Lake Tahoe and the Ring o' Fire

Now, friends, if you ever find yourself wanting to take a pleasant jaunt to the fair waters of Lake Tahoe, where the air is as crisp as an autumn apple and the scenery finer than any painting, here is a word of advice–bring a rowboat, a sturdy pair of boots, and a disposition prepared for sudden calamity. While the place is a wonder of nature, it is also a tinderbox, and the fools in charge seem bent on stuffing more people into it than a stagecoach on payday.

Take the matter of Fire Chief Gary Gerren, a man tasked with preventing his small alpine hamlet from becoming a grand bonfire. Gerren, a fellow of uncommon sense in a land sorely lacking it, spends his days imagining the worst—quite literally. He sets fires in his mind and watches them run amok on his fancy computing contraption, seeking a way to keep the thousands of sunburned tourists from perishing when—not if—the flames come calling.

The dilemma is simple–one road in and one out of Fallen Leaf Lake, a five-mile stretch of winding, bump-riddled passage. During the summer, the area becomes crowded with people who think they are impervious to disaster.

Should a fire spark up, these same folks will transform into a mass of panicked humanity, squeezing into that narrow road like hogs through a gate. And as history has taught–when fire and foolishness meet, the fire that wins.

The Angora Fire of 2007 should have been a lesson, but lessons get wasted on some. When it leaped over the granite walls that were supposed to hold it back, chaos reigned, roads jammed, and more than a few souls discovered that “forest living” meant something different than the real estate pamphlets had promised.

Then came the Caldor Fire in 2021, an inferno so grand it made a mockery of every assurance that such a thing “could never happen.” The flames barreled into South Lake Tahoe like an uninvited wedding guest, sending 50,000 people fleeing in a grand parade of honking horns and frayed nerves.

Gerren, ever the realist, knows what few will say aloud–if the fire comes to Fallen Leaf Lake, there will be no easy way out. His best plan is to herd the terrified masses onto boats and send them across the waters or direct them to scramble up into the rocky wilderness like so many bewildered goats.

“It’s all I’ve got,” he says.

Yet, in the face of this, the developers continue their industrious folly. Take, for instance, the plan to build a grand resort in Olympic Valley, complete with 850 condos and enough beds to house an army of summer visitors.

In a display of optimism so profound it borders on delusion, county officials approved the project, dismissing concerns about evacuating thousands of guests through a single two-lane road. If fire blocks their path, they will “shelter in place.”

It’s a first-rate plan if one enjoys the ambiance of a slow-roasting ham.

Fire experts, those weary prophets of doom, have warned that Lake Tahoe is a disaster waiting to happen. The forests are thick, the roads are few, and the cabins, many built when “fireproofing” meant having a bucket nearby, are as flammable as dry pine needles. Yet every year, more homes rise, more tourists flood in, and the illusion persists that disasters are manageable with a well-placed sign and a polite evacuation notice.

The truth, plain as a mule’s backside, is when the fire comes, it will not be impressed by grand plans or official assurances. It will move as it pleases, and all the clever men in suits will be left wringing their hands while the people on the ground make do with what little sense and preparation they have.

So, if you must visit Lake Tahoe, do so with your eyes wide open. Bring your boots, your boat, and a fair bit of luck.

And should you hear a fire is near, do not wait for the officials to sort themselves out—start running, and don’t stop ‘til you hit the water.