Richard Ireland, Mayor of Jasper, is Ready to Rebuild

It’s tempting to lean on numbers when conveying the scale of the damage wrought by July’s fire in Jasper, Alberta— the worst in the national park’s 117-year history. Water bombers were grounded in the face of 400-foot-high flames. More than 25,000 visitors and residents were evacuated as hundreds of firefighters flew in to assist. Damages exceeded $700 million. A third of the town’s structures were consumed—historical buildings, tourist haunts and family homes. One of them belonged to Richard Ireland.

Ireland has been a resident of the beloved Rockies resort town for his whole life and its mayor since 2001. He knows the unquantifiable costs of such climate disasters all too well: three generations lived in his white bungalow, memories now reduced to ash. He also understands why the blaze broke hearts the world over. Former tourists flooded social media with their picturesque snaps this past summer, even as Jasperites scoured their feeds for signs their properties were still standing. 

With re-entry now under way, Ireland has an Everestian task ahead of him: keeping community morale afloat as the cold sets in. He knows that the fire could burn in the park for months, that recovery could take years, and that, with one lightning strike, it could all happen again. 

This won’t come close to doing justice to what you’ve lived through, but: I’m so sorry for your loss. How are your spirits today? 

Well, they’re always buoyed by comments like yours. So many people share our pain. That outpouring is helpful for my spirits and, I’m sure, for the residents of Jasper. 

You were visiting your son’s farm just north of Calgary when Jasper was evacuated. Do you remember the moment you found out the fire had reached town?

Vividly. Christine Nadon, our director of legislative and protective services, and her counterpart from Parks Canada were briefing us via Zoom from the downtown fire hall when the fire “impinged on the community.” Those were the words they chose. Before the call, they said they could see a wall of flames. Embers were flying through the air and landing on roofs. At one point, the Parks Canada incident commander got up and left the screen, then came back and said, “Christine—” [Ireland starts to cry.] 

Take your time.

He said, “Christine, we have to go.” Nobody without a self-contained breathing apparatus could stay. We worried until we got another text later that evening saying that they got out safely.

I realize now isn’t the best time for finger-pointing, but some Canadians—including some Jasper residents—think Parks Canada left the town vulnerable to wildfire by not removing more of the surrounding dead trees that had been eaten up during the recent mountain beetle infestation. Do you think that’s a fair criticism? 

I understand the thought given what’s occurred, but we’re talking about a fire that was 33,000 hectares—someone said it was half the size of Edmonton. It raced down a valley that is a few kilometres wide, wall to wall. It was absolutely enormous. With 125-kilometre-per-hour winds driving that fire, it’s questionable what size cut would ever have stopped it. I’m not going to point fingers at anybody. 

Have you received any especially unique offers of support?  

My inbox is full. There are messages from residents who want to contribute sweat equity to rebuild their homes—people who just want to get their hands dirty. Some professionals have offered trauma support for when residents return and see the extent of the damage. I’ve had teachers offer to do online classes for students. I even got one proposal to reforest the land around Jasper with hemp. It’s a cash crop, and it doesn’t burn that easily, apparently. 

Living in an area that’s prone to disasters, like fires, floods or, in B.C.’s case, earthquakes, you’re probably always bracing for the “Big One.” How do you begin to process when it finally happens?

Without question, fire has been on our collective minds for years. In Jasper, we live in a forested area with forest-covered mountain slopes. We do so by choice, but it’s not without risk. Knowing that, we developed practices over a couple of decades with Parks Canada to protect our town from an event like this one. People will question whether our work was enough, but it’s what allowed us to save 70 per cent of the town.

It goes without saying that losing a third of the town’s structures is a significant blow, but there does seem to be a pervasive feeling that things could have been much, much worse. What kinds of drills or prep were included in Jasper’s fireproofing strategy? 

In the late ’90s, we started FireSmarting, or managing the landscape to mitigate the impact of wildfire. We thinned the forest to reduce fuel and give fire crews more of a defensive perimeter. Two years ago, during the nearby Chetamon wildfire, Parks Canada obtained massive sprinkler systems, which we used for this recent one. They shot a dome of water over the southwest corner of town, which saved a 70-unit condo complex, at least.

Did residents get any fireproofing lessons?

Every year, our fire chief threw a big barbecue and hosted an emergency preparedness week so they could learn how to FireSmart their own pieces of Jasper—replace their cedar shingles, move flammable plants away from the house. (Embers on a juniper bush would be like lighting a candle.) We actually practised an evacuation scenario six weeks before this blaze. 

Catastrophes like this are always full of stories of citizens who stepped up. Do any stick out, ones that make you especially proud to be mayor?

They all make me proud—the people who ensured their elderly neighbours got out, people with cars who offered rides. There are three exit routes out of Jasper, two of which were blocked by the fire. When the evacuation order came down, the roads were congested and there was a big run on gas, but people were patient. I also can’t give enough credit to our fire departments, which rely primarily on volunteers. Eight of them lost their homes. They could see their own houses burning as they fought to save others’.

Your home burned down, the only one on your side of the street. What went through your mind after you returned and it all dawned on you?

As we were coming up a side street, I saw that my immediate neighbour’s house, right on the corner, appeared to be untouched. Down the lane, I could see my back fence and the roof of my garage. For a moment, I thought I’d been spared. I jumped off the tour bus that brought us into town and ran a few steps. There was a hole in the ground where my house used to be. My garage stood 10 or 12 feet away, with just a tiny scorch mark on it. 

Awful. 

I’m not sure I can describe the feeling that came over me. When I looked down into the foundation, only a few mattress springs and some appliances had survived. But, except for one photograph, I wasn’t thinking about the stuff. 

What was in the photo?

Me, sitting on some boxes with my birthday cake and two candles. My family had just moved into that house. I’m celebrating my 69th birthday this year, so I had a long association with that place. When I saw it burned, it hit me that there were hundreds of other people in my shoes. I shivered at that. 

In the wake of these kinds of events, we often focus on the tangible losses—money, possessions. Recently, there’s been a lot more discussion about “ecological grief,” which hits us when parts of the Earth are lost. Have you noticed an uptick in people flocking to see Jasper’s natural wonders?

I can’t speak to the motivations that draw people to Jasper, but I can say that our visitor economy dropped off severely because of COVID. In the last year, however, there’s been a real resurgence. People needed a return to nature. It’s possible that some will want to witness the aftermath of the fire, but I don’t want our residents retraumatized by people coming to gawk. Maybe what happened here will raise awareness of the risk to other communities; I don’t have a problem with that. But our town isn’t part of a show.

For mayors across Canada, climate management is becoming a larger and larger part of the job description. You recently spoke with Denise O’Connor, the mayor of Lytton, B.C., which experienced, hands down, one of the worst fires in Canadian history. Did she offer any advice?

She emphasized the need to hold other levels of government to their promises; I got the same message from the former mayor of Slave Lake, which lost a third of its town to fire back in 2011. In Jasper, we have assurance that the province and feds will offer all necessary supports, but it’ll be on us municipal leaders to push.

What kinds of aid are we talking here? Money? Supplies?

First, we need some transitional housing to get people back into Jasper. At the provincial level, there’s been talk of allocating some hotel rooms, but that’s not a long-term solution. With 360 properties gone, the construction effort will be massive, and we don’t have enough internal capacity for that. The residents will need jobs as well. For that, we need tourists. 

As you well know, fully rebuilding could take years. Ski season is fast approaching. Have you given any thought to how you’re going to ride out the first winter?

Our goal is to have a winter economy—not as robust as usual, but one sufficient to keep our town functioning. Skiing and snowboarding are the primary attractions, but there are also canyon walks, cabins and wildlife viewing. There are still tours of the lakes. Frozen ones.

A lot of the post-fire condolences used the word “magical” to describe Jasper, including one mention by King Charles. As someone who’s lived there your whole life, what do you find magical about it?

For most, I expect the “magic” has to do with the natural environment. To me, it’s about how the community relates to each other. I’ll tell you a story...

Go for it.

When I was growing up, this was a railway town; my father was a locomotive engineer. Tourism wasn’t nearly as significant back then as it is today. But I remember, about 20 years ago, there was a really slow start to the ski season. Young people who’d come to work on the hill had trouble feeding themselves because there was no snow and therefore no income. We got some donations from various businesses and volunteers and, every Sunday that season, we hosted community dinners for whoever wanted to come. We still do them 20 years later. I sit with ski hill lifties, hotel owners and seniors who come just for the company. Jasper is relatively isolated—Hinton, our nearest neighbour, is 80 kilometres away—so we’ve learned to work together to get by.

Months ago, I read a book called Fire Weather, by John Vaillant. Have you read it?

Parts. It was gifted to me. I left it at home.

In the book, Vaillant describes a phenomenon called the “Lucretius problem”—it’s basically a mental bias where humans assume that the worst thing that has happened is the worst thing that could happen. Obviously, there’s a lot of enthusiasm to get Jasper back up and running, but fire season isn’t over. How do you move forward knowing what could still come?

We’ll figure out whether there are other treatments that might better protect the community so we don’t suffer this again. But I don’t believe that what has happened is the worst thing that could happen. There is no end to the scale of disaster that nature can visit upon us.

You mentioned earlier that your garage is still intact. 

Yes, it’s still got my exercise equipment, some climbing gear, my skis and my bikes.

When you finally have a chance to ride your bike again, what’s the first place you’d like to visit?

Jasper has great trail riding, but I’m not sure when it’ll be safe again with so many dead standing trees around. I’ve seen one photograph of a favourite loop that I often ride—it wraps right around Athabasca Falls. I’m interested, if a bit anxious, to get back there and see the changes for myself. I think I have a duty to go.

One day, when it’s safe, I’d like to come visit too. It’s funny: when I told people about my trek to Banff last summer, they were excited, but a lot of them quickly followed up with, “You really need to see Jasper.”

We’ll be here.