TEXAS MONTHLY FEBRUARY 2025
An estimated 15,000 head of cattle were killed in the Panhandle fires of February 2024.
flag warnings, an alert the National Weath- er Service issues a few dozen times a year in the Panhandle when a combination of strong winds and low humidity increases the risk of extreme wildfire. Though rain had been plentiful that winter and grass was thriving, unseasonably warm February temperatures had dried it out quickly. What should have beenarancher’sblessing—bountifulfieldsfor grazing—had instead turned into something ominous: “fuel load.” Adam, a 31-year-old with a slight build, shag- gy brown hair, and bright blue eyes, has the plumb posture of a man who takes pride in his work.He’dstartedpreppingforfireseasonthe week before, securing insurance for most of the 712 cattle he owned with his wife, Aubrie, a 30-year-old with sympathetic brown eyes and strawberry blond hair. They’d decided against paying the higher premiums to cover the full herd, largely because they’d made it through the previous five seasons unburned. Adam was no stranger to fire risks. The youngest of two boys, he’d known he want- ed to be in the cattle business since he was a five-year-old playing with a toy Ford pickup that was identical to the one his dad drove around their family’s ranch in Canadian, an almost utopian hamlet of 2,300 in the rolling sand hills and caprocks northeast of Amarillo. Adam earned a degree in ranch management at Texas Tech University. That’s where he met Aubrie, the daughter of an accountant and a rodeo competitor turned professor who’d given up horses when his children were born. To read the full story, please subscribe to Texas Monthly .
WHEN THE TOWERING black plume first sprouted on the western horizon, it wasn’t much cause for alarm. The sky in the north- eastern Panhandle is near-boundless, and from his Hemphill County ranch Adam Isaacs often spottedsmokefromfiresthatwereahundred miles away. Few of them ever threatened his property. This one, he knew, had gotten started roughly seventy miles west, and though the winds were blowing his way, the flames had a lot of ground to cover before Adam would allow himself to get concerned. His land, his livestock, his loved ones—none were at risk. Not right away. But the potential was there. That Monday morning, February 26, had brought one of the 2024 fire season’s first red
FEATURE PREVIEW
Where There’s Smoke After last year’s historic Panhandle inferno, Adam and Aubrie Isaacs are among the many ranchers in the region weighing how—and whether—to carry on. BY EMILY McCULLAR
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CY FAIR EDITION
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