Six degrees again this morning, and more bright sunshine. Twenty degrees by lunchtime. The air is devoid of moisture. The garden's parched, the wooden bathtub's leaking and my hands feel like the dead leaves in the hand-cream ads.
There’s a layer of black fog lying across the lake at about 500m, and all Cannobio's noses - be they snub, aquiline, Roman, or tip-tilted, red, white, black or blue, large, small, button or pointed - all Cannobio's noses are wrinkled at the unmistakable smell of smoke :
A forest fire in Valle Cannobina. A big forest fire. Not on the scale of the California Wildfires now making headlines all over the world, but for us a major affair. Four helicopters and two Canadair planes sporting the bright yellow and red livery of the Protezione Civile have, for the last three days, been plying between lake and mountainside, drawing up water from the lake and hurling it at the flames.
For us, a spectacular flying display. The planes barrel two at a time down the valley at high speed, banking sharply above AJ’s scuola materna and dipping for a minute or so behind the houses lining the lungolago to scoop up a load. Then back into sight, rear end drooping and flying impossibly slowly back across the piazza, so low you can see the St Christopher around the pilot’s neck. With each pass, the asilo windows rattle and the children glance at their teachers for a moment before going on with their play.
For us a spectacular display of skill and stamina.
But for the wildlife?
What happens to the fish? Surely some are scooped up? And the deer, the badgers, the foxes, the martens and the wild boar, the snakes and the birds? Is there someone out there from the Corpo Forestale who can tell me what happens to them when there’s a fire, but also, when hundreds of tonnes of water are dropped on them from a great height and without warning? Or can we rest easy in the assumption that they are long gone?
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Tuesday, 23 October 2007
Aerial display
Six degrees again this morning, and more bright sunshine. Twenty degrees by lunchtime. The air is devoid of moisture. The garden's parched, the wooden bathtub's leaking and my hands feel like the dead leaves in the hand-cream ads.
There’s a layer of black fog lying across the lake at about 500m, and all Cannobio's noses - be they snub, aquiline, Roman, or tip-tilted, red, white, black or blue, large, small, button or pointed - all Cannobio's noses are wrinkled at the unmistakable smell of smoke :
A forest fire in Valle Cannobina. A big forest fire. Not on the scale of the California Wildfires now making headlines all over the world, but for us a major affair. Four helicopters and two Canadair planes sporting the bright yellow and red livery of the Protezione Civile have, for the last three days, been plying between lake and mountainside, drawing up water from the lake and hurling it at the flames.
For us, a spectacular flying display. The planes barrel two at a time down the valley at high speed, banking sharply above AJ’s scuola materna and dipping for a minute or so behind the houses lining the lungolago to scoop up a load. Then back into sight, rear end drooping and flying impossibly slowly back across the piazza, so low you can see the St Christopher around the pilot’s neck. With each pass, the asilo windows rattle and the children glance at their teachers for a moment before going on with their play.
For us a spectacular display of skill and stamina.
But for the wildlife?
What happens to the fish? Surely some are scooped up? And the deer, the badgers, the foxes, the martens and the wild boar, the snakes and the birds? Is there someone out there from the Corpo Forestale who can tell me what happens to them when there’s a fire, but also, when hundreds of tonnes of water are dropped on them from a great height and without warning? Or can we rest easy in the assumption that they are long gone?
There’s a layer of black fog lying across the lake at about 500m, and all Cannobio's noses - be they snub, aquiline, Roman, or tip-tilted, red, white, black or blue, large, small, button or pointed - all Cannobio's noses are wrinkled at the unmistakable smell of smoke :
A forest fire in Valle Cannobina. A big forest fire. Not on the scale of the California Wildfires now making headlines all over the world, but for us a major affair. Four helicopters and two Canadair planes sporting the bright yellow and red livery of the Protezione Civile have, for the last three days, been plying between lake and mountainside, drawing up water from the lake and hurling it at the flames.
For us, a spectacular flying display. The planes barrel two at a time down the valley at high speed, banking sharply above AJ’s scuola materna and dipping for a minute or so behind the houses lining the lungolago to scoop up a load. Then back into sight, rear end drooping and flying impossibly slowly back across the piazza, so low you can see the St Christopher around the pilot’s neck. With each pass, the asilo windows rattle and the children glance at their teachers for a moment before going on with their play.
For us a spectacular display of skill and stamina.
But for the wildlife?
What happens to the fish? Surely some are scooped up? And the deer, the badgers, the foxes, the martens and the wild boar, the snakes and the birds? Is there someone out there from the Corpo Forestale who can tell me what happens to them when there’s a fire, but also, when hundreds of tonnes of water are dropped on them from a great height and without warning? Or can we rest easy in the assumption that they are long gone?
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