Every weekend since December, the Sonoma Ecology Center has been leading hikes into local wildlands to see how they are faring after the Tubbs and Nuns fires whipped through Sonoma Valley.
The free hikes are popular, with 20 to 30 participants showing up every time for the two- to three-mile venture around Suttonfield Lake at the Sonoma Developmental Center, or 3,200 feet up Bald Mountain at Sugarloaf Ridge State Park and other properties.
"The bad news about the fires is very evident and reinforced through the media and personal experience," says Caitlin Cornwall, a biologist and research program director at the Sonoma Ecology Center (SEC). "We're doing the walks to give people a more nuanced experience of what fire means. You have to experience the rebound of the land before you can believe this is a true aspect of the fires."
We are sitting outside the SEC offices on a prematurely warm day, accompanied by a woodpecker tapping overhead and the call of various birds.
"It's difficult for people to hold in their heads and hearts that fires are frightening, and also beneficial and necessary. We're looking to a future where it's normal to see regular active management of wildlands. The idea that land should be left untouched shows a lack of understanding of what the land needs. The land needs us and we need the land. That is the message that has come from the Native American people."
At Sugarloaf, the fire burned 80 percent of the 3,300-acre property. Since the fires, park staff have removed more than 60 downed trees and repaired burned-out steps, installed new retaining walls and creek bridges. Now the risk of landslides, higher here than anywhere in the county, is the top concern, says park manager John Roney. But there has been very little rain since November.
As we clamber up a trail toward Bald Mountain, the highest point in the park, it does appear, despite the chill wind, that the land is breathing more freely. We're headed for the chaparral ecosystem near the top of the mountain, the domain of a large variety of shrubs and plants subject to frequent wildfire. For two months after the Tubbs fire, the land was completely black. Most of the chamise was seared to its bare trunk. The few trees, mostly manzanita and madrone, were black and bare too.
"It was a moonscape," says Cornwall, who visited the area as soon as it was safe to do so. It wasn't until early February that Sugarloaf could welcome visitors.
The first rain brought a smooth, green carpet of fresh grass, appearing all the more brilliant in the absence of the dead grasses destroyed by fire.
About halfway up the mountain, we find ourselves in a beautiful open meadow surrounded by hills. "You can see the fire line here," Cornwall says. On one side, a field of mixed grasses; adjacent to it, a brilliant green field where the fire had been.
I return the next day and catch a ride to the top with a park steward. As we drive through the cattle gate on the narrow fire road, the vista that spreads before me is unlike anything I have seen before.
Nearly five months since the firestorm, it's an eerie sight. Areas once dense with bushes and undergrowth are nothing but blackened hardpan with the charred remains of the plants. The fire was so hot in some places trees vaporized, leaving a skeleton of white ashes on the ground. The stale smell of burnt vegetation still lingers in the air.
However, signs of life are visible. Little clusters of plants have emerged. The delicate white flowers of Fremont's star lily, a bulb rarely seen here, are abundant. Little shoots of other plants are visible, among them the wavy leaf soap root, whispering bells and purple needle grass. These bulbs and seeds have evolved to bloom in the higher temperatures.
Other plants find unusual ways to germinate. Madrones that looked completely burned are resprouting from the canopy, proof that trees that appear dead probably aren't.