I Cry for the Mountains

After a wildfire swept through the land where his family raised their cattle for more than a century, a rancher takes a tour of what’s left—and what might come next

- By Dave Daley from The Enterprise-Record

It is almost midnight. We have been pushing hard for 18 to 20 hours every day since the Bear Fire (later called the North Complex Fire) tore through our mountain cattle range on September 8, 2020. There is so much swirling in my head, I can’t sleep anyway.

The fire destroyed the range where our cattle grazed, our cattle, and even worse, our family’s legacy. Someone asked my daughter if I had lost our family home. She told them, “No, that would be replaceable. This is not.” I would gladly sleep in my truck for the rest of my life to have our mountains back.

I am enveloped by overwhelming sadness and grief and then anger. I’m angry at everyone, and no one. Grieving for things lost that will never be the same. I wake myself weeping almost soundlessly. It is hard to stop.

I cry for the forest, the trees and streams, and the horrible deaths suffered by the wildlife and our cattle. The suffering was unimaginable. When you find groups of cows and their baby calves tumbled in a ravine as they tried to escape, burned almost beyond recognition, or a fawn and small calf side by side as if hoping to protect one another, you try not to retch. You only pray death was swift.