When Fire Isn’t an Option

What happens when an ecosystem that evolved with fire doesn’t burn?

I’ve been working with Jack for many years now. Together we’ve come up with a few strategies to help us replace fire with something that’s a little more controlled.

There are places where fire is the right tool—and places where it simply isn’t available to us, even when the ecology is practically begging for it. Regulations, neighbours, smoke risk, volatile weather, liability, proximity to infrastructure… sometimes “prescribed burn” is not a lever you can safely pull.

So we do what land stewards have always done: we look at what a system needs, and we choose the best available substitute—knowing it won’t be perfect, and building our practices around the parts we can mimic while always working to ensure the wellbeing of the parts we must protect.

On our place, that substitute is (sometimes) a forestry mulcher. Is it a perfect replacement? No. Forestry mulchers can’t replace fire but sometimes, with careful consideration of risks and goals, a forestry mulcher is the most appropriate tool at my disposal. I do have other options — sometimes I choose grazing pressure, sometimes it’s me and a chainsaw. It all depends on what the landscape is telling me. But on those occasions when it is warranted, a forestry mulcher is a useful tool. And if you can possibly get Jack in the cabin, well, he’s a pretty useful fella.

1) Fire as a historical environmental actor and Indigenous fire stewardship

Fire is not just a disaster event. In many ecosystems it functioned as a recurring ecological pulse—resetting succession, opening light to the understory, cycling nutrients, and maintaining a shifting mosaic of habitat patches. Fire regimes varied widely, but many landscapes historically experienced frequent, lower-severity surface fires that left much of the living root and crown systems intact and ready to resprout.

Indigenous Peoples across North America also used fire intentionally—often called cultural burning or Indigenous fire stewardship—to support food plants, hunting habitat, travel corridors, materials, and biodiversity, while also reducing the risk of catastrophic wildfire by managing fuels. Parks Canada recognizes cultural burning as an Indigenous land stewardship practice that supports biodiversity and ecosystem health. The National Park Service likewise documents how Indigenous fire shaped many of the landscapes we now consider “natural.”

Fire, in other words, was a creative force, not just a destructive one.

2) What happens when fire is suppressed for a long time

When a natural disturbance is removed for decades, ecosystems don’t freeze — they compound.

Long-term fire exclusion commonly leads to:

Fuel accumulation — more surface fuels and more “ladder fuels,” increasing the risk of high-severity fire
Woody encroachment into grasslands and open habitats
Loss of structural diversity — fewer openings, fewer edges, fewer light gradients
Decline of disturbance-adapted species that rely on periodic reset

The result is often a landscape that is both less diverse and more vulnerable.

3) Choosing a fire substitute: what’s available, and how we choose

When we can’t burn, we look at which pieces of fire’s job we can safely replicate.

Tool	What it Mimics	What it Doesn’t
Targeted grazing	Repeated defoliation, selective pressure	Nutrient pulse, woody reset
Hand cutting	Structural thinning	Scale, speed
Forestry mulching (mastication)	Rapid reduction of woody encroachment, structural reset	Ash chemistry, true combustion effects
Prescribed fire (when possible)	Full disturbance process	Often limited by risk, regulation, timing

Mechanical mulching is useful when woody growth is outcompeting grasses and forbs, and when fire is not a safe option. Research shows mastication reduces vertical fuel continuity but redistributes material to the surface, which means it must be used thoughtfully.

We don’t use it everywhere. We use it where the land is asking for structural reset and where we can do so without harming soil or sensitive habitat.

4) Our clearing approach: balds and corridors, not wipe-outs

We don’t wholesale clear. We create openings—what I call “balds”—and connect them with corridors. The term comes from the Appalachian grassy balds, long-recognized open habitats shaped by disturbance and grazing.

This patchwork approach:

Creates light variation and edge habitat
Stimulates understory response
Increases forage and biodiversity

The goal is not tidy. The goal is mosaic.

5) Timing: ecological windows matter

We avoid mulching during bird nesting and nursery phases for ground-dwelling wildlife. Environment and Climate Change Canada provides general nesting period guidance to help avoid incidental harm to migratory birds.

We aim for early winter operations when:

Ground is frozen (less soil disturbance)
Wildlife breeding cycles are dormant
Woody stems like willow and aspen are dry enough to shatter instead of whip

6) Technique: protecting crowns like a low-severity fire would

We keep the mulcher drum 6–8 inches above ground. Lower-severity historical fires often left root systems and basal crowns intact, allowing rapid regrowth. Fire severity strongly influences what survives belowground.

If we scalp the soil, we’re not mimicking healthy fire — we’re creating damage.

Protect the crowns. Let the perennials rebound.

7) When livestock leave heavy hay mats

Sometimes animals leave behind thick, uneven mats of hay that can smother regrowth and slow decomposition. In those cases, we use the mulcher lightly to tear apart and redistribute the hay into a thinner, more breathable layer.

We’re not mulching soil — we’re fluffing and spreading organic matter so sunlight, moisture, and emerging plants can move through it instead of being buried under a damp blanket.

8) This is a long game

We are not chasing instant transformation. When I pull out something as a big as a forestry mulcher, I’m very very conservative in its use and scope.

We are looking for incremental change over years, not dramatic swings in a single season. Being conservative means:

Less risk if drought hits
Fewer unintended consequences
Easier course correction
Better monitoring of cause and effect

It is far easier to take small steps and observe than to take a huge bite and spend years trying to undo it.

9) How we assess whether a forestry mulcher is appropriate

We look for sites where:

✔ Woody regrowth is outcompeting grasses and forbs
✔ Terrain is relatively flat and dry (steep or wet ground increases soil risk)
✔ Moisture levels are adequate to support post-disturbance regrowth
✔ We can design travel paths intentionally — running across prevailing winds rather than with them, to avoid creating wind corridors that increase erosion or blow snow off the land
✔ Sensitive habitats are absent or buffered (wetlands, riparian zones, rare plants)
✔ Timing falls outside nesting seasons
✔ Soils are firm/frozen enough to prevent rutting
✔ We can leave a patch mosaic, not uniform treatment

If most of those boxes aren’t ticked, we don’t mulch.

10) How we monitor whether it worked

After mulching, we watch for:

Increased light at ground level
Grass and forb resurgence in the first growing seasons
Shrub resprouting (expected and healthy)
Mulch depth staying thin enough to allow emergence
No excessive bare soil or erosion
Increased wildlife use along edges and openings
Improved forage distribution for grazing animals

Monitoring tells us whether to repeat, adjust, or leave an area alone for years.

The heart of it

A forestry mulcher is not fire. It does not carry fire’s chemistry, history, or cultural meaning.

But used carefully, in the right places, at the right time, and with restraint, it can help us restore structure, light, and diversity to landscapes that evolved with disturbance — while protecting the living systems that make recovery possible.

It’s not about domination, not instant gratification.

It’s about nudging the system back into motion and then — most importantly, getting out of the way.

This is a Tending post — a practical look at our methods, routines, and on-the-ground decision-making with the flock. It’s not a one-size-fits-all how-to, and it isn’t meant to substitute for local knowledge or professional guidance. It’s just what we’re doing here on our farm, in our conditions, with our sheep (and alpacas), written down plainly in case it helps. For more about why we do things the way we do them, the philosophy that informs our process, you’ll find those posts in Living.