Louisiana Wild

“Let’s get fire on the ground,” yells burn boss Bill Rivers, sounding serious but with an elfin grin, as he addresses his crew of five studying their burn maps. All are dressed in fire-resistant Nomex clothing: Bill’s shirt is red, while most of the others wear standard yellow jumpsuits. Hard hats and radios, along with backpacks of safety gear, add to their bulk. Alex Entrup, TNC stewardship technician, starts down the firebreak at a rapid walk with drip torch in hand. This device is a gallon-and-a-half canister containing three parts diesel fuel and one part gasoline. It’s lighted, pointed nozzle down, and flames flow as a trigger releases the incendiary liquid in a line along the firebreak. The crew wants the burn to go in a planned direction. Weather knowledge helps to accomplish this goal. Wind, temperature, dew point, and humidity are all checked, and if not perfect, the burn is aborted. 

The orchestrated fire at Abita Creek Flatwoods Preserve moves across the savanna, usually staying low, with flames that are only about two to four feet high. It runs over the little bluestem grass, a desired species that will grow back quickly. It fries the leaves and burns the stalks of unwanted shrubs such as gallberry and titi. Occasionally, with a gust of wind and some good underbrush, flames jump up the sides of the fire-resistant longleaf pine ten feet or more. That’s when a blast of very hot air slaps you in the face. Smoke is dangerous, and the unaccustomed can become disoriented. Obviously, getting lost in a fire is potentially deadly. The map Bill and crew went over shows safe exit routes, firebreaks, and regrouping points. Safety is foremost. 

A firebreak can be a road, a bayou, or a newly plowed strip. Sometimes a wind gust or switch blows some hot ash back across the break, starting a wildfire. Sentries on four-wheelers drive this line; they carry a tank of water and portable bags of water with hoselike ends. One culprit of floating sparks is the Japanese climbing fern. This exotic species catches fire, and then a burning top piece breaks off and floats into the surrounding area. The sentries spot it and, like a city fire department, rush to put it out. My cameras saw this close up when I climbed into a deer stand to get a better view and noticed how light and flightworthy ash is. The day’s half-done and already my camera needs a good cleaning. 

Brush burning is not a man-made idea that arrived with the influx of modern civilization. Nature did it first. In any given area historically, lightning strikes started fires on an average of every one to four years. Longleaf pine and the associated rare flowering plants adapted well to this natural cycle of burning and regrowth. Since ancient times, Native Americans started fires for various reasons, including wanting the succulent young plants to grow. 

Bill’s hard-working crew starts burning in February and goes on until the combined heat of summer and the flames is too much. TNC restoration ecologist Latimore Smith heads up the planning committee, which has the job of deciding what needs to be burned and when. Manpower and finances are restrictive, but it is remarkable what a bit of fire in the hands of professionals can do. Bill did 33 burns in 2014, giving a needed bit of “medicine” to 4,300 acres. Fire is nature’s medicine in the extreme; longleaf pine habitat needs the prescription of fire. 

Details. Details. Details. 

Louisiana Wild: The Protected and Restored Lands of The Nature Conservancy
by C. C. Lockwood
foreword by Keith Ouchley
168 pages / 9.50 x 12.50 inches / 220 color photos / $48
lsupress.org