My wife and I own property near Bonneville Hot Springs. What makes our land unique isn’t just its beauty — it holds water rights and a diversion system that provides one of the only places in the area where helicopters can safely dip water. Our property also surrounds a small cottage neighborhood with 17 homes, a community that has nowhere near the water needed to defend itself if fire comes. When the Wapiti Fire broke out, we spent night after night on the ridge at Fox Creek, watching canyon after canyon burn in Grandjean and the west side of the Sawtooth’s. For weeks, every evening carried the same question: is this the night it comes for us?
The First 48 Hours: From a source I trust, I learned that local fire crews were on the scene within 24 hours and had the ability to knock the fire down early. But they were told to stand down by the Forest Service. Even the owners of the Sawtooth Lodge tried to fight it and couldn’t get the resources, though equipment and crews were near. That decision — to let it burn — changed everything.
Partnership, on Paper: Soon after, a supervisor arrived at our ranch. He walked the property, listened to our concerns, and studied our water system. For the first time, it felt like partnership. But then came the paperwork: a land use agreement that essentially gave the Forest Service full control of our land and water for the fight. When it came to compensation, there was no clear standard. The way they approached it was almost sideways: “Well, how much do you want?” It was as if asking for fair payment was something to be ashamed of, something to make you feel guilty for even bringing up. “Most people don’t ask for a dime” they suggest. Neither did we. We said, “Don’t pay us a dollar. Just fight the fire.” At the time it felt honorable. In hindsight, it was one of the biggest mistakes we made, because without compensation, there was no recognition of value, no accountability, and no leverage when things went wrong. Every dollar they didn’t pay was another dollar we would eventually spend.
Two Weeks in the Fire: For two weeks straight, we worked as hard as any hotshot crew, clearing brush, providing information, and keeping our water system flowing at 400 gallons a minute. Our land became a staging ground. We weren’t observers; we were part of the fight. And then it happened. In trying to protect our diversion, a supervisor dropped a massive ponderosa tree on our waterline, crushing the pipe that supplied the firefight. Our lifeline was gone in an instant.
My wife immediately drove to Nampa, spent $2,200 of our own money at Mountain Supply, and rushed back with the repair pipe. We fixed it ourselves, because there was no time for bureaucracy. The crews needed water. The supervisor admitted fault, told us he had reported it to “finance,” and assured us we’d be reimbursed. In the end, no reimbursement ever came. Instead, we were told the only way to get compensation, even with his admission, was to file a tort claim. Another layer of bureaucracy, another cost in time and frustration, added to the $2,200 we had already paid out of pocket.
After the Fire: When the flames passed and restrictions lifted, we returned to find our land charred. The Forest Service had drawn backburn lines across our property. One of those lines was cut below our largest stand of Douglas Fir and right where one of our water collection buildings sat. When they lit that line, the timber stand was lost and the building was burnt to the ground. They simply need to move up the hill 200ft to avoid this loss. I cannot even to being to wonder why that could not happen. On another side, they cut directly through our six-inch ABS pipe, destroying a second water system outright. Our ponds had been drained to dangerous levels, and the neighborhood we had worked so hard to help defend stood encircled by blackened ground.
I pointed out a gate post snapped during the fight. The new supervisor told me, “You’ll have to prove we did that.” I pulled out a photo on my phone showing a Forest Service truck parked right next to the same post, standing straight before the fire. The response? “You’ll have to file a tort claim.” You can imagine my curbed anger. What should have been obvious, and what supervisors admitted among themselves — always turned into weeks of emails, phone calls, meetings, and emotional conversations with my wife just to get anywhere. And even then, every step ended the same way: more cost to us, less accountability to them.
Inefficiency on Display: Instead of helping me with a little money to purchase a gate post and letting me replace it myself, the Forest Service turned it into a full-scale project. They hired a crew out of Emmett, hauled up an excavator, and brought five men to handle the job.
The cost? Likely $10,000 or more to replace a single gate post. A repair I could have done for a fraction of that turned into another reminder: restrictions and a lack of accountability always left us paying the real price, whether in dollars, time, or frustration.
To refill our ponds, they ran two water trucks for nearly 20 days, hauling 80,000 gallons from the Lowman Fishing Ponds at $2,500 per truck per day. That’s more than $100,000 spent on trucks — when the $75,000 water system they destroyed could have filled the ponds naturally if repaired. Worse, by hauling from under managed ponds, they risked contaminating ours with red milfoil and invasive species. Once again, the costly solution was the one that made the least sense, and we were left with the uncertainty and the cleanup.
And when I tried to restore that system? Bureaucracy blocked me. Despite holding the lease for our diversion, I had to write my congressman, Russ Fulcher, just to get access. Even then, equipment was forbidden. We rebuilt by hand, cabling down 380-pound steel well casing pipes into a deep canyon and welding them together at great cost. What could have been done responsibly with equipment became weeks of grueling manual labor — another expense pushed onto us because restrictions and rules mattered more than outcomes.
What tied every one of these examples together was the same pattern: instead of partnership, we got suspicion; instead of efficiency, waste; and instead of accountability, silence. Each issue cost us more — financially, emotionally, and in lost trust — while the system shrugged and moved on.
What Needs to Change
The Wapiti Fire wasn’t just one more fire. It burned through Redfish Lake, Stanley, the Sawtooths, Grandjean, and my land, some of the most precious ground in the West. It cost hundreds of millions of dollars. And it could have been stopped in the first 48 hours based on accounts of people we know that were there.
What must change?
- Early Suppression Must Be Priority
– Fires like Wapiti can’t be allowed to “play out.” Local crews with a chance to stop them must never be told to stand down. The lines of government risk management restrict action. Those lines must be mended. - Strategic Land Partnerships
– Landowners with water rights and key access must be treated as allies, not suspects. Their contributions are worth far more than a guilt-inducing “How much do you want?” conversation. - Automatic Accountability
– Damage caused during firefighting should be acknowledged and reimbursed without tort claims, paperwork, or guilt. - Efficient Restoration
– Fix the source, not the optics. Don’t waste $100,000 on water trucks when $75,000 fixes the system that does the job permanently. In our case, not only would it have saved the forest service money but would have helped the us repair the water system that was lost that provided the water for the fight. - Continuity of Leadership
– Rotating supervisors every 14 days erases history and accountability. There must be continuity when land partners are involved. - Trust Over Suspicion
– Stop assuming landowners are “trying to get something.” Many of us give more than we ever receive. Respect must be the foundation of partnership.
Closing: Homeowners were and are very lucky. Their houses were saved. But landowners like us, who opened our gates, shared our water, and risked our land, were left exposed.
If the Forest Service truly wants landowners to be partners in the future, it must change. Partnership must mean more than paperwork. It must mean trust, accountability, and fairness. Otherwise, the people who give the most will one day decide to give nothing at all.
