The last of the fire-watchers

IN THIS EMAIL:

• Meet Bart Vanderlinde, B.C.’s last fire lookout
• Tag along as travel columnist Robin Esrock reminisces about surviving “the world’s most dangerous hike”
• Revisit Terry Fox’s Marathon of Hope through our 2020 map story

Bart Vanderlinde looks north toward where he grew up, in Fort St. John, B.C., from a viewpoint at the Sinkut fire lookout. (Photo: Paige Taylor White/Can Geo)

Last of the lookouts

Bart Vanderlinde represents one of the last vestiges not just of fire watching, but of a way of life.

The Sinkut lookout was built in 1927, when fire detection and technology were drastically different than they are today. British Columbia used to have some 300 active lookouts in a vast network across the province. Fire watchers sat atop these mountain seats, scanning the landscape for the faintest blur of smoke or glimmer of a flame.

As technology advanced, B.C.’s wildfire service sought to make fire detection more efficient, using infrared technology, predictive software and air patrols. The ongoing development of roads and cell phone connectivity has also enabled more members of the public to report fires from these high places. In 2024, only one summer after the most destructive wildfire season in the province’s history, this former network of lookouts is active in just a few online groups of enthusiasts who keep track of them for hiking and recreation purposes.

This story began in the summer of 2023, when photojournalist Paige Taylor White pitched me a photo essay about the last actively staffed fire lookouts in British Columbia. Her main character was a badass woman named Dianne Seyferth, who at the age of 67 was working her 20th season as a fire lookout as that summer was declared the worst fire season in Canada’s recorded history.

At the time, Dianne was one of only two active fire lookouts in the province. Paige hoped to go and spend time with Dianne — but as the fires burned, Dianne was evacuated from her post at Kuyakuz lookout, the first time in her two decades of watching fires. After that fire season ended, Paige sent me a tragic update: Dianne had passed away following complications from a surgery.

Is this “the world’s most dangerous hike”?

Every year, millions of Chinese make a pilgrimage to the country’s five great Taoist mountains. For thousands of years, the mountains have loomed large in local legends, history and art. At each mountain, one can visit temples, teahouses, trails and viewpoints, and find plenty of opportunities for reflection and prayer. Among these mountains is Huà Shān, the West Great “Splendid” Mountain, and the location of a disarmingly wild photo showing narrow planks anchored to a sheer cliff face, with a backdrop of snow-capped mountains.
After a 90-minute taxi ride from Xi’an, I found myself among a throng of domestic tourists. This was a time before Instagram, when YouTube was still in its infancy. Mount Hua was hardly known outside of China. I was alone among the locals, and clearly on the right track.

It all seemed innocuous enough. The parking lot was full of domestic tour buses and people buying tickets for a cable car up to the base peak. I was the only foreigner in sight and surprised to find signage with rudimentary English. At the ticket booth, an attendant pointed to a sign advertising optional visitor insurance. I had no idea how it worked, but it was my first indication this would not be a walk in the park.

Flashback: Mapping Terry Fox’s Marathon of Hope

On a grey morning in St. John’s, April 12, 1980, Terry Fox stooped to fill a jug with Atlantic water — to pour into the Pacific at the end of his journey — touched the pebbles in the surf, spoke to some local reporters and started running. Few attended the start of the 21-year-old’s Marathon of Hope.

He rose before dawn each day to face another 42 kilo­metres, as well as pounding spring storms in Newfoundland, scorching heat in Ontario and, although he didn’t know it yet, the return of the osteosarcoma that had taken his right leg. But his resolve to reach his geographic goal drove him, as did his fundraising goal of $1 million (and later $24 million, or $1 from each Canadian at the time) to further cancer research and his need to prove that cancer victims do not lose an ounce of their humanity and need not give in to despair.
Each September, Canadians remember Terry and carry on his mission through the Terry Fox Run, which takes place in communities across the country. In honour of Terry, check out this story we published in 2020, on the 40th anniversary of the Marathon of Hope.