I had convinced the CHP to let me through the checkpoint. I had a badly printed letter from my friends Zarka and Jane and was headed into the burned forest for a sandbagging party. I had forgotten to double check their address, confident I knew the place. I was wrong.
Something like respect made me drive these twisty mountain roads at a snail's pace of 30 miles per hour. I sipped my coffee and took in the view. Ash. Grey. Black and Burned. Clouds and Mountains. The overcast sky parted to show jagged bare mountains. A ridgline with a few black skeletons - remains of the pines. I felt like I was entering a Chinese Martial Arts Epic. My own Rashomon. Or Samuri Champlu. The mountains were alternately covered in bare black limbs and untouched trees, bushes and brush. I understood the fire. How it had moved from place to place. Traveled up and down these mountains. How some places were decimated, while others lush and green. I understood the chance of surviving a fire. (Retreat into the earth.)
I passed the turnoff to Tujunga and pulled over at what looked like the spot. The gate was locked, the sign burned. I began to hike down the locked road. Before I got far, the Sheriff stopped by my car. I paused to catch my breath after running up the hill. He questioned me with a look of amusement, "How did you get in here?!"
I explained it to him satisfactarily and we went our ways. Me, back down into burned brush. At the bottom of the mountain, I heard a stream; blue birds flitted from tree to black branched tree. Grey ground squirrels rustled in the leaves. The trees in the picnic area looked untouched. It was a similar place, but not the place I was supposed to be. I hiked back up the hill, got in my car and continuned to drive.
I passed the road to Mt Wilson and briefly thought of detouring to visit one of my favorite places in LA. I last saw it on helicopter webcams. But I drove almost all the way to the ski areas before turning around and finding a forest ranger. I could not get there from here. The roads were closed. Impassable. I had to backtrack. I left my respectable 30 mph right then.
--
The fire destruction could not have been more different. All was black and ash. The possibility for pockets of green life survival was almost zero. I saw stone foundations and fireplaces standing in squares. Black twisted metal. I scanned the hillside for the house I knew was still standing and forced my city tires to pull me up the dirt, ash and boulder filled driveway.
To my surprise, there was green everywhere. Small shoots coming out of the grown. Fresh green leaves and brown branches off the oaks. I followed Zarka back into the gorge to get to work. He showed me the spring and we stacked branches around the pipes - hoping they would delay the sharp rocks that ineviteably would slide down and break them.
I worked in silence. Dragging the huge branches and putting them in place. I enjoyed being alone. Truly alone - no electronic devices whirring in my pocket. I heard rocks falling at the back of the gorge. A drawn out tumble. I noticed the thick bark - charred black - that protected the nearby tree. It was at least 1/4 inch thick and peeling off like sunburned skin. Walking back to the house, I came across the charred remains of a fox. I could see still her tongue between her teeth, a huge hole in her skull - brain exploded from the heat.
During a break, we gathered on the wood deck for food. Out came huge plates of steaming chicken and homemade apple honey mead. I was amazed that this huge wood deck had been untouched when entire wood structures were gone. Such is the power of fire retardant paint. Technology.
Before I left, we convinced Jane to sing us her new songs. She sat down to her piano and we crammed in the small doorways. Her voice was clear and hung in the air. She sang about the fire. I couldn't help to imagine, to see her voice, her song clear and pure contrasted with the chaos of the fire. It was if her song, while singing the beauty, respect and destruction of the fire, kept it at bay. Kept the flames burning in a circle around her untouched house.
Comments