NWT Wildfire Evacuation Resilience and Unity
I am very appreciative of Danielle Paradis contacting me for her story and being the journalist I trusted to tell a part of it in the first 24 hours.
Never before had there been a forest fire of this magnitude in the Northwest Territories (NWT).
I first received word from Fort Smith — Aug 12, 2 pm — when I received a video from a friend depicting a blood-red sky; he told me it was no filter. The red sky saturated the scenery. His car was caked in ash. Moments later the call went black.
This video stopped me dead in my tracks and I instantly dropped everything to get in touch with people to figure out what was going on.
Fort Smith, Northwest Territories — Mid August 2023; Video of a black car covered in ash, red sky and car in the background with white headlights
The Alert
When the evacuation order came to Fort Smith, I was already figuring out a way to coordinate people to come to stay with us in Yellowknife.
We housed evacuees in Yellowknife, figuring it was safest. Half the city is situated on a peninsula and surrounded by rocky terrain, countless lakes, and tiny trees.
In the days before our city’s evacuation alert was called, we were told there would never be an evacuation — if there ever was one called, the city said we would shelter in place at the multiplex recreation center
I took a few days off focusing on supporting people who came up from Fort Smith, acquiring prescriptions that didn’t transfer, setting up doctors’ appointments, and gathering extra groceries.
We put people up in our spare room and on the couch, our house quickly began to look like a mini hotel.
I poured a cup of tea to settle my nerves and went on the patio, the blue sky overlooking Kam Lake.
Within minutes, the blue sky was gone and acrid smoke filled the air.
Ash began to rain like snow and the wind picked up.
I looked up to a rising plume of purple smoke that seemingly came from nowhere. It blotted out the sun.
A small raven watches the fire smoke rising to blot out the sun, above.
View off front steps, looking down the road towards the lake.
A few minutes later, the constant roar of water bombers over our house, landed in Kam Lake just a few hundred meters away.
Our neighbors told us they were dousing the only highway south with water so people could evacuate, as an evacuation order was imminent.
About an hour later the wind blew it in another direction, as if nothing had happened.
It had been doing this for weeks. I would go to bed to blue skies, and wake up with a sore throat from the smoke pouring in open windows.
I kept a look at the map, noting it was within 15 km away from us on all sides — West, North, and East. It was as if we were being sandwiched in.
We were told only days ago that Yellowknife would never be evacuated and everything was precautionary. A few hours later, the broadcast came out from the Minister indicating a phased evacuation was coming.
A screenshot of the Original Emergency alert August 16: Residents of Dettah and Ingraham Trail are required to evacuate as soon as possible. Yellowknife and N’Dilo residents are required to evacuate by 12 pm on Friday, August 18.
An hour later, an emergency alert hit our phones — the whole city and surrounding communities were to evacuate.
Something must have changed rapidly. It compounded the urgency and contributed to heightened panic.
We had people come by the house alerting us to turn off all of our appliances and water lines, they needed to conserve the pressure and put sprinklers on the roof. I killed the breaker to the house. The misinformation cost us a fridge and freezer.
We turned off the propane tanks figuring if an open spark hit the gas we’d all blow sky high.
The word was our neighborhood would be the first in line to be hit within 48 hours; we were encouraged to get out and hit the highway immediately.
Being a person with a disability, my first thought was about the people I knew with accessibility needs, who had challenges on the best of days obtaining support and transit. I contacted many, and quickly learned nobody had contacted them about what they were to do. The city officials were gone, the hospitals were in full scale evacuation.
I tried desperately to find this information, calling around a rapidly emptying city but nobody was answering.
We heard from friends who had departed that night, they frantically messaged us warning us not to take the highway, people were gridlocked on the road and trapped, standing still for hours with the fire right beside them, some had turned back — the fire was moving across the highway in multiple places, and the smoke was so thick you couldn’t see 10 feet in front of you.
It took them 9 hours to reach Fort Providence, which would normally have been 2.5 hours. We had no idea there even was a fire out there that close, it didn’t make any sense.
This was the dragon’s mouth we all had to drive down; our only way south, to the Northwest of the city.
Screengrab of satellite image over Yellowknife, August 2023. Fire in orange.
We saw videos of people driving through Enterprise — the community on fire, inches from the road — I later read stories of people I knew who had driven out earlier, encountering walls of flame on the highway.
This was the only highway out of the territory that we all had to go through.
Enterprise was going up in flames and the order was “go south”
The communication blackout made everything worse.
We felt gaslighted by how often the official releases would change.
We decided to leave the next morning and wait for the throngs of people to clear and hopefully, the fire to die down. I didn’t sleep all night.
The direction was simply “You have 48 hours to vacate the city under order of law.”
I reached out to a friend and half-jokingly asked if he could take us out on Great Slave Lake on his boat. He called me, an experienced firefighter and outdoorsman, and told us our best bet was the highway.
“It’s probably going to get bad.”
Stories came out about price gouging going on the airlines (eventually discovered it was an algorithm issue) but I remember seeing this and it was clear to me the only way out was to take the highway through the dragon’s mouth going south.
Screen capture of angry algorithm showing commercial flights at 5k+
The Journey
The next morning we lined up with hundreds of others for gas.
Orange smoke covered Frame Lake, apocalyptic blood-red sun covered in smoke blazed down on us.
Photo of orange/red sky of smoky morning with endless trucks lining up for gas in Yellowknife
I saw one truck lined up with a dozen jerry cans. The way people were gathering it you would’ve thought all of Alberta would have been out of gas.
It felt like the social fabric of the city was collapsing.
Frame Lake, orange and red smoke with gusting winds. There is supposed to be a city skyline depicted at this spot.
Big river gas station newspapers
We had a designated person in the passenger seat hit the internal air-circulation button every 20 minutes or we’d have constant headaches from the smoke filling the car.
The overhead sun was blood red, with smoke occasionally blotting it out entirely.
Blood red sun and smoke clouds.
We crossed the Dehcho bridge over the Mackenzie River and were met with a scene out of Netflix’s “Stranger Things”: burnt black trees, red and orange smoke, sprawling landscapes caked in ash so thick it was like snow, power poles dangling being held up by broken power lines, strewn across the side of the road.
There was a lookout point I used to stop at and gaze across endless colorful trees — now burnt black as far as the eye could see.
Endless burnt trees into the distance, with smoke plumes rising from the ground like spirits.
I spoke to our passengers about what it was like outside of Fort Smith, with some of the images that came in from Parks Canada as our only guideline to give context to just how big the fires were in other parts of the region.
Parks Canada photo ,view of the salt plains and wood buffalo national park with sunlight behind it creating an ominous glow
The silence was surreal.
I had spent so much time photographing the lush forests of this region.
All gone now.
Enterprise, a community I spent so much of my youth visiting; where I used to have my artwork exhibited in their gallery, was wiped off the map.
Seeing the way the metal was warped made me wonder if that was going to happen to Yellowknife (at the time, I had the belief the fire was going to barrel through the city). I thought of the City of Yellowknife’s original evacuation plan to house us all in the Multiplex arena.
Enterprise metal buildings
Story screenshot from Cabin Radio
60th parallel north sign, barricaded border with orange and grey smoke all over the highway and road.
Helicopters and the military were the only ones moving north.
A barricade blocked the road back to Yellowknife.
We were not allowed to turn back.
Someone said it was like being in a warzone.
The apprehension at the time conjured up all kinds of images of what would happen to our homes, not knowing if they’d even be there when we returned.
We needed to see images and videos of what the situation was.
I saw several TV networks using images from Kelowna and Enterprise to talk about Yellowknife and it frustrated me.
I wanted to see what was going on in the capital.
When we got past the Alberta border, we were met with fuel tankers provided by the Government of Alberta.
Line up for gas fuel trucks — thank you Alberta ❤
We appreciated the significant help we had from all over the province and shared our story everywhere we could.
I was running on adrenaline to stay awake, watching vehicles on the highway in front of me swerve from fatigue.
Before this drive, I had taken time off work for back surgery and was never able to solve the full extent of my nerve pain.
The 15-hour drive itself was a distraction from the icy hot pain that lanced from toe to hip.
Each pull-off and rest stop was filled with polar bear license plates, and vehicles pulled off to the side of the road by the ditch.
We kept hearing stories that the evacuation centers were full in Edmonton, and they were sending people to Calgary.
I made a plea on a Facebook, asking where we were supposed to go.
It received hundreds of shares.
People wrote to me, encouraging me to keep speaking up about the lack of coordination and communication during the evacuation.
My wife pointed out to me a quote by Damian Barr, “We are not all in the same boat. We are all in the same storm. Some of us are on super-yachts. Some have just the one oar.”
I was growing increasingly conscious of the variability in circumstance and privilege as I kept absorbing it from others.
We were convoying together, tens of thousands of people, all equally lost.
Whenever we saw a polar bear license plate we felt a sense of solidarity even without knowing who it was.
We were spread all over the country but united by where we came from.
The Government encouraged everyone who could drive to not wait for the planes and to leave as soon as possible.
If we couldn’t even wait for a plane and had to carpool down, the fire was probably imminent.
The original evacuation order distributed by the mayor
The document outlines protocols for driving vs air travel. The most relevant component was that “only residents who do not have the option to leave the area by road are asked to register for evacuation flights.”
We heard from multiple evacuation centers that they may do reimbursements for those driving.
We later learned there was no expense reimbursement for the drive down or back up to the Northwest Territories.
For some of us that meant multiple days of driving and absorbing all accompanying costs via savings or — inevitably increasing — insurance policies.
We ended up in Peace River for the first night, arriving around 1 AM.
I didn’t sleep that night, we stayed and didn’t get any assistance or hotel vouchers. All of the other designated hotels were full.
I had a call that morning from HR who told me I was part of the family and he wanted to check in with me to figure out where we ended up.
He encouraged me to talk about this story and get it out there, as a former colleague of mine had already done so.
I was told I would have 3–7 days of leave for this, but more may be coming.
I ended up using all of my annual leave, as the department workaholic I never did use this stuff anyway.
Later that morning, I saw the Premier sitting down with us at breakfast, watching CBC at the table next to me.
It was interesting to see that the head of government was there on the ground next to the evacuees, in a similar situation.
Trudeau was on the screen talking about training more firefighters.
- I wanted to see what Yellowknife and the communities looked like.
- I wanted to know where to go next and what the plan was.
- I wanted to hear from the evacuees and learn what their experience was like.
The update never came and the show clicked on to another story.
To me, this was the story — the whole country should be paying attention to this.
Community Voices & Unity
I spent many nights catching up and continually communicating with people I met along the way, learning about every issue being faced and where.
Some were getting support such as hotel accommodations and free gas, and others were going several thousand into debt and lining up for hours for meals.
Others had restaurant and hotel vouchers, but they had to change hotels every so often.
One person I spoke to had changed hotels five times, continually moving with their family from place to place.
I read about people being put into five-star hotels, others receiving per diems, and others being put into unsafe situations if any at all.
Some had work that allowed them to work from home, others had none and ran deep into debt and near bankruptcy.
Nobody should’ve had to pay out of pocket for any of this — it isn’t the residents’ fault we were on the hook.
People would write “Don’t complain, we were lucky to get anything at all — don’t question officials.”
I didn’t agree with that. If people can not speak up and use their voices there is no way to see where the inequities are occurring and how to address them.
No matter how far away you are or how long ago; you are always with the community and its people. It forms a part of your ethos.
The wildfire never touched our city and yet it was raging inside us.
We learned from one another, we found information through people sharing; we relied less on the media.
A kinship that permeated through every member of the territory we saw on the road; united through the evacuation, displacement, and our stories.
- I spoke to a firefighter who was sleeping behind a grain elevator in his truck, who indicated there was no point going to Edmonton; he tried and was turned away, it was full; never mind Calgary either because it was full. He reflected there was a 50/50 chance the fire would consume Fort Smith in the coming days and worse chances for Hay River. I worried for many of his colleagues and people I grew up with who remained to work on the line, seeing posts about being pushed back circulating on Facebook throughout the week.
A screenshot outlining fire operations outside of Fort Smith.
- I spoke to people from small communities now in overwhelmingly large cities, struggling with addiction being displaced and away from support, and extended families strewn all over the country.
- I spoke to a family that was deep in debt, unable to get support from the government, and assistance delayed in bottlenecks. Broken lines of communication and constantly changing policies made it difficult to keep abreast of.
- I spoke to many who talked of never returning, unable to afford to drive back without support from government financial assistance that was bottlenecked by demand.
- I spoke to a young woman who offered to work a month for free for her employer because the employer was not sure if they could afford to stay open.
My throat was raw every day with the many people I connected with and spoke with.
I had an innate way of absorbing the distress and finding someone to connect people to, it kept me grounded to lend an ear and just listen or be someone to vent to.
Re-entry
When we got the word to re-enter a few weeks later, we were aware that the city would not be at full capacity for at least a couple of weeks.
It was again supposed to be a phased re-entry, but within days all 20,000+ people trundled up the road again.
In total, we are gone for five to six weeks. I originally anticipated five days.
Each community went back at different times, as the fire was still raging in Hay River.
The road home.
The city indicated we should stay away and drive back later in September if we had health concerns due to reduced capacities.
I worried about the level of nerve pain I was experiencing — it was locking up around my hips and made my left leg hard to straighten.
We decided to stay away longer, not realizing this would influence our insurance and we wouldn’t receive support on the way back.
On the re-entry we frequently were smoked out on the highway, needing to plan the route consistently and check the firesmoke.ca website to ensure the clouds of smoke were not interfering with road conditions.
The fires were still burning, and we were driving right back into the dragon’s mouth again.
Screengrab of a Satellite image of Smoke and wildfires over western/northern Canada. Orange are fires, smoke is white plumes. September 23, 9:50 am
Back in Yellowknife, the smoke was even worse than when we were away.
The smoke created an eerie burnt orange hue over the city.
The fire was out around the city but it was blowing up from elsewhere; the maps made it look like the entire western country was on fire.
I wondered about the effects of long-term smoke damage on mental and physical health.
814 AQI in Yellowknife, after re-entry. Masks strongly recommended.
The smoke created an eerie burnt orange hue over the city of Yellowknife; despite returning after the evacuation the wildfire smoke from the surrounding area was still strong, mostly carried on winds.
Orange skies of the city of Yellowknife roadways, a few people walking on the streets of main. This was photographed post evacuation — white street lights ominously dotting the streets.
I kept in touch with many people I spoke to over the course of the evacuation. Some are off work on disability, and some are not working at all from layoff or taking time away.
Some are still working and pushing quietly through it, burying themselves in more work.
Some never returned to the territory, unable to afford it.
I later ran a poll on NWT Jobs where a whopping 77% of respondents indicated they found the job availability less apparent since the wildfire evacuation.
Re-establishment of a displacement of culture and ethos in a community comes from sharing stories and talking.
The more we talk and share, the more we create change.
The ability to talk about this freely was important to me.
The ability to be connected and loyal to the North was important to me.
The ability to take time out of life and to process what had happened was important to me.
We see these stories of tragedy, trauma, and tribulation all the time in the media, but living them is different. It lingers within you long after the story is over.
You can build loyalty, community, and connectivity for life by how you support people going through a traumatic crisis.
By how you elevate their stories.
One of the key elements of how I worked was being connected to the community, being their representative in the public broadcaster and non-stop advocating for the people of the North to get their stories heard nationally.
Until now, each time I tried to talk about my personal experience it felt like a serpent was squeezing my throat shut, squeezing my chest, like I couldn’t breathe.
I would like to unwind the serpent off my throat and make it work for Northerners who went through it.
We change the stigma around mental health by keeping up the conversation and not shying away from telling our stories.
Keep talking.
Keep engaging.
Keep connecting.
Keep telling your story.