Living in California, I’ve read a lot about disaster preparedness, seen it covered on TV, and even reported on it as the Monitor’s West Coast correspondent. But I’ve never evacuated – until this week’s wildfires in Greater Los Angeles.
The glow of the Eaton Fire around Pasadena lit up our backyard as my husband and I pulled out of our driveway Tuesday evening, our car loaded with documents, electronics, overnight bags, and a few last-minute items.
Why We Wrote This
Reporters often cover difficult news. And in some cases, it’s about people who have had to flee their homes. For our reporter near Los Angeles, the current wildfire story got even more personal.
Little did I know we were heading out not just into the smoky, angst-filled night, but also straight into the kindness of strangers and friends, and a new normal in which a simple forestry app would make a difference. (The app, run by a nonprofit, had first alerted me to the nearby fire.)
We ended up with a friend further south in the San Gabriel Valley.
Later, a neighbor texted that he had returned to our street and that our house was still standing. Safety, which includes people looking out for each other, is the main thing. In the end, it’s really the only thing.
Living in California, I’ve read a lot about disaster preparedness, seen it covered on TV, and even reported on it for my work as the Monitor’s West Coast correspondent. But I’ve never had to evacuate – until this week’s devastating wildfires in Greater Los Angeles.
The glow of the Eaton Fire in the Pasadena area lit up our backyard as my husband and I pulled out of our driveway Tuesday evening, our ancient Toyota Highlander loaded with bankers boxes of documents, electronics, overnight bags, and a few last-minute items we thought might come in handy.
We drove into the smoky, angst-filled night, but little did I know that we were also heading straight into the kindness of strangers and friends – and a new normal in which a wildfire app would make a big difference.
Why We Wrote This
Reporters often cover difficult news. And in some cases, it’s about people who have had to flee their homes. For our reporter near Los Angeles, the current wildfire story got even more personal.
I would describe myself as generally organized, but not as prepared as the preparedness checklists advise. I have a go bag in my closet with a week’s worth of clothing and toiletries, but my list of other must-take items is in my head. We keep a big package of bottled waters. Still, I’ve given up rotating extra food supplies and just make sure we’re well stocked and have lots of snack bars around. I have extra drinking water and an emergency kit in my car – but not a blanket or food. Flashlights are in our nightstands, slip-on shoes by our bedside.
Fortunately, local news outlets had well telegraphed the potential for fierce winds and fires. We had time to up our preparedness game – for instance, bringing loose items from our patio inside and buying a backup battery pack for our cellphones and laptops. Where we fell flat, friends, neighbors, and professionals made up for our deficit, as often happens when communities pull together in a disaster.
Francine Kiefer/The Christian Science Monitor
So, thank you, Daniel Swain, a climate scientist at the University of California, Los Angeles, for recommending the Watch Duty fire app in your webinar Monday.
A fire app points our way
I had signed up for government emergency alerts after the Bobcat Fire of 2020 cloaked our neighborhood in smoke. But those various alerts never seem to notify my phone when momentous things happen. Instead, I relied heavily on Watch Duty, an app run by the Santa Rosa-based nonprofit Sherwood Forestry Service that sends out alerts of nearby fires and updates on conditions and evacuation orders.
Now I know that we live in PAS-E020 – an important thing because orders are given by zone identification.
It was the Watch Duty app that first alerted me to the Pacific Palisades Fire in western Los Angeles on Tuesday. That’s when we decided that it would be a good idea to buy some bankers boxes and put our mental checklist down on paper – just in case.
That moment arrived after dinner at 6:23 p.m. when Watch Duty first sounded the alarm on the Eaton Fire. Eaton Canyon is a popular hiking destination just a short distance from our house in the foothills of the San Gabriel Mountains, in Pasadena. We assembled the boxes and packed the items from our now-written checklist – passports, car titles, headlamps, stuff like that.
Even though we were only under an evacuation warning, we could see the orange glow of a rapidly progressing fire. Winds were howling in the night. A neighbor knocked on our door to tell us about the fire. But where to evacuate?
Well, thanks be to friends we consulted who have lived here longer than we have. They offered to let us shelter with them. But we all reside in the same general area, so that seemed unwise. Then we talked about hotels and decided that if we left early enough, we could probably find a room and avoid the clogged roads of evacuation.
Francine Kiefer/The Christian Science Monitor
The neighborhood just up the hill quickly came under a mandatory evacuation order, and soon our immediate neighbors were calling and texting, asking questions and sharing information. We left first, taping a sign to our front door, telling firefighters that we had evacuated and providing our phone number.
A hotel as refuge
We settled on a hotel only as we were heading out, and I made the reservation as my husband, Mark, slowly drove past branches and other debris on the road, through dark neighborhoods where the power was out. When we arrived at the Courtyard Marriott in Monrovia, the notorious Santa Ana winds, the same ones pushing the flames, were so bad they nearly knocked me over in the parking lot.
God bless the staff at that Marriott. Within 10 minutes of our arrival, the power went out. A long line stretched in front of the reception desk, which could no longer process anyone because the hotel’s system was down. Anxious evacuees stood in the lobby lit by dim emergency power – their pets, bags, and children in tow. But not once did I hear an exasperated word from the staff – quite the opposite.
Kristi Griffith, who works for the hotel’s management company, was a fountain of good cheer and patience. She handed out bottled water and encouraged folks to spread out and relax at the restaurant or in the comfy lobby furniture. She gave a number to each party so no one would lose their place in line when the system came back up.
It never did, but eventually, the staff found a work-around, and before I knew it, hotel manager Joseph Valencia had called our number and we were being escorted by another worker, the ever-helpful Erica Perez, and a bellhop onto an elevator powered by the hotel’s emergency backup. Ms. Perez let us into a room with no lights, air, or heat, but that’s exactly why we had headlamps and our backup cellphone charger. She suggested we crack our door open to help with the ventilation.
We managed a few hours’ sleep and awoke early to my phone binging that the Eton Fire had advanced to Monrovia, where a mandatory evacuation was now underway. But because there was no Wi-Fi, the alert wouldn’t fully load. We went downstairs for a visual check of the fire – and breakfast. It was still dark out. The staff had just arrived in the dining room, which was not open yet. All of us were astonished by the scene outside the window: Flames from the not-too-distant mountains had climbed down almost to the valley floor.
Francine Kiefer/The Christian Science Monitor
Francine Kiefer/The Christian Science Monitor
Should we evacuate again? If so, where? Mark and I discussed it over bowls of dried cereal and a cup of milk, which one of the workers had kindly brought us. We thought of a few more distant, guaranteed safe destinations, but the worker mentioned that the highways on her commute in were clogged, and there were widespread power outages. At the same time, we wanted to stay close to home to keep an eye on the house. It’s a mentally wearing effort, this business of trying to find a safe evacuation place in a near information blackout.
In the end, we decided to leave the Marriott and head to a friend who lived farther south in the San Gabriel Valley, away from the flames. We had raised this possibility through texts late into the night, but now my texts and calls were not going through. We would just have to take her at her word and show up!
As a rosy dawn broke, we again loaded up the Highlander. The wind had lessened, but the flames and smoke looked and smelled ominous. But not long after, we arrived at our friend’s home and were received with open arms, hot tea, and tangerines from her backyard tree. No smoke here. Literally blue skies – though monster winds had toppled several trees in the neighborhood.
The fire’s toll
Later that day, our neighbor texted to say he had returned to our street. “The neighborhood is spared and the power is still on! Hallelujah.” What a relief. I truly had not expected our house to survive, given the closeness of the fire and the winds. Sadly, many homes in our area did not.
After we got home, Mark and I drove just up the hill to inquire about the Baghdadlian residence. I had written in December about this house and others in the Upper Hastings Ranch neighborhood because of their spectacular holiday lights displays.
The “Merry Christmas” sign hung cockeyed from the front gate, and the giant Santa and his sleigh looked sooty. But the house was still standing. Unfortunately, the house next door had burned to the ground, leaving behind a chimney, collapsed garage, and battered wreath. A broken gas line spewed flames.
In all, we counted at least 30 houses in the neighborhood that were utterly consumed by the fire. So very heartbreaking. Such staggering loss. As we talked with one of the Baghdadlian neighbors, a car pulled up. A woman leaned out the window and said she was a family friend. She had served on a board with one of them. Were they safe? Yes, the neighbor said. Everyone had safely evacuated.
The woman said she was glad and drove off. Safety, which includes people looking out for each other, is the main thing. In the end, it’s really the only thing.
