Three of us--my buddies Chuck Hyatt and Tom Greenup and myself--were fishing the Roaring Fork River last April. In the morning we saw smoke way off in the distance. It was blowing away from us, and we knew that ranchers performed controlled burns, so we kept fishing. The wind was howling, and at noon the smoke had grown to an acre-size cloud and changed directions. The more we watched it, the bigger and closer it got. We started to leave, but the sky quickly changed from blue to white as the smoke thickened and blew over us. Soon we were flanked on three sides by flames, and we had nowhere to go except across the creek.