EDITOR'S LETTER

editor's LETTER Some concepts can be hard to understand.

Like the classical dynamics of spinning tops. Or quantum mechanics.

Only You! is pretty easy. It's seven letters and two words, an adverb and a pronoun, and when paired together, they convey a simple message that's nondenominational. Yet, the fires keep burning and history keeps repeating itself.

The fires are part of the life cycle. We all understand that. But when it comes to the numbers, Mother Nature would be much less aggressive on her own - almost 90 percent of the wildfires in Arizona and the American West are man-made.

Human carelessness is the main culprit, but there are other serious issues. A decades-long drought and a century of fire suppression have bred forests that are ready to explode. The pine needles are nitroglycerin, so we have to tiptoe. But not everyone complies. And just like that, another beautiful landscape has been hit.

Two years ago, Sunset Crater Volcano National Monument turned 90. That summer, in June 2020, we published a story about the alluring trees that grow there. It's titled Rising From the Ashes, and it came out as the uncertainty of the pandemic was unfolding and our state was in lockdown. In my column, I wrote: In autumn, an electric marigold. In the winter, it let go of its leaves. On its own terms. I prayed for that tree, but it wasn't enough. The fire, the spawn of man, took it out. Just like the Wallow Fire took out my favorite trail in the White Mountains - the first trail my twin daughters had ever hiked. Wallow, RodeoChediski, Rafael, Rattlesnake, Aspen, Schultz, Woodbury, Bighorn, Horseshoe Two ... I have indelible connections to all of the places altered by the recent megafires. And too many to count in Sunset Crater. I know I'm not alone.

As the wildland firefighters were heroically closing in on containment of the Tunnel Fire, I shared a few photos on Instagram of what's been lost. “Heartbreaking” is the word that Anna Timney used in her comment.

“This was my backyard. I grew up looking at Sunset from my living room window.” “Sunset Crater might be the perfect place to go when we get to the other side. In addition to the natural wonder of the national park, you'll find a parable in the backcountry. Rising from the ashes of the old volcano, which blew its top several centuries before the Black Death erupted in Eurasia, is an unlikely forest of ponderosa pines. They're not like other ponderosas. Instead of tall and majestic, they're stout and gnarly. More Jack Elam than John Wayne. But they're there. A testament to survival. And a powerful reminder that no matter how bleak the landscape might appear, life resumes.” “So very sad,” Jeff Maltzman wrote. “And frustrating. Selfish, careless behavior continues to devastate the West. Habitats are destroyed. Recreational spaces are lost. Firefighters' lives are risked. Enough already. A campfire isn't necessary to enjoy camping.” Many people liked Jeff's comment. They liked Sara's, too.

“We were just out exploring Sunset Crater three weeks ago, talking about what a unique and beautiful place it was,” Sara Wittenberger wrote. “I'm heartbroken over this, but sadly not surprised. We live near the Superstition Mountains, and the burn scars from at least three separate fires are visible from my home. Whenever I take a trip to a special place now, it's in the back of my mind that I may never see it again that way.” It's ironic looking back, because some of those trees maybe all of those trees - may be gone. Erased from the landscape by the Tunnel Fire, which began on Easter Sunday. As I write these words, the cause of the fire is still under investigation, but there was no lightning that day. And even if there had been, there's no mitigating the despair. The hopelessness is compounding with every one of these violent fires. We see the flames and wonder what, if anything, will be left.

I'm in the same place. After a hike, I take a long last look before I say goodbye. There's always perspective in the headlines, but it's agonizing to look around and imagine what might occur. I feel the same sadness when I flip through old issues of the magazine. Those landscapes made famous by Ansel Adams, Esther Henderson, David Muench, Jack Dykinga ... so many of them are gone.

I remember that anxious feeling as the Bush Fire was burning nearly 200,000 acres in the Tonto National Forest. There was a lone cottonwood that rose from a deep ravine in the Mazatzal Mountains. If you knew where to look, you could see it from the Beeline Highway. I'd watch it year-round. In the spring, it was the color of a Mountain Dew can. In summer, chlorophyll. InMy friend Jonathan texted me the other day, sharing his grief about the Tunnel Fire. He wrote, “Arizona Highways may end up being a memorial to 'The Way the West Was.” I hope he's wrong, but he might be right about those incredible trees around Sunset Crater. And he's definitely right about that lone cottonwood. And my favorite trail in the White Mountains. And on and on and on. Ashes to ashes.