Smoke was darkening the skies, and flames from an out-of-control wildfire ripping through this remote stretch of western Canada were creeping ominously close to the farm that has been in Jake van Angeren’s family for 70 years.

Official evacuation alerts had sounded in Goodlow, an agricultural community near Alberta in northeastern British Columbia, setting off a chain reaction among families who had packed their bags ready to be ordered to leave as wildfires this month swallowed up swaths of land.

But not Mr. van Angeren. Instead, he and his neighbors filled up water tanks, unraveled hoses, cleared strips of land of combustible plants to create a firebreak and then stepped toward the flames.

They saved the van Angeren farm.

Canada’s wildfire season, which generally stretches from April to October, is in full swing in the western part of the country, consuming nearly nine million acres so far across four provinces and forcing thousands of people to make difficult choices, sometimes at a moment’s notice when flames approach.

Some are told to leave by officials. (Disobeying an evacuation order can carry fines of thousands of Canadian dollars, as well as jail time.)

Some leave on their own, fearing for their safety. At least 30,000 people in two western provinces, Saskatchewan and Manitoba, have fled in recent weeks.

But there are others who choose to stay, including many farmers who do not want to surrender their livelihood to fire.

“If we would have walked away, I would have lost everything,” said Mr. van Angeren, 20, who inherited his grandfather’s 650-acre property, where he mainly raises cattle and grows feed, after his father died four years ago. “I wouldn’t leave till the very bitter end.”

In the sparsely populated region where Mr. van Angeren lives, lightning ignited a fire that burned 11,000 acres, and embers carried by strong winds set off smaller fires close to agricultural plots like his.

Some farmers in Goodlow say they have become increasingly frustrated with the province’s wildfire service. While they know the service is stretched thin as it fights the many fires that typically break out during wildfire season, they say the response time is often agonizingly slow in less populated areas — like where farmers live.

“The fire might be going for a couple of days before forestry can mobilize equipment and men to get to it,” said Scott Hender, who had helped fight the fire threatening Mr. van Angeren’s farm.

So farmers say they have taken matters into their own hands, becoming unofficial fire brigades and leaning on their knowledge of their land and their access to heavy machinery and water.

That dynamic was on full display in Goodlow, a tightknit collection of farms where one or two phone calls can make a lot of things happen, Mr. van Angeren said.

About 80 neighbors sprang into action over four days after the fire struck on June 5. They focused on quickly creating fire breaks by tilling the soil with large tractor-like machines, called disc harrows, and clearing any combustible vegetation to deprive the blaze of fuel.

To reach one fire spot near a creek, neighbors uncoiled a long hose hooked up to a water tank and ran into the woods using a chain saw to clear a path. Dense smoke obscured the horizon in almost every direction, stinging eyes and drying throats.

“None of us are smokers, and it’s like a two-pack-a-day habit here, just breathing the smoke,” said Scott Roberts, another farmer who was pitching in.

The farmers who came to help brought their own supplies, including hoses, nozzles, water tanks and generators.

“We had more equipment than we had people to run it,” Mr. Roberts said. “It was incredible.”

His wife, Kathy Roberts, and Lynne Sha, Mr. van Angeren’s mother, served bowls of chili and buttered buns from the back of a pickup truck.

As night fell, Mr. van Angeren and a few friends strategized their next move over beers against the glow and crackle of the wildfire.

A change of winds caused it to flare up, and the men hopped in a truck, cutting across a field to get to a water supply. Some worked to soak as much of the land as they could, while others used a plow to turn the soil and create a new firebreak.

Headlights illuminated a mix of flying bugs and falling ashes as temperatures dropped overnight and the fire appeared to be dying down. Mr. van Angeren eventually got to bed around 3 a.m.

Later that day, with the nearby fire largely extinguished, provincial forestry workers showed up to see how Mr. van Angeren’s farm had fared, put out some remaining hot spots and install fire protection material, including temporary sprinklers, on top of some of the buildings.

Mr. van Angeren said he feels a deep sense of attachment to his land — he has relatives buried on the farm.

“Your farm kind of means everything to you,” said Mr. van Angeren. “It’s just the way of life.”