Firefighters recall harrowing nights fighting Akawa
Published 5:00 am Saturday, August 1, 2026
When violent thunderstorms and windy conditions reached Deschutes County the week of July 20, Sisters-area residents, already on edge, were sent fleeing the Akawa Butte Fire as it grew by thousands of acres.
Oregon Department of Forestry firefighting heavy equipment boss Benjamin Estes recalled straining to decipher the terrain and the blaze in the dead of night, the forest lit by the orange glow of wildfire.
“Night operations are pretty tough,” Estes said. “You can’t see anything, you can’t see the terrain, you can only really see sometimes 30 feet, 40 feet in front of you. You don’t really know where the danger is or the hazards are.”
Estes, originally from the Burnt Thighs band of the Lakota in South Dakota, now lives in Portland. He has worked for 17 years as a firefighter and paramedic. But the Akawa Butte fire gave him unique challenges. Night work is traditionally the time when the temperatures cool and firefighters can go on the offensive — but not when the storms hit and firefighters were pushed back on their heels.
“It was really intense during those nights,” he said. “We had probably like 10- to 20-foot flame lengths out there, so it was really hard to go direct in a lot of places. Along with the boulders and stuff … the dozers have a hard time.”
The low visibility and lack of resources due to fires elsewhere in the state presented challenges, he said. He often couldn’t tell whether the black burn scars he saw on the forest floor were from the steadily burning Akawa Butte Fire or from the Flat Fire that burned through the area the year prior.
In many ways, those old burn scars were a blessing. With many fuels already burned off, the fire slowed as it reached the remnants of the old burn. Bulldozer lines left over from last year’s blaze also helped firefighters establish fresh 2026 control lines, he said.
Over two shifts, Estes said he walked 30 miles while carrying a pack that weighed up to 60 pounds. He said his feet were “eaten up.” Fire-chaser beetles crawled on him as he prowled the fire’s perimeter. The bugs can descend on blazes to lay their eggs in the freshly burned timber. Sometimes they mistake humans for trees and try to bite their way into people’s skin.
Estes said he slept four or five hours per night, working 12 hour shifts and longer. He spent most of his time on the fire’s southern edge, between the fire and Sisters. At certain points he worried that the blaze would run down from the hills toward town.
In the day, the fire became even more active.
Squad boss Kenneth Trujillo and his team from private contractor Grayback Forestry rolled into town as a rare pyrocumulus cloud formed over the fire. Crew boss Brandon Rogers recalled rain and clouds so dark they couldn’t drive their trucks faster than 20 mph.
Trujillo couldn’t remember the exact date they arrived. For him, the days had blended together. But he does remember the cloud.
After 14 years of firefighting, he had never seen one form — but had heard of them. It formed a column of water so tall that it eventually became too heavy and collapsed on itself, sending a rush of winds that pushed the fire and prompted fast-changing evacuation orders.
The next day, Trujillo and his crew found themselves in a “dog fight” as the fire crept towards homes near Wilt Road. They fought fire in and around houses, even in yards, but were able to largely hold it off.
“We were very tired at the end of the day,” he said. “But I’d say it was fun. You know, it’s what we all do it for.”
Caleb Friesen, engine boss with AMF Enterprises out of Grants Pass, mostly worked nights. He said that when he looks back on the fire, he will remember trees crashing down in the forest around him. He said he doesn’t let the dangers of the job get in his head.
“The guys just have to stay positive,” he said. “A lot of times that starts with God. … Everyone out here has to find something bigger than themselves in order to be out here.”
The firefighters talked about the feeling of helping people they would likely never meet. Trujillo said that when he’s protecting homes, he thinks of them as his own.
They also talked about their families. Estes has a 9-month-old daughter at home in Portland.
“I really just want people to know that it’s not only the firefighters that sacrifice, but it’s also our wives, our partners, our husbands that are back home waiting for us to come back,” he said.
After five days of uncertainty, Estes is glad to go home with the weather moderated and fire in a good place. He and Rogers said that the fire was among the most memorable of their careers for its complexity, high-profile status and difficulty. Estes said that fuels treatment programs in the Sisters area made a big difference in keeping the flames away from the town.
As the Akawa Butte Fire continues to burn, leaving only another scar on the landscape, firefighters that at one point numbered over 1,600 have begun to mop up, head home, or move on to other fast-growing fires.
By Tuesday, six homes were lost to the Bench Fire near Warm Springs. On Thursday, 800 people were fighting it. Fires continued to burn across the state, with August yet to come.
Estes, one among thousands of firefighters working in the state, talked about the people he met on Akawa Butte.
“I may never see these guys again,” he said. “But we’ll all remember our faces.”