10/17/2020
10/17/2020
Here are things I did not include in the account of the wildfire on August 18.
Adrenaline and panic overwhelmed me when I saw the blood red sky filtered through the thick canopy of the redwoods. The hatch wouldn’t close on the Land Rover (something was in the way but I couldn’t see it), The back light kept timing out, the two lights on the deck kept timing out, leaving me in the pitch black of the world around the cabin, but the sky still lit red. Then I remembered the three headlamps I had and made my way in the darkness back up to the cabin to get them.
Already, the panic was oozing into my reasoning and muddling my thinking. I turned on the headlamp and looked through the woods, not yet on fire. What I saw was haunting. In the air, were tens of millions of white ash flecks, suspended, tiny, floating pieces of white flecks. I was mesmerized until one red hot ash went up my nose and down my throat. Well hell, that woke me up from the freeze frame daze.
Getting the cat in the carrier took a lot of time. Time was a relative term at this point. He’ll never know how close he came to being left. He was scared to death of the thumping noises made with my plastic bins bumping down the stairs. I grabbed him behind the bed as he faced the corner, shaking. I could only reach him with two fingers, It hurt to pick him up by his scruff. He was frozen in his fear. I hugged him so tight for a minute. Casper, we are going on a really big adventure now, I’m so glad I got you. He was so quiet in the cat carrier, not a peep.
Weeks later, I met a woman who lives on Skyline named Georgia. She paid me a visit and we talked about the dynamics of the fire. She said there was so much ozone ahead of the fire, that’s probably what Casper smelled/sensed, and he knew it was not good. I’m thinking he just stayed quiet so as not to give me any reason to sacrifice him to the fire gods as I drove out of the canyon.
I have questions
Where were the fire scientists? Where are they now? The fires were given names. Butano Fire, Wadell Fire, Ano Nuevo Fire, Pescadero Fire…. Which of the five fires ended up being the closest to me that consumed my cabin? I totally get it that there were no resources to put this thing out. But why didn’t they see this coming? Sure, there were only 26 residences in the canyon (22 burned to the ground), and the road in went through two counties.
These were all real people, people who’ve put their whole life savings into everything they have to live happily in the canyon. Not once did they ever say that there would be no one to put fires out if a fire ever came. Five fires connected and formed a circle, like some obscene voo doo of doom dance. Whitehouse Canyon was in the middle.
The beast closed in and consumed
I cry easily these days. I cry from my great fortune to be alive, I cry for all I lost. I cry for those beautiful trees, the mountain lions, the banana slugs, the winterberry, lady slippers and ferns, the ravens, the hummingbirds. I left a huge galvanized bucket full of water for any creatures that survived and needed a drink. It was there when I went back and almost empty.
Through the day, things come to me that I lost and I get teary. To be honest, I don’t feel I “lost” anything. Lost implies responsibility on my part. The fire took everything from me.
The Sunday of the dry lightning storms: From HWY1, I stopped in different places and studied the big wisps of smoke deep into the forests. Most of the lightning strikes were in remote areas, except for Waddell. The best hope was that they would burn themselves out. But it was mid August. Solid dry season. The humidity the day of the lightning storm was 4%. 4% is very bad for nature. You could kick forest duff too hard and start a fire.
By Monday, the Pescadero Fire had advanced quite a bit. I drove down to Waddell Beach and was amazed at how intense the fires were there. Surfers were in the water watching the cliffs on fire, trees starting to fall over them towards HWY 1. Still not seeing any activity with fire trucks. I did not get out of the canyon on Tuesday until I hustled out at 9:30pm.
It would be wise to get precise answers on exactly HOW the two counties are going to work together to notify people of impending fire doom. I did not have cell service. How would I be notified? I had a decent internet connection and Christine messaged me on Facebook to get out, but I was not even sure what she was talking about because no one expressed concern about the fires. They thought it was moving behind the ridge, a huge expanse without residents. That night, when I reached the end of the canyon road on HWY 1, all who parked there watched our phones light up with a reverse 911 call for impending doom with the fires. (Reverse 911 = instead of the caller dialing 911, 911 calls them with the emergency.)
I couldn’t get to the remains of my cabin until three weeks later. Everyone was already done sifting through their ashes. I went with my cousin Joan, and took a lot of pictures. We parked at the base of the first cabin. Stumps of trees were still smoldering. We walked up to my cabin and I had tears streaming down my face. No uncontrollable sobbing, just sobering to stare at everything flat that was once a nice little cabin with a large deck, back porch and large storage shed. Ironing board, folded over the wood storage unit, just melted, the folded over kitchen storage steel shelving unit, the back door folded. I saw my mixing bowls, all nested, blackened, sitting on their shelves, but there were no shelves. The stove was brand new, and though I didn’t use it, I was sad to see it burned out. I stepped into the ashes and it went over my hiking boots. I jumped back. I felt I was disturbing a tomb and it freaked me out. I just couldn’t do it.
It was the ashes of the roof; everything under those ashes were the ashes of everything that was once mine. It was an extremely hot fire. All of the plant life on the ground were totally white skeletons, as if it were a flash fire. It was all flash incinerated. One poor redwood fell onto my once kitchen. It had been overheated by the duff that was raked near its base. I couldn’t bear to sift through anything, everything was ashes. My life was reduced to whatever I could sift through the FEMA screens, and I couldn’t bear to look any further. All I would find were ashes. This was not a beneficial burn. The beast took entire trees, including the small 25 foot youngsters growing inside the trees cut years earlier. The crown fires were fierce that night.
I drive by the area when I go down to Santa Cruz. There was a lot of death of trees and wildlife and small things that did not deserve it. Mother nature took a big hit. The CZU fire was a beast with no regard for anything.
I know it may be different for a lot of people, their stories will make me teary when I hear them. But this story is mine. How I cope and what I do and what attitudes I adopt from this will define me for the next chapters in my life.
37 Ravens 