36 Nebraskaland • November 2022
By late afternoon, the crew lighting the backfi re had
reached the unit's west boundary. They then turned north
and lit along a mowed break that snaked down a gentle slope
of the bluff , tying the fi re off to the river. Soon, the crew
setting the headfi re would also reach this point, encircling
the unit with fi re. Behind them, the backfi re and headfi re
were merging high on the bluff , like the sides of a slowly
closing zipper, and extinguishing themselves.
In the dimming light of sunset, crew members set fi re in
the last unburned patches of oak timber low on the bluff that
the headfi re had passed by. Slowed by the evening chill, their
fl ames crept across the forest fl oor, casting a pale, eerie glow
onto the sprawling branches above. When the last of these
fi res petered out, darkness enveloped the bluff . The burn was
complete. The crew dispersed for a good night's sleep, except
for a lone sentinel who stayed late into the night to patrol the
burn perimeter.
Post-fire
Last June, I hiked the bluff with Bladow and Carson Schultz,
assistant manager at the preserve, to view the results of the
fi re. To our delight, many young cedars and pines had died in
the burn. Many of the dead still clung to their slow-cooked
foliage, now brownish-orange, but where the fi res burned hot,
these saplings were skeletons of charred stems and limbs.
Niobrara Valley Preserve assistant manager Carson Schultz
examines an unscathed aspen in June after the burn. The
tree is caged to prevent deer browsing.
GERRY STEINAUER, NEBRASKALAND
