Fire and Flood

This story happened the end of 2017 after 5 years of drought. We believed that there was a strong chance of a fire occurring due to the dryness of the chaparral. But what we didn’t know was the extent to which the flooding would cause the havoc that it did. I wouldn’t have wished for a backfire if I had known.

Monday December 4th 2017, I got word that there was a major fire happening east of Ojai and given the weather report it looked like it was one that could easily come our way. I panicked and decided to go to Santa Barbara to a friend who generously invited me to stay at her home during the threat. Enrico was okay with that saying that it was probably better that if one of us were to die, then there would be one left to take care of all the necessary details.

I thought it a rather practical way of looking at it. I assumed he approved of my leaving and knowing Javier, who manages the grounds, said he would stay and fight the fire, gave me justification in taking off. I believe my alarm was the fear of being consumed in flames, more that than the actual threat of losing our stuff.

Our home was well prepared to fight a fire. We had put in a 30 thousand gallon reservoir of water with several fire pumps and many fire hoses, plus two 5 thousand gallon tanks of water and sprinkler systems all over the property. Enrico and Javier were also prepared to backfire if necessary. In addition, last year we purchased two oxygen masks and tanks that could be used if the air got too bad to breathe.

I left with a small suitcase full of clothes and my iPad and drove to Santa Barbara. As soon as I went to bed that evening I realized I had made a drastic mistake and felt desperate to go home. I told my host the next morning, thanked her and prepared to return, stopping at Trader Joe’s en-route to pick up food for a long haul.

As I drove back I listened to the weather news and heard that the southwest coast was bracing for gusts of Santa Anna Winds of up to 80 miles an hour. I saw columns of smoke rising in the east as I passed through parts of Ojai but didn’t smell any yet. I was so pleased to be returning home.

Once back I found a website that offered on-the-hour reports of what was happening with the Thomas Fire that started twenty miles away. I heard that the winds were blowing north and west right in our direction. This was Tuesday night December 5th, one day after the start of the fire.

Stepping outside I noticed we had no wind, although I knew it was blowing hard everywhere else. Enrico, Javier and I began to get ready.

Enrico showed me how to hold a fire hose. I was to cover one side of the house and he the other, while Javier protected the workshop. This plan was similar to the one in the 1985 fire when it burned through our place and Enrico and two other young guys were able to save the same two structures with those tactics. Given that memory I felt confident we could do it.

I found working the hose difficult, it was very heavy, hard to open and close and the stream was intense, it dripped all over my feet as it shot out. I found some gloves and boots to manage it.

Later I went back to my computer and began what was to be an ongoing dialogue with many people concerned about our welfare. Our telephone was dead but we could reach out via Internet to our children as well as others who needed our attention. My friend whose house I stayed in the night before, suddenly had to evacuate. It was looking bad all over and the air quality was beyond a critical level.

Wednesday the fire kept moving northeast, it split and moved toward us on two sides. It blew south and west around Lake Casitas as well as north and west over and around most of Ojai, burning quite a number of houses. At that point the two branches of fire joined and continued marching on in our direction.

This experience somehow reminded me of when I was nine months pregnant, due any moment, restlessly waiting for the telltale signs that I was about to give birth. This image kept returning as I said to myself, “the fire is coming tonight I am pretty sure.” Waiting and worrying . . .

For the next three nights Enrico and Javier independently got up every few hours to check to see if any flames were getting close. We saw fierce flames at night, east of us but they were still some distance away.

Friday night I risked a drive down canyon, a five-mile windy road through the mountains, hoping to assess how threatened we were. Neither Enrico nor Javier were willing, so I went alone. I saw the fire had entered the canyon and was heading up our way.

I drove back and urged Enrico to come look with me. It was then he realized we were soon to be faced with the worst. However it didn’t happen to us that night. The fire crawled along the creek’s edge and up on the ridges. Suddenly fire engines began to show up with firefighters requesting information, needing to get a sense of our place, asking what we had to supplement their own equipment. We showed them our fire pumps, fire hoses and water reserves. I handed them homemade maps showing all the structures.

I asked them if they were going to backfire around our property. Fire hadn’t burned in thirty-two years and it would be a relief to no longer worry, as we had every summer. They were pleased we had the same objective, and said it was easier for them if we were in accord with that procedure. I was relieved.

Saturday came and that evening the winds picked up to strong gusts. I walked around talking to various firefighters. There were at least three different contingents; the Ventura County Fire Department, the National Forest Fire Department, and some contracted firefighters. Within each department there were subdivisions so that each group had different hierarchies and tasks. Interestingly, there were no women.

I was told that they were going to wait until the fire showed itself on top of the closest ridge before they began to backfire. The idea was that once it hit the top of the ridge they would burn all of the fuel at the bottom to meet it and reduce the possibility of it reaching our structures. It turned out they waited too long and the fire dropped down to the bottom of the hillside near our home site. It was 4:00pm. I stood there watching when this happened and guiltily pulled out my iPhone to take photos of the wild flames that were beginning to devour the hillside. Then I noticed all the firefighters around had pulled out their phones to take pictures. I was surprised.

I observed how certain men set fires along the side of the mountain as others watered below while others were standing around waiting for their particular task. It was way more complicated than I knew.

The wind at that point had reached a high level and you could hear the flames roar intensely.

There were a total of seventy-five fighters in fifteen fire trucks that night. Everyone that I spoke to was optimistic and grateful we had prepared so well and therefore made it easier to protect our homestead. They all spread out, but somehow did not notice when the fire crept in on our south side and scorched the redwoods we had planted 30 years ago. We had a few other hot-spots on our north side but the firefighters were able to drown them out. Around 9:00pm there was a change of personal and the next crew came in a little late. In that interim a fire stared again on the southeast side but didn’t get too far. More trees were scorched. In addition we lost the irrigation line from our spring.

Many of the men stayed through the night taking turns watching for any new hot spots. They slept on the ground and had brought with them high protein meals and prepared snacks. By then the fire had burned on all sides, 360 degrees around our 40 acres, strangely a mirror image of how the fire went 360 degrees around Ojai on a much larger scale.

I found I was exhilarated to have been part of this process. It was beyond anything I had ever experienced. I said to Enrico that it was the best day of my life; a strange thing to say but I think knowing we were safe with all the help and support we got, and knowing that the land around was no longer a fire threat, was what allowed me to experience those feelings.

At some point, Sunday morning, new fire crews somewhat reduced in number, checked in and discovered more hot spots that flared up. They stayed that night and the next.

Even to this day more than two weeks after that intense weekend, the fire is still going on a number of miles north. Luckily it is still moving away. The telephone lines in the canyon are finally restored. The houses in the first half of the canyon burned to the ground but the second half of the canyon is intact. Now there is the serious threat of severe mud and rock slides when the rains come; nothing to hold back the mud and boulders. In the meantime many worried people emailed us and offered to help. So many people whom we hadn’t heard from got in touch. What a wonderful gift from them.

There is still a roadblock seven miles from here not allowing people to drive into the canyon or up Route 33 where the fire is continuing. Things are slowly getting back to normal. Even though it turned out well for us, my brain went dead for days, my hands were so dry they were cracked all over and I was beyond exhausted. I believe I have been traumatized on a level I didn’t realize.

This stuff is deep and fear of fire is a very ancient part of our nervous system. We are however coming back to a more normal state and feeling very grateful we managed to come out of this experience so well.

Flood

Four weeks after the Thomson Fire came through our property we heard that a storm was approaching and was expected to drop 1⁄2 to 1 inch of rain per hour. After a fire the effect of rainfall can be quadrupled, possibly creating severe flash-floods and mud slides. Simply put, 1 inch of precipitation is equivalent to 4. I also learned that not only do the lack of trees, bushes and grasses due to fire, cause more run off, but the absence of carbon in the soil doesn’t allow water to be absorbed. I knew these rains could be a big deal.

Again, we got ready. Enrico and I bought extra food and supplies for ourselves, our dogs, cats and chickens. We’d been through this many times in the past and as in the fire threat we wanted to be well prepared. We left a car in town, one by the big metal gate on the other side of the two rivers and one here at Blue Heron. We anticipated the canyon road would be washed out and knew we could be stuck in for days, even weeks.

Monday evening January 8th we heard the beginnings of rain. Early that day I had lit a candle for Andrei, whom we lost to the devastating floods on the exact same day, January 8th 2005.

All day I listened and waited. I had no idea what to expect. Drizzles began that afternoon. The rain intensified after midnight. By early morning around 4:00 an ominous deep roar woke me up. It was a rumble sound under the heavy rains that I had never heard the likes of.

In the past I have heard the river roar during a storm but this was extreme. I woke Enrico, “What’s going on? Do you hear that sound?” He got up saying he’d better look around. I was beyond concerned, worried about Enrico out in the storm and wondering if our house was going to be swept away.

After the fire of 1985, we asked Coy McClester, a bulldozer operator in the canyon, to come access our river threat. He looked all around and explained, “You stop water with water”.

The Matilija River runs down towards our house but swerves away to the east, up against a solid rock embankment and continues down the canyon. It would take a fierce surge of water to change course and hit our home but not an impossibility. Given our land is full of rocks, we had the perfect material for Coy to build berms: very long, high stone mounds that ran a hundred feet or more. He made nine in all, emerging from a common area, looking like fingers coming out from the palm of a hand. This provided a succession of barriers, each being the backup of the next one guiding the water away from the house.

A half hour later Enrico returned and said we lost the barn and the arena. The barn was at a low point on our property but far from the river. He said sand, water, and downed trees filled up behind the berm and the water came right over it and wiped out our barn and arena. Gigantic logs that were smoothed by tumbling among side the boulders were all over the place.

When I got up and could hear that the river was already receding. It seemed it went down almost as fast as it came up. Due to the 5 year drought the ground swallowed the water fast.

Once it got light I l began to look around and saw the devastation on the east side of the property. The river had come up and spread way up to our drive, 1⁄4 mile from its bed. Many trees were down and strewn all about.

Enrico and I went down to the river crossing closest to us. Though the water had dropped quickly, the debris revealed how high the water had reached. It was as if there had been a sea all around. Never have I seen anything like it. There are huge boulders all across where the road had been and since the water was low we are able to walk to the further crossing that had dug down very deeply.

It looks like were are in here for a while. Our backhoe could not begin to move the material to make another road. The five mile canyon road is closed and it will be some days before they open it. Luckily we didn’t lose anybody in our canyon and I don’t know yet if anyone lost their house.

These two events, fire and flood coming exactly a month apart is numbing. I feel like the shift from the fire wipe-out to the flood wipe-out is way more than my mind can handle. I see all around a moonscape with sand, stubble, trees and boulders, and a swamp-scape all intertwined. There is a kind of beauty and humility in experiencing nature’s volition.

I’ve learned to have the utmost respect for her agenda.