Back on the road, we faced smoke again, and ash, ash everywhere.
The fire was closer but the pilot car was gone. Was this good or bad? Did they
think it was safe now or had they escaped? We feared the latter.
We drove through pockets of smoke and watched the ash turn our
car gray. On our right, fire lit up tree tops only a few hundred yards away. On
the ground, it consumed dry grass and brush as it crawled slowly but steadily
closer to the road. In places it was already climbing the last incline to the
road. On our left, we could see fire in more distant treetops. I begged to stop
and take photos. When would I ever have a chance like this again?
But our driver wasn't stopping. With a car full of family, he
drove with white knuckles and a deaf ear. He whipped by photo op after photo op,
slowing down only a little to let me take photos of especially spectacular scenes
from my open window. I finally closed the window, but it was too late; the car
smelled of smoke for weeks!
