It was the final evening of my Boundary Waters trip in May and my unofficial vacation before the busy summer tourist season. With no cell reception, I had never been able to contact anyone from the wilderness, but my two companions were able to text their significant others via satellite. So I asked Aaron if he could text my girlfriend, Tashina, saying I was coming home and excited to see her. The response I received was not what I expected. Something about a fire. By my house. She was contacting some of my neighbors to see if my house was going to be OK, but details were sketchy.
What?! It was near dark. If I packed up everything and raced home, it would be the wee hours of the morning before I got home … if I still had a home. There would be nothing I could do to save the house. But I might be able to save my cat, Harbor. Decisions, decisions.
It was maddening. Sketchy communication. It would take minutes to send or receive a text. You had to wait until a satellite was in range. The last text I got from her, she had gotten ahold of my friend, Dean, who was a paramedic and knows the local firefighters. He thought my house was going to be OK. I decided to come out in the morning as planned, but sleep did not come easily.
The following morning, I was up and had camp broken before my alarm went off. My friends were just starting to stir in their tents as I packed my final items in the canoe to shove off. I couldn’t wait. I just needed to get home. They were supposed to stay anyway, but were now considering exiting early too because of strong winds in the forecast.
Luckily it was glass calm and I made great time. There was no time to stop and fish; no time to take in the stillness and beauty of a quiet lake, and no time for the greasy burger in Grand Marais I had been dreaming about. I needed to get back to reception and to my house.
It took only 14 minutes from the time my canoe hit the beach until the truck was packed and rolling. Normally I love the drive down the Gunflint Trail, but that morning I was peeling down the road with the impatience of a New York City cabdriver. Near the bottom of the trail, my phone got signal and started pinging. I quickly began sorting through texts and voicemails. Some were just people saying hi, not knowing my plight. A bunch were telemarketers. Tom, who lives near me and knew the situation full well, had left four voicemails. He was my second call, after assuring Tashina I was OK and getting what details I could from her.
There was a long, circuitous detour at Silver Bay, sending me well inland to avoid the Stewart Trail Fire burning along Highway 61 closer to Two Harbors. Normally I love that drive, but again, I was anxious to get home.
As I neared Two Harbors, I wondered if I would be able to go home. I just wanted to get my cat. It may sound crazy, but Harbor means the world to me. Was he OK? Would they even let me get him?
There was a roadblock at the campground on Highway 61, just outside of Two Harbors. It was a conservation officer helping out the local police. I explained that I lived just up ahead and needed to get my cat.
“Say, didn’t I check your license a couple years ago while you were hunting up by Lutsen?” he asked. “You were camping with your cat.”
How the heck did he remember that?
“Yup, that was me,” I replied.
“Go get your cat,” he said.
The highway was eerily empty. It was like being in a post-apocalyptic world. Up ahead, near the Silver Creek Tunnel, smoke was billowing, although not nearly as much as I had feared.
The fire, I had now learned, had started just inland of Betty’s Pies, about three-quarters of a mile from me. It was windy, with strong gusts out of the west. And my house was upwind of the fire. I breathed a little sigh of relief.
I pulled into the driveway. The house was fine. Harbor greeted me at the door, as always. I could have hugged him to death.
“OK, buddy, we gotta get outta here,” I said as I began rounding up his food, bowls, and litter box.
It was a gift. I was in the evacuation zone, but I was allowed to come home. I wasn’t going to abuse that privilege, but since I was here, what should I grab? What would mean the most to me?
Well, I thought about hooking up the new boat I had just bought. But I didn’t. The stuff I grabbed surprised me. I grabbed the two items I had sold on eBay while I was gone, which I thought was laughable, but hey, what the heck? I grabbed two guns—one of which my dad gave me. And I grabbed a couple moose antlers. No photo albums. No laptop (which I had planned to grab but forgot). Didn’t even grab the $200 in small bills from my garage sale the week earlier. And then that was it. Harbor and I hit the road.
It was a Saturday, and it was actually hot. I was still thinking about that greasy burger. I went to McQuade’s in Two Harbors. But instead of enjoying my lunch, I was impatient. I worried about my house. And I deliberately sat where I could watch Harbor, who was trapped in a warm vehicle. I wolfed down my food and didn’t even treat myself to a beer.
And then we just waited. I called and texted family and friends, letting them know we were evacuated but OK. I kept everyone apprised of the situation. I texted one gal I know who lives right where the fire is. She said so far their house was fine, but the one across the highway wasn’t so lucky. And then mostly we just sat in the truck, waiting for updates. I still had my canoe and a fishing pole. I could have fished, but I don’t have reception at area lakes and I couldn’t think about fishing anyway. I mostly sat in the truck and read. Soon, I’d run out of things to read.
I still had camping gear, but Tom said I could crash at his house. I was really looking forward to a shower and a bed, so I took him up on it. That bed felt amazing after days of sleeping in a tent.
The next day, it was more waiting. The wind switching back to the east. I hoped that meant the fire would just move back to what it had already consumed and burn itself out.
Again, I could have done something. I could have gone to Duluth. I could have bought the new shoes I so badly need. Instead, Harbor and I sat in the truck, waiting for updates. We watched people kite surf at Burlington Bay. We went to the grocery store multiple times. Ran into Goodwill once. I was so bored.
Late that afternoon, Tom texted me. He was wondering if I was allowed to go back home yet. I was sure that nothing had changed, but I checked my phone anyway. They had shrunk the evacuation zone—we were allowed to go home.
I felt so cool, driving down Highway 61 when it was forbidden for everyone else. (This must be what it feels like to get to the front of the line and be let into a club while everyone else waits in line.) Harbor and I pulled in the driveway and everything was totally fine. I’m not sure what he was thinking. I’m sure he was glad to be back. He had been cooped up in the truck for hours. But for me, I saw our house in a whole new light. I felt like Dorothy waking up from a dream and repeating, “There’s no place like home.”
But for as thrilling as it was to be home, I couldn’t help but feel survivor’s guilt. Many of my neighbors weren’t so lucky. In all, the Stewart Trail Fire burned 356 acres and destroyed 34 structures, including eight primary homes. My heart aches for all those affected. You hear about a fire on the news and you think, “Oh, what a tragedy.” But when it affects your friends and neighbors, it really hits home. These are real people who have lost everything.
And while some have been devastated by the aftermath, others experienced close calls. Thank you to all the emergency workers who put their all into protecting the properties. Monday, after the highway reopened, I drove along the affected stretch to see the aftermath. And it really struck me how some places were consumed by flames, while at other residences just next door, the fire had fizzled out and spared them. It is a fickle world we live in. It reminded me to be thankful for what I have, but not to get too caught up in material possessions, because it can all be gone in a heartbeat.
If you’re interested in donating to help the Stewart Trail Fire victims, you can donate to the Head of the Lakes United Way fire relief fund at hlunitedway.org.