Canadian Forestry Journal, Mai/, 191S 



1709 



{From an Illustrated Brochure Distributed bij the Canadian Forestry 

 Association to 3000 Alberta Settlers in Timbered Districts 



■'I'm an Alberta farmer. Fifteen 

 years ago, I owned a place in Peel 

 County, Ontario. In the spring of 

 1916 I started West. 



Queer chances interfere with plans 

 sometimes and I never reached be- 

 yond Matheson, a brisk little town 

 on the Temiskaming and Northern 

 Raihvay. I left the train for a day; 

 I didn't get aboard again for six 

 months. The country looked too 

 good to miss. Splendid rich soil, 

 good roads, a first class railway, and 

 ready markets. Being a new^ country, 

 most of the clearings were marked 

 off by thick patches of spruce bush. 



When midsummer came, the smoke 

 of bush fires was everywhere. Hot 

 mornings gave way to hotter after- 

 noons and still the fires raged. Some- 

 times a settler would pile his debris 

 against the standing timber on the 

 edge of his clearing and then set 

 fire. Another might attempt a wind- 

 row, out of reach of the spruce bush, 

 but with no one watching it the 

 first night breeze sent the llames 

 racing across the peaty topsoil and 

 into t-lie forest. On my brother's 

 farm, we tried to burn during the 

 hottest days and burn safe, too. 

 But you might as well talk of having 

 a safe smoke over a powder keg. 



I recollect one day saying to my 

 l)rother: "This slash burning is 

 bound to put some of us in the grave- 

 yard, — if rain doesn't come before 

 Saturday." 



He neither agreed nor disagreed. 

 Through the kitchen door I could 

 see the clouds of smoke gathering 

 across the seillement. 



"You play with death," I warned, 

 "every time you start clearing fires 

 in weather like this." 



"How else will the land get clear- 

 ed?" my brother asked. 



^SV//V or L^nsafr Ways? 



"They get it cleared just as quick 

 in Quebec, Nova Scotia and British 

 Columbia, and most of the States," 

 1 told him, "but they make the jol) 

 a safe one. They have a law that 

 settlers can't start slash fires without 

 a written permit from a fire ranger. 

 They can't start a fire during drought, 

 and what's more, they have to pile 

 slash back from the timber. When 

 that is done, the settlers' families are 

 not afraid of l)eing burned out every 

 few years and the newspapers ck)n't 

 argue over the exact number of ycmng- 

 sters caught .in the flames." 



"A man in a new country must 

 take chances" — but as my brother 

 said that, his eye lighted upon his 

 two little girls, and his boast sounded 

 l)retty hollow. 



\\'ell, you have all heard about 

 that week — end of July, 1916 — when 

 with hardly an hour's warning, all 

 the innocent-looking bush lires joined 

 forces and roared down the country 

 like the Day of Judgment. Fleeing 

 men and women and their children 

 were dragged down as if by hungry 

 wolves. No refuge was safe. Mine 

 shafts were charnel houses, and even 

 the small rivers were a useless pro- 

 tection. My brother, being close to 

 Matheson, brought out his family in 

 safety, ])ut his five years' labour was 

 gone in thin air. Two hundred and 

 twenty-three people, mostly women 

 and children, died that week-end, be- 

 cause settlers did their burning "as 

 they pleased" and without reference 

 to the law^s of safety. 



Of course, all that is changed in 

 Ontario, for the year following the 

 fire, they started fire ranging in the 

 settlements and made every settler 

 take out a permit for his burn. The 

 fires are supervised just as in nearly 



