A glimpse into hell: How firefighters battled Nelson's massive wildfires - and won

Friday, 9 August 2019

The Pigeon Valley wildfire left a huge, blackened landscape in its wake, but its legacy may also help fight the rising threat of rural fires in New Zealand. Laurel Ketel and Warren Gamble report.

A DEVOURING BEAST

It started as a spark in a bone-coloured paddock at the edge of a forest.

By the time it was contained the Pigeon Valley wildfire, 25 kilometres south-west of Nelson city, had become New Zealand's third biggest forest fire. It rampaged across 2343 hectares of mainly pine plantations with a perimeter of 35.4 kilometres.

It cloaked a wide area in a haze that turned the sun a deep orange-red. At night it burned like a glimpse into hell.

At its height it was a roaring, devouring wall of flames so intense it created its own weather system. It forced the evacuation of an entire village of more than 3000 people, and came within a few metres of scores of rural homes, and one of the area's biggest employers, the Eves Valley sawmill. 

In the days that followed its outbreak, deliberately lit fires on nearby Rabbit Island and on a tree-lined hill behind Nelson city added to a sense of unease, almost dread. 

But when the smoke finally cleared, there were no human casualties and a relatively small number of livestock deaths. Only one house - a three-bedroom cottage - was destroyed along with a couple of sheds. 

Some say it was a miracle that no lives were lost or many more homes razed. Photographs of houses left intact in a sea of scorched black grass illustrated that sense of the inexplicable. 

But fire bosses say the losses were minimised because of the dedicated efforts of the 150-plus frontline firefighters, 20 helicopter and two fixed-wing crews, and 20-plus heavy machinery operators, backed by an expert team with a plan that kept ahead of the shifting threats. 

Feeding into their efforts was the work of police, Defence personnel, Department of Conservation staff, employers who gave volunteer crews time off and community volunteers. There was also an outpouring of support in the region and around the country in the form of donations, food or just handwritten messages of gratitude. 

And there was some luck too - at crucial times the winds that drove the fire dropped, shifted or didn't quite get strong enough to create more havoc.

The Pigeon Valley fire was the first big test for Fire and Emergency New Zealand (Fenz) since it was created by the merger of the Fire Service, the National Rural Fire Authority and 38 rural fire districts in July, 2017.

Only five months earlier the devastating Port Hills fires above Christchurch claimed 10 homes. Afterwards the fragmented management response - the fire overlapped three firefighting jurisdictions - came in for heavy criticism. An independent review found a myriad of management faults, in particular a lack of situational awareness and resources, and flaws in communication with the public and other agencies.

In Christchurch the city council was criticised for a delay in declaring a Civil Defence State of Emergency. In Nelson it was declared early on the second morning and lasted three weeks, allowing agencies greater powers and resources.

The Pigeon Valley fire response is now under independent review, and while there will undoubtedly be lessons, so far it has largely drawn praise. 

As New Zealand's wildfire threat continues to rise with climate change and more people moving to live in the country it may become an important marker.

RECIPE FOR A DISASTER

February 5, 2019 dawned as another fine day across Nelson, with temperatures heading for the mid-20s. The region had virtually no rain since the start of the year, and while thousands of late holidaymakers were relaxing in the sun, firefighters were nervous.

Only a week before, the region's fire bosses and Nelson MP Nick Smith had visited the Richmond Hills fire lookout to warn the public about the extraordinary risk, the worst in 18 years and drier than the conditions before the Port Hills fires. 

All it needed was a wayward spark.

A disc plough in a Pigeon Valley paddock provided it, likely from a metal blade hitting a rock. In seconds the flames took off through dry grass and into a 300-metre slope of young pines and dry cutover material left from harvesting only a few years before. 

A 30kmh south-west wind fanned the blaze - it was a perfect recipe for a disaster.

Deputy principal rural fire officer for Nelson Tasman Jeff White was at the scene at 2.28pm, 13 minutes after the alarm was raised. 

His first reaction was 'Oh s…'. He called for helicopters.

Pilot Toby Reid got the message in his Squirrel helicopter on the ground near Marlborough's parched Waihopai Valley where he had been helping control a fire in grasslands.

He was the second helicopter to arrive at Pigeon Valley, only a few kilometres from his home base near the historic village of Wakefield. It was 3.33pm (the first helicopter on standby in Nelson was at the scene by 2.45pm), but there was little they could do.

'With the sun on it and the wind pushing it up the hill that fire behaviour was like nothing I've ever seen in the 17 years I've been flying,' Reid says.

'That fire was unsafe to stop, we couldn't get behind it so we tried to contain the western flank to prevent it from growing.' 

On the ground, White came to the same conclusion that it was too dangerous to send any crews in.

As a rule of thumb if flames are more than 1.2 metres above tree-height, a direct attack by ground crews is ineffective and unsafe. Flames above 2.4 metres make even aerial firefighting fruitless, 'like spitting on a barbecue', White says.

In those first stages of the Pigeon Valley fire, flames shot 6 to 7 metres above the pines and the front was moving rapidly. Fire moves faster uphill because the flames preheat the material above it. 

Burning embers, some as big as cellphones, got carried by the strong winds like small molotov cocktails that started spot fires up to 500 metres away. 

White, too, had never seen fire behaviour like it.

'I was in awe actually,' he says. 'We had crews turning up one after another but in all honesty there was nothing our ground crews could have done.'

Unable to mount a direct attack, the firefighting effort had to focus on the flanks where the nearest houses were. 

IS THIS REAL?

Volunteer firefighter Chris Noonan was among the vanguard of the crews responding from Nelson city with the 212 brigade.

On the 25-minute drive to the scene, he and his colleagues were quiet, listening to the radio chatter, checking their gear, thinking about what they would face. 

They arrived at the Teapot Valley Christian camp at 4pm, and saw the smoke billowing in the forests behind it. 

'The fire was creating its own wind and driving itself, you don't know exactly what way it's going to go,' Noonan says.

They carried out protection work around homes, dampening the surrounds, removing vegetation, working their way from Teapot through to Eves Valley and then, at dusk, to the more populated Redwood Valley where the fire front was heading.

'At the top of Redwood Valley we went down a private road and there was just a sea of fire before us, it was shocking to see. You look at it and go 'Holy moly -Is this real?' 

He estimated the rolling wall of flames was 300m wide and 4m high.

At other sites, all they could see was smoke, though they could hear the crackling. 'You know it's bloody close but the smoke is so thick you can't see the flames. Mate, that's scary.

'The speed of the fire is unbelievable… you can't outrun it, with a decent wind you'll be trapped and that's why you have to wait until it's safe.'

Their fire appliances were left running for a quick exit, something that happened several times during the night. At 1am Noonan's eight months pregnant partner Sarah drove out to give them food.

An hour later, almost 12 hours after the fire started, the wind shifted direction and they finally had their first chance to attack it. Lower humidity and the fire's emergence from the forest into smaller vegetation helped.

'We'd been watching it for hours and just wanted to get stuck in; we wanted to get in there and kill it, everyone was so charged up.' 

Noonan's six-man crew soaked the ground around homes, using water from a swimming pool. At another property, the owner had three, 3500-litre tanks that proved crucial to the defensive work. A network of private roads around the homes also acted as small firebreaks. On one property owned by Nelson career firefighter Dan Burrell the motocross track he had made for his son helped save his house.

'We tried to get in front of the fire when we could,' Noonan says. 'We went to a home and as the fire rolled towards us we put breaks in, put out some small grass fires and managed to protect the house.'

Noonan, a former zookeeper at Christchurch's Orana Park and an animal lover, says the deaths of sheep caught in the blaze was one of the night's difficult discoveries. 

But thanks to the efforts of his and other local crews, when the sun came up on Waitangi Day, only that one cottage on a Redwood Valley property had been lost. 

A big defensive effort saved the Eves Valley sawmill, even as the fire crested a ridge 100 metres away, flinging burning embers ahead of it. Firefighters worked through the night to knock down spot fires in the grass around the mill; created makeshift fire breaks, and lined the access road with fire retardant foam.

Tasman area fire commander Grant Haywood says he is proud and 'completely respectful' of  the efforts of the Nelson Tasman firefighters - made up of two career crews and a majority of volunteer brigades - who took on the fire on the first night. 

'They walked away from family, work, everything, putting themselves at risk. They just gave everything.'

John Sutton, who has vast experience with wildfires in New Zealand, Australia and North America, took over as incident controller on day two and was impressed with what he saw from the air. 

'It was absolutely outstanding the work they did to protect the houses,' he says. 'Seeing how close the fire got, but only one house was lost. To me that told a story that the local resources did a fantastic job.'

Noonan recalls the aftermath of that first 17-hour shift.

'I nearly cried on Wednesday when we were given a hot meal from the disaster relief team, we were exhausted and it was like Christmas, we just sat there so happy hoeing into these double burgers. 

'You just keep going…. you just do your job and get it done.'

YOUR TREES ARE ON FIRE

Another doing his job was Constable Jamie White, who grew up on his family's Pigeon Valley farm, and returned to his home village of Wakefield as a policeman.   

At 6am on Waitangi Day, he got a call from his mother, who still lives on the farm where Jamie and his siblings had a 12-hectare pine plantation.

'Your trees are on fire,' she told him.

He was not rostered to work but he ran to the Wakefield police station, threw on his uniform and headed straight up the valley, leaving his pregnant wife Leah and 20-month-old son Max at home.

'It was still dark and the flames were visible. Driving up I could see our trees burning, the whole hillside was on fire. 

'I didn't have time to worry about it, we needed to evacuate residents.'

Most were ready to leave, they had seen the fire growing during the night and knew it was serious. A number found it hard to go, and White felt for them.

'It was hard telling them to leave their land. I grew up here, these people have known me since I was a little kid and all of a sudden I'm telling them they have to leave their houses.'

On that Wednesday he received well over 100 phone calls from worried residents. 

Initially, White was able to help residents gain access back through the cordons so they could feed their stock and check on their land. But as the fire intensified the access was stopped.

The frustration of landowners was amplified because it took time for agencies to develop an animal welfare plan.

'People were in tears, begging and pleading to be able to get up there, it was actually heartbreaking at times having to tell them they couldn't go but as hard as it was those cordons were in place for a reason.'

So White took action. Accompanied by a farmer and a sergeant, they loaded up White's truck with donated food from the Wakefield Bakery and went into the valley. 

'We fed chooks, pigs, sheep, goats, cattle and even goldfish,' he said. ' It allowed people to take a deep breath and know their animals would be okay for a few days.'

A number of residents have called White a legend - he worked 16-hour shifts for the first five days -  but it's not something that sits comfortably.

'I only did what anyone in my position would have. The true legends are the ones who were out there fighting the fire.'

IT LOOKED LIKE HELL 

A relatively calm Wednesday allowed progress on a 10-metre wide containment line around the perimeter, but the fire returned with a vengeance on Thursday.

The wind not only picked up, it also changed direction to the south-east, pushing the fire back towards Wakefield and its 3000 inhabitants. The flare-up would gobble up another 500 hectares of forest.

In his helicopter, Toby Reid saw the wind change. It scared him because he could see ground crews driving towards the fire on a forested ridge only about two-kilometres from Wakefield.

Most crews could be reached by radio but some were on different frequencies.

'We had to fly down and hover extremely close to the crews to get their attention and signal to them that they needed to get out,' Reid says.

That Thursday night Jeff White was with a crew dampening down a property surrounded by forest at the end of Teapot Valley. Suddenly there was a loud popping and crackling as the fire came over a ridge 100 metres away.

In a few minutes the gap had closed to 50 metres. 'We just got out of there. We thought we had lost the structure. We could see the flames above the trees and it looked like hell up there.'

However, the defensive work saw the house emerge unscathed, even the bales of straw in the barn were untouched.

It was a scene repeated at other Teapot Valley properties as firefighters and contractors worked furiously to create barriers with water and firebreaks. No homes were lost that night.

Incident controller Sutton says modelling from a team of fire behaviour specialists had identified Thursday as a 'red flag day', and they had shifted extra resources to work on control lines and drop retardant foam on the ridge closest to Wakefield.

The lines were breached in a couple of places. 'It was touch and go into the night, but we managed to hold,' Sutton says. 

However, another danger came from the air. Embers from the burning ridge at Spring Grove, just north of the town, were travelling up to 800 metres.

Wakefield residents reported ash and pine needles 'falling like snow' across the village on Thursday night, but fortunately none caught alight.

BIG CALL

However, the threat from above still loomed large the next day, and it forced a big decision. 

Sutton says police sought a five-hour warning window of the fire's potential spread to Wakefield to allow them to carry out the evacuation of 860 properties, but the Fenz projections could only give a two-hour warning. So the call was made to evacuate - the first time Sutton can recall a whole village being cleared in a fire operation.

'It was a huge call, and I guess in our favour was that the community had kept themselves abreast of developments. I don't think it was a total surprise, but I would not think anyone was happy about it.'

As it turned out the forecast winds that would have been at the maximum end of firefighters' ability to hold back the fire did not eventuate that Friday. It would be the last time that the Pigeon Valley blaze would threaten to break out, although it would keep burning inside the lines for weeks.

But on that smoky Friday, out of nowhere, another threat rose.

IT ROARS AND IT'S TERRIFYING

The last thing the firefighters and unsettled Nelsonians needed was another fire.

Precious resources had been diverted to fight a  suspicious fire on Rabbit Island on Wednesday, and another big blaze was unthinkable.

But on Friday at about 2.30pm the unthinkable happened. There was already a hazy orange pall over the city blown across from Pigeon Valley in the morning, causing a flurry of false alarms in the valleys around Nelson. At 2.30pm another plume of smoke rose from the hills on the city's eastern flank.

The deliberately lit blaze raced through cypress and gum trees near a popular walking track, and headed for a line of hillside homes on Iwa Rd. 

Iwa Rd resident Kent Robertson was concreting when he heard what he first thought was a small child having a tantrum, before it got more urgent and angry.

'The thing they don't tell you about a big fire is just how loud it is, it's a demonic volume, the snapping, crackling and the popping of the dry material is nothing compared to the intake of air the fire is breathing, it roars and it's terrifying.'

He says the flames were higher than his neighbours' three-storey house.

'I ran inside, we have a go kit with all our important documents ready to go but I didn't think to take it in the panic. I got my keys, my cellphone and I went, I got out of dodge, I fled.'

Nelson station officer Dan Bradley and his crew were the only truck left in the city that afternoon. As soon as he saw the flames racing up the hillside he called for helicopters.

Apart from the eight or so homes in imminent danger the big fear was the fire would crest the top of the hill and get into the Hira Forest, another large plantation stretching over thousands of hectares towards Pelorus. That would have been a 'nightmare scenario' says Jeff White, who came in from the Pigeon Valley command centre to control the Iwa Rd response. 

'Fortunately we had resources coming out of our ears,' he says. Within minutes four helicopters that had been working on the Pigeon Valley fire were dousing the Iwa Rd blaze, halting its progress towards the houses and the ridge. 

Fortunately, too, the tide was in, allowing pilots to fill monsoon buckets in the nearby Nelson Haven. Two fixed wing planes were also brought in to drop fire retardant along the ridgeline and stop the fire jumping over. 

'Without that quick response from the aerial guys we would have been fighting an equal sized fire, if not bigger, in the hills behind Nelson,' Jeff White says.

Toby Reid was one of the pilots diverted to Iwa Rd, and it brought home personal nature of the job and the small size of Nelson. 'It was pretty emotional getting a phone call from a friend who lives up there the next day, thanking me.'

On the ground Bradley's crew did the lung-busting hard yards taking hoses up long, steep driveways, helping stop the fire only a few metres from the homes. One deck was burned. 

'Another couple of minutes it would have been into those houses big time,' Bradley says. 'It was a good save.'

Kent Robertson says he, his wife and two adult children were surprised to still have a home as they watched the drama unfold from nearby Neale Park.

'I honestly believe if the helicopters had not been in the air that at least four of the homes here would have been lost. 

'It's a minor miracle that our house survived but it's a major miracle that no one died during the whole summer event, it's incredible we're all very lucky.'

SMOKE ON THE HORIZON

Those fighting the Pigeon Valley fire say the biggest slice of luck was that the winds did not got up to a consistently high level that would have made it impossible to control.

Reid says if the strong winds that buffeted the region in January had continued, the Pigeon Valley blaze 'would have reached the sea (at Tasman Bay), taking out everything in its path.'

John Sutton says a big positive from Pigeon Valley was how well urban and rural firefighters worked together; a key improvement identified from the Port Hills fires.

He was also impressed with the co-operation between ground crews and aerial operators. But an area that needs more work is the ability to track all the resources pulled into the fireground in such a big operation which was 'not particularly tidy' at Pigeon Valley.

Looking ahead, Sutton has no doubt New Zealand has to be prepared for more big fires as risky conditions become more common.

Canterbury and the Bay of Plenty were not far behind the extreme conditions in Nelson this summer.

Sutton says the areas of most danger are at the urban/rural interface where many more houses have been built in recent years.

'We have got a lot of work to do to get communities to understand how dangerous a fire environment is and what they can do to help protect themselves and set up protective areas around their houses.'

Haywood says a big strength of the initial response was the strong local relationships. 'Everyone knows each other and I think that's exceptionally strong in the emergency services sector.

'An example is the phone call I made to Craig Davies (a firefighter who has a rural property near the fireground). I basically said we are going to set up an airport in your backyard and that was never an issue. And that's the sort of flexibility and willingness we have from our people.'