During the summer of fire

During the summer of fire I slept beneath the madrone at my grandmother’s house, herself long gone, but the evening breeze carried the sorrow of smoke, and the sky was bathed an amber light. The moon, a raging red eye seeking water. The coyotes didn’t know whether to howl or to bark. And the young horned owls, still working on their slow solos, had trouble counting the notes. The stars, a distant memory. Their light occluded by the veil of smoke, the death knell of dying trees.

Wildfire, revisited

What moment, she asks, drawing a blank. The page beckons like a memory emerging from the fog, dripping from the air. So many moments in a lifetime to choose from. I am like Alice falling down the well. A fire combusting in my mind.

I came home from the islands, jetlagged, sunburned and disoriented. Driving into town was challenging. On the ridge I saw a small puff of smoke, almost like a sprite, it announced itself. So I pulled over to watch it, and within seconds it became a mushroom cloud. 

The air is crisp and bright, a fall day. The vineyards are ablaze with color, yellow, red, and burgundy. Oat grasslands on the hillside stretch like tawny beasts to the horizon. And the canyons, dark with oak and chaparral. The column rises up like a cobra to the sky, dancing above the ridge-line where it hits an inversion layer and becomes a shining city. Billowing on the ground, rolling sideways as the fire gains traction. Everything is unseasonably dry at the end of October. Drought cycle.

I pull my camera out to document the plume, it’s ravenening its way across the canyon, it will consume so much land. Some guy in a big truck yells at me because I’m blocking the driveway to the doggie daycare. I point to the horizon and say look, speechless. He ignores me and continues to yell. Little does he know it’s going to be one of the worst fires in Northern California. Later we will call it the Kincade fire. So I start my car and drive towards Santa Rosa. 

Geyser Peak is dressed in smoke so thick it looks like a volcanic eruption. I turn around and head back home to pack when the evacuation warning comes. Not mandatory, thank God. It’s all a waiting game. See what happens. But the folks on Pine Flat Road won’t be as lucky. 

The fire would not be assuaged, the fire fighter planes dump load after load of water and retardant on the hillsides, flocking everything in hot pink dresses hiked up over the thigh. I watch the Spirit of John Muir circle overhead, a supertanker so big, it has to fly back to Sacramento just to refuel. I have a prime ringside side seat to devastation. I sit mesmerized and I am overwhelmed. Not again is all I can say, not like the Tubbs fire, not again, but I know the drill.

CaldorFire is larger than the city of Chicago

This is seriously hard to fathom: #CaldorFire is now larger than the city of Chicago. South Lake Tahoe is under mandatory evacuation: Twin Bridges, Echo Lakes, Kirkwood. The Caldor Fire has burned over 177,000 acres and containment dropped to 14%.  Keep battling.  CalFire fighters are WALKING those heavy fire hoses in to Echo Lakes. No other choice.

We are fast losing all our historic lodges and summer camps in the Sierra Nevada range. Apparently Strawberry Lodge is still standing but there are conflicting reports on Camp Sacramento. The outbuildings at Sierra-at-Tahoe ski resort are gone, but not the main lodge. 

The radicalization and blame game on various news posts—especially vociferous are those who comment in the PD posts— is astoundingly simpleminded. 

California has never existed under these current man-made conditions. Because of climate change, each fire season is exponentially worse than the previous one. Also, our aquifers have been pumped dry, much productive land has been paved over, and fuel loads are at a record high. It’s not solely about mismanaging the forests or tree huggers or the EPA.

The thing is, that unmanaged, overgrown forests are natural. This idea of “managing” our forests is an anthropocentric notion. And the forest service position will always point to mismanagement and outside blame. There is a quaint notion that Native Americans took care of all the forests of California, and didn’t let them get overgrown—but that’s hyperbole. 

Right now, climate change is the main culprit, a profound lack of precipitation, and even more dire, is the lack of normal seasonal snowpack, which has desiccated the wilderness. Climate change is also responsible for the diseases ravaging our forests—especially the pine borer beetle which has decimated thousands of acres of forest.  Winters are shorter, milder, allowing the insect to flourish. 

It is ironic that so much of California has burned, that wildfire is now taking care of our “mismanagement.” It’s a much more complex picture than that. If you need to lay blame, try PG&E, solely responsible for the majority of our wildfires.

Smoke inhalation vs Covid

The CDC says to open your windows to combat the Delta Variant. Yeah, no, not with myriad brushfires, the air is so thick, my airscrubber runs 24/7. CA has the worst AQI in North America. If the Delta variant doesn’t kill you, inhaling the smoke from brushfires will.

Two local brush fires on either side of me are wreaking havoc. My Costco Winix air conditioner, purifier, cleaner, scrubber—whatever you wanna call it—has been running full blast 24-7 since I bought it after the 2015 wildfires. It more than earned its keep last year alone. And ditto that this year. Will it never end? I tried to get a second Winix but they’ve changed the model to wifi and a different size filter. Nope.

purpleair.com says Northern California has the worst air quality in the entire continent of North America right now. I forgot to choose the correct LRAPA filter but it doesn’t really make that much difference. The numbers may be ever so slightly lower in real time. But 520+ has my attention. Mordor on steroids.

Yesterday I awoke with intense headaches, today I awoke dizzy, and the smoke is nowhere near as bad here along the coast as it is in the rest of Northern California. Central Valley is Mordor Central. Poor downwind dragons are gasping for clean air. Meanwhile, shallow breathing is the norm.

Tonight, the wind

I don’t like this at all, the wind is blowing like a banshee and it’s unseasonably warm. Way too warm for January. Tonight the wind is fiercely raging, I gave up on the concept of sleep, or, rather, sleep gave up on me. The winds of change. Portent of things to come. 

Spellcheck thinks portent isn’t a word.

All I can say, is, that with all this wind, hopefully a little rain will come too. Otherwise, what’s the point? It’s the middle of the night, a particularly bad time to fly a kite. The wind is moaning, now a howling, raging beast outside the window. The wind rosins its bow on the perimeter of the eye of the storm. A nearby tree limb is singing its squeaky one note song. It moans and sighs and then moans some more. I don’t know what it wants but it’s an unhappy tree limb sobbing its sorrows in the wind. 

If the wind were the ocean, and the sky, it’s color, then, the trees would be forests of seaweed and kelp. Wow, it is seriously blowing now. Sounds like high surf raging outside my window

What I don’t get, is that PG&E has not turned off the power. These winds are just as fierce as those October winds that brought the fires. And we have not had enough rain to protect us from more fires. I’m surprised that we still have power. Of course there’s a fire at The Geysers Firefighters are on the scene. And the wind just kicked it up a few more notches. It was last clocked at 97 mph on the ridge tops.

Outside the window, dawn backdrop, the Douglas fir and the redwood sway in unison their branches moving like frantic hula dancers or dervishes. The non-native Italian pine looks like it’s flipping a finger to the sky.

Well, tomorrow is finally today. It’s 6 AM, tho I am unwilling to admit defeat to sleep, I’ve all but finished my flask of tea, and its still as dark as midnight out there. So much for the concept of morning. That one tree branch won’t give it up. I think it’s rubbing against the house, a complaining Cypress with a lot to say. Four years worth of complaints. Moans and shrieks like a banshee in distress.

During the brunt of the windstorm, the roosters were strangely silent. They’ve gotten a late start announcing the dawn. A lone raven braving the wind is plummeted and bandied about. He looks like he’s on speed. He attempts to land on a branch and misses the tree entirely. He zips off again banking against the northwestern wind, does a flip, then spirals out of control. Incoming, kamikaze moves. He slides at right angles to himself. He flies sideways in order to go forward. The wind before the storm.

Westron wynde, when wyll thow blow
The smalle rayne downe can rayne?
Cryst yf my love were in my armys,
And I yn my bed agayne!

• NOTE: THIS POST ALONG WITH 12 OTHER POSTS WAS ERRONEOUSLY REMOVED BY BLOGGER FOR VIOLATING COMMUNITY STANDARDS ON 5/14/21. It was reinstated as a draft the next day. I am still pissed off.

A note on fire and the hair trigger of memory

Sunset, during the August Fire Complex was otherworldly 9/28/20

A friend posted a photo of her sanctuary, a couthy glowing fire pit, and I found myself overreacting to the image of fire. I seem have developed an adverse knee-jerk reaction not only to the odor of burning wood, but also to photos of fire. A knot of fear that begins in the gut, then it encircles the heart, begins to squeeze its fist.

I grew up with wood heating, we had no other source of heat. It was my job to stack the wood for the coming winter. There was a satisfying rhythm to that work. The tump and twist of wood into a puzzle measured by the cord—4 x 4 x 8’ or so. As we laid in the wood, we’d venture to guess if it would be a two, or a three-cord winter. The wood stacking ritual marked the closure of one season, and the entrance to another—and to my birthday. 

I am no stranger to fire, I live in a house with woodstoves, you’d think I wouldn’t react to fire, or to woodsmoke. But I do. I used to love sitting close to the fire on cold winter days, the fire warming my face until my cheeks pulsed and throbbed. I was mesmerized by the strange hypnotic choreography of dancing flames. And seeing the heartwood, the distinct tree rings, their age cut short,  illuminated in the embers. Each tree ring, a birthday in the long count of time.

Yesterday I found a long-forgotten low fired pinch-pot I had fired in our fireplace long ago, it triggered memories of gathering and refining the clay, wedging a mixture of blue and iron rich clay into patterns, pinching it between thumb and finger, then firing it, lifting it from the ash, smothering it in husk and straw to cool slowly so it wouldn’t crack, silica annealed into the hardness stone.

This is the first year that the odor of smoke has affected me. Not the Tubbs Fire, the Paradise Fire, nor the Kincade Fire, but this fire season, beginning with the Walbridge Fire, and ending with the August Complex fires. It’s almost like having my own personal PTSD switch. A hardwired fight/flight syndrome kicks in. 

I first noticed it acutely around Halloween. Those pumpkins. Candle smoke, paraffin, a petroleum byproduct, diesel tinged with the odor of baking pumpkin pie. The mouthwatering thought of Thanksgiving, and things benign. Then begins the mental hell, checklist for evacuation. What to save? I have barely unpacked since my last evacuation. These are my sins. Always at the ready. Samhain, the gate to the Otherworld, open, always by fire.

Ever since the wildfires, I have been scanning and digitizing decades-worth of prints and negatives. Most of my writing and art is already scanned—except for my travel journals on the back burner. Soon. Sometimes I dream I am evacuating again. I sleep with my wallet, MacBook and hard drive within arm’s reach, my keys are already in the car, which doubles as a large go-bag. 

I have to talk myself out of my own tree when the terror begins. I run off a quick mental checklist to convince myself it’s merely woodsmoke from a fireplace. I remind myself it’s a benign, warm, cozy odor. I find that identifying the type of wood helps. Oh, that’s hardwood, that’s crisp black oak, pungent sizzling bay, or fruitwood. Apple or cherry? 

Mmm, applewood fire, the most pungent, the most extraordinary of odors. The secret heart, the perfume of a thousand apples released all at once like flocks of wild birds. The overwhelming odor of orchards in late summer. Mesquite barbecue. Bacon. Clean, pungent, mouthwatering gracenote. 

Someone in the neighborhood burning coal? Sniff sniff. I have the nose of a bloodhound. No, just the rotten bouquet of woodsmoke when the fire dies out. Someone needs to clean their chimney. Wildfire smoke is more complex, nuanced. More creosote laden. Greasy, acrid, but more electrical, with a slight overtone of burning brakes. Like the ember fall and the acrid ash blizzard that descended from the Glass Fire, covering the foliage with a strange blanket of snow.  

My relationship to fire has changed utterly. This year, our extraordinary sunsets came at such a cost. Fire is its own entity, far beyond our feeble attempts to comprehend it, and certainly far beyond our scope to tame it. As a child I was utterly in love with volcanoes, the secret heart of fire within the earth. Later, I watched molten rock plunge into the sea. Sublime beauty, and corrosive air, acrid rain. A terrible beauty.

These days, I see myself as if from the outside looking in. Bearing witness. The fire within burning bright. All I know is that there will be a prime factorization of proverbial candles on my birthday cake this year. I am mesmerized like a moth to flame. Fire-sign to the very end.

CZU Complex fire, Big Basin burning

THIRD EVACUATION IS A CHARM

THIRD EVACUATION IS A CHARM

After weeks of scanning photos 

and poems resurrected from the past, 

revisiting old ghosts, and tropes, 

from a time when poetry was new, 

remembering when we sat at the feet 

of Diane Di Prima at the old Zen Center on Fell Street, 

and we slid into the slick canyons of words, 

while Loba paced the streets. She said the writer’s life

is a balancing act, a juggling of disparate entities.

Frances tags me to write something, but I am lost

in the technical jungle of negatives and proofs,

and the way silver bromide on film outfoxes the lens,

chopping off the hands of the dead poets, Kizer,

McClure, Rexroth, a weird sacrilege of sorts.

I think of poor Victor Jarra in the stadium,

when they cut off his hands, he sang his poems to la gente.

The price paid. All I can think of now 

is how to save the film archives of the poets

before the wildfire climbs the next ridge.

The past is an albatros around my neck.

As the ashes fell like snow, we learned new words: 

ember fire, and we stomped on the burning souls of trees.

I cannot find the exact right words to say anything.

I keep thinking I should write something profound

but the blank page just snarls and drools.

Crouches, slinks off into the night,

eyes burning like coals.

10/27/20

rev. slightly 10/21

Fire journal 15, Wilson Hill Road, dragon’s eye sunset (photos)

 
Sunset, I’ve never seen such dark beauty, such a dark red sun balancing on the last ridge before the coast like a ruby drop of dragon’s blood. I had to darken the image to match the color of the sun. What the eye can see. What the camera can’t see. So strange to see the red flare on the eastern horizon matches the color of sunset. As if it were a simultaneous dawn. But the ravens aren’t fooled, they’ve gone to bed. I miss their dark presence, and their darker call. I’ve never used the word dark so many times in a single piece of writing. 

Hick’s Valley Road. It was so hot today, that my car overheated and I had to park and let it cool. Not easy to do when it’s hot as an anvil oven outside. My battery water levels were low which may have been part of the problem. But then I remembered that when the fanbelt broke, the car overheated, and I refilled radiator with a pint of water. So, not enough coolant, a hot day, a heavy load, AC running full blast, and my car said Wot? An added level of stress, as my cargo was a friend who was in hospital for two weeks. Driving home last night, I saw encampments of trucks and trailers, people sleeping by the side of the road.

I wonder how much more of this I can stand. But we need to stay vigilant for something called embercast.  Such a beautiful word for something that is so horrifying. Ashes and pine needles drifting on the wind still carrying the secret heart of the wildfire across the Santa Rosa Valley, landing on my parked car in Sebastopol. The fire’s across the valley. It hasn’t crested the ridge yet. When it enters the great Santa Rosa plain, then we really need to be worried. I’m sleeping with the window open a crack so that I can keep track of that distance of the fire.

The oppressiveness of the smoke/cloud ceiling is like the weight of the world, the compound prayer and carbon sorrow of trees unleashed in the skies. This is the color of my world. the fire that sheds no light.

I’m so tired. We must remain vigilant for each other. Multó love to you all. Calistoga is evacuating. I want to cry. Useless drought tears for those who’ve lost everything—tonight nearly 70,000 evacuees from Santa Rosa cannot sleep in their own beds. I want to weep but I needs must sleep.

Fire Journal 14: Evacuation orders and warnings

All of southeast Santa Rosa is under evacuation warning and there are reports that the power out for 14,000 customers. Roads are jammed and traffic lights are out. Hwy 12 is a mess. Seek alternate routes. Stay off the roads, stay home unless you’re told to evacuate. The #ShadyFire moved with incredible speed during the night, burning through the middle of the Nuns & Tubb’s Fire scars and untouched timber & oak woodlands. Areas A2 in Glen Ellen and GA3, are not yet under evacuation warning but Hwy 12 is a mess. Traffic lights are out. It’s rumored that the fire has jumped Hwy. 12 and is headed toward Oakmont. 

Communities of Mountain Hawk and Skyhawk are burning. Reports of several explosions—probably propane tanks—heard/felt as far away as Rohnert Park. Evac maps are slow, Evac zone updates are slow as well. Firemaps are not even showing the progress. Power outages in Santa Rosa. People aren’t getting NIXLE warnings. Sheriff had to go through Kenwood doing the high low, time to go, siren. Evacuate now! So-Napa Peeps, please check this site for evacuation info, NIXLE info is not always getting through to people, and this site often bogs down and doesn’t update as often as it should. West County Peeps, keep your eyes out for embercast, live burning airborne debris—like pine needles. This fire is traveling fast. Add #Glass Mountain fire to the mix. Will it never stop?

https://sonomacounty.maps.arcgis.com/apps/webappviewer/index.html?id=69a0e54e9e2b48c086d122027b21c961

Fire journal 13, Pond Farm

Some fire photos of Bauhaus potter, Marguerite Wildenhain’s place, Pond Farm Pottery. I know the firefighters were trying very hard to make sure that the historic farm didn’t burn down. 

Marguerite was friends with Walter Gropius, and the Bauhaus movement. During the late 1970s I met her, my boyfriend and I were potters. She didn’t really want to have much to do with anyone. But she did give us a tour of the place. Quite possibly lunch. It was a long time ago. Maybe time to write a blog piece about it. 

The story goes that Marguerite Wildenhain commissioned a friend to build a hostel of sorts for her students in Armstrong Woods. The lobby, built like a teepee, was turned into a disco in the 70’s and 80’s and burned down in late ‘80’s. That place, I remember dancing there to disco lights, and I do have photos of it. 

The Hexagon House was designed by a friend of Marguerite’s. I originally learned that Walter Gropius, a frequent visitor to Pond Farm—I think they had a thing going on—designed Hexagon House. But I was corrected. Still not sure if he had a hand in it. Gordon Herr is credited with building the Hexagon House. Apparently it was originally designed as a meeting place for an enclave of visiting artists. But Marguerite was the only one who stayed on. I know that Ansel Adams visited, as he took a photo of Austin Creek.

Interesting to think of all those pottery students hiking up the hill from Armstrong Woods to Marguerite’s place for pottery lessons. It’s at least a mile walk, and they must’ve been in a euphoric state by the time they got there. 

A friend of mine who was the photographer for The Paper, Phil Osborne, worked for Marguerite when she did production pottery during the 1960s and 1970s. I wonder if he was originally a student of hers. 

My friend Dulcie and I made an homage visit to the outside of Pond Farm yard in October, 2017, as the farm has been closed for some time. We were visiting Kat Williams, who lived beyond the next firegate on Sweeteater Ridge, to take photos of some paintings and clay sculptures of Boschka Layton’s.

Dulcie and I were both students of Thano Johnson’s pottery school at College of Marin during the 1970s, so we knew of Marguerite’s work. We also shared a boyfriend, Bob the Potter. I guess I nicked him from her, and then seven years later, she nicked him back. It didn’t take. He was damaged goods. This time Dulcie nicked a large serpentine rock from the parking lot as a memento and handed it to me. All that slippery greenness, harbinger of blue clay deposits, the potter’s friend.

A few years back the Press Democrat had an article on Pond Farm,I need to look it up. Someone mentioned that Sunset Magazine also did a spread as well. Things to Google when I have time, so this is a placeholder.

Fire journal 12, We’re in the Shire now!

We’re in the Shire now! Open up the windows and air out the house now because it looks like we’ll be back in Rohan (yellow) again this afternoon. Buckle up. We’ve had real fog at night and I think the mist takes down the smoke particles. The smoke ceiling was above the fog, and then it dropped, trapped by the cloud ceiling. The air was deadly for days. It was a bit misleading because we were getting more light. Oregon and Washington are somewhere north of Mordor, outside the Middle Kingdom. Everything is covered in ash. The AQI chart doesn’t even go up that high. For the first time in ages, the chickens are carrying on. We can see our shadows. Is it time for our elevenses yet?

These websites are our mantras. Our lifelines.  AorNow and PurpleAir

m slept with the window open all night since we were in the Shire. But at about 5 AM I began to have massive post nasal drip, so I looked at the AQI chart, but it was still in the green. The only thing I can think of, was that the fog was bringing down Mordor smoke from the sky which became dragonkruft in my nose. I was too tired to wake up and close the window. All I can say is listen to your body. Sleeping with the windows closed tonight. There be dragons on the horizon.

Fire journal 11, We’re in Rohan

After countless days of dark skies and a smoke ceiling too thick to comprehend, what I imagine hell to be like, we had blue skies and relatively fresh air. I’ve become an expert at reading the AQI air index. Today we are in Rohan. Glimpses of tantalizing blue after a week of living in a sepiatone world.We definitely had a much higher AQI this morning. But we had a real fog, replete with mist on the ground. The air smelled burnt, but not overwhelming. A few lone high numbers on the AQI index has me a bit worried. Most of the Bay Area is in Mirkwood. We’re closer to the coast.

Yesterday: AQI IS DOWN TO 128. Gondor levels, vs Mordor levels. I can see pale blue skies for the first time in over a week. We’ve been stuck in post-Orc army Isengard/Mirkwood for days. Opening the window for delicious fresh-ish air. Maybe tomorrow we will be in Rohan. Check PurpleAir.com, uncheck indoor sensors and use the LRAPA converter. What is your AQI?

Fire journal 10, Please don’t breathe the air...

Today, the air was positively lethal. I’ve had a headache all day, and earlier this evening, my eyes were burning—indoors with the air scrubber going full blast. And I’ve developed a cough which I’m trying not to encourage. What about you?

I’m compiling pertinent links, creating a resource base, so check the URLs below for more info. And if you have a good link, please share. Crowdsourced PurpleAir.com stats run higher, but are more up-to-the-minute accurate, they measure micro-regions—with hundreds more laser sensors in the field than other AQI sites. PurpleAir says some monitors run 1.5 times higher than EPA sensors, and woodsmoke has a different density than other pollutants. Checking the LRAPA or AQandU conversion in the menu corrects the readings somewhat. Don’t forget to uncheck the indoor sensors. Air quality is still off the charts either way. 

From KQED: Wood-smoke particles have a different density from gravel dust or other pollutants. To convert it into a calibrated reading that more accurately compares to EPA data, PurpleAir users can toggle between two conversions  “LRAPA,” and “AQandU,” which align more closely with EPA readings.

The six pollutants measured are: carbon monoxide, lead, nitrogen oxides, ground-level ozone, particle pollution (particulate matter), and sulfur oxides. Woodsmoke is not the same density as other types of smoke.

“The index is based on the concentrations of five pollutants. The index is calculated from the concentrations of the following pollutants: Ozone, Nitrogen Dioxide, Sulphur Dioxide, PM2. 5 (particles with an aerodynamic diameter less than 2.5 μm) and PM10.”

more on that KQED article.

Wear an N 95 mask outside at all times. Don’t risk it. A friend walking to the post office the other day was felled with a heart attack because of the bad air. it was nowhere near as bad as it is right now. It’s quite serious even if you can’t smell it. Make an air scrubber with a simple box fan and a MERV1900 filter slapped on the back—if you can find one. A MERV1500 filter will do, as most of the 1900 HEPA filters are sold out. I made one for my cousin, I use a Winix air purifier, and I just changed all the filters.

The sky is lighter now, the chickens woke up around 10 am and the rooster announced the last vestiges of dawn. Then they all went back to sleep again.

Fire journal 9, August Complex largest fire in CA history

Fire journal 8, The color of the sky

 

This is what I awoke to today. The sky at 9AM. I slept in quite late because there was no sunrise, no morning, only an orange darkness, the likes of which, I have never seen before. The chickens never even got up. Nor did the birds rise to the occasion. We are living in Mordor. Two days ago, it was 108° in the afternoon. Today is in the chilly 60s. I kept thinking it was 5 am, and my air scrubber wouldn’t wake up from sleep mode, I had to force it on. Usually the Winix goes on at about 6 am. So glad I’ve a new HEPA filter in it. It makes such a difference. 

9 am 

An apocalyptic sky in the morning

sailors, and all living things  take warning

We’re living in a sepiatone world

where everything is bereft of color

and ash, the secret hearts of trees, 

drifts down like silent snow

Even the birds, they refuse to sing, 

they are in deep mourning.

11 AM The rooster attempted a redo of dawn again. The last time he tried was around 10 AM. He got the chickens up and going. But now they’re back in bed. Though it’s darker than before, he keeps trying to rouse them, no luck. The wild birds have completely given up their morning song and called it quits.

Blood-red dragon’s eye moon, and it’s not even an eclipse. I wasn’t expecting that. I kept thinking it was some electronics reflecting in the window. Then the horror of realization. Living in a sepiatone world.

Fire journal 7, Please stay home....we know it’s hot. But stay away.

Something I wrote to a friend of a friend who wrote a post based on this post.

We have narrow winding roads to the coastal towns of the North Bay, two massive, active fires, one has already leapt its containment banks, and many of the towns were either under mandatory evacuation orders, or evacuation warning—people racing home to pack up their things, rescue their livestock and pets in order to evacuate, including Bolinas—only to be hampered by tourists who refused to pull over. Sheriff’s Dept and NPS asked people to stay away, as all parks were closed, all parking lots were closed, no services, and still they came.

We also had 500-700 firefighters and equipment trying to use those same narrow winding roads—and again, people from out of town refusing to yield right of way.... By Labor Day Weekend it was gridlock from Muir Woods to north of Jenner, along Hwy 1, and all along River Road, when the fire leapt its banks, and new evacuation orders were in place. So, yes, we’re all more than a little angry at the sheer thoughtlessness that their actions have brought upon these tiny communities.

On the sweet side, locals gathered at the crossroads and wide spots in the road holding Thank You, We Love You, and Heroes signs to greet the firemen at the changing of the guard each evening. Our decommissioned San Geronimo Valley golf course was a pop up tent city for all the firefighters joining us from the Northern Rockies.

We have never experienced heavy traffic such as this, and most of it was before the real smoke descended. It seems as if the entire bay area decided to come to the coast, and to the Russian River. Nobody wearing masks, parking randomly wherever they wanted, because everything is closed, using the side of the road as a bathroom, It goes on. 

No this is not normal. And I think the real key is that people were not fleeing to the coast to escape smoke, but to escape the confines of COVID, and later, the heat, not knowing at the time that the smoke was quite thick along the coast because of the fires. So ironically the air was more toxic, and still they came. It was like lemmings.

Even the local politicians and sheriffs department in Sonoma County were aghast. No one wants to put roadblocks up, but we’ve all been asked not to come to the coast—so here we are in Marin and Sonoma counties following the rules, only to be overrun by people from out of county. 

You might relate to this, but the little town of Point Reyes Station ran out of gas. People from out of town wanted gas, there was none. Then someone drove his car into the side of the Palace Market, knocking everything off the shelves and refrigerator cabinets. Crazy thoughlessness. And because of the fire, we didn’t have the infrastructure to deal with people getting hurt, or in a car accident.

Fire journal 6, Ash drift, emberfire

My window has been closed since morning, lots of ash drift. Sky is the color of smoked salmon. The thought of repacking to evacuate—ugh. Luckily, third time’s a charm. I’m much faster at it than before. There’s a curious dithering transition that happens as you begin to gather stuff. All thumbs and nae plan whatsoever. 

Both times I’ve sat in a stupor, in shock, unable to motivate myself, before I was able to shift gears. Yes, leaving things packed and ready to go is probably still the best plan. I went around for two weeks with all my stuff in my car, sans negatives—I was afraid they’d cook. But then it became too stressful as people who had obviously evacuated were being targeted and robbed. Another source of stress.

I figured since I lugged three huge boxes of negatives around with me for a couple of weeks, that I would start scanning them, luckily it won’t take too much to repack them. I did put all my art stuff away. All my jewelry and tchotchkes too. Do I need to repack? 

The fire cam from Mt. Jackson shows that the flames are big. Wind tonight. Sleeping with the windows closed, hope the winds don’t come. I slept with the window open last night, sniffing for smoke all night long as I knew that was my only warning if the power went out.

And here we go again. Multiple fires north of Willits to Covelo Multiple Evacuation Alerts for Mendocino County. Check Nixel. Wildfires are spreading at blazing speed. Pardon the pun. Stay alert, neighbors. Go-bags at the ready. #OakFire has jumped Hwy 101.

Fire journal 6, CalFire village, photos

I travel back and forth to West Marin, from West Sonoma County for work, so I’m constantly monitoring both fires. The defunct San Geronimo Valley golf course was turned into a CalFire village, we’ve had almost 500 firefighters from the Northern Rockies campingout.

Every evening everyone gathers at the road junctions in Olema, and Forest Knolls at the changing of the firefighter shift, to thank the firefighters in person with homemade thank you signs as they drive back to the golf course. It’s quite emotional. We’re not allowed to have contact because of COVID, so people are selling shirts to raise money for CalFire, etc. Every post and electrical pole has a thank you sign on it.

Anyway, because of the CalFire village, we’ve had a fab cellular service. All the cellular companies have satellites up at the golf course. 

Last night, Sinead and I slept o utside in Forest Knolls. The air was acrid with smoke, the evening stayed hot until the wee hours when the birds began their morning songs.  I thought the blue jay was bad enough but the woodpecker’s song leaves something to be desired. The morning was hot as an anvil. Any outside work we had planned was shelved.We went over to Sam’s for showers and bathroom breaks. I spent Sunday in the relative course of his basement apartment with the homemade air scrubbers working overtime.

Fire journal 5, Stay Away!

 9/7 West Marin and West Sonoma County are still off-limits to visitors for good reason. We are so beyond impacted it’s not funny. County officials, sheriff’s department, CHP, and park rangers have begged people to stay away. We are wrapping up huge fires which have also devastated our communities and left us traumatized. 

Containment does not mean the wildfires are out. The Woodward and Walbridge fires are  still burning. Conditions could change without notice. We’re under red flag warning. Today is a critical fire warning day. There’s been a big flare-up at the Cedars. 

UPDATE: new evacuation orders. Check Nixle. The Walbridge fire may burn until the rainy season. Anything can spark a new fire. Your motorcycle muffler. The air quality is horrific. It’s hard to breathe. Ironically, yesterday Bolinas AQI was triple digit, which is extremely dangerous. 

And the idiot spandex clad bicyclists! do they think they’re immune to dangerous particulate smoke lung damage? From southern Marin to northern Sonoma County, the roads were one massive traffic jam this weekend. The beaches are closed. Stinson Beach is closed. The entire Point Reyes National Seashore is closed. The Russian River and Hwy 1 should be closed. Instead, beaches are packed with COVID-seeking sardines. County Officials have repeatedly asked that you stay away. 

All this flagrant disregard by tourists, while 500 firefighters in West Marin alone, are trying to contain the fire and move their equipment out to the next fire. Ditto that in Sonoma County. TOURISTS TURNED THE ENTIRE RUSSIAN RIVER INTO UNPRECEDENTED GRIDLOCK. We do not want a repeat of Paradise. 

Irony is, that all of us locals are staying home so that the roads will remain free, we are following the rules, and then we are bombarded by thousands of visitors, especially callous tourists, with complete disregard as to what’s going on. It’s a nightmare. What don’t you understand about Stay TF home. Go to a cooling center, if you must. 

And to the kyackers in Nicasio Reservoir, what were you thinking—that’s our DRINKING water, FU. West Marin is not your personal playground. You are a guest here, act like one. Better yet, stay home. This is a photo of the coast, either Bodega Bay or Bolinas—despite the misdirected signs. Thanks for the photo Jack Crimmins.

Watching the Woodward Fire smoke roll in from San Pedro Ridge, photos