Wildfire in Elit’s Hircani forests exposes climate-stressed, human-caused fires, delayed and fragmented state response, and systemic lack of prevention that threatens an ancient UNESCO-listed ecosystem nationwide.
For nearly three weeks, flames crept through one of the most precious remnants of Iran’s ancient Hircani forests around the village of Elit on the Marzanabad–Chalus road in northern Iran. While officials spoke of “partial control” and “spot fires”, images from the ground showed mountain slopes engulfed in smoke and entire hillsides turned to ash. The blaze around Elit is not just another local disaster: it concentrates the climate stress, institutional weakness, and policy failures that now threaten the entire Hircani belt.
The Elit fire burned in one corner of a much larger and globally significant ecosystem. The Hircani forests form an 850–1,000 kilometre band along the southern Caspian, spread across Mazandaran, Gilan, Golestan and parts of North Khorasan and Ardabil. They are remnants of a broadleaf forest system that once covered much of northern Iran and the Caucasus 25–50 million years ago, surviving glacial cycles that wiped out similar forests elsewhere.
A fire that started small and refused to die
According to provincial officials, the first phase of the Elit fire began around 10 Aban (1 November), when flames appeared on the steep slopes above the village in the protected area of Chaharbagh, south of the Karaj–Chalus road near Siahbisheh in northern Iran. At first it was described as “limited log and leaf burning,” a few spots that supposedly did not justify sending helicopters.
Local residents and forest guards tell a different story: from the first days, the fire was visible over a wide area and clearly beyond what a few villagers with shovels and backpacks could handle. Requests for aerial assistance in that first week were repeatedly rejected. One helicopter that did fly over reportedly declared the fire “not significant” and left.
After several days of ground effort by local people, forest rangers, and volunteers, the first wave of fire was contained. But the hotspots never fully died. On the night of 24 Aban (15 November), under warm, dry winds, the fire flared again—this time more intense and more widespread. Over the following days, flames climbed into the upper slopes and ridges, threatening larger swathes of mixed beech and hornbeam forest.
By the time authorities publicly acknowledged the scale of the second phase, the fire had been burning in or around Elit for almost 18 days. Even then, officials downplayed the damage. The Mazandaran governor and the head of the Forests Organization spoke of “7 to 8 hectares” burnt and “less than one hectare” of active fire remaining. Local activists and residents insist the figure is far higher, speaking of tens of hectares, possibly up to 40 in the Elit sector alone, in addition to burned patches in other Hircani zones.
In any case, the key fact is not a precise number of hectares, but the pattern: a fire that could likely have been contained at 1–2 hectares with rapid aerial response was allowed to grow into a multi-week disaster.
Late, fragmented response
The Elit fire laid bare how unprepared Iran’s crisis-management system remains for large wildfires in remote mountain forests.
For nearly two weeks, the main line of defence consisted of villagers from Elit, Hasan-sareh, and Veshtaz, plus groups of volunteer climbers and environmentalists. They climbed through the night with hand tools, hand-held water sprayers, and a few portable blowers to cut makeshift firebreaks. One villager told a reporter:
“The night the fire intensified, there wasn’t a single man left in the village. Everyone was up on the mountain.”
Yet specialist, coordinated forces were missing. The Department of Environment reportedly sent no significant team in the first critical days, and requests from local authorities for helicopters were delayed or ignored on the grounds that the fire was “not large enough.”
Only around 26 Aban (17 November)—more than two weeks after the first flare-up—did the state deploy substantial aerial resources: helicopters from the Defence Ministry and Red Crescent, and then heavy Ilyushin aircraft from the IRGC’s aerospace force. The Ilyushins themselves became a symbol of structural mismatch: they were not able to scoop water from the Caspian Sea and had to fly back and forth to Tehran for each load, sharply reducing the frequency and effectiveness of drops in the steep, windy terrain around Elit.
As criticism mounted, the government shifted to a narrative of abundance. Officials spoke of “eight helicopters” in the area, two Ilyushins capable of carrying 40,000 litres per flight, and “full mobilization” of agencies. In practice, sorties remained limited; coverage of the most difficult ridges was partial; and much of the real work still fell on local communities and volunteer groups.
Facing this visible gap, Tehran eventually requested foreign assistance. Turkey dispatched two water-bombing aircraft and a helicopter along with specialist crews; Russia signalled readiness to help if needed. Environmental experts called this external assistance “late but necessary,” acknowledging both the urgency of the Elit crisis and the chronic weakness of Iran’s own dedicated aerial firefighting capacity.
Terrain, wind, and fuel: why Elit burned so fast
The failures of response were compounded by the physical and ecological characteristics of the Elit region.
Officials and specialists describe the Elit slopes as among the steepest and most inaccessible in the Hircani belt: gradients above 60 percent, high cliffs, and almost no access roads. No formal forest-management plan has ever been implemented in many of these stands, which means no prepared firebreaks or pre-planned access routes for firefighting.
Meteorology added fuel. The fire coincided with a long dry spell—more than three weeks without effective rainfall—and the onset of the Foehn-type “fon” wind: a warm, dry downslope wind that rapidly desiccates vegetation and fans existing flames. Even after a front of fire was “contained,” gusts of fon would stir hidden hotspots into new lines of flame.
Forest structure also played a role. The Hircani forests around Elit are old and relatively untouched, with a deep layer of “lash-barg” – accumulated leaf litter, dead twigs, and fallen branches – covering the forest floor. In normal conditions this is part of a healthy forest ecosystem. Under drought and high temperatures, however, this material acts as a semi-charcoal fuelbed that holds heat and allows fire to smoulder underground for days. As one forestry official put it, “the leaf litter stores warmth beneath; with one gust of wind the fire flares again.”
Finally, human factors almost certainly sparked the blaze. The head of the Forests Organization has already said the origin in Elit is “very likely human.” Competing hypotheses circulate: negligent picnics, shepherds’ campfires, cigarette butts in dry leaf beds, or even intentional burning to clear land for illegal construction and land-grabbing. So far, no definitive official conclusion has been published. What is clear from national statistics is that around 95 percent of forest and rangeland fires in Iran are human-caused.
What is at stake: an ancient, living archive
Recognized by UNESCO as a World Heritage site, the Hircani region is home to around 150 species of trees and shrubs, including beech, hornbeam, alder, maple, and ironwood. Its mosaic of habitats supports at least 296 bird species and 98 mammal species—among them brown bears, leopards, roe deer (shōkā), wild boar, and numerous smaller carnivores, rodents, and bats.
The forests around Elit, in the Chaharbagh protected area of roughly 19,500 hectares, are among the most intact in western Mazandaran. Their steep slopes and difficult access, which now complicate firefighting, also explain why they remained relatively safe from logging and large-scale development until recently. When these slopes burn, it is not just trees that are lost but entire microhabitats; recovery on such terrain, under ongoing drought, may take decades if it happens at all.
A national pattern of fire under climate stress
The Elit blaze did not occur in isolation. In recent months, Iran’s Forests and Rangelands Organization has declared a “red status” across large areas, banning tourists and non-essential traffic in Hircani, Zagros, and Arasbaran forests due to extreme fire risk.
Official figures since the start of this year record 2,310 separate forest and rangeland fires nationwide, destroying around 18,900 hectares. The number of incidents is 12 percent higher than last year; the slightly smaller burnt area (only 2 percent less) simply means more fires that are being fought harder, not a safer landscape. Provinces such as Fars, Kurdistan, Kermanshah, Kohgiluyeh and Boyer-Ahmad, and West Azerbaijan have suffered the greatest area losses, with more than 12,000 hectares burned in Fars alone.
These statistics point to a system under strain. Drought and rising temperatures—local expressions of global climate change—have lengthened the fire season and dried out fuels. At the same time, Iran still lacks a permanent fleet of specialized firefighting aircraft, an integrated early-warning and detection system, and enough trained, well-equipped ground crews. As in Elit and in recent major fires in Golestan, the gap has been filled by villagers, local NGOs, and mountaineering clubs working with minimal support, often at great personal risk.
From “reaction and forgetfulness” to prevention
The debate that followed the Elit disaster has begun to move beyond the question of “how many helicopters were flying.” Environmental experts and some officials now underline the structural problem: Iran’s fire policy is overwhelmingly reactive. Every year, after the flames, promises of equipment, coordination, and reform are made—then fade as the media cycle shifts.
Comparisons with countries such as Australia highlight what is missing. There, wildfire management is built on an integrated risk-based system: planned burns to reduce fuel loads, active mechanical management of vegetation near settlements and infrastructure, well-mapped access routes, and pre-defined “fire management zones” with clear strategies. Crucially, community knowledge is embedded in formal institutions instead of being left to spontaneous volunteerism every time a crisis erupts.
In Iran, by contrast, there is still no national program for systematic reduction of fuel in high-risk forests, no unified command structure for large fires, and no sustained investment to turn the courage and experience of local residents into trained, paid, and protected firefighting units. Even basic tools—protective gear, reliable radios, portable pumps—are often provided by NGOs or purchased by volunteers themselves.
The Elit fire is a warning. If the current cycle of drought, rising temperatures, human negligence, and institutional improvisation continues, each “exceptional” fire season will bring the Hircani forests closer to irreversible change: from dense, humid, broadleaf forest to degraded scrub and eroding slopes. What burned above a single village on the Chalus road is a small part of an ancient system—but it is also a signal of what may come if prevention remains an afterthought and the state continues to arrive late, fragmented, and under-equipped.
