ROSLYN, Wash. — Francisco Martinez hefts a canister filled with a mixture of diesel fuel and gasoline. A tongue of flame dances above the nozzle. He tips the drip torch forward — whoosh — and a stream of blazing liquid races across the forest floor.

In less than a minute, a long wall of fire is spreading across the slope as Martinez and a small team of igniters fan out along the hillside. They walk in parallel, lighting grasses and shrubs, moving forward as flames spread into a dancing orange curtain behind them. 

Dense columns of dark smoke billow uphill. Ashes swirl, and radiant heat warms the skin of the crew members on the line. A vortex of flame coils up a tree. Thousands of pine needles combust in an explosive shower like a fireworks show.

Radios crackle with updates as other crews race to put out spot fires caused by embers falling outside the prescribed burn area. Somewhere up the hill in the thick of the smoke, a dozen or more people are furiously working to make sure this blaze stays under control.

The scene is intense but not chaotic. The crews, assembled from local fire districts and conservation groups, move with practiced urgency instead of panic. They eat a quick lunch on the ground just a few dozen feet from the downslope edge of the fire. Some grab a fresh pouch of nicotine, and they all get back to work.

This team is conducting a prescribed burn on a forested ridge in central Washington, above a small town, Roslyn, that was nearly wiped out by a wildfire just a few years ago. The specter of wildfire is one that increasingly haunts hundreds of communities throughout the West, and the work here could point them toward a new model of living with fire. 

But it won’t be easy. 

FIRE belongs on this landscape.

Before white settlers arrived in the late 1800s, the forests in this part of Washington burned roughly every decade — fires sparked by lightning or set by local tribes to manage the land. These ponderosa pine forests thrive on fire, which mostly spares mature trees but opens the understory for lush regrowth that feeds many animals.

For more than a century, though, state and federal land managers kept fire away. Smokey Bear taught generations of Americans that wildfire was a scourge to be prevented. Officials throughout the country invested heavily in firefighting resources to suppress such blazes quickly.

Without fire, forests grew denser. Trees competed for water even as climate change dried the landscape further. The parched trees grew vulnerable to pests and diseases. Brush, pine needles and dead branches piled up. The forests that had been spared from fire for 100 years became primed for infernoes.

Over those same decades, more and more Americans moved into communities bordering these areas. Nothing from the recent past gave them warning that their spot on the map was supposed to burn every few years.

In recent years, wildfires have swept through communities in the West, devastating small towns and urban areas alike. The Camp Fire in 2018 destroyed much of Paradise, California, and killed 85 people. Wildfires in Los Angeles destroyed thousands of homes in January 2025 and killed at least 31. And earlier this summer, hundreds of homes went up in flames when fires ripped through neighborhoods of Spokane, Washington.

Roslyn’s wake-up call came in 2017. The Jolly Mountain Fire, sparked by lightning strikes in the nearby Wenatchee National Forest, advanced toward the town on Labor Day weekend. The fire’s incident commander gave local leaders a grim assessment.

“(He said), ‘I hate to tell you, but if fire gets into these woods, we’re going to have to write off large portions of your town as indefensible,’” recalls Chris Martin, emergency management coordinator with the Roslyn Fire Department. “That was the change-of-underwear moment for Roslyn.” 

Thankfully, the fire changed course, but Roslyn now knew it was sitting on a tinderbox. The idyllic mountain community of 950 with a rich coal mining history is now a thriving tourist town that plays host to campers, mountain bikers, artists and foodies. It also ranks in the 99th percentile for wildfire risk nationwide.

Just a few months after Roslyn’s near-miss, Martin offered to host a prescribed burn on forestland he owns above the town. The burn doubled as a training exercise for state, local and federal agencies — many of which were just beginning to rethink fire’s role on the landscape. Residents, still shaken by the recent wildfire, were alarmed to see smoke rising nearby. But Martin and others built an outreach program to convince their neighbors that it was time to fight fire with fire.

Roslyn has been burning ever since.

Martin keeps a map showing an ever-growing patchwork of black and yellow blobs surrounding the town. The black spots mark the 500-plus acres that local leaders have burned since 2017. The yellow represents areas where they’ve brought in logging equipment to thin trees and brush. Together, they form a rough semicircle around Roslyn that’s meant to act as a shield. If a wildfire hits this area, it will quickly be deprived of fuel — giving firefighters a chance to make a stand.

PLENTY of other towns face a predicament like Roslyn’s. 

More than 1,800 communities in the Western United States are threatened by wildfire, federal research warns. Nationwide, nearly 72 million homes sit in areas with some wildfire risk, the climate research company First Street has found. As climate change dries the landscape in the coming decades, the risk will only expand.

“A lot of people have the perception that this is a problem with large federal and state land ownership and that private citizens don’t have a role to play,” said Greg Dillon, director of the U.S. Forest Service’s Fire Modeling Institute. “But in many places, there’s a stretch of private lands between (public forests) and homes that can catch on fire. It’s a really important and less understood piece of the fire risk picture.”

Mike Norris, an assistant division manager in the prescribed fire program with the Washington Department of Natural Resources, said the state averages about 20,000 acres of prescribed burns across all lands each year. But Washington’s forests need three to five times that amount to stay healthy. 

Many states face a similar fire deficit. And private lands are a big part of what’s missing. 

But burning on private lands is hard. One section of forest may include dozens of landowners, many of whom are skeptical of fire. And even with community buy-in, burns require an incredible collaboration of resources. 

“Historically, it would have been easier to burn those areas when there weren’t property lines and structures in the way,” said Kyle Lapham, who runs Washington’s Certified Prescribed Burn Manager program. “These places should be burning multiple times in our lifetime, and we’re not even scratching the surface with that first burn on tens of thousands of acres.”

The burn in Roslyn brought together 30 people from multiple fire districts and Upper Kittitas County Fuels, an interagency network that works on prescribed burns and forest thinning projects. They worked alongside staff from The Nature Conservancy, a nonprofit that manages the parcel that was burned and is perhaps the foremost practitioner of prescribed fire on private lands. 

To burn just 55 acres, half a dozen organizations had to coordinate for two full days of burning and an extended monitoring period after the fire. Long before, crews dug boundary lines to hold the fire, filled portable tanks with water, laid out hoses and positioned fire engines and water tenders. Burn leaders conducted extensive briefings on safety, contingency plans and objectives. 

 After all that, had atmospheric conditions changed slightly, the whole thing could have been canceled. The painstaking efforts can fizzle in an instant because of strict clean air rules designed to protect communities from smoke. Fire advocates say their “burn windows” can be severely limited by well-intentioned regulations.   

While catastrophic fires are far worse for smoke, prescribed burners do need to account for its very real effects on communities. They conduct extensive outreach before each burn and prepare for scenarios such as an asthmatic neighbor who needs hotel accommodations or visibility concerns on a nearby highway.  

Pulling off a burn, given all those hurdles, is no easy feat. 

BUT ROSLYN shows that it can be worth the effort. 

On a bright June morning, Martin led a tour of a nearby forested hillside that was burned in 2021. Along the trails, a lush carpet of green grass and wildflowers grew up beneath the trees, sporting charred bark but still growing strong. A deer grazed peacefully in the distance. 

Norris, the prescribed fire official with the state DNR, helped lead the prescribed burn that drastically reduced the dead material, brush and “ladder fuels” that can spread flames into tree canopies.

“It’s safe to say Roslyn’s in a much better place,” Norris said. “They’ve really pushed the needle in the right direction for their community.” 

The burns have even become a tourist attraction. Roslyn recently designated a Forest Resilience Trail that has made the scorched forest a feature of the town’s outdoor recreation appeal.

“Now that the burns have been done, people can see the abundant wildlife, they see more flow in the streams because there’s fewer shrubs soaking water out of the landscape,” Martin said. 

State leaders hope Roslyn can be a model to help other communities learn to live with fire. They’re seeing growing interest from towns that have faced close calls of their own. The work will be arduous, a few dozen acres at a time. Burn bosses will have to deal with skeptical neighbors, wary regulators and real-world risks. Volunteers will need to put in immense hours and deal with frequent setbacks.

Perhaps the only thing more daunting is the cost of doing nothing.

Editor’s note: This story has been corrected to reflect that The Nature Conservancy manages, but does not own, the parcel burned in Roslyn. Stateline reporter Alex Brown can be reached at abrown@stateline.org.

Story and photos by Alex Brown

ROSLYN, Wash. — In less than an hour, this hillside will be ablaze — sparks flying, smoke swirling, the forest floor turning into a black carpet.

That’s all part of the plan. 

Here in the small town of Roslyn, Washington, local leaders have embraced prescribed burns as a tool to protect their community from wildfires. They’re part of a growing effort across the West to empower residents to lead burns on private lands. 

A century of fire suppression policy has left many forests dense with trees, shrubs, fallen limbs and needles — kindling that can fuel out-of-control megafires. Low-intensity burns conducted under the right conditions can clear out those fuels, sparing mature trees and creating habitat for wildlife.

After years of reporting on wildfires, along with several personal brushes with fire as an outdoor enthusiast in the West, Stateline reporter Alex Brown joined Washington state’s burn manager boot camp in 2024 as a way to learn more about fire’s role on the landscape. The course covered everything from the moisture levels in different forest plants to federal clean air regulations related to smoke dispersal.

After passing the test at the end of the training class, Brown joined crews assembled to burn a 55-acre parcel laid out by local leaders near Roslyn. It brought together 30 people from multiple fire districts, covering half a dozen organizations. 

After the team’s weather reporter gave the all-clear, a crew of igniters set a “backing fire,” a preliminary burn that crept slowly against the wind, establishing a black strip between the forest and a dirt road. 

By burning the edge of the parcel in advance, the crews created a wider containment line, eliminating the fuels that might allow the fire to spread across the road. Once the “black line” was established, teams fanned out on the hillside to begin the primary burn. 

Team leaders stayed in contact over the radio, and some crews positioned uphill put out spot fires caused by falling embers in another area of the forest. By the end of the afternoon, the fire had spread across the parcel, burning shrubs and plants but leaving most of the mature trees unscathed. 

A few dozen acres at a time, Roslyn leaders are aiming to create a semicircle around the town that will give them a safe place to make a stand if another wildfire approaches. 

Back in town, life went on as usual as a column of smoke floated over the nearby hillside. 

Local leaders say the forest is thriving in the areas where they’ve burned. Mature trees, scarred black but still growing, tower over a forest floor that is open and green once again. 

Roslyn has even turned the burned area into a tourist attraction, recently opening a Forest Resilience Trail that showcases the landscape restored by fire. 

After witnessing the burn in Roslyn, Brown joined a TREX, or training exchange burn, that brought together fire crews from around the world. Held in Southwest Washington, the burn allowed participants to build contacts in the fire community and try new roles for the first time. 

The event was hosted by the Mt. Adams Prescribed Burn Association. State leaders say such grassroots organizations are taking the lead on bringing fire to private lands — bringing together local organizations to build resources, manpower and public buy-in.

The burn cleared underbrush and vegetation from the forest floor. Experts say regular, low-intensity fires such as this reduce “ladder fuels” that can spread flames into tree canopies and create out-of-control blazes. 

Burn leaders face strict air quality regulations designed to protect communities from smoke. 

Among other challenges, burn leaders say prescribed fires not only protect communities, but also renew habitats where fire has long had a regular presence. Burning, they say, is an act of creation rather than destruction.  

Editor’s note: This is one of three stories examining efforts to use prescribed burns to fight fire with fire. Read the other parts here and here. Stateline reporter Alex Brown can be reached at abrown@stateline.org.

AUBURN, Wash. — In the back row of a small community college classroom, I sip my coffee and consider a cumulus cloud, a puffy white pillar over an expanse of blue. I’m not staring out the window, but at a presentation on a screen at the front of the room. 

Cumulus clouds are a telltale sign of an unstable atmosphere, Matthew Dehr, wildland fire meteorologist with the Washington Department of Natural Resources, tells our class. Fifteen students, clad in hoodies and flannel, nod along. They know what an unstable atmosphere means: Smoke will disperse instead of settling over the ground. In other words, ideal conditions for setting stuff on fire.

My classmates and I make up the fifth group to take Washington’s Certified Prescribed Burn Manager course. It’s put on by the state DNR to encourage more residents to light carefully planned fires in overly dense forests to help ward off megablazes. 

After decades of warnings from Smokey Bear to prevent forests from burning, the state’s approach would now be better illustrated by a soot-smeared Uncle Sam urging citizens to pick up a drip torch. 

I’m the outlier in this batch of recruits. My classmates are all veterans in the world of fire and forest management, familiar with the tools and terminology. They come from conservation districts, land trusts, environmental nonprofits, tribes and forestry companies. The class isn’t designed to train journalists, but to certify pros who are poised to put fire on the ground.

Over the next three days, we’ll attend the same classes and field outings and take the same certification test. They’ll go back to their communities empowered to lead prescribed burns. I will also deploy to the fire line, but wielding a notebook and camera as my tools. 

Like many Westerners, I’ve spent summers monitoring smoke forecasts and been stuck inside for weeks at a time. I’ve arrived at trailheads to find flames crackling in the trees overhead. I’ve texted friends who live in mountain towns to see if they’ve gotten the order to evacuate.

Tattooed on my left forearm is a topographical map of a remote section of Olympic National Park, a lake-filled basin high in the mountains that’s my all-time favorite hike. Last summer, a large wildfire burned its way along the ridge above the basin, the border of the tattoo just below my elbow. Every few hours, I refreshed the page mapping the spread of the fire, hoping the wind would shift. I checked the local weather forecast, hoping for rain. 

As I monitored the spread of that wildfire, I looked out the window to see smoke pouring off the hillside just a mile away from my home, in the Cascade foothills on the fringes of the Seattle suburbs. This fire, sparked in a city-owned forest, was quickly contained. But the lingering smoke hung in the air all day, a reminder of how quickly one spark can turn into a threat. 

I cover lots of issues as an environmental reporter. Fire is the one topic that’s front of mind regardless of whether I’m writing a story about it on deadline. My friends are constantly thinking about fire too, and it’s not because they’re spending their day interviewing state forestry officials. 

FOR MOST OF US, fire feels like an ominous foe, one we have to trust others to fight. But crews on the front lines have a different relationship with fire. They understand that it’s a natural part of healthy ecosystems, one that has been absent from many Western forests for far too long. 

Fire creates vibrant landscapes and critical habitat. When deployed properly, prescribed fires can protect forests — and towns — from truly destructive blazes. 

“We need to be burning ourselves out of the problem, not waiting for fire to show up when we don’t want it,” said my prescribed burn instructor, Kyle Lapham, who has managed the Washington certification program since it launched in 2022.

When I got the chance to join Lapham’s class, it seemed like an opportunity to feel less powerless against fire. Sure, it wouldn’t turn me into a frontline hero battling blazes. But it would help me understand the growing movement to turn fire into an ally. 

Just going through this boot camp, puzzling over the difficult questions burn leaders must face, felt like a way to engage with the problem, even if I did more typing than burning. 

Wildfire veterans want many more people to get this kind of training, to see fire as a backyard issue and not one that governments alone can solve. 

Particularly in the West, a century of wildfire suppression has left many forests overly dense. Places that used to burn regularly now have more trees per acre than ever before, and a forest floor stacked with dead limbs, needles and brush — kindling for the catastrophic megafires that can devastate millions of acres. 

Increasingly, federal and state managers are trying to restore fire’s role. Burning in the spring and fall, they’ve spread low-intensity fires in state forests and national parks to reduce fuels and “treat” unhealthy forests. That work can lower the risk of high-intensity wildfires by 60%, research has shown. 

But lots of the forests that need fire are not managed by the U.S. Forest Service or a state agency. And burning on private lands is incredibly difficult. Many states now want to empower landowners and community groups to burn on their own. They’re training burn leaders and offering grants, equipment and technical support. 

“If you don’t treat any private lands, you’re missing the boat,” Lapham said. 

DURING A FIELD OUTING at a nearby state forest, our class stands in the rain among dripping ferns and plans a hypothetical burn, soggy conditions notwithstanding. We set out sampling grids and practice calculating different fuel types in the forest vegetation, based on the time it takes their moisture levels to change. We note nearby roads, dwellings and businesses, considering the atmospheric conditions that would minimize smoke impacts on the community. We discuss the logistics of a multiday collaborative effort from a host of organizations and local fire districts. 

Over three rigorous days, Lapham’s class covers everything from weather variables to smoke permits to community relations. We learned how to navigate a maze of regulations, coordinate with a host of agencies and plan for scenarios such as smoke over a busy roadway or complaints from a neighbor with asthma. 

While the course is not required to conduct a burn, those who earn certification gain legal protections that can limit their liability if something goes wrong. Burning is inherently risky, but state officials say carefully planned fires set by qualified practitioners carry far less risk than leaving forests in their current state.

My classmate Tony Craven, wildfire preparedness project manager with the Kittitas County Conservation District, grew up playing in the forests above the small Washington town of Roslyn. 

“Me and my friends used to play tag and hide and seek up there all the time,” he said. “You wouldn’t be able to do that today because you wouldn’t be able to find the other guys. We have more trees than we’ve ever had, and the shrub layer is thicker than it’s ever been. We have 100 years of fire debt built up.”

Craven is overseeing a $10 million federal grant to protect communities near Roslyn, which nearly went up in flames a few years ago when a wildfire came dangerously close to the town. Prescribed burns will be a big part of that solution.

The state wants, perhaps needs, more people like Craven to pick up drip torches. On the dry, fire-prone landscapes east of the Cascade Range, more than 40% of Washington’s forestlands are owned by private citizens, timber companies, tribes and local governments. 

It’s a similar story throughout much of the West. In California, for instance, more than half of the state’s high-risk forestland is owned by families or private entities. 

About 20 states now run courses like the one I took to certify burn managers and provide them with some level of legal protection. Advocates say Western states are following the lead of Southeastern states such as Florida, where burning has long been a cultural norm. 

The courses also serve as a critical networking forum. Very few organizations have the resources to burn without outside help, so making connections is as important as the training itself. 

Even in states where wildfire is not a top concern, officials say there’s growing interest in restoring fire’s ecological role, in part because of climate change. Pennsylvania, for instance, held its first certified burn manager course in 2023, with 27 participants. After years of burning only on public lands, the state hopes to jump-start a culture shift that promotes burning on privately owned land, which makes up 83% of the state.

AS MORE states certify residents to lead prescribed burns, they’re still finding many obstacles — including states’ own regulations.

During the course, we spent extensive time talking about clean air rules and the maze of regulations and permits burners need to navigate. Fire practitioners say these rules limit their “burn windows” to highly specific conditions. While the restrictions are designed to protect communities from smoke, those same towns often spend the summer under far worse smoke from out-of-control wildfires. 

The member of Congress who represents my district, Democratic U.S. Rep. Kim Schrier, has sponsored federal legislation that would provide additional funding and loosen clean air rules to give burners more flexibility. The measure has earned bipartisan support, but has yet to advance this session.

Another challenge is simply the extensive resources needed to pull off a burn. Even small burns can require dozens of personnel, tankers, engines, containment lines, hose networks and portable water tanks.

Many burns have to pull in help from several counties over, or even neighboring states. Fire veterans say nearly every prescribed fire requires multiple agencies and groups working together for days at a time. 

And sections of forest might include dozens of landowners, many of whom are skeptical of lighting fires. It takes locally led efforts to build trust. 

One approach that’s quickly taking hold is known as a prescribed burn association, which basically serves as a local coordinating entity for neighbors and community groups. Prescribed fire advocates say such community-led programs represent the best path forward to restoring fire on private lands. 

In Southwest Washington, the Mt. Adams Prescribed Burn Association, composed of several local groups and launched in 2022, has focused on the landscapes surrounding the iconic volcano. On a fall morning a few months after my class, the association hosted a burn as part of a multiweek training exchange, or TREX, that brought in fire practitioners from across the world. 

Camera in hand, I walked the edge of the pine-oak woodland, a few steps ahead of the igniters and their drip torches. I snapped away as they tipped blazing fuel onto the forest floor and walls of fire ribboned through the brush.

For all my training, the images I was seeing still felt apocalyptic — raging flames, billowing black smoke, green understory turned to ash. But the crews moved calmly, just another day on the job. The mature trees, charred black on their lower trunks, withstood the fire just fine.  

As the last flames hit the perimeter and flickered out, Adam Lieberg helped me appraise the situation. Lieberg, who helps manage this parcel for the nonprofit Columbia Land Trust, said this landscape is considered a “trailing edge” forest that would struggle to regenerate if a high-intensity wildfire wiped out its trees. This burn has reduced that risk considerably. 

After the burn, I camped out nearby, still reeking of smoke and coughing occasionally. Finally, I understood a little something of what it looks like to deploy fire as an ally, to torch a forest in the name of saving it.

THIS STORY was supposed to end on a hopeful note, a reflection on the progress that burn leaders are slowly making to restore fire’s role on the landscape. But in the months following my prescribed fire boot camp, President Donald Trump imposed drastic cuts on staffing and grants for the U.S. Forest Service and other agencies. 

Community Wildfire Defense Grants, a key source of funding for many locally based prescribed burns, were frozen, although some have since been restored. Burn leaders say they’re uncertain whether the federal funding that has supported them will be available, or if the federal agencies they’ve long partnered with will have enough staff to provide support. 

Meanwhile, lawmakers in Washington state, facing a looming budget crisis, slashed the state fund that supports wildfire preparedness work. The state’s grant program to support community prescribed fire efforts, which handed out $1.4 million in the previous two-year budget cycle, received only $170,000 in 2025. 

Lapham, who leads the burn manager training class, said conservation districts and other local partners were facing staffing cuts due to the loss of state and federal funding. 

“It’s very frustrating,” he said. “We already know we’re behind the curve on treating what needs to be treated. Any time you put a big dip in that momentum, you’re just that much further behind.”

But as the funding dried up, leaders with the Washington Department of Natural Resources noticed a surprising development. More and more communities were setting up prescribed burn associations, leaning on local solidarity even as state and federal grants disappeared. From Spokane County on the eastern edge of the state to Bainbridge Island in the shadow of Seattle, local leaders are working to form new cooperatives to bring fire to their communities. 

“Connection begets connection begets connection, and that’s how we’re seeing this growth here,” said Will Rubin, forest resilience communications manager with the state DNR. “This was a fledgling idea here not that long ago, and now it’s spreading more quickly than it ever has.”

Meanwhile, state Public Lands Commissioner Dave Upthegrove successfully lobbied lawmakers this year to restore funding for wildfire prevention, securing $60 million for an account that includes the DNR’s prescribed burn program. While there’s still uncertainty at the federal level, land managers say they’re now on a much stronger footing. 

The work of states could become ever more important as progress stalls at the federal level. During Trump’s first year in office, a recent analysis from the Center for Western Priorities found, wildfire prevention work — such as prescribed burns and thinning of vegetation — fell by 35% on federally managed forests and grasslands. 

Trump administration advances plan to rescind protections for nearly 45 million wild acres

Meanwhile, this summer devastating wildfires are torching millions of acres, fueled by a winter drought that left forests parched and mountains bare of snow. 

And many advocates are concerned by the Forest Service’s rollback of the Roadless Rule earlier this month, which protected 45 million acres from road construction and development. Studies have shown that wildfires are far more likely to ignite near roads. 

I’ve spent the past two years learning about atmospheric conditions and smoke regulations, interviewing fire veterans and walking the fire line beside ignition teams. For all I’ve learned, for all the work to reorient my feelings around fire, it feels like the winds are still swirling with uncertainty. 

I did pass the test at the end of the burn manager course. But now it seems a larger test is facing all of us: Will we welcome fire back onto the landscape and invest in burning, not just suppression? Or will we give up on our fragile progress and wait for the next wildfire to challenge our defenses? 

Stateline reporter Alex Brown can be reached at abrown@stateline.org.

Reading Time: 10 minutes

This story was produced in partnership with the University of Wisconsin-Madison’s Investigative Journalism class taught in the School of Journalism and Mass Communication.

Click here to read highlights from the story

• Recent wildfires in Canada and northern Minnesota brought a wave of smoke to Wisconsin in July, raising concerns in Rock County similar to those in 2023, when Beloit was ranked the city with the worst air quality in the nation.
• Rock County faces above average asthma rates, and air pollution from wildfire smoke combined with emissions from existing polluters can worsen these health risks. 
• The county relies on a particulate matter monitor in Rockford, Illinois, to track PM2.5 levels. Local advocates and community members are pushing for a regulatory monitor in Rock County, especially as industrial emissions increase.

Pablo Toral expected another successful summer field program at the Boundary Waters, continuing a tradition that has lasted close to 70 years. Instead, he found himself evacuating by canoe after wildfires forced his team to abandon the trip. 

Students had already started arriving at the research station for the program’s mid-summer session. They were supposed to spend the next month doing hands-on field research, canoeing and camping. Then came the evacuation alert giving everyone 20 minutes to pack up and leave. Toral, the chair of environmental studies and political science at Beloit College, said it was clear conditions were unlikely to improve, leading organizers to cancel the rest of the program.

After driving through the night, Toral returned to Beloit, only to find that the wildfires had followed him in the form of thick smoke and unhealthy air quality. 

Poor air quality is a serious concern for Beloit residents who worry about the emissions from nearby power plants and now wildfire smoke. Just three years ago, under similar wildfire concerns as this summer, the city was named the worst for air pollution in the United States.

Rock County also has above average asthma rates, making the poor air quality even more troubling for residents. 

Cristine Rameker, the Wisconsin Department of Health Services’ asthma program manager, told Wisconsin Watch that the most recent estimate of asthma-related hospitalizations per 10,000 people in Rock County — between 2022 and 2024 — was 39% higher than the statewide average, with a rate of 3.2 per 10,000 people compared to 2.3.

During those years, asthma-related emergency department visits per capita in the county were 23% higher than the statewide average at 34.2 visits per 10,000 people compared with 27.8 statewide. For children ages zero through 17, the average asthma-related emergency department visit is about 9% higher than the state average. 

The county ranked sixth-highest in the state for asthma hospitalizations and eighth-highest for emergency department visit rates between 2022 and 2024. Rock County is the ninth-largest county in the state in terms of population. 

In 2024 alone, data shows there were 138 asthma-related emergency visits among children in Rock County, or one every two-and-a-half days. 

Beloit School District data shows about 11% of students — 436 children — have asthma. Of those students, 110 have inhalers at school, while 326 do not have ready access to medication. 

Brittany Keyes, clean air policy manager with Healthy Climate Wisconsin and former vice president of the Beloit City Council, recalled a moment last fall when she was riding on a bus in Waunakee with a group of third grade girls from Beloit, including her daughter, after the girls finished their first 5K for a “Girls on the Run” event.

She described how the third graders had been training for months together, and now they were laughing, exhausted and proud of their achievement on the ride home. Until one girl began struggling to breathe. 

Keyes said a teacher was frantically searching through a bag for the girl’s inhaler — pulling one out, and then another. 

“She takes out a bag — nope, it’s not hers. She takes another bag — nope, not hers, not hers, nope, not hers,” Keyes said. “There were six inhalers for a group of 22 girls. … That’s not normal, and it doesn’t have to be that way, right?”

No particulate sensors in Beloit

Fine particulate matter (PM2.5), a type of pollution that is a combination of solid and liquid particles in the air, is a key concern for residents worried about air quality and asthma rates. 

Nick Mailloux, a postdoctoral research associate at the University of Wisconsin-Madison’s Center for Sustainability and the Global Environment, said a major reason why PM2.5 raises so much concern is its extremely small size — about 1/30th of the width of a human hair. 

Particulate pollution comes from a range of different sources, including power plants, vehicle emissions and industrial facilities — which Keyes and Toral both noted can all be found in Beloit. Additionally, Mailloux noted that wildfires are increasingly becoming a source of PM2.5 across the United States.

“A particle of that size is small enough that it bypasses a lot of our natural defenses,” Mailloux said. “These are particles that are small enough where they can pass through your airways and into your lungs, where then they can get into your bloodstream and cause inflammation that leads to lots of different respiratory, cardiovascular and neurological health harms.”

PM2.5 can cause new or worsened heart and lung diseases, along with a list of health effects like coughing, shortness of breath, fatigue, asthma attacks and more. 

While Keyes was still vice president of the Beloit City Council, she had read a 2021 report from Toral that found Rock County’s CO2 emissions increased by 325% between 2010 and 2019. After discovering that the emissions in her county were much higher than in counties like Dane and Winnebago, she contacted the Wisconsin Department of Natural Resources. 

She learned the agency operated one monitor for ozone on the west side of Beloit, and only for six months out of the year. She said DNR officials recommended community sensors, such as PurpleAir monitors, if she wanted to start monitoring for herself. 

PurpleAir makes sensors that actively monitor PM2.5, temperature, humidity and pressure, collecting air quality data and making it publicly accessible. 

Keyes said different nonprofits across Beloit participated in a community project to install PurpleAir monitors in the city in late 2022, using a U.S. Environmental Protection Agency community sensor loan program. Early data raised concerns, but the DNR told her that only five months of data had been collected, which is far less than the three years needed to establish an annual standard, Keyes said. However, that’s all the EPA could lend them for their study.

The group had secured funding during their time with the EPA’s loan to install three monitors in Rock County, allowing for continuous monitoring with data collected every 10 minutes. Now, Keyes said they have been able to expand their monitoring network to more than 20 PurpleAir monitors in the county.

“Our effort has really built awareness, and even the Rock County Health Department went after a mini grant … and they were awarded it, and they got 10 sensors, and were able to put them up at schools around the county, so now it’s not just urban centers,” Keyes said. “It’s super cool if you look at PurpleAir now, how we have a better distributed geographical monitoring system.”

Then in early 2024, technology company and global leader in air quality monitoring IQAir contacted Healthy Climate Wisconsin with alarming news — Beloit was ranked the most polluted city in the United States in 2023. The company had pulled data from the PurpleAir monitors through 2023 to draw that conclusion. 

What makes Beloit ‘pollution central’

Toral pointed to numerous factors — including an unusual amount of wildfire smoke from Canada that year, regional pollution from nearby cities such as Madison, Chicago and Milwaukee, as well as transportation emissions, nearby power plants and industrial activity — that all make Beloit “pollution central.”

He said bigger cities surrounding Beloit like Chicago, Milwaukee and Madison reported very high rates of pollution that summer exacerbated by the smoke. Toral noted all of those cities closely track their air pollution data. He pointed to the sensors Beloit has compared to other surrounding areas, saying through the sensors, Beloit was able to document where the smoke from the 2023 wildfires converged. 

“Unusually, we got winds coming out of the northeast, and that brought back the smoke from the fires in Quebec,” Toral said. “Those are what led to the perfect storm — very active fire season, dry winter, slow snow precipitation in the winter, low precipitation in the spring, leading up to the fires lasting longer, being more aggressive.”

He said that while Beloit is small, its monitoring is on par with bigger cities like Chicago and Madison. So, while Beloit was ranked as most polluted, he said there’s also a lack of data from other cities in that area of the state and northern Illinois to officially confirm if it’s Beloit specifically. 

“You don’t know how polluted you are until you test, and Beloit is very unusual in the sense that it’s a very small town that actually has very good air pollution sensors,” Toral said.

Keyes said the organizations involved in Healthy Climate Wisconsin’s air monitoring effort recognized the need for more coordinated action, so they formed the Stateline Clean Air Coalition — a group of organizations and community members who meet monthly to advocate for cleaner air and healthier communities. 

She highlighted that for more than two years one of the coalition’s primary concerns had been to install a regulatory PM2.5 monitor in Rock County — specifically in Beloit. While Beloit has an ozone monitor, Keyes said it’s not ideally located and only operates for part of the year. 

“(Ozone) is a harmful air pollutant, but not the most toxic. And what we’re really concerned about is particulate matter,” Keyes said.

Community members, health care professionals and advocacy groups also have shared their concerns with the DNR, urging a regulatory PM2.5 monitor in the area. Some argued that Beloit may have some of the highest PM2.5 in the state, with some estimates from advocacy groups and community sensors exceeding standards.

The DNR relies on data from a regulatory monitor in Rockford, Illinois, rather than direct measurements from Beloit. An agency spokesperson emphasized that Wisconsin meets the current PM2.5 standard of 9.0 micrograms per cubic meter, based on 2022-24 regulatory monitor data. 

The DNR spokesperson cited the EPA, saying the three-year PM2.5 design value for Rockford from 2022 to 2024 was 8.3 micrograms per cubic meter, with an annual mean of 7.3 in 2024 — below the requirement for a regulatory-grade PM2.5 sensor.

Craig Czarnecki, the outreach coordinator of air management at the DNR, emphasized that regulatory monitors are used for official decision-making and produce the most reliable data, while community sensors like the PurpleAir monitors are better suited for general awareness.

“Data produced using low-cost sensors do not undergo the same rigorous quality assurance and are known to be biased high when compared with data produced by regulatory monitors. These limitations make low-cost sensors best suited for qualitative purposes such as making decisions on daily activities considering the current air quality,” Czarnecki said.

Despite ongoing requests from residents and advocates to install a regulatory-grade PM2.5 monitor in Beloit, particularly near known pollution sources and in heavily affected neighborhoods, the DNR has not committed to expanding its monitoring. The agency stated that the existing network meets federal requirements. 

Czarnecki also noted the department lacks funding to expand monitoring beyond federally mandated levels.

Residents also raised concerns about the estimated 2.4 million metric tons of carbon dioxide emitted in Rock County in 2022, with about 2.1 million coming from power plants. The DNR spokesperson noted that CO2 is not regulated in the same way as pollutants such as ozone or particulate matter. 

Keyes said concern over emissions increased as Beloit’s energy infrastructure began to expand. She pointed to Alliant Energy’s Riverside Energy Center and the additions of the West Riverside Energy Center, a 730 MW natural gas plant. 

Toral said emissions data showed the Riverside Energy Center produced about 2.8 million tons of CO2 emissions the last year it was required to report in 2023, surpassing plants in higher-populated areas, which Toral said shows a “disproportionate concentration of pollutants in one single point.” 

Although multiple coal plants used to be in the Rock County area, and burning coal was worse, Keyes noted that natural gas, primarily the burning of methane gas, is still very harmful for the environment and the health of communities. 

“The fossil fuel industry has marketed very hard to make us feel like natural gas isn’t harmful. But it is. It is still a fossil fuel,” she said. 

Alliant Energy has since proposed and been approved to build a liquified natural gas storage and processing facility in Rock County to meet growing demand. Taylor Adams, the senior communications specialist for Alliant Energy, said in a statement that the location was chosen for its proximity to infrastructure and customers and that the project will comply with environmental regulation. 

“Rock County serves our largest concentration of natural gas customers in Wisconsin and is located near established pipeline corridors, making it a logical location for this type of infrastructure,” Adams said. “The proposed facility would incorporate multiple design features intended to control and minimize emissions.”

Adams said air quality impacts are currently under review by the DNR and will be available for public comment. 

Who’s affected

Toral called the situation in Beloit, a low-income community of immigrants and people of color,  “a case of environmental injustice.”

Toral noted the effects of pollution often fall most heavily on vulnerable populations, including children, older adults and people with preexisting conditions. He added that noise pollution can worsen health outcomes by increasing stress, disrupting sleep and weakening the immune system. 

“If you basically are living close to traffic, a power plant, a factory, anything that generates noise — that really exacerbates people’s conditions,” Toral said. “That makes the body more vulnerable to then have to cope with the pollutants.”

Keyes highlighted that Beloit previously had lower emissions than Dane County, but as Madison was able to retire some of its natural gas and coal plants, the regional demand for electricity resulted in power plants — and emissions — expanding in Rock County. 

Keyes’ daughter was one of 15 youth plaintiffs who filed a lawsuit against the Public Service Commission and state Legislature last summer over laws that prohibit the PSC from considering air pollution when reviewing permits for new power plants, along with a failure to protect the youth from climate change.

“Dane County has made progress, but the celebration of progress is really greenwashing the fact that we are suffering,” Keyes said.

New record, new norm

Air quality records were broken across Wisconsin July 16 as wildfire smoke from northern Minnesota and Canada was carried into the Great Lakes region by winds. Much of the state experienced hazardous air conditions, with Air Quality Index levels reaching their highest points in at least 16 years. 

The smoke brought back memories of the 2023 wildfire season, when similar conditions covered much of the Midwest. 

Toral said this year’s fires are following a similar pattern to 2023. He said because the Great Lakes form a basin, smoke tends to converge there, making Wisconsin “ground zero” for this contamination. He added that the current fire season is already very active, and while the fires were more severe three years ago, this year’s fires are closer to Wisconsin. However, he said it’s still too early to know whether this year’s fire season is going to be worse than 2023. 

“We thought that the fire season we saw two years ago was one of a kind — was very unusual — and here it is again, two years later,” Toral said. “This is a very unusual pattern.”

Wildfire smoke raises air pollution concerns in Rock County, where asthma rates are among the highest in Wisconsin is a post from Wisconsin Watch, a non-profit investigative news site covering Wisconsin since 2009. Please consider making a contribution to support our journalism.

As millions of acres burn across the western United States, some wildland fire veterans are fearful that aggressive fire suppression tactics ordered by the Trump administration — coupled with extreme, fast-moving blazes — could put firefighters in danger as conditions escalate this month. 

Those extreme weather conditions fueled disaster in Eastern Washington Saturday when a fast-moving wildfire jumped the Spokane River and swept through neighborhoods of Spokane, destroying more than 600 structures and forcing 60,000 residents to evacuate. Incident Commander Tom Clemo called the blaze “probably the largest, most destructive fire in Washington’s history.” 

No deaths have yet been reported in Spokane, but Mayor Lisa Brown told local journalists the city is “still assessing the potential for lives to be lost.”

Spokane fires destroy hundreds of structures

“There is not a fire department in the U.S. that can handle a wind-driven event this size,” said Spokane Assistant Fire Chief Lance Dahl to the Spokane Spokesman-Review. 

Leading up to this year’s fire season, federal officials with the U.S. Forest Service and the Interior Department directed their wildfire crews to use a “full suppression” strategy and attack wildfires urgently. Following a hot, dry winter that left much of the West parched, federal land managers said it was imperative to contain fires quickly before they get out of control.

But following several dangerous incidents, including the deaths of four federal firefighters in Colorado in June, some longtime wildland fire leaders are questioning that strategy. Many see it as a return to the Forest Service’s decades-old “10 a.m.” policy, which sought to suppress all fires by the morning after they were reported. 

While many states also adhere to “full suppression” policies that aim to keep blazes contained, federal officials have previously had more discretion to let fires burn under supervision if they’re not threatening communities. More concerning, wildfire veterans say, is the possibility that rhetoric from Trump administration officials is putting pressure on fire crews to use aggressive tactics to meet those suppression goals.   

Federal policies that sought to extinguish all fires quickly over much of the past century are now understood by foresters to be a major contributor to the current wildfire crisis. In many places, forests that used to experience fire at regular intervals have grown denser than historical norms, with trees competing for water and thick underbrush covering the forest floor. That gives fuel to the fires and contributes to fast-moving blazes.

“No one in the agencies have said it, but it sure looks like (a return to the 10 a.m. policy) when you read the directions,” said Jane Darnell, who has worked in administrative roles supporting wildfire response and spent more than 30 years with the Forest Service before retiring in 2020. “We lived with the 10 a.m. policy for 100 years, and we got here. This full suppression promise to the public is a promise that can’t be kept.”

Many wildfire leaders say they’ve seen extreme, unprecedented fire behavior this season that only adds to the risk of deploying crews aggressively. 

‘Full suppression’

In April, Agriculture Secretary Brooke Rollins and Interior Secretary Doug Burgum sent directions to agency leaders in preparation for the summer wildfire season. Both called for a “full suppression” strategy.

“Accelerate initial attack and use a full suppression strategy, in coordination with our interagency partners, across all land jurisdictions to suppress fires early and limit growth,” Rollins wrote. 

Burgum called for “prompt, decisive” suppression of fires, adding that decisions should be “balanced with firefighter safety and a clear assessment of probability of success.”

While both letters mention safety, some wildland fire veterans say agency leaders have put a clear emphasis on attacking fires aggressively. Some fear that crew leaders are being pressured to deploy close to the fire line, rather than choosing the safest place to make a stand. 

“I found it disturbing,” said Riva Duncan, a former wildland fire chief who served more than 30 years with the U.S. Forest Service. “You’ve got somebody in a suit in an office who’s never fought fires saying you’ve got to go direct attack.” 

Duncan serves as president of Grassroots Wildland Firefighters, a nonprofit that advocates on behalf of wildfire professionals.

In addition to the agency directives, wildfire veterans noted the rhetoric from President Donald Trump, who has threatened to impose tariffs on Canada as retaliation for wildfire smoke. 

“If managers and leaders are hearing from the politicos, ‘put them all out, put them all out,’ are we putting people in where we shouldn’t be?” said Bobbie Scopa, who had a 45-year career as a firefighter and now serves as vice president with Grassroots Wildland Firefighters. “I’m hearing from some young firefighters who feel like they are getting pressure to take actions. It’s stupid and you’re scratching your head and people are getting hurt.”

The Interior Department did not respond to a Stateline interview request. The Forest Service declined to comment, saying its resources are focused on fire response.

Dangerous incidents

Already this year, fire crews across the country have been involved in a number of dangerous incidents, including the tragedy in Colorado that left four firefighters dead after a fast-moving blaze overran their position. 

“We’ve already had nine entrapments (firefighters having their position surrounded by fire) this year. That’s crazy,” Duncan said. “That suggests to me that fires are moving quickly and growing so fast.”

Federal officials have said an investigation team is reviewing the Colorado incident. 

“I do trace the tragedy in Colorado to that policy that compelled them to go out and aggressively attack the fires even when conditions did not favor safety or success,” said Timothy Ingalsbee, a former wildland firefighter who now serves as executive director for Firefighters United for Safety, Ethics & Ecology, a group that advocates for ecological fire management. 

“This policy that compels crews to blindly rush out and attack all fires is just not smart and it’s very unsafe,” Ingalsbee said. “They’re throwing back to the policy of the 1930s, ignoring everything we’ve learned about fire ecology and fire behavior”

Other wildland fire veterans say they need to see more details before blaming the deaths in Colorado on federal strategy.

“It’s just really hard to connect that at this time,” Duncan said. “I have faith that the investigation team is looking at that.”

But many former firefighters decried the feds’ abandonment of “managed fire” as a tool. Under that approach, federal land managers in previous years have been given the discretion to let some fires burn under supervision, so long as they didn’t threaten homes or infrastructure. In those cases, advocates say, agency leaders recognized the ecological benefits of fire, along with the potential to reduce the risk of catastrophic blazes in the future. 

“The problem is not fire itself, it’s our relationship with it,” said Darnell, the retired Forest Service administrator. “We can work with these fires that are highly unlikely to have catastrophic effects on infrastructure, keep them on there until the weather puts them out.”

Ingalsbee, with the firefighter safety group, shared a similar sentiment. 

“Excluding fire from the landscape and attacking all fires, that policy ended in the ’70s because it was failing,” he said. “It’s performative firefighting, it’s failing to accomplish tangible goals and it’s putting lives in danger. Fire is nature’s recycling.”

State leaders respond

At the state level, foresters in the Pacific Northwest — the region hardest hit by fires this year — say they have not yet seen evidence that federal agency directives are causing firefighters to take more risks. 

Most state agencies are required by state law to suppress, rather than manage, fires. Oregon state forester Kacey KC said the state’s landscape is too parched this year to safely manage fires for ecological benefits. 

“Every fire we can keep small is good,” she said. “Especially in conditions like this, there is not good fire right now on this landscape.”

In Washington, state forester George Geissler said he had not heard of federal crews taking extra risks. But he cautioned that federal leaders should be careful of their rhetoric.

“If you set goals, but you don’t set a good leadership tone related to safety, you can have those type of decisions being made,” he said.

Geissler said the bigger concern this year has been chaos within the leadership of the federal agencies. Under Trump, the Forest Service and Department of the Interior have been hit with severe staff reductions. The Forest Service is in the midst of a major reorganization. And firefighting operations from multiple agencies within the Interior Department have been consolidated into the U.S. Wildland Fire Service, established by Trump this year without congressional approval. 

“In the past, you knew who to go to, you knew which position had what,” Geissler said. “Now with the rapid changes, the loss of personnel, it’s a little bit scattered.”

Federal crews aren’t the only ones that have been involved in dangerous wildfire situations this year. Two separate incidents in Washington state left firefighters injured as a fire overran their position. One of those incidents, the Lyons Ferry Fire, involved a Washington Department of Natural Resources helicopter crew. Geissler said that was a wakeup call for the agency that fire conditions are extreme this year. 

“When the weather is this bad, all of those (safety protocols) become more and more critical,” he said. “We did a full safety standdown over it, because that was an extremely close call for those firefighters.” 

Darnell, the retired Forest Service administrator, said she would not be surprised to hear of more incidents in which firefighters deploy their individual emergency shelters — last-resort devices that can save lives but do not offer full protection in extreme scenarios. 

“We’ve got conditions on the ground that are so explosive, it really begs us to be really careful about where we put people,” Darnell said. “I hope we don’t see any significant loss of life for firefighters.”

Stateline reporter Alex Brown can be reached at abrown@stateline.org.

WASHINGTON — President Donald Trump ordered 50% tariffs on several Canadian products Monday in response to what his administration describes as retaliatory restrictions on imports of American goods, including alcohol, dairy and automotives.

Trump’s three separate proclamations to impose steep tariffs on items like hockey sticks, wine and cement, came just days after he threatened to slap more tariffs on Canada as smoke from raging wildfires in Ontario blanketed much of the northeastern U.S. through the weekend. But a senior administration official denied the new tariffs were in response to the smoke.

“These are not the so-called wildfire tariffs. The president has asked for options on that, and options are being shared with him. These tariffs are in response to discriminatory treatment by Canada against U.S. products,” the senior administration official said on a call with reporters Monday afternoon.

The tariffs will go into effect Aug. 19.

Trump appeared alongside Canadian Prime Minister Mark Carney Sunday at the FIFA World Cup trophy ceremony in East Rutherford, New Jersey, but the two leaders did not discuss White House plans for the new tariffs, according to the senior administration official.

Trump triggered the new tariffs under Section 338 of the Tariff Act of 1930, a Depression-era provision that authorizes the president to impose duties up to 50% of a product’s value in response to discrimination against U.S. commerce. The provision has been long forgotten since the 1940s and has never been enforced, experts say. 

“To our knowledge, Section 338 has not been used for this purpose before,” the senior administration official told reporters. “It’s been on the books for a long time. In our view, the terms are clear: It gives the president this authority in situations where a country discriminates against the United States relative to the treatment given (to) a third country.”

Trump’s unprecedented sweeping tariffs on global goods, including from Canada, imposed in April 2025 under the 1977 International Economic Emergency Powers Act, or IEEPA, were found illegal and overturned by the U.S. Supreme Court in February.

The administration was ordered by the U.S. Court of International Trade to refund roughly $166 billion in duties paid by importers under the IEEPA tariffs.

Since the Supreme Court’s major blow to Trump’s trade agenda, the White House has sought other routes to impose tariffs. Almost immediately after the court’s decision, Trump announced a temporary base 10% tariff on all imports under section 122 of the Trade Act of 1974. Those tariffs are now being litigated in trade court.

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Wisconsinites breathed record-breaking levels of air pollution Thursday as wildfire smoke from northern Minnesota and Canada wafted across much of the Great Lakes region and the Northeast. Many monitoring stations across the state recorded pollution considered hazardous for the first time in at least 16 years — the span covered by most monitoring stations’ records.

As of 8 a.m. on Friday, Air Quality Index, or AQI, levels in Madison had peaked above 450 — far above the AQI’s 301 threshold for “hazardous” air quality, where everyone — not just sensitive groups — should take precautions to avoid breathing dangerous air. 

Milwaukee’s AQI reached 644 earlier on Thursday — more than twice the hazardous threshold. Air quality deteriorated even further in northwestern Wisconsin, with the index reaching 967 along the Minnesota border earlier in the day. 

Many Wisconsin communities, including Milwaukee, Waukesha, Odanah and Appleton, were still observing AQI over the 301 threshold Friday morning.

The index categories typically run only from zero to 500.

Thursday’s pollution surpassed levels once considered unprecedented. Before Canadian wildfire smoke pushed the AQI to record highs across Wisconsin in July 2023, cities including Madison, Milwaukee and Waukesha had not recorded an AQI above 200 since at least 2010, according to a Wisconsin Watch analysis of historical AQI data.

But wildfire smoke has elevated air pollution in Wisconsin each summer since 2023. Major cities have periodically recorded higher AQI readings around July, though Thursday’s levels were the first to surpass those recorded in 2023.

“This is a hazardous air quality episode that we have not experienced before,” Craig Czarnecki, air management outreach coordinator for the Wisconsin Department of Natural Resources, said in an email.

DataWatch: Wisconsin air pollution reaches record highs as wildfire smoke engulfs the state is a post from Wisconsin Watch, a non-profit investigative news site covering Wisconsin since 2009. Please consider making a contribution to support our journalism.

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Wildfires in northern Minnesota and Canada have caused some of the worst air quality on record for Wisconsin. The entire state remains under an Air Quality Advisory for fine particulate matter from wildfire smoke until noon on Friday, according to the Wisconsin Department of Natural Resources. 

As of 2 p.m. Thursday, most of the state’s air quality was in the “very unhealthy” or “hazardous” Air Quality category. That means that everyone, not just sensitive groups, should avoid outdoor activities, the DNR said.

In areas near Superior, the Air Quality Index rose above 800, while parts of eastern Wisconsin including Milwaukee and Kenosha measured above 650. National Weather Service meteorologist Benjamin Sheppard told Wisconsin Watch these levels are some of the worst on record. 

“What we’ve heard from some of our partners is that the Air Quality Index values that we’re seeing are definitely either never before seen or up there,” Sheppard said. “I’ve been working here for three years, and I’ve seen nothing anywhere near that high.” 

Index values in Wisconsin have exceeded the records set by wildfires in June 2023, DNR spokesperson Craig Czarnecki said in an email, noting that the figures “will still need to be quality assured.” At that time, levels peaked at 273, which means concentrations in Superior and the Milwaukee area have more than doubled. 

The U.S. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention recommends setting up a portable air cleaner or filter in a room that can be closed off from outside air and setting your air conditioner  to recirculate mode if possible or close the outdoor intake damper. 

Fine particulate matter, also known as PM2.5, is a main pollutant released from wildfire smoke that can enter the bloodstream. Dr. Joan Schiller, a member of Healthy Climate Wisconsin and retired medical oncologist, told WPR this can exacerbate lung conditions.

“I don’t think people realize how far away you can be from the fire itself and still have health problems,” Schiller said. “These health problems typically manifest themselves as respiratory problems, such as exacerbation of COPD or asthma or emphysema.” 

How can I check the air quality in my area?

The Environmental Protection Agency monitors the air around the country and compiles an air quality index, or AQI.

Here’s what to know about the index and how to keep tabs on your area, especially in U.S. regions dealing with smoke from Canadian wildfires.

What does the air quality index measure? 

The index rates how clean or polluted the air is each day. The EPA uses this measure to keep tabs on five kinds of air pollutants. The main concern from the wildfire smoke is fine particle pollution. These particles are tiny enough to get deep into the lungs. They can cause short-term problems like coughing and itchy eyes and, in the long run, can affect the lungs and heart.

What do the numbers and colors mean? 

The index categories typically only run from zero to 500 – although levels have reached well above 500 in multiple parts of the state. The higher the number, the worse the air quality. That range is broken down into six color-coded categories. Green or yellow — in the zero to 100 range — the air is pretty clear. Once it gets up to orange, the air quality could be a concern for sensitive groups like children, older adults or those with health conditions.

In the red and purple zones, the air quality is considered unhealthy for everyone.

And if the index gets to maroon — at 301 or above — pollution levels are hazardous.

At these high levels, take precautions to avoid breathing in the dangerous air. That can mean reducing your outdoor activities, running air purifiers inside and wearing a well-fitting mask like an N95 when you’re outside.

What’s the air quality right now? 

Check AirNow.gov, which updates every hour. The site shows a real-time map of the air quality across the country and also includes a forecast for the day ahead. The map pulls in measurements from a network of air monitoring stations across the country. States and cities may also offer more local guidance.

How long will smoke last in Wisconsin? 

According to Sheppard and the National Weather Service (NWS), a southerly wind on Friday means smoke is anticipated to retreat from west to east  – likely bringing an end to the advisory for much of the state. 

“With those southwest winds, the air is going to get kind of clearer and healthier in a southwest to northeast manner,” Sheppard said. “Areas further north and east in Wisconsin are going to be most likely to hang on to that smoke.” 

Areas along Lake Superior may also need to have the advisory extended, NWS said. But Sheppard said winds could bring back a second wave of smoke to the rest of the state as soon as Saturday. 

“The weather models tentatively are telling us that the second batch of smoke could be as strong, or perhaps even worse,” he said. 

The Associated Press contributed reporting, as did Hongyu Liu of Wisconsin Watch.

Wildfire smoke brings hazardous air quality in Wisconsin. Here’s how to stay safe is a post from Wisconsin Watch, a non-profit investigative news site covering Wisconsin since 2009. Please consider making a contribution to support our journalism.

The Minnesota Pollution Control Agency has issued an air quality alert for parts of Minnesota, including the Twin Cities metro area, for Tuesday through Friday, as wildfires in the northern parts of the state and Canada continue. 

Hot temperatures and poor air quality can aggravate pre-existing health conditions and pose risks to people with asthma, heart disease, high blood pressure and diabetes, as well as pregnant women and children. 

At extreme levels, smoke inhalation can lead to asthma attacks, heart attacks and strokes, so MPCA is advising at-risk Minnesotans to stay indoors. If you have symptoms, call your healthcare provider or 911 in an emergency. 

The MPCA advises against “vigorous” outdoor activities, like sports, which could exacerbate any serious health or lung effects. 

The Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness in northern Minnesota indefinitely closed on Tuesday as more than 20 wildfires have broken out as a result of lightning strikes and dry air caused by the ongoing heat wave. Evacuations are currently underway in the Boundary Waters. At least 17 people have been rescued with no reported injuries. 

Smoke from the Superior National Forest is expected to head south over the next 24 hours.

Look for hazy skies as smoke moves across northeastern Minnesota to the southern and western parts of the state. 

Even for those without preexisting health conditions, hazardous air quality can lead to shortness of breath, irritated eyes and nose, coughing and chest tightening. 

Smoky air is expected in Brainerd, Alexandria, Hinckley, St. Cloud, Winona, Moorhead, International Falls, Two Harbors, Hibbing, Ely, Duluth, and the Tribal Nations of Mille Lacs, Prairie Island, Leech Lake, White Earth, Red Lake, Grand Portage and Fond du Lac. 

Hazardous levels of smoke are expected in Two Harbors and Grant Portage; the MPCA advises residents there to avoid any outdoor activities and stay indoors. 

For Minnesotans, climate change-induced smoky skies and poor air quality are becoming a near annual summer event; the state Department of Natural Resources says 2025 was likely the smokiest year in five decades or more.