I set my mental clock for 30 minutes and lay on the couch trying to get as comfortable as possible. My phone lay on the table within reach. In my pockets were all my standard items for the last 10 days, my flashlight, knife, money, and reading glasses. Wallet and keys were already in the truck so I couldn’t possibly misplace them in the rush to get out. It was 3:30 am. It was my watch. I had just checked the fire outside and it was disappointingly closer. Oddly though, I still didn’t feel we were in that much danger. We had done everything we could do, except leave as ordered. The fire had been moving slowly. After all, there were 5 trucks and 30+ firemen in the area. The winds were light from the west, the only direction that made it still possible to be here.
Ten days earlier this fire had started about 20 miles to the west and by that afternoon began to circle our valley of about a dozen small farms. Shirley, our neighbor had rushed over to tell us she was leaving. Her husband Chuck was driving back but would probably not make it as the roads were closing. We had been working out in the field and had really just noticed the smell of smoke about an hour earlier. It’s not uncommon to smell smoke in California as there is usually a fire somewhere, sometimes hundreds of miles away, so we didn’t think much of it. But Shirley informed us that it was actually close and coming this way.
“If Chuck shows up here tell him I’m going to Mary Jo’s”. And as she left, Jane and I watched the valley slowly fill with smoke and ash. I went to the shop and got masks and Jane started filling water containers. We stood in the field trying to get some idea of where the fire was and how close it was. We had, at this point no information. I decided to drive the 2 miles into our little town just to see for myself. As I left our gate, I saw flames just across the creek and up the ridge. Driving on into town I was shocked, there was almost no one. A sheriff drove passed me and said: “We evacuated everyone. You need to get out. The fire is approaching town.” But circling the block I snuck back the way I came. Yea, I thought: Right. Leave Jane and she’d have no idea what happened to me? Not likely.
As I got back our good friends Chris and Jan drove up, car packed.
“Come with us. You can’t stay in this smoke” There was about a thousand-yard visibility.
I said: “We’re not leaving.” Jane looking at me, trying to discern the full measure of my insanity. Checking the look on her face I could see that she was with me but that look carried some weight. I hadn’t mentioned the fire approaching town and the only road out of the valley goes through town.
“No! We’re going to Ken and Susan’s, just over the hill, just to regroup for the night.” OK, Ken was an ex-fire fighter. I knew he would have good intel and we now had no internet or phone. So, we locked the house and off we went to Ken and Susan’s. That night we all stood out on the road watching a bright red glow on the other side of the hill that I was certain was our house. No, not just a house but our dream that I had built myself over the last many years and had just completed. No! It couldn’t be happening. Succumbing to tears and worry was not a solution. If I have to build it again, I will. Fun is in the doing, not the having I whispered to myself. Ignoring a sick feeling of loss and despair.
Jane and I looked at each other and she knew my thoughts. “You should stay here” I said. But before I could even finish, she said “NO, I’m going with you.”
And so having made the first mistake by leaving, I was not going to make the second by staying away. And then between Ken and Chris and I a plan was hatched.
“The shift at the roadblock changes at 7AM. There’s a good chance we can sneak through at that time.” And so, we left to go back at 6:50 AM and were met with no resistance. “Chris and Jan went back to their farm, also threatened in Scotts Valley.
On arriving at our gate, I could make out the house through the smoke and miraculously, it looked OK. The hills, however, were a different story. The valley was almost ringed by fire. We rushed to pack as if we had only an hour. We feverishly filled everything we had with water and proceeded to load the truck and car with anything that seemed valuable. If we stopped for a minute to ponder somethings value or significance emotion would overwhelm us. This was a gut wrenching, bewildering business. Do I want to take my grandmother’s clock or gather all the legal stuff? I think I’d rather have the clock. Logic seemed to hover in the distance. Exhausted, we fell to dinner and bed.
DAY 2:
Smoke was less as wind was from the west, but the fire was advancing further down the hills toward the valley. During a brief moment of cell coverage, I got a text from Chuck asking about his house. So off we went on foot through the fields to check on his house. Chuck had a generator, but it didn’t work. I also had one, but it didn’t work. So, I spent the day disassembling mine and his and reassembling parts to get one that worked. I swapped my fuel tank for his, which leaked and manufactured a fuel line from some spare parts I had and was able to then keep his refrigerator running. Five hours for his fridge and five for hours for ours, hauling the generator back and forth several times a day. This was OK except for 2 things. We were running out of gas and another minor problem; There was that sheriff again, we supposed looking for looters.
About this time, we discovered that our other neighbors, Thurston, also hadn’t left and that evening we snuck over to his place, with careful lookout for the sheriff, and found them sitting out in the field watching the fire. I had pulled Chucks trailer out away from his house in the middle of his field and this seemed like the best place to be. Knowing there was still someone else in the valley was a great relief. Thurston pulled out a bottle of wine and, well, why not. We had a front row seat. What a surreal thing, sitting there with friends, a glass of wine, discussing our imminent destruction as if an amusement. By this time the fire was a bit more than halfway down from the ridge to the valley floor. As we were sitting there watching this advancing fire line, feeling the heat from exploding trees, that sick feeling of helplessness returned. The conversation drifted into the background and the gravity of our situation seemed to wash over me. This is a force that is going to do whatever it wants, and it is most likely going to destroy everything I know. And then almost in the next moment something unbelievable happened. A fire truck pulled up and five firemen laden with gear got out. As they approached, they looked like Ghost Busters coming out of the haze. We must have been a sight, 4 homeowners sitting there, each with a glass of wine, in the middle of a forest fire. They walked the distance to us and one by one they shook our hands and introduced themselves to each of us.
Then the crew chief said to us: “We have come from Texas, and we are going to defend your homes from this fire” I think some of us probably cried.
And then he said. “You are all ordered to leave. This fire under the right conditions can be 10,000 degrees hot and travel 60 MPH, but with that said we are glad you are here because we don’t know these hills and trails and you do. We will need your help in that. You do have a right to be here at your homes and you would help us the most by just staying out of our way.” And with that they disappeared up the hill in a cloud of dust and smoke. Could you expect any less from Texans?
Day 4:
Sneaking across the road to Chucks and Thurston’s was becoming somewhat hazardous. Technically they could not make us evacuate even though it was “mandatory”. But if caught off our property we could be arrested and escorted to a shelter. But I had to deal with the generator and besides, we needed gas. So, Thurston and I went off to see what we could find. A little way up the hill was Marks house where we siphoned gas from a boat tank and a lawnmower. Walking around the house we discover a huge pile of firewood stacked up against the house and so spent the next couple of hours moving it away. It was then we heard the sound of machinery. A big D-9 Cat and a forest truck coming up the ravine behind the house. We hid in the brush like bandits, but they weren’t cops so we stood up and walked toward them explaining what we were doing.
The fire chief told me “We aren’t defending this house. This fellow has planted over a thousand eucalyptus trees from here down to the creek. They will go off like bombs. I can’t have my men anywhere near them when that happens.”
I realized what that meant. If these trees lit up It would march right over Chucks house into the creek area and close the road out, the only escape. In the back of my neck, I felt the crunch of that big cog of fate ‘chunk’ one more notch toward disaster.
DAY 6:
I decided that it would be prudent if I moved my boat and tractor and some other equipment out in the middle of the field and then I dug a big hole and buried my fishing gear and some other stuff. I then wrote a long note to my son explaining how it came to be that we had done such a stupid, stubborn thing by staying. While I was absorbed in this ridiculousness a truck with a young guy and his girlfriend drove out in the field to meet me. Getting out she explained to me:
“We are rescuing animals. Do you have any animals you need to evacuate”
“No.” I said. Then she said “You aren’t leaving? You should be leaving!”
I said, rather defiantly: “I just finished building this. I’m not leaving it.”
She looked past me and said with a tear: ‘It’s beautiful. I’m so sorry. Good luck!”
I stood there in the ash and smoke as they left, dumbfounded. What would my Mom and Dad think? Suddenly feeling exhausted I sat down in the dust with my back to my big tractor tire. Hope, quelled beside me. I loved being out here in the field. The house I built with the hills in the background always gave me a different perspective. If this all goes to hell, I’m happy with what I’ve done. Not being one to readily validate myself, I had to admit that the house is well done. I did quite a good thing by building this, I thought to myself. My Dad would be proud, though he wouldn’t say so. My Grandfather would wonder why on earth am I sitting here in the dirt. These were practical men. World War I and II and the depression had made them that way. Well, damn it, getting up, it’s not over yet.
We stood watches at night, slowly depleting our stockpile of can goods and did the best we could to stay busy. Nevertheless though, despite constant flights of helicopters and HC-130 tankers we could see little improvement. The ever present, stubborn, pall of doom cast its shadow over every moment and every thought. So, after 10 days, mostly with no power, we were both frazzled. It felt like I was back in a war zone. There was plenty of danger in war of course, but not the constant feeling of impending loss. In a war there was usually something you could do. This was more like a siege.
I always liked night watches. Imagination runs wild, especially in times of stress. It was now 3:30AM and I was taking Jane’s watch. Setting my mental clock for 30 minutes, I settled down on the couch to get some rest. Slipping down the coast of Baja in my sailboat. That usually does it. It was foggy, trying to find my way. The sound of the gentle Pacific swell swishing and pulsing along my hull, my keel wire softly humming me to sleep. Pretty soon though as the fog cleared, I realized I was jogging down a red dirt path with short, lush vegetation on both sides. My shoes though started growing very long and floppy. As I picked up my feet, I found I couldn’t run without stepping on the end of my shoes. In the distant background I heard my old coach yelling “RUN!! What’s the matter with you”. Suddenly I stopped. I had come upon 2 huge lions eating a gigantic lizard. A dinosaur in fact. A stegosaurus. I did realize at the time that that didn’t make any sense, but it didn’t seem to matter. They hadn’t seen me. I decided to act like a gorilla so as to be a bit less threatening (as gorillas don’t eat dinosaurs). So, I mumbled gorilla sounds and then they saw me and were coming. I backed into a cave, mumbling as loudly as I could.
I woke with a start. Grabbing my phone, 20 minutes had passed. I lay there for a moment thinking. I can’t even accomplish a decent dream. How am I going to do something about this forest fire. I swung off the couch to have another look at the fire. Walking out on the deck…Holy Cow!… The fire had definitely come more active and closer. The wind had shifted and a hot breeze had filled in from the east. Huge flames engulfing whole trees leaping and snapping twice as high. I could hear sap exploding, feel the heat. A tree cracked and fell in a shower of sparks. The roar was ugly, angry. A huge tree I had often admired because of its symmetry, its left half ablaze, its right side stretching, screaming to get away. I could see flames right behind Bob’s house, my other neighbor. Nothing between him and me but a hay field. It had reached the valley floor! Behind our house is a creek, Clover Creek. Lined on both sides with big trees. Valley Oaks. My fear has always been that a fire could rush down this creek. Pastures on both sides but the creek is vulnerable. That’s why my house is 400 ft from it. But my barn, sadly no, it’s closer. What kind of a dumb ass would build a barn out of plywood right next to a forest fire. OK, focus. Not helpful. What to do. Sprinklers have been on for 5 days. The field is mowed short. Metal roof. Concrete siding. Tempered dual pane windows. Vents I already closed. Truck and car have been packed to the gills for 10 days. I got the big ice chest to empty the fridge of the little bit that was left. Three five-gallon cans of water were waiting by the truck. Doors and all windows have all been locked for days. Now I should wake Jane and we should finally leave. We are ready. We had decided together to stay until the fire got to the valley floor or in the creek and then go. It was now at our doorstep and about to knock. But as I stood there on the deck, in the house that I spent the last 11 years designing and building, with all the pictures of our lives, furniture of my grandparents, great grandparents, furniture that survived covered wagons, I hesitated. Torn, I realized it’s more than pictures or furniture. It’s the dream that we created. The two of us. By ourselves. I resolved it must survive. We can’t turn. It can’t be all lost on my watch. Some would call this foolish, stubborn, irresponsible. It has all those names, yet none of them. In an intuitive leap, I realized it was a calculated estimate of chance, an estimate we have made every 5 minutes, over and over, for now the last 10 days.
The fire was a monstrous rage about 500 yds away. It was at the valley floor. But I now heard unmistakable sounds of chain saws. Then a flash and another. A headlamp, several headlamps. Suddenly the entire hillside went up in one gigantic slow motion, rushing explosion. It roared right to the top engulfing huge trees in a flash. The heat was tremendous. There were firemen there and they had just back burned the entire hill. Incredible! I hadn’t seen them before. A few minutes later It looked like a bed of glowing charcoal, a seething, pulsating, crinkling mass of anger. I stood there in awe until 6am. The fire had now changed its tone. It looked across the chasm where it had been and knew it was licked. Snarling, it slithered over the hill to find it was blocked there also.
A light came on in the kitchen. Jane was up. As she came out on the deck she said “Oh good they back burned the hill. I knew they were going to do that.” I looked at her in amazement. She looked at me and smiled. Hope smiled with her. How had I managed to marry such a girl? I was suddenly glad I hadn’t woken her. That would have been foolish.
Dave Ahrens