Honestly, if you’ve looked at the sky lately and seen that weird, eerie orange haze, you aren’t alone. It feels like every single summer now, we’re hearing about another "record-breaking" season. But why does Canada have so many wildfires lately? It isn't just one thing. It's a messy mix of biology, old-school forest management, and a climate that is basically shifting faster than the trees can keep up with.
Last year was a nightmare. 2025 went down as the second-worst season on record, right behind the absolute catastrophe of 2023. We’re talking about an area the size of Portugal just... gone. Up in smoke.
The Real Reason Why Canada Have So Many Wildfires
People love to point fingers at campers or arsonists. While humans do start about half of the fires in Canada—think tossed cigarettes, sparks from trains, or runaway campfires—those aren't usually the ones that turn into "mega-fires."
The real heavy hitter is lightning.
Lightning is responsible for roughly 45% of fires but a staggering 81% of the total area burned. Why? Because lightning usually strikes in the middle of nowhere. By the time a satellite or a spotter plane sees the smoke, the fire is already huge. These fires happen in clusters. Imagine ten fires starting at once in a remote part of the Boreal forest. Fire crews simply can’t get to all of them at the same time.
The Boreal Forest is Basically a Matchstick
Canada is home to about 28% of the world’s boreal forest. It’s beautiful, sure, but it’s also designed to burn. Species like the Black Spruce have co-evolved with fire. Their cones are actually "serotinous," which is just a fancy way of saying they are glued shut with resin and need the intense heat of a fire to melt that glue and release their seeds.
In a way, the forest wants to burn to regenerate. The problem is that the "burn cycle" is speeding up. Instead of burning every 100 years, some areas are hitting the reset button every 20 or 30 years. The trees don't have time to grow back properly.
Why the Weather is Loading the Dice
Mike Flannigan, a top-tier wildfire expert at Thompson Rivers University, often says the "dice are loaded." Basically, for every 1°C the temperature rises, we need about 10% more rain just to keep the moisture levels in the wood the same. We aren't getting that extra rain. Instead, we're getting "heat domes."
When a massive ridge of high pressure sits over Western Canada, it acts like a giant lid. It traps hot air, dries out the pine needles until they’re as flammable as gasoline, and prevents rain clouds from moving in. In 2024 and 2025, we saw temperatures in some northern regions hitting 10 degrees above normal. That’s not just a "hot summer"—that’s a recipe for a blowout.
The Rise of the "Zombie Fire"
This is the part that sounds like a horror movie but is actually a scientific reality. In places like British Columbia and Alberta, fires are now "overwintering."
They don't die.
🔗 Read more: The 12 Days of Terror: Why This 1916 Shark Attack Panic Still Matters
They sink into the deep, carbon-rich peat moss underground. Even with three feet of snow on top, these fires smolder slowly, feeding on the organic soil. When the snow melts in April and the spring winds pick up, these "zombie fires" pop back up to the surface. It’s why the fire season is starting a week earlier and ending a week later than it did in the 70s.
Is Forest Management to Blame?
There’s a lot of debate here. For decades, the policy was "put out every fire immediately." It makes sense—you want to save timber and protect cabins. But by putting out every small fire, we’ve allowed a massive amount of "fuel" to build up on the forest floor. Dead branches, fallen logs, and thick brush are just sitting there.
When a fire finally does get away from us, it has so much energy that it turns into a "crown fire." These aren't just flames on the ground; they’re 100-foot walls of fire jumping from treetop to treetop. At that point, water bombers are basically spitting into a volcano.
Some experts argue we need more "cultural burning"—a practice Indigenous communities have used for millennia. By intentionally burning small patches of forest in the damp spring, you create natural firebreaks that stop the big ones from spreading.
💡 You might also like: What Really Happened With the Warren Wilson College Flooding
What This Means for the Future
The economic toll is getting ridiculous. We’re talking $500 million to $1 billion a year just in suppression costs. That doesn’t include the lost timber, the destroyed homes in places like Jasper or Fort McMurray, or the health costs from millions of people breathing in PM2.5 particles.
We also have to talk about the feedback loop. When these forests burn, they release massive amounts of CO2. In 2023, Canadian wildfires released about 300 megatonnes of carbon. That’s more than some entire countries emit in a year. More CO2 means more warming, which means drier forests, which means... you guessed it. More fires.
Actionable Steps: How to Live With the Smoke
It’s easy to feel helpless when half the province is on fire, but there are actually things you can do to protect your home and your lungs.
- FireSmart Your Property: If you live near the woods, clear out the "Vulnerable Zone." Move your firewood piles at least 10 meters away from your house. Clean those pine needles out of your gutters—a single spark can land in a gutter full of dry needles and take down a whole house.
- Deciduous Buffers: If you’re planting trees, go for Aspen or Birch. They have higher moisture content in their leaves and act as natural fire retardants compared to highly flammable pines and spruces.
- Air Quality Prep: Don't wait until the sky turns orange to buy a HEPA filter. By then, they’ll be sold out at every hardware store within 500 miles.
- Support Controlled Burns: It’s counter-intuitive, but seeing smoke in May might mean a safer August. Support local policies that allow for prescribed burns and "let-burn" policies for remote, low-risk fires.
The reality is that Canada is a "fire nation." We can't stop the fires entirely, nor should we. But as the climate shifts, the way we manage our relationship with the Boreal forest has to change. It's not just about "fighting" fires anymore; it's about learning how to live in a world where the forest is increasingly ready to ignite.