{"id":10896,"date":"2024-09-24T20:59:04","date_gmt":"2024-09-24T18:59:04","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/sondainternacional.com\/?post_type=project&p=10896"},"modified":"2024-11-20T08:57:30","modified_gmt":"2024-11-20T07:57:30","slug":"chronicle-of-a-catastrophe-foretold","status":"publish","type":"project","link":"https:\/\/sondainternacional.com\/en\/proyectos\/mega-fires-beyond-extinction\/chronicle-of-a-catastrophe-foretold\/","title":{"rendered":"Chronicle of a catastrophe foretold"},"content":{"rendered":"
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A relatively quiet summer in the Iberian Peninsula in terms of extreme forest fires, may have lulled Portugal into a false sense of security. Despite an enduring and severe drought, the country enjoyed a summer with some of the fewest fires in recent decades. But that respite ended on September 14 as several blazes broke out almost simultaneously in the center and north of the country. The high temperatures together with the strong easterly \u201cterral\u201d wind, that arrived dry after crossing the peninsula, made the situation uncontrollable.

The affected regions, Oporto, Aveiro, and central Viseu, were among the areas we traveled through at the end of 2023 for our Mega Fires<\/a> <\/strong>project. As I prepare the equipment and make the final arrangements before embarking on the journey back, the words of Professor Fantina Tedim come into my mind from an interview she gave us for the Fuelling a Mega Fire<\/a><\/strong> report: \u201cThe situation that was experienced in the fires of 2017 will certainly occur again in the future. Now, when? Next year? In 2, 10 or 15 years? No one really knows.\u201d And there I was less than a year later, about to witness her prediction come true.<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div><\/div>\n\n\n

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\u00a9\u00a0Mikel Konate for Sonda Internacional<\/p>\n<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/span>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t<\/div>\n<\/section>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n

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It is Tuesday, September 17th. I have been driving for several hours, the last few crossing through Portugal. When I pass Coimbra, smoke engulfs everything. The air is thick with ash, the sky is tinged yellow, and the sun can barely shine through. Though more subtle and silent, it is another consequence of the catastrophe unfolding: the environmental impact generated by large forest fires. According to data from the European Copernicus Satellite Observation Service, the amount of CO2 released into the atmosphere by the fires in Portugal is alarming: it is the highest level of carbon emissions for September in 22 years.<\/strong><\/a><\/p>\n<\/div><\/div><\/div>\n\n\n\n

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A dense layer of smoke and ash cloaks the sun in the municipality of Ribolhos, in the district of Viseu, Portugal. \u00a9 Mikel Konate for Sonda Internacional\u00a0<\/span>
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A woman tries to stop the flames approaching the village of Ribolhos, in the district of Viseu, Portugal. \u00a9 Mikel Konate for Sonda Internacional\u00a0<\/span>
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On Wednesday there are still more than a hundred active fires, several highways and national roads are closed, and dozens of towns have been evacuated. As I continue along the A24 towards Viseu, in the center of the country, the smell of smoke intensifies. The atmosphere becomes denser, almost tangible, and every breath serves as a reminder of the fragility of our environment. On both sides of the road, columns of smoke rise from a green blanket of eucalyptus and pine connecting village to village, town to town. What is technically called the ‘wildland-urban interface’ is the point where houses or inhabited areas meet forests, and it\u2019s a critical factor in determining the level of wildfire danger. These areas, which may seem idyllic at first glance, are actually death traps. The houses and populations in these zones are not only at extreme risk but also greatly complicate firefighting operations.<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div><\/div>\n\n\n

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Columns of smoke emerge from the forest in the village of Ribolhinhos, a neighboring village to Ribolhos, in the district of Viseu, Portugal. \u00a9 Mikel Konate for Sonda Internacional <\/span><\/p>\n<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/span>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t<\/div>\n<\/section>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n

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I decide to leave the highway and take the national road. The shoulders are blackened, still smoking, road signs charred. I try to orient myself toward the columns of smoke I had seen from the highway. Fate leads me to Ribolhos, a small village of fewer than 300 inhabitants in the district of Viseu. It looks deserted. I climb the steep streets, heading further into the town. In the distance, I begin to see people. Some give me incredulous looks, though most don\u2019t pay me any attention. The scene I come upon is heartbreaking: neighbors of all ages are desperately fighting to protect the village from the flames. All they have is a tractor pulling a couple of water tanks with a hose connected to a pump, with the help of a roaring generator. A volunteer firefighter is at the forefront; it\u2019s human determination against the fury of nature.<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div><\/div>\n\n\n

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Residents of Ribolhos and a volunteer firefighter rush to put out the flames of a fire threatening the village. \u00a9 Mikel Konate for Sonda Internacional<\/span><\/p>\n<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/span>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t<\/div>\n<\/section>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n

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The neighbors are either feeding or gathering meters of hose while the firefighter advances through the first pines, skillfully containing the flames that threaten to get away at any moment. A few meters behind him, they shout, telling him to direct the water in one direction or another.<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div><\/div>\n\n

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When the fire begins to intensify from another flank, they sound the alarm, and everyone runs with determination to extinguish it. They go from one property to another, trying to protect their homes. Those not occupied with the improvised fire truck carry branches in their hands, beating them against the flames, trying to keep them at bay. The scene might seem chaotic, but amidst it, there is a silent coordination, a mutual understanding born from the necessity to protect themselves. I ask a resident about the firefighters: “Here we\u2019re on our own, the firefighters are overwhelmed,” he replies.<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div><\/div>\n\n\n\n

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A woman and a young man break branches to beat them against the flames in the municipality of Ribolhos, in the district of Viseu, Portugal. \u00a9 Mikel Konate for Sonda Internacional<\/span><\/p>\n<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/span>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t

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Residents of Ribolhos and volunteer firefighters rush to put out the flames of the fire threatening the village. \u00a9 Mikel Konate for Sonda Internacional<\/span><\/p>\n<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/span>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t<\/div>\n<\/section>\n\n\n\n\n

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Rita Silva, a young woman who has returned to Ribolhos to help her parents, tells me with tired eyes, “This whole area already burned in 2017, everything was destroyed. But now, as you can see, everything is burning (again). The vegetation keeps growing taller, and they can\u2019t control it.” In Portugal, around 95% of the total forest area is privately owned (a percentage similar to that of the neighboring Spanish province of Galicia). Many of the private properties are less than 0.5 hectares in size, but despite this, their owners cannot, either physically or financially, manage them actively. In 2017, several fires shook the country. One occurred in June, in the Pedr\u00f3g\u00e3o Grande area; the second in October and was the one that affected this region of the country. Around half a million hectares were burned, and 109 people lost their lives. It was the deadliest year Portugal has ever known due to wildfires.<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div><\/div>\n\n

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“This year, the fire is much worse, the intensity is much worse than in 2017,” Rita continues. Her father, Vasco Silva, approaches and adds in a broken voice: “Look at how it is, it\u2019s a horrible thing. We\u2019re trying to save the houses. A whole life spent earning money, to be able to get a home…”<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div><\/div>\n\n\n

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A neighbor throws a bucket of water on the flames in the municipality of Ribolhos, in the district of Viseu, Portugal. \u00a9 Mikel Konate for Sonda Internacional<\/span><\/p>\n<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/span>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t<\/div>\n<\/section>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n

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As I descend one of the streets, a fire truck appears, joining the village defense. Shortly after arriving, it runs out of water, and the residents themselves fill the exhausted tank with their own supplies. Now, with firefighters and residents intermingled in the firefighting efforts, the situation improves substantially.<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div><\/div>\n\n

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There is a wooded area close to the houses burning with a terrifying intensity, fuelled by dense vegetation. The crew advances with the truck in tow and tries to combat the fire, but it\u2019s a losing battle. The flames exceed eight meters in height; I can hear the trees crackling and a furious hissing, as if the fire were protesting against the attempts to extinguish it. The water turns to steam before it can have any effect. The heat is so intense I can feel it several meters away.<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div><\/div>\n\n\n

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