Wildfire on the Prairie

Part 2: Wildfires are not new to the treeless Llano Estacado.

Among several indigenous cultures, it is sacred as one of the five basic elements of creation. To some fire symbolized the heart of the people, and the smoke carried their prayers to the Great Spirit. Were pastures intentionally set on fire by Plains tribes to improve grazing for the horse herds? Some historians believe they were.

The Windy Deuce Wildfire

Pasture lands in Carson County had been blessed with an unseasonably moist spring and summer for the past two years, the blue stem and side oats had grown belly high over the native buffalo grass. At that height, blue stem is tough, and the cows refuse it. While beautiful to look at, the pastures became an inferno with limitless fuel particularly for wildfires that burn out of control driven by strong winds.

The Windy Duece started east of Masterson on Monday, February 26, 2024 caused by a powerline igniting a tree. It moved slowly south, southeast and then easterly destroying countless homes and property in the town of Fritch. A sudden norther drove a fifteen mile wide swath of fire due south across our entire ranch. The Windy Duece was finally contained on March 14 after consuming about 144,045 Acres and over 200 structures.

Firefighting volunteers and resources were already stretched thin because of two other fires that ignited on that same day, February 26. The Smokehouse Creek fire was caused by a broken powerline pole igniting grass one mile north of Stinnet, Texas. It extended into Oklahoma and burned 1,058,482 acres, the largest wildfire in Texas history. The Grape Vine Creek Fire started 9.5 miles southwest of Lefors, Texas burning 34,883 acres.

The most heartbreaking loss was of our registered R.A. Brown Ranch and Bradley 3 Ranch bulls, an important part of herd genetics that had taken a decade to establish. The wildfire burned so hot and so fast across the bull pasture, they were left blind and hairless, but remained alive until cowboys were able to ride through the pasture two days later.

At sunrise one morning I sat on a hill looking out over the blackest ground I had ever seen in my life. My phone rang. “Are you writing all of this down?” Author friend Janie Botkin reminded me to start a journal. Of course! I’m a writer, so why hadn’t I thought of actually writing about the wildfire? Such an invaluable piece of advice. As soon as we hung up, I made notes. As I look back over those hectic two weeks, so many things are remembered through an emotional haze. I didn’t take enough pictures. I forgot to ask for names and hometowns of the people who drove into ranch headquarters with trailers of supplies and simply said, “Here. This is for you.” The outpouring of the ag community was unbelievable.

Later that day we discovered an entire hill littered with the bodies of calves huddled next to clumps of blackened yucca, their mother’s lying close by. It was heartbreaking scene and I sobbed as I snapped pictures of the carnage. I was reminded by numerous people to record everything which will be needed to report losses for funding applications. About one-third of the Sanford Ranch’s 900 cows had already calved and the calves were too little to be driven long distances. As devoted Angus mothers do, they will not leave their new charges.

Just down from the hill strewn with charred remains, I watched four quail run alongside the Kabota, dodging blackened yucca. My son reported seeing a small, scraggly group of wild turkey. I saw tiny shoots of green breaking through grey ash. One lone antelope crossed the road and turned to look at me. I cried for a second time that day. The planet’s ability to heal itself is overwhelming sometimes.

Casey Bright, Sanford Ranch Foreman, called me late one evening. “I have a huge ask,” he said. “Are you still cooking hamburgers for us tomorrow?” I had planned to cook lunch for the cowboys who were searching and rounding up Angus cows and doctoring the surviving calves against pneumonia. Casey had wanted our neighbor Zeb to come eat with us too, or at least take him some food. We also had friends and family hauling hay to the pastures. I told him that I would be there early, and that I had a few ladies lined up to help cook. He hesitated. “Zeb is wondering if you would cook for his task force too. He’d like to bring 20 more people to the ranch.”

Tragically, Fritch Fire Chief Zeb Smith ended his watch on March 5 after responding to a burning house. His task force never made it to the Sanford Ranch cookhouse that day for lunch. The fire that had claimed his life was unrelated to the Windy Deuce Wildfire he had been battling the previous nine days. Zeb actually rented a house from us and lived on the Sanford Ranch. He had quickly became an invaluable neighbor and endearing friend, with an indomitable spirit for running towards danger and for service to others. Chief Smith leaves an unfillable void in the community and in countless people’s lives.

Click Here: Read Part 1 of the Wildfire on the Sanford Ranch, “Brutal Winds and Good Grass”

Watch for an article appearing soon in RANGE Magazine about the organizations that came to the aid of the Texas Panhandle and made a difference in the community following the devastation. For a special discounted subscription to RANGE order now and use code: “I know Natalie Bright” 1-800-RANGE-4-U

Natalie Cline Bright has written 20 books for adults and kids. She is a blogger at “Prairie Purview” found on the home page of her website, a hobby photographer, and speaker. Her cookbook, KEEP ‘EM FULL AND KEEP ‘EM ROLLIN” about chuck wagons, won a first place gold Will Rogers Medallion. Her newest book is END OF TRAIL EATS about the food and history of Cowtowns.  She also writes romances for adults, easy readers and chapter books for kids, and is currently working on a wild wet adventure for tweens. If you enjoy pictures from the Texas Panhandle, check out her Instagram account @natsgrams or Facebook page Natalie Cline Bright.