Firestorm

My wife and I evacuated Tuesday night.

Photo by my neighbor Raffi Agopian of the burned area adjacent to our Fernwood neighborhood

It's been a rough 4 days, and that’s the reason my post is a day late.

We live in Topanga, which is less than 10 miles by paved roads from Pacific Palisades - closer if you are a wildfire moving across the Santa Monica Mountain ridges and valleys between the two towns.

I had spent Monday in Big Bear Lake, 150 miles away, where we own a vacation rental - an investment property we bought at the beginning of the pandemic. I spent the day installing new steps for the hot tub, taking down the Christmas decorations, and listening to vintage Neil Young on the turntable.

I drove back to Topanga early Tuesday morning. The forecasted winds had already started. Driving on the 210 freeway past Pasadena, the wind gusts concerned me. My Subaru Outback is a heavy vehicle, but the wind gusts made it shake.

The Palisades Fire started at 10:30 am, about the time I pulled my car into my driveway. I was home in Topanga less than two hours when the evacuation warning was issued. My wife and I started packing - clothes, meds and vitamins, important papers, everything our elderly dog needs.

After packing the essentials I wondered what I would mourn most if I lost it.

I packed the small buddha that sits on my altar and my rokozu, a traditional Japanese garment worn around the neck of Zen Buddhists who have taken the 16 Buddhist precepts. I packed half of the sourdough starter I had kept alive since a friend gave it to me at the beginning of the pandemic.

I am an artist; I packed up my latest works, nine paintings on paper. I left behind dozens of other works, all framed, all too much to take along. For the last few years I have been making my own pigments from plants, rocks and soil. I left that all behind - dozens of bottles of homemade pigment. I left behind jars and jars of materials I had foraged from local hikes. I left behind a lot of beautiful watercolor paper.

I laid out all of our hoses in case firefighters needed them.

Our vacation rental in Big Bear Lake was available; it seemed logical to go there. We took off.

But before we did I sent an email to my neighbors letting them know of our departure, and I recommended that they do the same. I am the “neighborhood network coordinator” for a mile long, circular loop in my Topanga neighborhood that is a popular dog-walking route. My volunteer job includes alerting my neighbors when there is a wildfire nearby and sending them updates during the event. This volunteer effort is organized by the Topanga Coalition for Emergency Preparedness, or TCEP. Those of us who live in the Santa Monica Mountains understand the seriousness of wildfire danger, and TCEP’s efforts were put into place to make sure everyone could and would get out safely if a wildfire was coming our way. There are about 100 people on my neighborhood email list. I had warned them about the windstorm that was coming and about the possibility of 100 mile per hour wind gusts. And when the Palisades fire ignited, I let them know when we were under an evacuation warning, and shortly thereafter, an evacuation order.

The drive back to Big Bear Lake was apocalyptic. That’s an overused word right now, but it’s the best word. The winds were fierce and the gusts disarming. We could SEE the wind, like a cartoon drawing, thin white lines moving in mid-air from the north to south. All types of small debris blew across the highway. Plastic bags floated high above us like balloons - one, then another, then a few more.

It was a hurricane without rain.

I tried to stay away from the semi trucks, and we did see one overturned up against the center median.

Then in my left peripheral vision I saw a strange light. Trying not to take my eyes off the road, I glanced over to see a line of fire going up into the Angeles National Forest.

“On my god,” I said to my wife. “It’s another fire.”

This was the start of the Eaton Fire.

A few minutes later we saw an entire city go dark.

During the last 4 days, I have messaged my neighbors at least three times daily with updated information I collect from sites like CalFire, Watch Duty and TCEP- along with updates, photos and videos provided by the few neighbors who stayed behind. My neighbors created a group text so we could share worries and information. They worked together to locate, and turn off, the neighborhood’s propane tanks.

Since Tuesday, “the fires raging in the Los Angeles area reduced some 12,000 structures to ash and rubble, killed at least 11, displaced thousands of others and spread over an area larger than the size of San Francisco.” (LA Times)

How did this happen?

While the cause of these fires is still under investigation, one thing is clear: a number of factors set the stage for a disaster.

The Copernicus Climate Change Service, which provides authoritative information about the past, present and future climate in Europe and the rest of the World, reported on December 9 that “2024 was the warmest year on record and that the global average temperature exceeded the 1.5ºC limit above the pre-industrial average set by the Paris Agreement.” Global temperatures are rising.

During the last two winters in Los Angeles, we had record rainfall. Years of drought made this rainfall welcome. I remember our driveway, which goes downhill to Topanga Creek, becoming a shallow river that poured rainwater over the tops of my boots, soaking my socks. That rain encouraged more plant growth than we had seen in a long while, and Topanga’s hillsides turned bright green. Then the August and September heat dried out new growth, creating a tinder box of brown fuel.

Add hurricane-like winds. All you need is a spark.

This isn’t only happening in California. If you take a look at Copernicus’ chart of global surface air temperatures since 1991, you will get the picture.

Homes within walking distance of mine have burned down, and yet, our neighborhood in Topanga is, as of this posting, still standing. But it has been surrounded by fires on three sides every day since Tuesday, and we are not yet out of the woods. The fire is not contained.

My neighbors and I love where we live - its canyons and ridges; the hawks, owls, coyotes, mountain lions, rattlesnakes and deer; the fog that rolls in from the ocean; the massive, twisting, coastal oaks. We look forward to meeting each other on the circular loop when we walk our dogs - chatting about politics and our families. We celebrate the birth of babies. We welcome new people who move in and miss those who move away. This is the same in every community, including those in LA where thousands of houses and businesses have burned this week.

What happens when we lose that community, suddenly, unexpectedly - not by choice, but by disaster?

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I am planning to write more - as the days and weeks go on - about what I am experiencing and witnessing in the aftermath of the Palisades fire, and how it links to climate change, environmental protection, and the next Trump administration.

These fires are horrifying cautionary tales - and I am wondering if we will heed or ignore the lessons.

My heart goes out to everyone affected by the Palisades, Eaton, Hurst and Kenneth Fires.