The fires are more than air pollution, more than lost logging and grazing. But for now the focus must be on the urgency to somehow contain the unprecedented acreage burning in Oregon and Washington.

I wonder what I will find when I can once again hike to Bird Creek Meadows. Just a month ago, a group of us drove to Bird Lake and hiked the Crooked Creek Trail. The trail followed meandering streams so clear we could see every rock of the stream beds. The trail turned a corner and through the conifers would be a waterfall. We paused just to enjoy the beauty. Wildflowers grew thick on stream sides. Just past one waterfall the trail went through a half acre of Indian paintbrush—glorious in shades of red and orange.

Above the Round the Mountain Trail, we walked over glacier-grooved rock through Bird Creek Meadow full of blue gentian, pink monkey flowers, and purple lupines. We rested at Hell Roaring Overlook, the glacier carved valley. Above it, we looked up to snow topped Mt. Adams.

We turned around there and wandered down through forests thick with firs, pine and spruce. Huckleberries and bear grass grew below the trees

This six mile loop is one of thousands that fires have burned this summer. They are places where we go to hike, ski, and to just be in that beauty, breath mountain air, smell sunshine on pine needles.

I will miss that place, my place—a place thousands felt was their special place. It’s seems almost petty to grieve the loss of a place where we went only to recreate, when so many have lost homes and jobs. But recreation doesn’t really describe the importance of those wild places.

We need these places for in the vastness of our country, wild mountain areas are few. Deserts, wonderful in their own way, claim perhaps a third of the land. Agriculture, logging, and urban areas—concentrated and scattered—have reduced the amount of once untrammeled wild that seemed unending.

Like the loss of place, the effect of the fires on wildlife and domestic animals is little reported. So much is on our human concerns—homes burned or threatened. But we know such vast fires are destroying the habitat—the homes—of deer, elk, birds, horses and cattle.

Neil Kayser grazes cattle on Mt. Adams. As soon as the Cougar Creek Fire started, he and his ranch hands began searching the mountain to get the cattle out of danger. But even that early, some were already maimed. Their pain hurts us, too.

The smoke clogged air the last weeks created a pall to match our sadness of all the losses.

After the fires end, the trees will be a forest of blackened boles, the ground a sea of grey ash. There will be new growth springing up in the newly released nitrogen, but the sheltering forest we knew will only be there for generations far from now.