Grief as thick as ashes at Shivwits

SHIVWITS RESERVATION, Washington County — The thick smoke rising skyward signaled something ominous was on its way that Saturday morning.

"I thought it was a controlled burn, but it kept coming," said Donnita Woughter, a member of the Shivwits band of the Paiute Tribe of Utah who lives on the 29,000-acre tribal reservation on the western side of Washington County.

By the following Sunday afternoon, Bureau of Land Management officials were asking tribal leaders to allow firefighters on the reservation. A fast-moving wildfire fed by tinder-dry brush and gusting winds was searing the hillsides just beyond the Shivwits village.

"The firefighters were so pumped full of adrenaline, it just went right to the people," said band council member Lawrence Snow. Band members were frightened as officials closed down Old Highway 91 that rolls past the reservation, cutting off access to everyone not fighting what came to be known as the Apex fire.

Of the 25 families living on the reservation, most were evacuated that evening to Snow Canyon Middle School, where the Red Cross provided food and a place to sleep.

Although they were allowed to return to their homes early the next morning, the disruption and fear of the unknown kept everyone on edge.

"The children were traumatized. They couldn't take anything with them and they were crying," said Glen Rogers, chairman of the Shivwits band. "The fire affected people in a lot of ways. Half our reservation is burned. Our sacred hunting grounds are gone. It's just so awful. A lot of band members are in tears over it."

Of the 33,000 acres burned, about 14,000 acres belonged to the Shivwits.

"Our way of life is gone. It's all burned away," said Rogers as he surveyed the blackened mountain range that will fail to feed deer and other wildlife for years to come. "We cherish where we live. Our elders try and teach us to have respect for water, fire and the earth. The Anglos just don't see it the way we do."

The difference, he said, is cultural, spiritual and intangible.

"If you see a church or temple burn down, that is just how we feel about our land," said Rogers. "It will take years to rebuild our temple."

Also missing among the rolling hills now covered by soot and ashes are the subtle sounds of life and the scurrying tracks of animals, insects and birds. Nothing soars overhead searching for lizards or rabbits below. The charred skeletons of pinion-juniper trees blacken anything that touches them, and everyone knows there will be no pinion nut gathering expeditions this fall.