There was a sneaky nature to the gradual decline in air quality approaching the Victoria state line. A ravenous fire had propagated near Mallacoota that compromised our drive. While many might argue that camping out of a van is a quintessential traveler's experience in Australia, our venture was a little different. The first-responder that demanded we turn back left no specific instruction on where to go as he vanished into the foggy horizon. From what we could gather on the Fires Near Me app, things suddenly seemed worse beyond that. Obliging the officer’s orders, we traced back to skirt the fire but the simplicity of the roads made it challenging to avoid. Our options were limited to an inland route, or heading back the way we came. We were turned around two more times. As if walls were closing in around us, we were left with no choice but to go to an evacuation center in Bega. It was terrifying to be so uncertain of how safe we truly were. There were three evacuation centers regionally that police were directing people towards, and one had already been relocated to Bega due to its dangerous proximity to a fire. We arrived at the center and asked for help navigating our destination. It was frustrating to hear everyone giving the same response: not possible. We were on our way to Melbourne for New Year’s Eve. From Sydney, the drive’s over a thousand kilometers along the coast. Bushfires had been burning for months already. I’m reluctant to admit that we were naive that day, we just happened to get caught. The detail of a miserable holiday evaporated with many others that were insignificant there. We had food, water, shelter... and lots of company. On our first night in Bega, the smoke was too suffocating to sleep outside in our tent. We fit three to the back of the van. Inside, I saw an elderly couple sharing a space in the corner where a folded sheet was the only thing between their fragile bones and the wooden floors. Meanwhile, my friend offered our air mattress to a large family. On our second day in Bega, we hardly spent minutes outside of the building. We spoke with State Emergency Service officials to process any news delivered about the status of road closures, and continued to thank them profusely. Parents volunteered entertainment to keep children occupied, however most of their time was devoted to their screens. On our third day in Bega, I remember a young girl, around the age of ten, standing in line for the bathroom. The facilities weren't great to begin with and were shared between too many people. A woman asked the young girl if she knew how long she'd be staying. The young girl’s expression changed from patient to concerned as she explained she was waiting to hear if her house burned down. I exited feeling a certain complicated empathy towards her situation. Her family’s belongings remained immobile and distant, too close to the scorching fury that had sent us all there. I’m sent into a panic when smoke from a bonfire wafts in my direction for a single moment. I hated thinking what three days downwind of a bonfire might do to my lungs. Even further, I hated considering the health of all of the people who’ve known bushfire season in past years enough to be somewhat nonchalant. I hated the masks; smaller particulates that transcend the mask’s fibers are the ones to be most concerned with. Those ones penetrate your respiratory tissue and reach your blood supply. The thought of long term health adversity kept me distracted from thoughts of cataclysmic ecosystem loss. This experience with the bushfires grimly amended my already concerned outlook for our climate. Upon leaving we passed charred animal carcasses on the roadside, ones that matched the blackened eucalyptus trees framing the only path out. We all aim to protect these creatures and their habitats, and I’m incredibly grateful for everyone who has been battling the fires fearlessly. The idealistic camping trips that we all sought after may be numbered, the carnage we saw will be a permanent reminder of that.