It’s been a year now, I still get emotional when we talk about it. I was born and raised in Big Creek, my dad worked for Edison, my mom for the US Forest Service. My parents retired and built a home in Shaver Springs in the 70’s. Dad passed in 2001 and my husband and I moved from Bishop to be with Mom and help her with the property. Seventeen acres. My mom passed in 2013. My husband Steve worked for Cal Trans and retired from the Shaver yard in 2014. I retired from SUSD in 2018. This became our forever home.
On Sept 4th, we heard there was a fire down in Camp Sierra. They said it was contained. The next day we were able to see the plumes from our front porch, which faced the East. We decided to put the trailer on the back of the truck so we would be ready if we had to go. My husband had just had an operation and he wasn’t able to move around very well yet, so I hooked up the trailer and put on the quads.
We went to bed that night and at 3 am my husband woke me up and said we had smoke in the house. I immediately started putting things together and was in panic mode. It didn’t seem real. I started working in the house. I didn’t know where to begin. My important papers were a mess, so I started putting them together. Then I took my pictures off the walls—those are the most important things to me– our memories. We didn’t take any clothes. We were just thinking important documents, family bible, my husband’s hunting rifles, memories… As we worked packing and moving boxes toward the back porch my husband kept saying not to open the doors or go outside till we got the evacuation warning but the smoke was so thick we had to cover our faces with watered down bandanas.
Then we got a call from my daughter saying, “Mom, get out. You guys need to get out of there, they’re saying that 168 could be compromised.” So we started loading. My dogs were panicked at this point, so I got them into our Tahoe. We loaded up what we could. I asked my husband if I should wet everything down, but he said, “No, we’ve got to go.”
The smoke was so bad we couldn’t even see across our road. It was just thick. We started driving and that’s when it hit me. The tears started and wouldn’t stop. I saw people in Shaver Springs were starting to move around and get things loaded in their cars as we passed. We made it down to my daughter’s in Clovis and we spent the night down there.
My daughter from Bishop called and said, “Mom, we have the scanner going. It’s not good.” So then we listened to the scanners and I heard them say “We’ve got to pull out.” I knew then–they had to pull out of the back lots because it was coming. Just kept praying in hopes it wouldn’t take our home. The worst feeling was not knowing. I’m not sure of the date we found out, but a dear friend let us know it was gone.
My husband and I were fortunate because we had a place to stay. My daughter’s home was a blessing. In February we moved to Bishop, California. We travel several times a month for Dr. appointments and checking on our property. We still get our mail there.
I guess as we move on things are supposed to get better. But I’m still in roller coaster mode a year later. Some days are really good. Some days are not so good. I wish I was able to be back on our property. It’s coming along and we may be able to move back in the fall of 2022.
We have a good support system. Family first, our kids have been amazing. Our grandchildren, our friends that spent countless hours making sure we had the essentials and the Catholic Church getting things moving on the property.
This year we will miss Thanksgiving on the property. Last year my son Daron arranged to have Thanksgiving on the property. He surprised us! Full-on turkey dinner outside. All my children and their children were there and we made great memories.
On Friday when the fire happened, we all sat around the driveway looking at the big plume of smoke. Thinking that the fire is never going to come twenty miles downhill. I went to work Saturday morning and my boss, James Weirick, said to me “What the hell are you doing here?!” and I said “I know it’s Saturday but there is a break in the water line” he said “no, there’s a fire, you need to go home, you need to get you and your horse out now.” I left immediately. I was by myself and on the way home and thinking how I was going to drive my car, get my truck and horse trailer. I had a lot of logistics running through my head all of a sudden.
I found a neighbor who was walking along the road and I asked her to get in the car. She gets in the car, she asked where we were going, I told her we’re going to my house on Peterson Road. You’re driving the truck and I’m getting my car we’re going to get the horse. We were calling around trying to find a place to home a horse, which isn’t so easy when everyone else with animals is trying to do the same thing. We finally got everything hooked up, I got the horse. I was so focused on getting the horse that I did not take anything out of my house. I had a truck with an empty eight-foot bed, and my friend asked me if I was sure I didn’t want to take anything. I just wanted to focus on making sure we got the horse out safely. I told her that I would come back later. We got the horse situated down by the high school, I had some friends who took him in. By the time we tried to get back up, to load up items from my house it was too late, they wouldn’t let us. I have family in Los Angeles so I evacuated there for the first eight days.
I was watching the fire on my phone and my phone is just blowing up. I’m watching my neighbor’s houses going up in flames, one after the other, after the other. Then I saw that it had burned Cressman’s. That was a moment. It hit Peterson and Cressman road and took off burning everything. The house was gone, I knew it was after sitting there and watching all of the videos. Nathan Magisg was doing filmed drives through neighborhoods, but no one was going down Peterson. It is a difficult road, if you have driven it you know. I wasn’t getting any confirmation, but I knew. I finally got a hold of one firefighter, Mark Helm, who went there in the middle of the night, and called me on Wednesday at 2am. He had been in my house before; you have to know where it is to get there as it isn’t clear to see from the road. Mark said he got to the house and he said “the smoke is so thick. I can’t see anything” so I was guiding him and telling him where to walk, “go left, turn at this spot, you should see it now” and he just said “it’s, it’s gone, it’s gone and then he checked the barn, he goes the barn is gone.” He said, “everything’s burning, you know, everything’s burning”. As sad as it was to hear, I am so grateful that he went out of his way, and went in there and could confirm it for me.
My horse got evacuated to behind the High School, which was behind the evacuation line so I couldn’t see my horse for six weeks. The McConnell’s cared for him and they did a fantastic job. When I dropped him off, I had told them I would pick him up Thursday, the same week. I didn’t get to get him back until three months later. I had no place to put him, my place was gone and they weren’t even letting anybody back. There’s no water, no electric, no nothing. At one point the McConnells were getting evacuated and I was frantically calling them asking what I needed to do. They said not to worry they were not going anywhere. They’re staging at the high school still and the McConnell’s have a cattle ranch. The cows have eaten everything down enough in that area so they were staying put.
Six weeks later when I did get to see my horse, he was not well. He had just been so stressed, and he felt abandoned–I just dropped him off one day in a world he didn’t know and a place he didn’t know the language. He was with cows now and he’d never seen a cow in his life. He felt abandoned, and so he was super stressed, and high stress levels in animals can cause them to get Cushing’s Disease. He did get Cushing’s Disease and I evacuated him to Clovis which was closer to where I was now staying. I spent $8,000 trying to keep them alive. He ended up with liver failure. On March 5th he had to be put down. He was a perfectly happy and healthy horse September 5th and March 5th he was a dead horse. He didn’t understand. He was 26 years old, middle-aged, but he still had a lot of life left in him and he was so healthy.
My parents lived in Southern California. My house burned down in September. My dad died in June and my mom died on Christmas because she couldn’t live without my dad. They were married 65 years. Once the house burned down, I wasn’t visiting her enough to keep her from being depressed. With COVID she was isolating in a house that she had just lost her husband of 65 years in. I think she felt abandoned too, so it was the same thing as my horse. I tried to get down there to see her but with the loss of the house came a lot of insurance stuff and being at the property. Her health just went downhill, and then she ended up in the hospital and she didn’t recover. I see it as another after effect of the Creek Fire, all of this loss, the ripple effects. I guess my way of dealing with it is not dealing with it. There has been so much, I was put in an apartment and I just try to get through each day. I try to keep myself busy, I’m a workaholic now, more so than I’ve ever been. Luckily, I am seeking some therapy, it’s hard to see the world move on. My insurance has done really well by me and they have put me up, but I live down the hill now. With that move comes another loss, the loss of my community, your support group. I lost neighbors, friends, and some of my neighbors who survived were afraid to contact me because they had survivor’s guilt. Some just don’t know what to say. I think losing the community support was really tough. You know that was one more loss, and you realize that loss once you’re back up here. Initially it was hard because you just feel abandoned. I wondered “Where are my people? Are they not my people anymore?” Everybody’s got their own thing. It has all been very overwhelming and still is.
Domino. Three months to the day since Allyn last saw her. Our house and property burned the next night. Today she was there, awaiting us. Allyn actually thought he was dreaming. She looks a bit bedraggled, but no burns or other injuries. She’s lost a little weight, but nothing significant. Asleep under the bed now. A miracle.
Marissa and Chris Neely are Shaver Lake locals who now live on their sailboat, named Avocet. This story was originally published on their blog, Sailing Avocet: https://www.svavocet.com/2020/09/15/up-in-flames/?fbclid=IwAR21HQvnj2ojmJTkR986SDYgwwPjYXKg0bXSV7L9qxthg6rrnIIucLJ9nIQ
And So It Begins
“We haven’t eaten anything since lunch yesterday” a shocking truth that had gone unnoticed for hours until Chris and I were sitting side by side in his truck, northbound. Stress, fear, and the unknown all mixed together are very filling especially when your stomach is already in knots. For nine hours we had been sitting at the edge of our seats checking our phones for updates constantly. Our “go” bags were packed, Cleo was fed, and the boat could be locked up in seconds. In twelve hours over 45,000 acres of the Sierra National Forest had burned in what the public had been calling the #CreekFire.
I attempted to write about this the night prior to leaving when we first heard of the fire, but failed as I couldn’t compile enough words to match my emotions. After barely sleeping and being alone with my thoughts and the subtle sound of Chris’s snoring and Cleo’s purrs I was able to jot down some things to form a more well put together post.
The fire started September 4th below the small town of Big Creek, California, a quaint community tucked into the mountainside. Big Creek is a historical town of about 200 residents, most of them operating the power plant that has been using hydro power to create electricity since the early 1900’s. It is a gem of the Sierra National Forest, and now many historic homes have been lost to flames.
Chris and I used to drive his 1963 MGB up and down that old road to Big Creek, enjoying the freedom of the forest and each other’s company. To imagine those same breathtaking views that we have enjoyed for so many years decimated by fire is absolutely soul shattering. As the fire continued to spread our hearts grew heavier, and heavier.
Huntington Lake is a man made fresh water lake that stretches for seven miles. It is most notable for hosting the High Sierra Regatta, a sailboat race that the Neely’s have participated in for years. The lake is also home to Gold Arrow Camp, a summer camp for kids, which is where Chris spent many summers growing up and also where Jon and Shannon (SV Prism) met as camp councilors under the names of “Crush” and “Shark”, eventually falling for each other and hatching the idea of sailing around the world. A favorite memory of Chris’s is sailing from Gold Arrow Camp to Willow, a spot at the west end of the lake. It was a crowning achievement for the young summer camp sailors to sail nearly six miles up the lake and celebrate with ice creams before sailing back to their starting point. Huntington Lake is also where Chris taught me how to sail when we were just fourteen years old. The fire reached the west end of the lake, consuming many historic cabins and threatening others in the surrounding area.
The fire is not only spreading north but also south, growing dangerously close to the town of Shaver Lake, which is where Chris’s childhood home resides. When Chris and I became close friends at thirteen/fourteen years old he had spent a lot of time at my family’s cabin just down the road which is where we made our first memories. We grew up together, gallivanting through the forest often with a camera working on our artistic photography skills. The photos were nothing less than “cringe worthy” but looking back I am so glad we captured those moments in time.
Eventually I started to make my way into the Neely home, spending almost every weekend there with Chris and his mom. I loved my family’s cabin, but there was something wonderfully different about the Neely house. The walls were adorned with photos taken by Van, Chris’s dad, and hung with care by Mama Neely. Every photo was a story in itself. Pictures of all the kids, extended family, sailing… it was a museum of happy memories. In addition to the photos, there was a warm presence that filled the home, and to this day I have to believe it’s the spirit of Chris’s dad. Over the years the Neely home truly became mine as well, which is why I had broke down in tears when we heard it was in the path of the Creek Fire’s destruction.
Last month when I wrote about my childhood home in Santa Cruz being threatened by the Complex Fires, I described the horrific imagery that played in my head. Despite my minds slideshow of negative outcomes I was optimistic since the communities along the central coast are well equipped with resources to control the burn. My half glass full attitude prevailed and the fire was stopped in Santa Cruz County by the hard working fire crews. Not even one month later the graphic imagery of a home consumed by flames returned to me, but this time the home belonged to Chris and my optimism had been severely repressed by the many weighing factors of the fire.
The Sierra National Forest has been a ticking time bomb for disaster since at least 2015 when the bark beetles plagued the forest claiming 80% of it by eating the beautiful green trees, turning them an orange-brown, leaving our forest to look like it was in a permanent state of autumn, all year long. The towering pines sat idly waiting for one gust to push them over since their structural integrity was compromised from the inside out by the beetles. The top of one tree hit the Neely home a few winter’s ago with Mama Neely and I inside. Minimal damage was sustained to the house, but it was a telltale sign our forest was in danger. The dry trees and warm air has made the forest a timber box, just waiting for a spark.
The Drive to Nowhere
At the time I began to write this I had just heard that this fire had spread to 80,000 acres. It was 10:30 a.m. on September 6th. Chris and I were heading to Shaver, or as far as we could make it, to help evacuate his family and hopefully collect more things from his home including his mom’s cat Leia. My eyes were itchy and bloodshot, stomach was empty, and for once I was at a total loss of words. The whole car ride had been virtually silent, with the occasional “Are you FU$&ING KIDDING ME!?” When we would receive updates on the raging fire or when a Prius decided to pull in front of us and drive ten miles under the speed limit.
“It’s sooo going to take the house” Chris said after we had stopped for gas. We were an hour away from home, making good time. “We should have left last night” he said. I remained quiet, squeezing his freshly sanitized hand for support thinking that if it wasn’t for me and my job we would have been there already. So many times this year my job has prevented me from playing an active supporting role in our families lives.
Recently when my home was in fire danger we stayed home and I worked. When Chris’s mom got into a life threatening car accident Chris left to be by her side and I stayed home and worked. Even now when we got news of this fire we decided to wait so I could fulfill my work duties the following day, once again putting work first… thinking back I wish we would have left. I take pride in my job and work as hard as I can, but times like these remind me that life is so much more than just living for the weekend.
As we approached the mountain the smoke was thick, and blanketed the view in front of us. We came prepared with our masks, the ones we purchased specifically for the California “fire season” last year, and were expecting the worst conditions. At 1:00 p.m. we made it to Chris’s sister’s house. All three nephews were in their car seats and both Tess and Jason’s cars were packed and ready to leave. On the doorstep was a hand written memento from the Erdman family, a true Van Neely move pulled off by his one and only daughter.
As ash began to rain on us we said our goodbyes and hopefully see-you-laters to the Erdman home, driving away from the fire. Unable to pass the CHP to reach the Neely Home, we sent our best wishes up the mountain and hoped to god it would make it through this disaster. Mom’s cat Leia, a highly skilled hunter, was on her own now.
We drove back down the hazy road the same way we had rushed up. Feeling defeated, our silence grew louder. “At least our family is safe” I finally choked up, careful not to start bawling. We trailed our family down the mountain to the valley where we gathered with Mama Neely, hugging, sobbing, and being thankful we were together again.
Tess and her family gave hugs and said goodbye as they retreated to Cambria, a true safe haven for the family to be with each other during this time. Chris, Mama Neely, her friend (and current caretaker) Terrill and I sat around the living room trying to make light of the situation. After we decompressed a bit, Chris and I made a quick trip to our friend Clarke’s house where we dropped off some of the evacuated items for safe keeping. After another round of drinks and somber discussion we said goodbye then drove to my Aunt and Uncles where my Grandpa – who also lives in Shaver Lake – had retreated to.
Strength in Family
Woof Woof all Hushaw homes come with tail-wagging-greeters equipped with a good bark. We sank into my Aunt and Uncle’s couch, sharing updates and trying to keep ourselves distracted from the ongoing chaos. I was mid-conversation when Chris got a call and wandered over to the kitchen where I heard soft but sharp profanities on repeat. “Chris… you okay?”
“The house is going” was the absolute worst thing to hear. A spot fire had sparked from embers right behind the Neely house and was growing dangerously close. With a plan to return later for the night we parted with my family and made our way back to Mama Neely. Chris melted into his mother’s arms. I could see tears quietly escape my husband’s eyes while he was trying to be strong for his mom. We shared a moment of sobbing then began talking about the positives and what we could do. We were so thankful to have friends on the frontlines of this fire who were able to feed us direct information. A very close friend messaged Mama Neely to say that our house was saved! For now, anyways. We won the battle, but the war had only just begun.
After forcing myself to eat for the first time in a day and a half we helped Mama Neely get ready for bed and Chris dressed her healing ankle wounds. I called one of my best friends, Megan, and spoke with her trying to keep my mind at ease. She recommended I manifest the homes safety. Before Chris and I attempted to sleep that night we sat at the edge of my Aunt and Uncles very comfortable guest room bed, holding hands and worked on our manifesting. Within ten minutes we received a text message from a friend on the mountain that said he thought the house would survive the night. Thanks to the mild reassurance of our home’s safety and the melatonin my Aunt gave me, I fell asleep in Chris’s arms almost instantly.
3:00 a.m. September 7th: I woke up from a nightmare in a cold sweat, only to grab my phone and see the nightmare was real. I checked the fire status and was relieved there were no reports of loss or anything critical at that time in the morning. My thumbs tapping on my phone woke Chris up, who then did his best to convince me to go back to sleep.
A few hours later I woke up again at the respectable time of 7:00 a.m. I reached for my phone and felt a wave of relief wash over me when the early morning news came through that the fire line around the town of Shaver Lake had held and no structures had been lost! Although this was just one victory in this fire fight, we won for now and took what we could get. Although the fear of losing our home in the spot fire was absolutely terrifying there was a silver lining: if the main Creek Fire did reach the town it would run out of fuel due to the brush already being burned away, meaning we stood a pretty darn good chance if the wind remained calm.
I rolled out of bed and wiped my face with a washcloth, staring at myself in the mirror. I looked tired and dark circles around my eyes made me look like a raccoon. I wondered if this year would age me like the photo comparison of the presidents at the start of their term and at the end…
The warm smell of coffee wafted through the Hushaw home as we made our way to the family room where we were bombarded by two happy-tail-wiggling-dogs. “Good morning!” And it was indeed. The Neely house survived the night but we knew that was still only the beginning. We had breakfast and kept our minds busy with storytelling and jokes, doing our best to keep the mood light. My Aunt Carol graced us with her presence at the table adding to the conversation. Mid-laugh all of our phones began screeching, alerting us that there was a mandatory evacuation for the town and surrounding areas of Auberry which was not a good sign. In a quick moment our smiles were reduced to neutral stares as Chris made calls to our friends on the scene.
Less than an hour later we got a report of the first structure fire in Shaver Lake, started from embers. It was a house only a few doors down from the Neely Home. Chris and I passed by it often on our long walks together; we had never imagined this hell was possible. With the predicted winds for the day topping at thirty mph from the West, our hope for the Neely home was slipping. I called a friend for an update. The photos he sent from the scene made my heart drop. I tried to keep the faith for Chris, but even he was living in the cynical reality that his home may become ash.
An Unexpected Goodbye
As a child, my first memories were made in Shaver Lake spending weekends at my Aunt and Uncles cabin. Everything was special to me. I remember walking through the door and upstairs to a full table with my great grandma Sara at the head, kicking everyone’s butt at a game of Parchese. I remember the 90’s wallpaper that was filled with shapes and bright colors on the dining room wall. The ladder to the loft where I fell off and knocked the wind out of myself for the first time. The taxidermy trout that hung proudly on the wall. A place we gathered as Hushaw’s on so many occasions to celebrate family and togetherness. I did not expect that I would potentially have to say goodbye to that cabin so soon and in such a harsh way. I was dazed and heartbroken when we got the call that the fire line had stretched down the mountain to Musick Creek next to where my family members’ cabins were. When my parents sold our neighboring cabin in 2019 I had an emotional goodbye with it, filming every room in detail to keep and show our future kids where mom and dad fell in love, it was a much more elegant way to say “goodbye.”
The wind was supposed to peak at 5:00 pm then be dead calm afterwards. It was 1:30 and we were waiting for the worst. I sat alone in a room with all of my memories rushing me at once while also scanning the maps and information sites just counting down the hours.
Sit. Cry. Regroup. Wait. Repeat.
An obnoxious cocktail of emotions flooded us all as we shared information through family texts and Facebook threads. We would receive new information and cry, then be reassured by following information that all is “well” for now. Then we would wait. The vicious cycle continued as we sat anxiously awaiting the inevitable unknown.
ring ring ring
Our friends called their home to see if the line was still connected. At that time their house and the Neely house was there. We had heard minimal information regarding the progress of the fire and all we knew was that it is on its way towards the Erdman home. We were thirty minutes from 5:00 pm and still waiting for the wind to die. The fire had created its own weather system and the scanner reported that there was ground lightening and fire tornadoes.
As day bled into night we hugged Mama Neely goodnight and headed to my family’s for dinner. Five minutes from the Hushaw home we received a video of our street, showing what was left of the two homes previously engulfed in flames. Nothing but rubble and chimneys brought Chris and I to tears. The surrounding ground was fire free and there were no signs of a continued fire fight, the Neely home confidently stood another night. We were humbled again by the wrath of Mother Nature; one of those ash piles could have been our home but it seemed that it was not our turn to burn.
Another Sleepless Night
As we parked in my aunt and uncle’s driveway we got out of the truck and ran into each other’s arms, still sobbing from the moment of relief knowing our mountain home would be safe for now. Our attention shifted from our worries to my family’s as the fire had progressed down into the area their cabins were.
The whole Hushaw clan was present for the fire debrief on Channel 37. We watched carefully with our eyes glued to the screen. Unfortunately, there was no useful or new information provided and we turned the TV off feeling no better or worse. Luckily, Auntie Carol had prepared a filling dinner to replace the pit of despair that had taken up residence in my stomach and we enjoyed a lovely meal over the family table sharing stories of sailing, memories, and of course finding whatever silver lining we could.
Day Four
The only thing that spread faster than the wildfire were the wild rumors of what structures had been destroyed. Once able to return to town, the first responders went into the heart of Big Creek and showed that the school house and general store were still standing while a handful of homes were in ruins. Those standing structures were a glimmer of hope that not all was lost especially since they were the first to be “reported” as destroyed when the fire began.
“Any news?” We asked our friend in “high places” as he prepared to fly over the scene. Cressman’s General Store was destroyed last night, an absolute blow to our community. The taste of their peanut butter cookies filled my tastebuds as a phantom memory. Pine Ridge Elementary, a school Chris, his siblings, and now nephews attend had been severely damaged and the fire was still heading down the hill towards Chris’s big sisters home.
The Erdman home was built with care by Jason, Tess’s husband, who (with the help of his wife) did a masterful job designing and constructing the home for their family of five. They had just finished building the garage. We had faith in my sister-in-law’s home withstanding the heat and flames since Jason had built it with the environment in mind, placing fire resistant siding around the home unlike the Neely house that was quite literally covered in lacquer.
All we could do was clench our phones in anticipation of news. Another fire had started down south near L.A. due to a failed “Gender Reveal” which consequently destroyed many homes and continued to rage through the hot and dry hillsides. Up north in Oregon my mom’s eldest brother had been evacuated due to a fire that had quickly grown and threatened numerous homes and farms; fires seethed all around us.
We debriefed with the Hushaw family over coffee before packing up the truck and heading to Mama Neely’s. Once together we celebrated the small victories after a news reporter shared footage of Shaver Lake showing that the flames were gone. Although we were thankful, the fear and anxiety of losing the Neely home was again transferred to worrying about the Hushaw cabins and Erdman home down the mountain.
The reports trickled in as we got confirmation of what was still there and what was gone. We decided it was best to make our way back to Avocet to check on Cleo cat and get some work done. We stopped by Cambria to see Tess and the boys. The kids were in good spirits, mom and dad Erdman masking their fear to remain strong for their family. It was a stressful few days for us all and there were no signs of the fire letting up, being 0% contained.
Chaos Interlude
Back home on Avocet we realized just how rushed we were to leave. A sink full of dishes, laundry scattered about, projects half finished… we had only been gone a day and a half but by the looks of the boat you would have thought it was a week. Cleo was happy to have us home, purring and rubbing against our legs while meowing until we picked her up. It was the first solid night of sleep I had in three days.
Being home at sea level was a quite literal breath of fresh air. The smoke was gone and the salty smell of the ocean greeted us with the marine layer. We searched for normalcy as we tried to focus on small tasks; office work for me, boat work for Chris. We failed miserably at staying busy and shifted our attention to finding a way to see if our family homes were safe.
Chris and I had been seeing so many videos from “reporters” sharing footage of what the fire left behind. It was insulting hearing outsiders talk about our homes and communities as if we had no love for them ourselves. One “journalist” in particular completely bashed the home of a family friend saying that they should have cleaned their gutters to prevent their home from becoming ash–that video was how the family learned that their beautiful home was gone. Unfortunately, out of the handful of reports that were available we had yet to see any that showed our family homes standing safe and sound. With the mountain access still closed to all residents we were beginning to feel discouraged which is when Chris got a call from one of his producers.
Home is Where the Heart Is
“It’s like we were just here” I said jokingly as we rolled into Fresno. We arrived at my Aunt and Uncles just a quarter past nine, absolutely exhausted. The guest room was just how we left it, making it that much easier to slide into bed. We would need all the rest we could get to prepare for the following day.
The morning always comes too early, our tired eyes fighting to wake up. After breakfast and a briefing we hugged my family goodbye and thus began the most emotionally taxing day I have ever had. We drove further into the smoke as the road began to disappear from in front of us. “I can taste it now” Chris said through his N95 mask. The brand new mask was white that morning, but by the end of the day it would turn a dark brown.
We pulled into our first checkpoint and stated our business while sharing our credentials that were neatly tucked in Chris’s work binder. After we thanked the officer he directed us to check in with the PIO set up down the road. Once we shared our information and checked in with the responders on site we were allowed to drive up the mountain.
It was another silent car ride as we tried to prepare for what we were moments away from witnessing. All too soon, charred forest came into view making a town we knew like the back of our hands absolutely unrecognizable. Our mouths started forming words our brains barely had time to create, voicing things like “oh my god” on repeat. Almost missing our turn, we drove down the hill towards Chris’s sister’s house to document how the fire has affected the neighborhood. A family friends’ home was in ruins. Nothing but a charred classic car frame remained, smoking.
At Chris’s sisters house there was no sign of fire besides the large amounts of ash that had fallen on the home. With a dry groundcover, Chris and I raked all of the leaves and wood scraps around the homes perimeter to help increase the fire safety. We also watered all of the decks and sides of the house, making sure to wet the large piles of wood that were stacked neatly in front. When there was nothing more we could do, we filled buckets of water to leave behind for the scared and misplaced wildlife then continued to drive through the neighborhood and send messages to our friends regarding the status of their homes.
Unlike the other “journalists” Chris and I did not live-post about our time on the mountain. We were there to document the destruction, then leave. It was not our place to live stream neighborhoods, showcasing the empty streets and allowing online predators and potential looters to know the exact whereabouts of these homes. Instead, we sent about thirty people (friends and acquaintances alike) the status of their homes directly, not sharing the posts online for public view. We continued to drive through the threatened and devastated neighborhoods, holding back the emotions to remain focused on our job. Chris stopped at the neighborhood in Pine Ridge, and walked up to the remains of a home. “Who lived here?” I asked… then I looked and saw the remains of an MGB, similar to our own. Chris called our friends to tell them the status of their home. He barely choked out the words, ending it all with “I am so sorry.”
The tone was set from there on. We passed my grandfather’s old home on the ridge that was completely decimated; I remembered his beautiful panoramic view of the valley below, his tomato plants sitting on both sides of the window. Chris’s high school teachers’ home was nothing more that ash and broken glass. Another friend’s lot was empty where a house once stood among the trees. After documenting and relaying information to our friends we continued our anxious drive up the mountain, towards the Neely home.
Madera County, Santa Clara County, San Francisco, Santa Monica, Denair County, Squaw Valley, Paradise… As we climbed elevation I made notes of the fire engines we passed so I could properly thank them for coming this way to help fight this monstrosity of a fire. While Chris kept his eyes on the road (or at least what he could see) I turned on the camera and began filming from the passenger seat of our GMC Sierra, which was seemingly small next to the large engines.
We rounded the corner to Cressman’s, the general store that had been in operation since 1904. Instead of seeing the brown barn and white building with the cheery “Cressman’s” sign we saw jagged rebar and smoking piles of rubble. We had known that Cressman’s had burned, but were still not prepared to see the graveyard of what was. The whole mountain side behind and in front of the beloved general store was gone. No trees, no homes, nothing but ash and darkness.
As a child I remember being able to barely see out of the backseat window. When we would drive to my family’s cabin in Shaver, I always knew we were close when the tall trees began fill the frame of the window, the only things I could really see from my child sized point of view. I will always have the memory of that drive burned into my mind, which I will cherish forever since the same drive nearly twenty years later is now legitimately burned, and will take years to regrow. My children will never experience these forests the way I did.
We drove into where my family’s cabins stood and I began to cry. They were still there. There was no fire immediately surrounding them; they have a chance! Since my grandfather had not planned to be evacuated for more than two days (none of us saw this coming) Chris and I retrieved some belongings for him to make his extended stay away from home more comfortable. As we locked up his door we both took a moment and listened. There was silence. No animals, wind, or even fire crackled. The earie lack of noise was similar to that of a fresh snowstorm, insulating the ground and absorbing any noise big or small. I had wished this was a snowstorm.
After checking the status on another thirty plus homes and neighborhoods we finally arrived at the Neely house. She was still there, looking warm and inviting just as usual. Mama Neely had not been home in a month due to her car accident, so everything was left as-was from that morning she had headed out to work, anticipating returning home later. I cried. I walked inside and sat on the stairs that lead up to the bedrooms and began sobbing. I was overcome with gratefulness that our home had been spared thus far, remembering our friends’ homes down the mountain who did not share the same fate. Chris turned the generator on and we began to search high and low for mom’s cat, Leia. Unsuccessful, I left food and water out for her in case she made an appearance.
The Belly of the Beast
Once we knew our home was still standing we returned to the truck and continued on our mission to document the fire. We drove to Shaver Lake, and saw nothing on the horizon. The line where the sky met the lake was blurred, making the depth perception something of an illusion. We drove all the way to Big Creek where the fire started, fighting off the tears as we drove through the blackened stretch of decimated forest. Once again remembering sunny drives with my love, the top of the MG down, my hair blowing everywhere in the wind… I longed for that memory to be real as the smoke made it hard to breathe, even through our smoke masks.
In Big Creek, I was relieved to see the power plant intact as well as the penstocks which happened to be my favorite hike. It appeared the online news was once again not 100% factual as the schoolhouse and church still remained upright even though they were reported to be destroyed. Despite the two structures still being whole, the surrounding homes were not as lucky. A whole street was destroyed by the fire. After speaking with a fireman, he said the fire had reached 2000 degrees, melting glass and basically anything else. There was nothing left of these homes except chimneys that stood like headstones in each land plot, a reminder of what was that is no longer.
Exposed plumbing pipes gushed water, washing over the ruble, creating the only noise in the entire area. We stood back and looked at the street, cameras in hand, and realized we had seen this before. What we saw was a neighborhood leveled by disaster with messy wires here and there and what was left of random belongings burnt in place where their owners had left them, most likely expecting to return- a scene from a horror film. As Chris and I documented the tragedy we remained respectful. Although there were no front doors or walls those homes still belonged to others and we were not invited in.
The smoking street and sepia sky reminded me of a dystopian society, perhaps written in detail by Stephen King. I love reading Kings novels, but never intended on living in one. We said a prayer for the families whose homes were lost and the animals that were unable to escape. Sealing our prayer with good intentions we drove back down the mountain to Shaver Lake where we captured the last shots of the day. Despite the mountain being busy with police and fire personnel, it felt empty without the regular hustle and bustle of the town. We passed Shaver Lake Pizza, instantly craving their veggie combo and wishing we could just pop in like normal to take a warm box home to share with family. Their neon “open” sign was off, along with every other business that had been evacuated. It was day five without power in the town, and the thought of thawing fridges and freezers quickly stunted our appetite.
“You smell like a forest fire!” Terrill said as we walked through her front door, with pizza in hand. It was not Shaver Lake Pizza, but Me-N-Eds was a decent alternative. Despite everyone’s judgement of our odor, Terrill’s dog Maisey could not get enough of us and buried her sniffer into my pant leg. Mama Neely was sitting in the recliner with her ankle elevated to help circulation and continue the healing process, and our best friend Clarke came over to join us for dinner and a debriefing. We melted into Terrill’s leather couch, careful not to carry our scent everywhere with us and stuffed our faces with pizza. After our stomachs started to fill, we took a deep breath and began to talk about our emotionally taxing day.
Round Two In Hell
I put on my same smoke drenched clothes that I had worn previously, unbothered by the strong mesquite smell. I have always been the person that loved smelling like a bonfire the morning after sitting around the fire pit, roasting marshmallows and being with friends but this time it was not good memories the smoke was associated with. We drank coffee, briefed, then hugged my family goodbye; a new routine we had developed over the past week. Loading back into the truck, we had direct orders from China Peak Mountain Resort to retrieve the necessary office items so they could continue work preparing for the 2020/21 season from down in the Valley where many employees had evacuated to. We checked in with the officer at the first checkpoint and continued to the PIO to check in again with them before ascending back to the hellscape at 6000 ft.
The road to China Peak was bare, no trees or greenery remained and the smoke was thick as ever. Highway 168 began to disappear from the front of our hood, making us thankful that we knew the way to the ski resort like the backs of our hands. At 7000 feet there was a break in the smoke, the sun shining through like a magnificent sign of hope. Upon our arrival to China Peak we were stopped by a sheriff brigade who questioned our presence. We explained our “mission” and after some proof, convincing, and promising to be quick we were able to retrieve the items requested by the management and loaded it all in the truck. The ski resort was being heavily patrolled due to avalanche explosives being set off by the fire, which meant we were unable to check the back lot to see the status of our Hobie 18 Magnum Catamaran, Hobie Wan Kenobi, which is a parking lot princess when not gliding across Huntington Lake in the afternoon winds. We were able to confirm with the kind fireman from San Francisco that our Hobie Wan had survived and he was nice enough to send photos after he got approval from his captain.
Feeling absolutely accomplished in our mission for China Peak we drove down the mountain to the Neely home where we cleaned out the fridge (you’re welcome, Mama Neely) and looked for the elusive Leia cat. I immediately noticed the Shiba cat food was licked clean and there were new feathers stuck in the door mat… she was here. We took a quick look around the immediate area when I heard a bird chirping, the first animal I had heard during this whole ordeal. Realizing it was unusual, I had an instinct to check it out. I rounded the corner and saw the huntress Leia, crouched and about to pounce on her winged prey. Yelling to Chris “SHE’S HERE!” I scared the bird and Leia looked back at me with her green eyes with the most annoyance I have seen from a cat. She meowed, then quickly escaped my reach.
We spent the next twenty minutes trying to coax Leia out from under the neighbor’s deck, but she refused. As we were on our bellies trying to capture the little murder mittens, three police cars drove past. It did not look good from their point of view. We looked up from under the deck and saw that the cars had pinned Chris’s truck in his driveway, and the officers began searching through his truck and opened the door to the house. Chris, who was wearing his khaki green shorts and a thin T-shirt, came over the ridge and from twenty five feet away said, “Can I help you officers?”
A gun was drawn on my husband. He remained calm and explained that this was his home. We were trying to capture his mom’s cat who had been alone here for four days. The various equipment and office supplies in the truck belonged to the Ski Resort, and we had papers to prove we were given authorization to retrieve it. The gun was finally holstered, and the officer in charge asked for ID. Of course, we gave him our information and were honest with our whereabouts. None of the public (except the friends we relayed home statuses to) knew we were on the mountain, unlike those who were posting live streams. When we were leaving China Peak, the officer there had reminded us that we were not allowed to venture anywhere besides our own residence, and we didn’t. This was our home. Unable to answer what we were doing wrong, the officer in charge was upset with Chris’s knowledge of Media and Journalist Protection eventually just taking our pictures and writing down our license plate. The two other officers were very kind and compassionate towards the situation, I light heartedly asked the one closest to me if he happened to have a cat net in his cruiser. Unfortunately he did not.
With adrenaline still rushing through us, the police left and Chris and I tried our best to capture sweet Leia, but just as cats are… she was stubborn. Unable to stick around much longer (especially after having a gun pointed at Chris) we decided to leave buckets of water around the house and enough food to last the tabby cat a good week or so, especially if she was successful in hunting. We stood in the doorway and closed our eyes to seal our good energy and protections in the home getting a good look at it all just in case. We locked the door one last time then drove off the mountain, and back to our family who were eager to hear about our misadventures. It was 5:00 p.m. and we were exhausted, emotionally and physically. We decided it would be best to stay in Fresno one more night to try and catch up on the sleep we had missed.
Country Roads
9:00 a.m. Saturday, September 12th: My throat was dry and felt like I licked an ash tray. Despite a long hot shower with lots of Dr. Bronner’s Peppermint Castile Soap I still carried the scent of fire on me, marked for what will probably be eternity– or until I cut my hair again. I rolled over to look at my darling husband, mouth ajar and slightly drooling while his limbs were sprawled all over looking like a starfish out of water. A very cute starfish. I gently woke up my sleeping sea star and we began to slowly get ready for our return home to Avocet.
One last lovely breakfast around the family table with my Aunt and Uncle, we were so thankful to have had the opportunity to stay with them. My Aunt Carol joined us again right before Chris and I said our goodbyes. We drove to Terrill’s to bid adieu to her and Mama Neely as well, who were still getting a kick out of our run in with the cops the day prior. I don’t blame them for laughing, who the heck gets a gun drawn on them at their own home? We thanked Terrill for opening her home to our healing Mama and gave Mama Neely a hug goodbye before we began our drive back to our floating home. Big benefit of living on a sailboat: you can sail away from freaking fires. I guess unless you are on fire.. Whatever, you get my point!
Almost heaven, West Virginia…Blue Ridge Mountains, Shenandoah River… The smoke followed us all the way down until the Grapevine on Hwy 99. Blue sky greeted us as we descended down the mountain (I think of it more as a hill) and our lungs were thankful for the break. For the first time in days we had music playing, and fought through the throat pain to sing along to John Denver, a sense of normalcy as we drove through the golden Southern California hills getting closer to our boat, sweet boat. Country roads, take me home to the place I belong…
Home at last. It is the night of September 13th, and the Creek Fire has hit 200,000 acres with 10% containment. After spending a whole week living anxiously in the moment, I am reminded that not everyone shares the same insight to this fire as I do. Since returning home, I have noticed that people are already trying to turn this disaster into an argument blaming the Sierra Club for basically banning logging or solely blaming climate change. I can tell you right now that it is not just one of these to blame, but actually both. Climate change has created a warmer, drier environment that allows fires to thrive and gain traction quickly; combine that with a mismanaged forest with millions of dead trees and you have a timber box ready to ignite. Despite the irritating comments and arguments that have started to populate, I refuse to lose sight of the most important part of this situation: helping our community rebuild and preventing this from happening again.
As we are unable to physically start rebuilding I have been working hard to find ways to help our community. For the next two months, Chris and I will be donating our YouTube earnings to the fire victims directly while also keeping an updated list of active GoFundMe‘s so people can find them all in one place. You can help raise relief funds for the fire victims by watching our videos and not skipping the ads! Every view is money earned for the relief fund. While in the “what’s next” mindset, I am also taking steps to research environmental sustainability and responsible logging to try and educate the public on healthy forests. We are the Earths custodians, it is about time we act like it.
Thank you all for the kind words and support this past week, Chris and I are so grateful to have a wonderful friend group spanning far and wide who care about us and our families. We appreciate you all and look forward to throwing a fat party when 2020 (and COVID) is over! We are so close. Stay safe out there, and thank a firefighter.
I was living in Alder Springs with my two small children which is located in Auberry, California at the time of the Creek Fire. I had been in the home since 2019. When I first saw this small little home with a beautiful view I knew it was the one and I had to buy it. I wanted to live in a place that was beautiful and that could give me peace and quiet.
My family and I spent a lot of time there, especially once the pandemic fell upon our County in March 2020. I was able to work from home. My children were doing their school work online. During our lunch hours we did crafts and I would always have the children paint the scenery because it was so beautiful. I loved to get up every morning and sit outside to sip on my cup of coffee. At sundown I would like to watch the bats fly around.
During the Labor Day weekend of 2020, myself and some friends had a spot reserved at Vermillion Campground by Edison Lake. Once the reservations opened up we booked. The Chacons, Evans and Pasillas families which was a total of 5 adults and 10 children. We had a wonderful time camping enjoying the campfire and eating s’mores on Friday night. On Saturday we decided to rent fishing boats and go across Edison Lake to look at the big stumps and the forest on the other side. We had never been there so we wanted to do some exploring. When we were crossing the lake with the kids I noticed that across the ridgeline there was smoke. I said, “Oh no, there is a fire and I wonder where it is at?” It looked small but as we were going across the lake I could see it getting bigger. As we were exploring it started to get late and I told the others that it was best if we head back because the sky was getting filled with smoke. “This is not good,” I thought. When we got back to the other side and back to the campground it was really smoky. I said, “I don’t know what we should do. Somebody needs to tell us what is going on and what we should do.” We decided to continue camping. I’ve been camping all over the place my whole life but I want to tell you that this night was the scariest ever. The bears were out of control in the night and were banging on everything. The dogs of the other campers would not stop barking. I have never heard bears so active in my life. I was so scared and I didn’t know what to do. I tried to calm my kids down because they were panicking I told them that it was going to be okay, the bears are not going to bother us, it’s probably just the smoke. My daughter was shaking next to me and my son was on the other side and vomited on his sleeping back. They were so scared. I didn’t want the bears to smell the vomit so I threw the sleeping bag out of the tent as far as it would go.
The next day in the morning, which was Sunday, my friend wanted to go on a hike to the Devil’s Bathtub which was on his bucket list. After breakfast I told him, “I don’t think you should go” and he said, “This is why we came up here” and I said, “You know it’s getting pretty smoky and it’s an all day hike and if we get evacuated I’m going have to leave because we have to stay safe.” I also jokingly said, “If they make us leave I’ll leave you a note”! He left on the hike so my other friend and I decided to take the kids over to Vermillion Valley Resort. We knew they had a TV there where we could see the news. We took our sweet time taking showers and went into the store to get the kids snacks then we noticed an evacuation order sign! I told my friend to use the satellite phone in the store to notify her parents and my children’s dad that we are getting evacuated since we did not have cell phone service. I wanted someone to know that we were ok.
We then head back to the campground and everyone is already gone. My heart dropped and I was like, “Oh my God, this is serious.” The host walks up to us and tells us, “We have been issued an evacuation order.”, and I’m like, “Oh my goodness, my friend and his two boys went off on a hike, how could I find them?” The host said, “Well, you guys just need to go now”. So I and the others in my group packed up our stuff quickly and threw everything in the vehicles. I left a note. I wrote, “I have to get who I can out. I’m sorry I have to leave but as soon as you get back to this tent you need to leave. I left water and snacks. The host has extra gas if you need it. Once you come back, just leave, because everyone’s evacuated”. I didn’t know what else to do; there was no way for me to go look for him. As we are leaving and we’re driving down the road and two lady hikers jumped in front of my truck. I stopped. All I heard was “Help!”, and I asked, “What’s going on?” and one said, “My friend is having an asthma attack, I need help. Can you take us back to the resort, we can get help there? I told my friend in the car behind me that we have to turn back, we have to help this lady, and we can’t just say no and leave. One got in her car and the other in my truck. Then two more hikers come out of the brush as we are turning around. I have them jump in the back of my truck. It was probably about a mile or two back we dropped them all off. I told the lady, “I hope you guys can get help here, but we have to go”.
On the way down there is no cell phone service at all. The air is smoky and we had no clue where the fire was coming from. We then get to Mono Hot Springs and everybody there was evacuated, gone. There was no one around at all and I’m thinking to myself, “Are we like the last ones to get notified here”! I was so nervous, my friend was nervous but we kept trying to remain calm for all the kids we had with us. We decide to take a bathroom break and a quick mental break because we were having a lot of anxiety driving. After a short break we continued down the mountain. I told my kids, “I’m driving, and this road is just one way down, it’s skinny and bumpy and you guys need to look around for fire because I can’t focus on what’s around. I need to focus on the road. After a long while we made it to China Peak and the Sheriffs were there with a road block. The sky was red and it was super smoky. They directed us to park in the small parking lot across the way. They told us to park and wait, that we couldn’t go any further because the fire is by the road at Shaver. The parking lot was full of vehicles. I looked at my friend and she looked at me, we were very worried. Our other friend took longer to come down from the mountain because she wanted to wait for her brother to come back from hiking but she eventually decided to evacuate. I was happy to see her family. As we all continued to wait the Sheriff announced that they were going to move us to the big parking lot and told us to park in the middle of the parking lot. My friend and I looked at each other like, “Did we just come to our death?” We had been so high up in the mountains before which seem to be safer at this point.
As we waited in the big parking lot, I looked at my friend and said, “This is not good, there’s fire all around us, the sky is red! It was daytime but the sky was so dark it looked like night. We were extremely terrified but had to remain calm for the children. The Sheriff notified us that we would be here for a few hours, to just relax and to go ahead and feed the kids. Then after a short time the Sheriff announces that they need us all to line up because they want us to write our names down. I looked at my friend and told her, “if they want us to line up, they don’t want to tell us what’s going on and they want us to put our names on a list, we are going to die! Oh my God! We’re not going to make it out of here”. All the children were so scared. I’ve learned a lot about emergency situations over the years so in that moment I felt like once you’re on a list, the Sheriff will take a photo of the list, so it is submitted so they know who died in the fire for their records! After everyone in the parking wrote their names down the Sheriff announced, “OK, we’re going to have a helicopter come in and take you guys out.” My thoughts then switched to, ”We are in the middle of this parking lot with fire all around us, “Can they really just come in and pull us all out”! I know material things don’t matter but I told my friends, “take a picture of your truck license plate, anything you have in your vehicle, your registration because it is all going to burn, you need it for your insurance, we’re not going take any of this with us if the helicopter comes.”
We then continued to wait and wait we were all very scared filled with anxiety, not only because of the fire and the ash falling on us but because we were going to have to ride in a helicopter. Then all of a sudden the Sheriff announces, “there’s a break in the fire, get in your vehicles, we’re going to guide you through it right now”. I looked at my two friends and said, “Let them all go first”! Let’s be the last ones because if the fire is on the road you need to be able to turn around. So we waited until all the other vehicles went through and waited towards the end to leave. I’m in straight survival mode. Our phones still didn’t work at China Peak, we couldn’t call our families. I did not want to die that day.
As we drive down and pass the lake there is fire on the left side and fire on the right side, and my kids are yelling, “Mom, the power poles are on fire! Mom, look at that tree, it’s on fire!” I just keep telling them, “As long as it doesn’t fall on us were going to be ok, just pray. Let’s just get through this”. There were cows in the road following the cars trying to get out. I thought to myself, “I’ve been through Shaver so many times in my lifetime, this is so unreal. This is horrible; I hope all this doesn’t burn. I was so panicked I just wanted to get through it and out. As soon as I got a halfway past the lake my phone starts ringing off the hook. Family, friends and co-workers trying to get a hold of me to make sure I was ok. After we got through Shaver, we are supposed to be heading straight to Fresno on the 168. My friends headed straight down but I felt I had to stop at my house. After I passed Cressman’s coming down the hill I made a right towards Alder Springs. I had only one important bin that had birth certificates and important paperwork that I had to grab. I knew if I lost that it was going to be hard to get all that again.
I didn’t see any of my neighbors as I arrived so I figured they had been evacuated. I could see the smoke coming up in the back so I snapped a quick photo of my house. As I ran in my house, it already smelled heavily of smoke. I thought to myself, “I’m just getting this bin, my truck is full of camping stuff, I can’t fit anything, and nothing else matters right now. I don’t think it will burn! Then I said to myself, “Okay, let’s go. And hopefully, everything’s going to be okay”.
When I got to Fresno I went to my friend’s house that was camping with me. We were so worried about my friend and his kids, the one that went hiking. We kept watching the news, we kept checking social media, and we wanted to make sure they were okay. We wanted to make sure that they hadn’t been burned in the fire. We felt bad because you never leave one behind. We were so stressed out until someone finally posted a picture of who was stuck at Vermillion Valley Resort. We saw him and his two kids and we were so happy that they were okay. They had to be rescued by helicopter and there were moments where we thought they’d get lifted out and then the smoke would change or the wind and they would cancel the rescue. We waited at the airport on the helicopter to show up. It was the worst feeling ever when an attempted rescue is a fail. They went through their own traumatic event because they had to be evacuated in a helicopter, and that was really back and forth. We were worried about them, but they eventually got out safe.
I prayed that my house didn’t burn. Watching the news and scanning social media daily was stressful. Then one day one of the newscasters was driving through my neighborhood and did a small clip. I could see where my house should have been, but it wasn’t there anymore. I cried and cried. I was literally in shock for a month. I didn’t know what to do. I stayed with my best friend with my kids. We slept on the couch, and then I had to rethink my life. We didn’t have clothes, shoes, nothing but my camping gear and few changes of clothing because we were camping. When everything in your house burns and your house, you honestly have no clue what to do. You’re floating and lost. It’s one of the hardest things in life that I have had to go through. I bought that home and worked very hard to fix it up because that is where I wanted to retire. My kids were happy there and I was happy there. After a fire and the wait before you can go back to your property was very hard. When they tell you that you can go look at your property and see what you can recover but there’s nothing there. The granite countertops and fireplace, crumbled. There’s not one thing that is salvageable, nothing. I just had no words. The whole Alder Springs neighborhood was all gone but one home.
My best friend, Erin, has helped me through all this and guided me while I was in shock and lost. My friend Mario came over and said, “Get in the car I’m taking you to buy whatever you need for yourself and the kids”. I honestly didn’t know what to choose still in shock. I kept saying I don’t know, I just don’t know. My friends and co-workers came together and donated clothes, gift cards. My kid’s school donated. My family and the whole community donated. The Red Cross helped me with temporary Hotels to live in. I didn’t know how much love there was in this world. I feel like everyone gave me everything back and double of what I had before. It’s so nice of everyone and it’s been really overwhelming. I did not know how many people loved me and my kids. It hurts my heart to hear other stories from other families because I know how they feel.
Now that my property has been cleaned and all that debris is gone, I’m hopeful now, you know. I take drives out there to remind myself not to give up. I feel that there’s hope. I’m going to rebuild even though there are no trees around my property. I still want that space on earth; I still want to retire there.
I was in South Lake Tahoe on the evening of September 4 on a four day family vacation that my daughter had arranged for all of us a year earlier. At approximately 7pm I received a page notifying me of a wildland fire near Camp Sierra and that our department had been dispatched. I went to bed that night understanding that the fire was less than an acre in size and nothing that I needed to concern myself with. In the morning I learned to my shock that the fire had grown to 6,000 acres and that there was a possibility that I would need to return to Fresno before our vacation ended. I called around Lake Tahoe as soon as car rental offices opened and rented the very last car in the area and waited that Saturday to see what happened that day. By 5pm I learned the fire had grown to 36,000 acres and decided that I needed to return to Shaver. I left at midnight for Shaver having no idea of what was ahead.
I arrived at our station in Shaver at 7am and met up with Mark, a fellow member of the department and great friend. We deployed with an engine to the Sierra Marina and took position alongside another engine and an ambulance from American Ambulance on the upper parking lot to await events. We understood that the fire was miles away and fully expected that we would spend the day sitting there. About an hour after parking there we were surprised when flames suddenly appeared on the top of the ridge to the northwest. These flames crested the ridge and began moving down the slope towards 168. We were pulled out and told to return to Shaver and await further developments. Mark and I returned to the station and were told to deploy to the West Village. A number of engines were already deployed on the very west edge of the village including 2 engines from Company 60 (Shaver Lake) and the Company 60 water tender as well as a number of engines with the Office of Emergency Services. Notwithstanding what we had just been through at the Sierra Marina I sincerely did not believe the fire was of any immediate concern as it still miles and miles away. Thinking back it now seems odd that I was in such a state of denial but I really did not really believe that the town itself could ever be in any real danger. That kind of thing happens elsewhere, not here. We spent time getting to know the men and women staffing the OES engines who we learned were mostly from fire departments in the San Francisco Bay Area.
A couple of hours after setting up in the West Village I noticed what I thought to be a thin faint column of smoke across the valley from us (Mt. Stevenson) and pointed it out to those around me. That single column began to grow darker and wider and was soon accompanied by a number of other columns of smoke. I was awakened to the reality of the threat when I saw the first flicker of orange flame peak through the smoke. That flicker quickly grew until the entire ridge opposite us was a mass of flames and to my horror began to descend eastward down that far slope and roar up the slope just to the west of where we were deployed. The sky grew dark with smoke turning the afternoon into night. I was shocked at that moment to hear thunder directly overhead and recall feeling so small. Until that instant I had not really accepted the reality of what was facing all of us.
The flames grew in height as the fire climbed higher up the slope. The crews laid out their hose lines and prepared to attack those flames even as those flames rose to 150 feet. Mark and I were instructed to place our engine 50 yards behind the frontline to protect those crews from any spot fires that might brew up behind them. Out of the darkness a swirling mass of orange and red embers the size of my hand suddenly rose into the sky and began dropping all around us. Those embers immediately ignited the grass between us and where the crews were positioned at the fire’s edge. The spot fire quickly grew to about 70 feet wide and 25 feet across. Mark and I jumped out of the engine, pulled out the hose line and attacked that spot fire with a combination of water and hand tools. Once that fire was extinguished we returned to our engine to monitor for further spot fires. Looking to the west I could see the silhouettes of the firefighters against the orange, yellow and red flames towering above them. The flame wall moving towards us looked to be between 100 and 150 feet high and I wondered what any of us could possibly do against that wall of flame. The flames moved closer and closer until I heard someone yell “Ok boys, we’ve reached our breaking point. Everyone know the escape route?” At that moment I recall telling myself that if we were ordered out the flames would take out the West Village and all of Shaver thereafter.
I have no way to describe how I felt at that moment looking into what I now remember thinking was the face of hell. I look back now at the seconds that followed and so clearly recall standing there praying for a miracle. I felt so helpless knowing there was nothing that any of us could do against that wall of fire. Then suddenly, within a matter of seconds, that miracle arrived. Like a breath from God the wind shifted and the wall of flame suddenly moved away from us and off to the south. The town was saved.
Sadly those flames continued their devastation moving off into the Dogwood Community and threatening Ockenden, Appleridge and Ridge Top. It never even crossed my mind that the fire could reach Cressman’s or the Pine Ridge or Alder Springs Communities as it did the next night. I feared our home in Ockenden would be lost when the fire crossed 168. But that was for another day and yet more prayers.
I live four miles out on Peterson Road, as the crow flies, right below Cressman’s on the same mountain. We have lived there for 30 years. We had a ranch built up with a two-story house, a two-story barn, three outbuildings and 37 rolling things, including a backhoe, man-lift truck, tractor, motorcycles for all the kids, and you know utility trucks, hunting vehicles, all those kind of things.
We heard about the fire starting in Big Creek on Friday night. Saturday morning is when I noticed it. In fact, I was due to go to Cressman’s, to their trade days, and set up my booth to sell my jewelry, like I did every last Saturday of the month. But because it was a holiday weekend, we were going to go ahead and do it the following Saturday. So I went up there and there was nobody there. The smoke was unbearable at that point. I went in the store and I asked him what was going on. That’s when I found out about the fire. They said that there was a fire in Big Creek and that because of that they had canceled the trade day. So I went up the road and put down the sign that said Cressman’s Trade Days. I moved it off the road and facedown in the grass. Then I went downhill and did the same thing with the lower one because I didn’t want anybody seeing the sign and wanting to stop by and being upset–it would be a negative impact on Cressman’s and for the people selling. So I did that. I’m sure that the signs are destroyed at this point. Then I went back home. There were cinders dropping and that sort of thing, but we weren’t really worried because there have been fires in Big Creek before and we’re really quite far away.
Sunday came, and we decided we better evacuated the horses. Now these horses that had been ours are now living next door, because my husband and I don’t ride anymore and she was a new neighbor that was looking for horses. But we had the horse trailer, and the truck. On Sunday morning, I was loading up the horses in front of her fence into the back of my horse trailers, and I was driving down Tollhouse Road to Burrough Valley, where our children are moving down from Washington. They hadn’t even moved all the way in, but they had a corral there, so I moved the horses down there. I got to Tollhouse and the brakes went out with the horses and the trailer! I drove the rest of the way, using the parking brake and the four-wheel drive. There’s a little bit of a downhill on the way to their driveway. I had to pass by it, turn around and come back the other way. And I got the horses safely down.
Okay, so I go back home. And the cinders are getting thicker and falling a little bit more and whatever. Oh, while I was loading up the horses, my pastor drives up beside me, and he’s got horses from back in on Peterson, because he’s part of animal rescue. So we talked a little bit and then he led me out of Peterson, because I have a big, long rig with the three horses in it, the big 350 truck and everything. People just get out of my way with me coming on.
Anyway, so we’re there and my daughter and son in law had to bring me back, and they brought me back in their Kia, so a small car, right. Okay, I have my car full of jewelry that I wanted to get out of there. But we weren’t really ready to go, because we didn’t think it was a danger. Unbeknownst to us, a deputy had come and knocked on the neighbor’s door, the ones that had the horses, while I was gone, and told him to get out. I asked her if there were any people back in the road behind her and she said yes, about five, I think, but I know the man next door is home. He has a recliner right in front of the door, he could knock on the door he’ll hear you. Plus the neighbor on the other side was waiting for my advice. I was supposed to call them when we were going to leave.
Okay, so we’re sitting there, it’s starting to get dark, we visited during the afternoon but we didn’t want to put any paper boxes in the back of the truck because we thought maybe some live cinders might get them. We still weren’t really worried, because we thought it was just smoke and cinders. We didn’t think a fire that started in Big Creek would make it as far down as Peterson Road. But then it started to get dark. Well anyway, a deputy had come next door, didn’t notify us, didn’t notify the neighbor. When we saw the flames, through the smoke on the other side of Tollhouse Road from us we realized we had to get out.
We spent about 30 minutes. I rescued five boxes of my mom’s china, my grandmother’s silverware, my grandma’s treadle machine, a music cabinet that she had gotten that same grandma–the first woman to graduate from Oberlin Conservatory of Music. It was a solid oak cabinet she received as a gift when that happened, I snatched that out. I didn’t worry about any clothes, any jewelry, nothing. I just wanted those family heirlooms. I left Afghans that my grandma had made. I left embroidery work that had been done by them, crocheted bedspreads, all kinds of things that were in the family for many generations. But I didn’t take any clothes. I had a scuzzy pair of tennis shoes on and the clothes on my back and that’s it. I got the china, the silverware, and the two pieces of furniture, there was barely room to put the two dogs at the tailgate. We got them in. We couldn’t catch all the cats. We got one cat into a carrier and took him down to Burrough Valley. He got away from there and he is still down there lost, we don’t know where he is. We had five cats. And we had chickens.
Now, the chickens had an old travel trailer as a coop with a sizeable fence around. They were free to roam inside the fence, and they were protected pretty well from predators. But we had to just leave their door open and their gate open, and hope that they made it, and we left. So we left the cats, and the chickens, and we left. We went to the Fresno house. The day after that our kids from Burrough Valley called and said they had to evacuate. Now they had the horses. Okay, so they came to live with us at the Fresno house, which had been the house I had grown up in. We had bought it the year before from the family friend. And so they came to live with us. And the neighbor, who now owns the horses, called 911. Guess who shows up? My pastor in Burrough Valley. And he called me and said, “I’ve got your horses, and they’re on the way to the Clovis Rodeo Grounds”.
hat’s one thing that is not a coincidence, it’s just something that happened. It’s too much.
They stayed with us for two weeks and then they were able to move back. We still didn’t know about whether our house had survived or not. One of my daughter is the area director of California Fish and Wildlife. She sent one of the wardens out, he went out and checked, took a movie of our place. And the interesting thing about that is there was nothing left but ashes, the chimney, and twisted metals. Nothing survived. We also had a fire truck parked in the yard.
And then all of a sudden, as he’s taking the movie when you’re looking at it. He does a double take. Under the fire truck were chickens that were alive. Later, about a week later, my pastor and a bunch of buddies went out there with big fish nets and rescued the chickens. Two of them went next door to live with the neighbor that has horses, her house did not burn. And so two of my chickens are over there, and the rest of them are living with the vet, Sally Phillips, from Auberry at her house along the road to Fresno, on 168. So that’s what happened to us.
In October we bought a 34-foot fifth wheel and we are staying at our place, our burnt place up in the mountains. A few days a week we go down to the Fresno house for doctor’s appointments and so we can water the yard, but we will be rebuilding.
Friday before the evacuation I noticed some smoke, didn’t think much of it.
Saturday was a little worse, didn’t think much of it.
Sunday a Sheriff came by and said, “Hey, we’re gonna be chasing you out real soon.”
Monday morning, 4:30 in the morning, the fire truck came by with their bullhorn, “Get out, get out, get out now.” Grabbed what we could. I made the fatal error of not paying attention to the severity. I had the time to have grabbed a whole bunch more. I didn’t. My mistake, my error. I learned to live with it. More things lost than I can even begin to remember. Memories are never gone, but you pick up a thing, and you trigger your memory. Well that thing doesn’t exist anymore. So that kind of hurts.
Anyway, off we went that Monday morning. I knew that I had seen the signs [so] we went to the Auberry grammar school, and it said, we’re not here anymore, and it said Clovis High School. Down we went. So, we get there and found the Red Cross, talk to them, and they said, “We can put you up in a Best Western Hotel, is that okay?” It’s fine, because I have two cockateels. And we’re able to put them up there, and that was a pet friendly place.
Well, that was good until middle of November, there abouts, beginning of November, something like that when they said “Hey, you got to get out”. And then they put us up in the Residence Inn off of Bullard. I had made the choice and the decision, and having seen what wasn’t there. That house that we lived in –a 14 by 70 Trailer– the frame was bent in half from the heat. Everything I own. I had one of them cast iron dutch oven cook pots that belonged to my mother. It was purchased in ’38, ’39, somewhere along there, so it was older than I am. The heat was so hot it was warped oval shaped, the lid was cracked. There was nothing left.
So, knowing I wasn’t going to go back, talked to real estate agent. We hunted around looking for a place, found a place. I’m gonna buy it –$175,000. I could not believe that. That’s more than almost triple what I paid for my original house in 1980, in New Hampshire. Well, I went through all the paperwork and hoop jumping, and permissions, and “in addition to that and to that and to this,” to gain the house. I got the house. And it’s not fun. Well, we’re living up on the hill there. You might hear one plane every other day or so. So, its reached the point where it’s nothing to hear the police choppers, the sirens, the fire trucks the this the that.
It’s a whole new world. I can live with it. But it’s just, I have to think every single day when I wake up, “nothing behind, move forward,” because there is no “go back.” And that hurts.
One of the little lessons I learned–if you ever have yourself in this kind of a situation– that one of the first thing you want to get, it sounds dumb, is get you a notebook with a lot of sheets of paper in it. Don’t throw anything out every little note and telephone number and name and whatnot else, write it down so you have a record of what happened when. Really, that’s a very important thing. Because if you don’t, you’ve got little scraps of paper and they get lost, you don’t know where it is and “I knew I had her number” and “he can’t find it” and its frustrating… Yeah, I filled it up. I might fill the whole notebook. But it was a needed thing and it saved my bacon a number of times.
And fortunately the United Way and a bunch of others came by and some charities and church organizations. It hurt to have to stick my hand out. That’s not the way I was brought up. I was taught from an early age. “Give the shirt off your back, stand in the pouring rain naked to help a neighbor, but don’t you ever ask for help. You’re better than that.” So it hurt to have to ask, and hold my hand out. But then I had no choice. So I did. And it’s helpful. Every day is better. That’s really all I can say is, yeah. I never once thought of, “It’s too much for me to deal with it and I have to do myself in and because of it,” thats stupid, because, as it turned out those two cockateels, hahaha, now I have three. And I guess, because I saved them they gave me a gift of a child. So we had to learn and, of course, because they gave me the gift and the mother rejected it, we had to learn from a two hour old thing that just came out of the shell, how to feed it, raise it, warm it, keep it alive. And yeah, that was a learning experience real fast.
But we are surviving, we did survive. It was a lot of effort, a lot of, I would say sleepless nights, but nights where I cried myself to sleep, hoping I could just do what had to be done. And I did. So I’m kind of proud of myself for what I did do.
This is a story about a “little” spot in the forest during and immediately after the Creek Fire. We live just off of 168 below Ockenden & we have a “game” camera strapped to a tree on the corner of our property. It is battery operated & snaps photos of any movement in the area.
We had to evacuate for over 3 weeks. Although we had heard that our house was saved, we had also heard that the fire came roaring over 168 in our area. We had no idea how bad the area around us was affected until we returned.
Cal Fire & the Shaver Lake Volunteer Fire Department did a heroic job of keeping the fire to a minimum as it approached our property! Apparently, the camera kept recording & it captured the fire crew working to save our land. It also captured the BIG bulldozer creating fire breaks! But… after the fire had passed, it also captured the wildlife returning. Note: the cleared area that the animals are walking & standing on. This area had been bulldozed for the fire break & that’s how we know that these animals returned after the fire and before we returned.
These photos are just a “little” story of how the Creek Fire affected not just people, but also the animals that we share our forest with.
James Parr | Cressman Road, Shaver Lake, Pine Ridge
Originally posted on Facebook, December 4-8, 2020
During the Creek Fire James Parr was the Chief for Pine Ridge Volunteer Fire Dept. and Assistant Chief for Shaver Lake Volunteer Fire Dept. He is now (in 2021) the chief for both fire departments.
Saturday, Sept 5th The Sierra National Forest (SNF) and Cal Fire engines were responding to the Creek Fire, and bringing in engines from outside the area. They were trying to get a lid on it, but it was growing massively fast. I think it grew something like 20,000 acres by Saturday night (having only started on Friday). Even air support was hindered by the massive amounts of smoke the growing fire was producing. On that Saturday morning, the fire was *only* a few hundred acres. Shaver Lake Volunteer Fire Dept. was on standby at the station, all hands present, on call for anything in the city.
I saw a friend from the Sheriff’s station, Matt, and he asked for assistance with the evacuation warnings. The two of us got into the patrol and started going door-to-door in the Shaver area, giving everyone the warning notice: Pack up your important stuff now, leave as soon as you can, when/if the “order” comes in you will have to leave immediately and won’t be able to pack then.
I only ran into a single family that didn’t know and didn’t seem to care. Everyone else was either gone, or in the process of packing their cars. Most of the houses had the garage open, the car doors open, and people shuttling boxes into the cars.
Late afternoon we returned to the station and waited to be called out. I was able to return home to sleep since my neighborhood (Cressman Road) wasn’t threatened yet. I don’t think I was nervous yet. With the number of engines and the air resources, I was pretty sure it would be shut down early. At the very least, the big threat was up-hill from Shaver, and that’s mostly unpopulated. I don’t think I had heard about the massive devastation that had hit Big Creek and Huntington Lake yet. My first few days memories were kind of trampled by the next two weeks activities, so I hope I’m not missing or mixing my days up.
Sunday, September 6th. Shaver Lake Volunteer Fire Dept. (SLVFD) was still on call, and the various fire engines coming were non-stop. Again we were asked to help with evacuations. Orders this time, not warnings. I don’t think we found a single person home on our route.
The winds were changing again, and by afternoon it was all hands on deck because it was going to be coming for the West Village.
SLVFD embedded themselves with other companies in the West Village and watched as the fire crested over the hill with only a small valley between it and us. The sort of valley that would be easy to cross and only cause it to pick up speed (see picture below from 5:15 pm).
We are a volunteer company, and we have been on plenty of smaller fires. Several acres, lots of flames and heat. We would go to the fire and fight it on our terms. But this was nothing like it. Our entire world was fire. The black sky was brought by the fire. The intense heat in everything you breathed or touched was the fire letting us know it was there. The embers floating down from the black clouds were just another way of the fire letting us know we were in its territory, and it had home field advantage.
The fire didn’t arrive with the intensity we expected. We knocked down any fires as they came over the hill and didn’t give it a purchase point. When we folded up after midnight, there was no damage in the West Village.
This was my last day I went to sleep feeling good about what I had accomplished.
Monday, Sept 7th. I’m not looking forward to this post.
Going back a day, on Sunday, Cressman got the evacuation order, and Janet left the house with the dogs. Janet’s mom, Inez Stillwell, was still in hospice care due to a serious fall a few weeks prior. This was a weird blessing since Janet didn’t have to include mom in her evacuation plans. Janet and the dogs had moved to my friend’s house and had packed 2 days worth of clothes and some important paperwork and Rx’s. I knew that everyone else from Pine Ridge had evacuated. We have a fire department there, but the firefighters have families. They all took care of what was important, and not only can’t I fault them for that (I would have done the same) but it turned out to be a life-saving decision for Pine Ridge Volunteer Fire Dept.
I went to a Chief’s meeting at the high school on Monday morning before returning to the mountain to start work. I remember getting stopped at the top of the 4-lane by CHP for an hour. I was working with Shaver Lake Volunteer Fire Dept. (SLVFD) and the related fire departments in the Shaver area, patrolling in an engine looking for spot fires and assisting the out-of-town crews.
In the afternoon, one of SLVFD’s members had become seriously exhausted, nauseated and weak. He and I were patrolling Littlefield and Wild Rose when we took a detour down to the Pine Ridge community (there is an “escape” route from Wild Rose to Pine Ridge). Our community was emptied out, but I drove the firefighter to my house. I left the patrol at my house and took the Pine Ridge VFD engine 68 which was parked on my driveway.
I left the firefighter in my house with the instructions “Rest on the couch; if you feel better, bring the patrol back to the fire; if you don’t feel better, take Janet’s car to your home in Fresno”.
He didn’t feel any better, so he took Janet’s car, which is why Janet’s car survived the fire (she was in my truck). But, and I can literally feel the tears welling up as I type this . . . if he had fallen asleep on my couch that night, he would be dead. Period. I can’t say it any other way. Leaving him there was a bad decision, and his choice not to nap was the only thing that kept him alive. It hurts me every time I think about it; more than the loss of the house quite frankly.
Back to the fires. After leaving my house in the engine, I contacted the Chief of SLVFD and told him I was taking off my SLVFD hat and putting on my Pine Ridge VFD hat, and I would be patrolling my area. The fire was expected to come downhill through Wild Rose into the Pine Ridge community. There were at least 7 engines assigned to Wild Rose, so I joined them. I showed them all the emergency escape route into Pine Ridge if they needed to run.
I spent the next 3 to 4 hours at Highway 168 and Littlefield watching for fires coming up from below that threatened to jump the highway. I was busy and had to refill the engine twice. But I was successful (which means it couldn’t have been that bad). While on the highway, I heard on the radio that the fire had overtaken Cressman Store, and had jumped the highway. I’m honestly not sure what I felt. But my first action was to leave my post and head to the emergency escape route I had pointed out to everyone. If the fire was in Cressman, the escape route would be blocked. I got about 1/4 mile down the escape road before I saw the red glow that was way brighter than I had ever seen. I turned tail and ran. I got on the radio and told the Wild Rose crews that the Cressman escape route was no longer good.
I went back to my job, putting out of my mind what had happened in Pine Ridge, and I continued to help protect Littlefield. I have no idea what time it was, probably after 1:00 am, that I returned to Shaver Station and tried to sleep on the floor. Exhaustion wasn’t able to overcome what was going on in my mind, and sleep was fleeting at best.
Tuesday, Sept 8th. I was up early at the station having not slept well. I was waiting for daylight to start my day.
I didn’t want to drive E68 through Pine Ridge, so I borrowed the Chief’s rig (a little SUV). I figured it would be more maneuverable. So I drove from Shaver Station to Littlefield since Hwy 168 was so crowded I figured I’d go the back way down. I couldn’t get that far down the emergency escape route to Glenwood since the road was blocked. Between trees, rocks, and power poles, there was almost no passing. The power lines didn’t bother me because I knew there was no way they would be energized. I ended up turning around and going to the lower entrance at Cressman Road. It was then that I saw that Cressman’s Store was gone. I already knew that based on the radio call the night before, but it was weird to see the entire store was only about 2 feet tall.
Cressman’s was a landmark. Not only in the historical sense, but it was something that my brain used as a reference point. I read somewhere that a lot of people find earthquakes so upsetting because the ground they have always relied on as a fixed thing suddenly became less solid. The brain just can’t handle something that is non-changing being changed.
That feeling was going to play itself out in my brain for the next several weeks (and still does to this day on my property). Cressman’s being gone made me question where I was; I could have missed my turn because I wasn’t where I was used to.
Turning onto Cressman Road I saw the mailboxes. Metal boxes bolted into cement. They were laying on the ground, twisted from the intense heat to the point where it looked like the metal had melted. Especially concerning since there was no large heat source nearby (like thick trees or a house). I dodged a bunch of road debris and made it to my house. I honestly didn’t feel sorrow. I don’t think I felt the scope either. Too many thoughts flying through my head for me to grab a single one and process it. I took a picture and moved down the road. I was there soon enough that there were still flames in the rubble which was once my home.
I drove as far as I could go (not very) to get a feel for what was ahead. We’d need fallers (tree cutters) to clear the road, and probably some engines. It was yet to be seen that any structure had survived, but there was hope since I hadn’t made the complete circle.
I honestly forgot how I spent the rest of Tuesday. I think I went back to Shaver and got my engine and came back to work with the fallers and other departments to assess the damage and prevent it from getting any worse. It was a blur.
It was devastating to call 40 people and let them know their houses were gone, but it was even harder to make the same call to Janet.
Monday, Sept. 14th I’ve always enjoyed watching the inmate fire crews working the fires. They work nonstop and do a great job. Giving them an opportunity to continue that work for the state is a really great way for their rehabilitation. I wish them only the best and look forward to seeing them in the wildland.
Wednesday, Sept. 16th On the night the fire came through Shaver, someone took the flag off the Shaver Lake Pizza’s flagpole. It was returned to us a few days ago. Here we are raising it up with some out of town help.
Friday Sept. 18th Below are three engines from the Pine Ridge Volunteer Fire Department that got burned up in the creek fire. The federal engine was one of our active engines, but it was parked in front of a firefighter’s house when the flames came through. The second engine is a 1985 structure engine that was retired, and we hadn’t got around to selling it yet. Notice the streak of aluminum that flowed from the engine, it was the tank. The third engine was the 1959 water tender I posted about a few months ago. It was sold to a private buyer who hadn’t picked it up yet. It burned down in front of another firefighter’s house.
