. A friend of mine who was watching the fire from a safe distance, with a high powered hunting scope confirmed Mike's account. After the fire passed by Mike took pictures and then quelled flames in the Kelley's yard with a garden hose. The nearest fire truck and assistance was at least one mile away. Then Mike followed the firestorm down Sagittarius Skyway, shooting photographs along the way which included my burning house. Finally, at about 3 PM, he ended up at Everett Johnston's house and snapped photos there before fighting the fire with another garden hose. In utter amazement I asked Mike why no one ever responded to my 911 call for help. He calmly and remorsefully stated that" 911 never passed that message to us. They really have to do a better job of letting us know...".
Mike Grahmn was relieved of his position as Incident Commander on Sunday night. On Monday morning, Bob Fry the Park County Fire Chief, assumed the responsibilities of Incident Commander and took charge of the fire operation.

Our escort told us it was time to leave so Erik and I snapped a few last photos and climbed into the SUV. I was still feeling numb from the shock of almost losing my life to the firestorm on Sunday. I was now in a state of disbelief; I could not believe that the fire destroyed all my possessions and Branford Bike. I felt luckier than my neighbors whose homes were completely incinerated. At least I had a bomb shelter to tuck my personal items and business inventory in. When the smoke cleared I would come back and empty the shelter. Meanwhile I decided to search for a rent in Livingston where I could live and set up Branford Bike. Within two weeks I thought, I should be packing and shipping orders.

Scorched grassland greets visitors to the fire zone


Geodesic Dome greenhouse in November 2005	Garage and warehouse in November 2005


The cistern terrace garden before and after the firestorm


Beautiful wildflowers graced the backyard in June 2006