CENTENNIAL SUNDAYS
Wildfires are NM's natural disasters
Editor鈥檚 note: This week鈥檚 Centennial Sundays focuses on historic wildfires that have ravaged parts of New Mexico and how the Journal covered them. The Centennial Sundays series is in commemoration of 100 years of Journal ownership by the Pepperday/Lang family.
While other states experience such natural catastrophes as earthquakes and hurricanes, New Mexico鈥檚 most destructive disasters have been massive forest fires. Many are started by lighting strikes, some by campfires and arson, and some by prescribed burns aimed at preventing the very scenario they spark. But nature鈥檚 high temperatures, drought and scorching winds are what turns manageable forest fires into raging conflagrations.
Unfortunately, the destruction of homes, land and forests doesn鈥檛 end when the flames are extinguished. The fires strip the trees and scorch the earth, leaving a barren crust-covered landscape. The monsoons follow the fire season, with rain washing over the hard surface instead of being absorbed, causing massive and dangerous flooding.
As New Mexico wraps up this year鈥檚 fire season, the Journal looks at how its photographers and reporters covered some of the most destructive fires in the state鈥檚 history 鈥� the causes, the devastation and the rebuilding.
鈥淒eja vu鈥� in Los Alamos
Los Alamos has been the scene of multiple devastating fires through the years.
One of the worst was the Cerro Grande Fire in May 2000. Started as a controlled burn, it quickly leapt out of control and swept through Los Alamos, destroying more than 400 homes and threatening Los Alamos National Laboratory.
鈥淟os Alamos in Flames: Wind-driven Fire Ravages Most of City 鈥︹�� was the headline on March 11.
The next day鈥檚 story described the destruction of homes as 鈥渁 cruel lottery鈥� since there was no explanation for why some homes burned and some were spared. 鈥溾�業 guess the good Lord tossed a coin and these people lost,鈥� John Atkins, assistant chief of fire prevention at Kirtland Air Force Base, told a Journal reporter as he gestured toward bright orange flames belching out of a nearby roof.
Then-Journal photo editor Paul Bearce was assistant chief of the Placitas Volunteer Fire Brigade, which was called in to help extinguish spot fires.
鈥淎t 2 a.m., we were the only vehicles headed into Los Alamos as a long line of headlights headed out,鈥� he wrote in a Journal story. 鈥淲e shuddered.鈥�
Later in the story, he added, 鈥淭he homes we were protecting had toys littering the yards where children had dropped them when the order came to evacuate.鈥�
Fast-forward 11 years, and Los Alamos was again evacuated as the massive Las Conchas Fire threatened the city and the Los Alamos National Laboratory.
鈥淟OS ALAMOS UNDER SIEGE鈥� was the headline stripped in capital letters across the top of the front page on June 28, 2011.
鈥淚t was d茅j脿 vu for many Los Alamos residents, forced to evacuate for the second time in 11 years as a wildfire raced toward their homes,鈥� said the story.
Journal reporter Phil Parker and photographer Eddie Moore were with a fire crew forced to flee fast-moving flames.
鈥淭he sky went dark, then started to glow orange. Without a mask it grew difficult to breathe. The heat increased,鈥� according to Parker鈥檚 story. Los Alamos assistant fire chief Mike Thompson yelled to the firefighters working on the spot fire, 鈥溾�楪uys! Drop it! Let鈥檚 go!鈥� Crews, along with a Journal reporter and photographer, fled uphill.鈥�
Later, the story reported how Thompson lamented that crews had worked tirelessly to save the area, 鈥渂ut it鈥檚 just toasted.鈥�
The Las Conchas Fire, which started when a tree fell on a power line, grew to more than 150,000 acres and destroyed more than 60 homes before being extinguished. The labs once again escaped serious damage.
鈥榃e鈥檒l pull through鈥� in Ruidoso
Ruidoso is another town that has been a repeat victim of monstrous wildfires.
The lightning-sparked Little Bear Fire in June 2012 burned more than 44,000 acres and 250 buildings. It tore through subdivisions north of Ruidoso, forcing hundreds to evacuate.
鈥淩uidoso resembles a military operation,鈥� according to the Journal on June 13, 鈥渨ith National Guard troops roaming the town in Humvees painted in desert camouflage brown.鈥�
Ten years later, the McBride Fire started when a drought-stressed tree fell on a power line. It burned, comparatively, a mere 6,159 acres but moved so quickly through residential areas that people fled without a chance to save any belongings. It destroyed more than 200 structures and claimed the lives of an elderly couple.
Just two years later, the South Fork Fire swept through the Ruidoso area, destroying at least 1,400 houses and structures. On June 17, 10 hours after a lightning strike started the fire, the entire town of Ruidoso was ordered to evacuate. Two people died.
Don Spencer, a 74 year-old retired veteran, fled with relatives, first to Ruidoso Downs. When that was evacuated, he headed to Alto. By the time he returned home, he discovered the fire had burned his house, sailboat, motor home and three vehicles.
According to the June 21 story, 鈥淲hat he has left is his pickup truck with 200,000 miles, his coonhound named Lucy and the clothes on his back.鈥�
The story quotes him as saying a few gas stations were open 鈥渁nd food is an issue, but the few of us here got enough to get by. It鈥檚 pretty ugly, but we鈥檒l pull through.鈥�
Tragedy struck again a year later when the monsoon season unleashed heavy rain that fell on burn scar areas from the previous year鈥檚 Salt Creek Fire. More than 20 emergency flood alerts were sounded in Ruidoso in 2025, but the most devastating was a historic flash flood that roared through Ruidoso on the afternoon of July 8, with the Rio Ruidoso cresting at a record 20 feet. Two children and an adult died when floodwaters swept them away.
Mayor Lynn Crawford said a village council meeting was being held when the rains hit and things escalated quickly, adding, 鈥淚t got ugly really quick.鈥� That was the headline of the July 10 story.
鈥楳ONSTER FIRE鈥� STATE鈥橲 LARGEST
It was another headline written in all capital letters. This one was stripped atop the May 17, 2022, front page story, more than a month into the life of the Calf Canyon/Hermits Peak Fire.
鈥淣ew Mexico reached a grim milestone Monday as officials announced that the Calf Canyon/Hermits Peak Fire is now the largest wildfire in state history,鈥� was the lede of the story.
鈥淢other Nature has played so many different variables on us over the past 40 some days,鈥� San Miguel County Sheriff Chris Lopez told the Journal. 鈥淭his fire is doing a lot of things I thought it would never do, and here we are today still dealing with it.鈥�
The story reported that the fire鈥檚 perimeter was close to 300,000 acres and that it had destroyed more than 200 homes. By late June, the fire had burned 341,471 acres 鈥� more than 500 square miles 鈥� in San Miguel, Mora and Taos counties and destroyed more than 900 structures, including hundreds of homes.
Thousands of residents were evacuated throughout much of northern New Mexico, including the outskirts of Las Vegas and recreational resorts such as Sipapu.
The Hermits Peak Fire started on April 6, 2022, when the Forest Service lost control of a prescribed burn, and the Calf Canyon Fire began three days later when a smoldering Forest Service pile burn from January rekindled. The two fires burned into each other on April 22.
On June 11, President Joe Biden visited the area and announced the U.S. government would cover 100% of the costs caused by the fire. However, reparations were slow in coming, fueling anger already aimed at the U.S. government for starting the fire.
It will take decades, regardless of the amount of money spent, to replace the ravaged forest.
By this spring, FEMA had distributed $3.5 billion across more than 25,000 claims, with thousands of claims still pending.
Journal staffers provided daily coverage of the fire, then told the stories of those whose homes were destroyed.
鈥淟ongest Year of Our Lives鈥� was the headline of the April 9, 2023, story about Herman Lujan 12 months after the start of the fire. Lujan, 88, made his living in the mountains and meadows of Mora County, where he raised cattle and sold Christmas trees.
Now, 鈥渉e can鈥檛 even visit his land,鈥� according to the story written by Dan McKay. 鈥淲ildfires last year scorched property that had been in his family for generations, then floods damaged the road he traveled his entire life. 鈥業 lost everything up there,鈥� he said.鈥�
The story continued: 鈥淎 year after the Calf Canyon/Hermits Peak Fire, life is forever changed in the communities of Mora Valley. Mountain homes lie in ruins. Sandbags line front yards. The mountainsides are a strange mosaic of blackened trees and green forest.鈥�
Karen Moses is a former editor of the 近距离内射合集. She can be reached at kmoses@abqjournal.com.
Coming Aug. 2: How a vacant, sagebrush-covered landscape eight miles north of Downtown was transformed into a modern, multiuse industrial park featuring offices, restaurants, walking trails, schools and apartments, anchored by the Journal Publishing Co. campus.
