My view of life today, after seven days of evacuation living, is vastly altered. One week ago on Wednesday, I griped about PG&E advisories that “Out of an abundance of caution we may proactively turn off the electricity in your area due to a Red Flag Fire Danger Warning.” The power could be off Thursday through Sunday and I grumbled that my refrigerated food wouldn’t survive. But I also knew I’d rather spend a few days without electric power than experience a wildfire near my home. Otherwise, I wasn’t concerned about the warning of potentially high winds and increased fire danger. It wasn’t that the potentially modifier really changed anything because fire danger is omnipresent in the Sierra foothills and elsewhere in California. Like earthquakes, we know they happen but we aren’t in a constant state of readiness to respond. I wrote about this last June: My summer style relies on the sound of aircraft and the kindness of strangers.
Thursday morning I was still asleep when the phone cricketed at me (my ring tone) and woke me up. I looked at the name on the screen — my daughter — and thought “nah, I’ll let it go to voice mail,” but mom-dom took over and I answered with a groggy “huh?”
“GET OUT RIGHT NOW,” my daughter’s urgent demand startled me into full wakefulness. “There’s a fire and your area is being evacuated.” She was in Chico at work already (a point that didn’t sink in until later) where a colleague had alerted her to the fire visible on the eastern horizon. She checked online and read that Paradise was being evacuated. She lives across town from me and started driving home to fetch her dog and cats, calling me en route.
The deep darkness outside set the time for me and I thought it was about 5am (never mind my kid isn’t at work at 5am, I already was riding the wildfire adrenaline surge). Whatever the clock time, I knew it was time to leave. I saw my laundry bin with clean folded clothes and carelessly tossed in a few other items like my medicines. Ran into the kitchen to cram parrot food, dishes and toys in a day pack. The parrots already were in their travel cages as they sleep in these cages. I grabbed my laptop and mobile phone and called a Chico motel to book a room, remembering the lodging crush during the last big fire in 2008—the last room available. Hmm, the last room? Maybe this was The Big One? I hustled bags to the car thinking to check how much room I had left for more stuff.
Weirdly, the day was growing darker not lighter. As I stepped outside and looked to the east where my car was parked, I realized the eastern horizon was the evil devil red glare of wildfire and the world smelled smoky. My first sense of immediate fear ran through me and I dashed indoors to move the birds to the car. One more dash inside to grab the other packs and my water bottle and then I would take some photos of that grotesquely attractive horizon.
Except it wasn’t just the horizon anymore. It was the end of my road less than a mile away. Loud explosions burst simultaneously and constantly, kicking in my next level of alarm. I thought the explosions were propane tanks bursting from the fire (some might have been, others were entire houses exploding). Deciding photos weren’t my priority, I whipped into the car and carefully drove onto the road and headed toward the main road out of town, the Skyway, about six miles away. I drove slowly, not trusting my alertness (or perhaps my too-alertness) and knowing that other drivers are a danger in times of emergency.
When my road intersected Clark Road, I was suddenly in a steady line of stalled traffic headed south. My plan was to turn west at the next light and drive another mile to the Skyway, a straight shot downslope to Chico. While waiting in the line of cars, my first true vista of the fire situation startled me and I took a photo that verifies my speedy evacuation packing. Daughter called at 8:31am and 30 minutes later, after a 10 minute drive, I was stalled in a line of traffic. So 20 minutes from GET OUT RIGHT NOW to getting out.
The line of cars moved swiftly and as I turned right towards Skyway, I realized it was getting darker all the time. The car clock said 9:10. How could that be? It was midnight dark. I thought “maybe the power is out from the fire and the clock isn’t right?” This makes no sense now but then it did. As I puzzled about the discrepancy between the clock time and the outside darkness, a sheriff’s car drove slowly through the middle of traffic announcing through a loudspeaker “All vehicles leaving Paradise are to go down Clark Road not the Skyway.”
”Damn,” I was headed in the wrong direction. What might be wrong with Skyway? Was it on fire too? I spun around as drivers opened a space for me to squeeze into the line going back to Clark Road, trusting, with difficulty, that driving toward the red devil glow was the correct move. The two lane road winds south 8 miles along the side of a slope into the valley floor and I seemed to be the lead car for this rush to escape.
Behind me was a massive jam of vehicles, ahead of me was open road. For the first half of the drive, I was operating on trust because everything looked as if I were driving into disaster. On the left, across a small ravine, flames leaped above the shrubs and raced into the trees. I kept my eyes on the road (steep drop offs on both sides) and managed a fast 50 mph straight into that hellish scene.
At the base of the slope, where the road intersected the main route into Chico, I finally reconnected with masses of other evacuees fleeing Concow and other foothill locales. I inched along slowly in a solid line of vehicles, stop, crawl ahead a few feet, stop. The views into Paradise as I drove to Chico were ominous. The red fire gleam to the east with a massive black cloud rising like a mountain above Paradise ridge and extending a long ledge out over the city of Chico. This is the best photo I have but it doesn’t show the full drama and horror of that view.
Arriving in Chico around 11am, I went directly to a local cafe to call my daughter and get a caffeine jolt. She was back at work with her cats and dog in her car. I spent the day in Chico, mostly in the car with the parrots, constantly checking in with friends to learn about their safety and tell them of mine. At 4pm I went to the motel and met my daughter there with her dog.
Rough summary of the past week after arriving in Chico — put everything back in car, drive across town, unload. Repeat repeat. Watch CalFire reports online while reassuring people I’m safe and checking in on others. Wondering whether to hope my home survived or hope it’s gone because as the news rushed in, the idea of returning to live in Paradise became more and more repugnant.
Along with my kid and her dog (her cats have a room at her office), the parrots and I stayed at a hotel Thursday/Friday, at a friend’s home in her absence Saturday through Monday, and now I’m back at Oxford Suites with the parrots while my kid/dog moved in with friends. Franky (dog) is a mellow guy but he isn’t reliably safe with parrots. Keeping the parrots entertained while locked up in small cages is becoming a major chore. The novelty of a road trip and exciting rides on the luggage cart and in elevators has worn off and they are grumpy. And loud. I could go back and stay at friend’s home while she and her husband are home, but they have a young energetic dog. So for the next few days or ? — I’m at the hotel.
The positive news — we are safe. I have renter’s insurance and a new air purifier. Insurance covers a hotel for two weeks worth of evacuation. This means by Thanksgiving I’m on my own, housing wise, and need to do Something Else. For more news about the fire, check any media outlet. Camp Fire is the most destructive (7,600 8,650 homes documented as destroyed so far — more to come) and deadly (48 56 human remains found — more to come) in California history. Right now it covers 130,000 135,000 acres and all signs point to the cause as faulty PG&E transmission lines sparking onto dry vegetation: Utility Emailed Woman About Sparking Problems Day Before Fire. The Butte County District Attorney asked CalFire to preserve the origin site as a crime scene.
Here is where the fire began at 6:29am on November 8th — upslope to the left above the North Fork Feather River where Pulga Road intersects Camp Creek Road (a dirt road in the mountains).
Why the fire is so fast moving and extensive is explained by uniquely dry conditions and high winds.
I promised you Guy Fieri and here he is.
To help people who don’t know the area — here is a size comparison.
The fire began near the upper right 70 sign and first moved towards Paradise at the rate of 8 football fields a minute. Within two hours, the fire had moved into the eastern boundary (grey line) of Paradise near my home. My escape route was towards the lower center 70 sign and onto Highway 99 and then north into Chico.
The support from local community members and others has been wonderful. But people are living outside at Chico’s Walmart parking lot and an adjacent field and the night temps have dipped into the 30s. This also isn’t usual — cold nights are more common by late December into February. Last night Outback Steakhouse served dinner to the carnivore evacuees at my hotel. I can’t list all the support and help being offered so here is Sierra Nevada to represent them all.
What is needed now more than anything else is money donations. There are massive heaps of stuff in different locations around Chico and Oroville. Needs are specific and the best help are local non-profits who can respond dynamically. (Dynamic is The Word for the Camp Fire. At every press briefing, all the fire officials say “The situation is dynamic so what I say now is the best information I have this moment.”)
There are countless amazing tales from evacuees.
Why didn’t I get a notification to evacuate? Many people didn’t, based on the comment thread in a Facebook group for evacuees and confirmed by the news: Paradise residents say they received no mass cellphone alerts to evacuate, or to warn of fires. It isn’t an exaggeration to say my daughter saved my life.
What I’ve heard from fire officials is that the fire moved so fast that all their resources were focused on getting people herded out. As I was driving away, the town hospital was evacuated of all patients. Paradise has a higher than average percent of elderly and disabled residents who need help to evacuate and that help wasn’t available. The town and surrounding unincorporated county residential areas comprise 27,000 people and there were 3 roads out — two downslope to the Sacramento Valley and one further upslope to connect with the next ridge to the north that then led back into Chico (Skyway to Butte Meadows to Hwy 32).
So my summer style is no longer valid. It wasn’t the sound of aircraft nor my stranger neighbors who alerted me. Planes couldn’t fly the fire because it was too smoky and windy so there were none to hear. I saw neighbors driving out as I gathered my possessions but they didn’t knock on my door — and now, for the first time, I realize neither did I knock on their doors. There was no time to run around the neighborhood alerting people.
My current status
My head is spinning with all the bureaucratic changes to implement for my insurance claim, to cancel all my utilities etc at the defunct address, register with FEMA, and I don’t know what all else. I bit the Hate Shopping bullet and bought some clothes, a coffee filter cone, and an electric kettle. I now officially own slightly more stuff than I can carry in my arms all at once (not including the 3 parrots). I need to find a place to settle until I figure out where I want to live. With many of the 50,000 evacuees not having a home left, housing will be tight. It already was limited before the disaster. I have offers from other areas — e.g., Bozeman (snow), Berkeley ($1200 room), Seattle (free furnished home — best offer yet!), and to move in with local friends. I love my friends and don’t want to ruin our friendship by moving in with three parrots. I’m holding onto my equanimity but definitely have a short fuse. I almost berated my kid for leaving a spoon in the sink to crust with dry sticky rice.
Really — in the scheme of things, a crusty spoon is nothing. So is the idea of a several day power outage.