Roadside signs abound encouraging residents and thanking the first responders for their efforts during the Creek Fire.
(If you have photos you’d like to add to this collection please submit them via the form on the Storytelling page!)
Category: Community Story
-
Jean Larsen
Jean Larsen |Appleridge-Meadowridge, near Shaver Lake
4-19-21
Our Creek Fire Experience
Those of us who live in the mountains of California are always aware that it can happen – – and undoubtedly will happen, sometime – – (but it surely won’t happen to us.)
It did happen!!
We were among the lucky ones. We have lived in Appleridge-Meadowridge (off Littlefield Road) for just short of 30 years. On Saturday, September 5, James Parr with the Pine Ridge Volunteer Fire Department knocked on the door. He told us that we didn’t have to leave right now, but that probably we would be under mandatory evacuation orders by the next day. We had been following the local news about the fire below Big Creek and had already decided that the most we could do to help would be to get out of the way of the firefighting effort and get off the road to leave space for all the equipment rolling up the four-lane.
We packed up the cat, our computers, and clothes to last us two or three days. We were sure that it wouldn’t be a big deal and that the fire would be put out or burn the other direction in a few days. These scares had happened before. I scooped up family albums and the family pictures off the walls – just in case. We took Lee’s pickup and my car and headed to Fresno, intending to stay in our daughter’s condo in Fresno for the few days until the “all-clear” to return home. We were at our other daughter’s home in Fresno where the whole family had gathered for support, when we found out that my sister in Mt. Ararat Mobile Home Park in Auberry was being evacuated also. Lee had already left with our son-in-law to get the fifth wheel RV we leave at a friend’s property in Auberry – just in case. Two of our granddaughters then volunteered to go to Auberry to help my sister load up her cat and essentials and bring her to where we were.
At this point, plans had to change, as now there were three of us plus our cat and her cat and we couldn’t all fit in the condo. Our son and daughter-in-law live in Visalia. Their three kids were all away from home in different universities, so there were empty bedrooms. We were all invited to stay with them for the duration of the evacuation. We were still thinking two or three days!We ended up living with them in Visalia for five weeks! Our daughter-in-law gave me some of her clothes and even her mother gave me a couple of shirts. Our cat, my sister’s cat, and the resident cat we barged in on didn’t get along and couldn’t be in the same room together, so that created a “musical cats” kind of rotation. (The Auberry evacuation order was lifted after about 10 days, so we took my sister and her cat back home after a couple weeks.) We still weren’t allowed to return home to Shaver.
The first night away from home, in Visalia, we were given erroneous information that our home had burned. I spent the night mentally walking through each room looking at the paintings and various articles that were important to me that were now lost. I love our property and every tree and rock on it, and I couldn’t imagine it all gone. The next day we found out that the information was probably not true, but there was no way to be sure until several weeks later.
About the middle of October we were finally allowed to go back to Shaver to check on our home, but not to stay there – we were told we had to leave by 5:00 and head back down the mountain. It was a huge relief to actually see for ourselves that our home was untouched. The fire had crossed the highway on both sides of our area and the wonderful firefighters had saved all the homes! They even camped in the area, patrolling the edges for hotspots.
That day we went to check on property of friends near us and found a huge fire truck from Long Beach parked in their drive and four firefighters behind the lot, felling trees that were killed but still standing. They explained this was necessary so that the dead trees wouldn’t fall later and the impact bring up airborne particles still smoldering. The fire had come right to the back property line of our friends’ home and flaming embers had started small fires on their back deck!I thanked the firefighters repeatedly and the response was always, “No Problem”. I mentioned to one of the Long Beach firefighters that I had been raised in Long Beach. He questioned me and it turned out that we had grown up in the same neighborhood and gone to the same high school – 60 years apart!
During our evacuation, Lee was sure that he had lost a bonsaied Japanese maple tree next to the front door that he had lovingly cared for more than twenty years. That and a large red one in a pot on the front deck would of course be now dead, after five weeks of hot weather without water. That first time back we were amazed to see them both alive and happy. Lee is convinced that the firefighters who were protecting our neighborhood had simply looked at the situation, filled a nearby watering can, and saved the beautiful maples for us!
When residents in our area were finally allowed to come back to live, our family came up to help. We had liquified rot floating in the kitchen refrigerator and the garage freezer from five weeks without power. CalTrans was patrolling the area, I guess to make sure that it was really the owners, not looters, going in and out of the homes. They told us to put the debris in garbage bags and drag them out to the road, and along came a little front loader to scoop up all the bags of rot and debris. Neither fridge nor freezer could be saved and they had to be taken to the transfer station on Dinkey Creek Road. It turned out that here were so many families in the same situation that replacement appliances were hard to find.
Our kids helped scrub the smoke off the walls, vacuum and fabric spray the upholstery, and wash all the clothes in the closets. The house reeked of smoke for weeks and we had to buy an air purifier. Insurance eventually reimbursed us for the refrigerator, freezer, air purifier, lost food, etc. Things gradually went back to as close to “normal” as Covid allowed. As Secretary of Shaver Lake Lions Club, I was able to participate in the various efforts to help those who had lost their homes. Talking with people about the fire still makes me want to cry.
We were so blessed to have come out of this horrible fire relatively easily and we are very, very grateful for that – but we have many friends who lost everything.
-
Mariah Colbert
Mariah Colbert | Cressman Road
9-7-20
CABIN MEMORIES
So, I just wanted to make this because Avalon meant a lot to me and I know it did to you as well. The Cabin played a huge role in my childhood and I didn’t realize how much I appreciated the place. It was an escape from Berkeley and from stress. Avalon was always a fun place to go. There was so much to do and it was the epitome of coziness. I was crying today after I heard the news and my mom asked me what was really hurting me about the loss of the Cabin. Was it the fact that you were suffering or was it the memories? What made me sad? And of course, it made me sad that I couldn’t make any more memories there but it was also that the Cabin was my security blanket, it was my safe sanctuary. I could forget about my worries there. Whatever drama happened at school or just whatever was stressing me out went straight out the door as soon as we hit the mailbox. Avalon was a little escape from reality. Of course, that is also because of you guys presence but you get my drift. I LOVED the Cabin. That is the basic message that I am trying to get across. So, here are just a few of the memories that I made at the Cabin. Enjoy!
1) This one is a bit odd but also very nostalgic. Backing into the gravel by the entrance of the house and hearing the gravel underneath the tires while I was half asleep.2) Playing flashlight tag with Braydon, Henry, Ethan and the Hanson kids.3) This one goes back a while. Watering the community garden and playing cars while we wait.4) Visiting “George” the scarecrow with Papa and Old Ugly.5) Going bear hunting in the back of Old Ugly.6) Just riding in the back of Old Ugly in general.7) Playing Tripoly with Grandma.8) Eating Papa popcorn while sitting by the conversation pit.9) Driving the quad around and forgetting how to use he gear shift.10) Having Papa speed down Glenwood while Noah and I were in the back.11) Baking cookies with Grandma.12) Watering Grandma’s rock garden (very therapeutic).13) Crashing the Blue Car into a tree.14) Sledding down the slope behind your bedroom.15) Watching Winnie The Pooh as a kid in your bedroom.16) Getting to bring the gifts up at Church.17) Going to Camp Edison an fishing and swimming at Shaver.18) Going to Shaver an getting sand on our apples.19) Running away from the wasps and meat bees.20) Sitting outside at 4:30 to have our tin cups.21) Chasing Jellyfish around the property.22) Checking how much Grandma’s Redwood had grown in the past months.23) Going for Easter Egg Hunts with the cousins (especially the time when I teamed up with Elijah and he refused to take more eggs from our car because it would be stealing.24) Having the Nerf Gun fight with all our cousins and even the Kuska Boys.25) Climbing up on the rocks right below the deck and trying to balance on those.26) Fighting with Braydon and Henry a couple year back and throwing gravel at each other.27) Visiting all your friends on the mountain.28) Having a snowball fight with our dad and getting soaked in snow and having cold ice running down our back and our nose red. Then we would come inside to be warmer but our feet would be burning because of the quick and extreme temperature change.29) Watching Walker Texas Ranger while having our tin cups.30) Having a cup of hot chocolate in the morning when I wake up.31) Watching Jellyfish curl up right in the tiny corner of your couch.32) Playing with the little doll house upstairs and talking to myself while I create a whole alternate universe.33) Playing the cake making game on your computers.34) Going to the candy jar as soon as we arrived to see what new goodies Granma had put there.35) Watching Dad go to the snacks cupboard when we arrived because that meant we got snacks too.36) Hearing all the mountain stories about how you put this or that together or how Granma ran outside naked because of squishy spiers or how moths infested tour newly built home or how Papa worked on a ranch and leaned to drive at 12 or how Papa sprayed Grandma with water from his breathing machine or how Grandma messed up her mouth while walking Buster and for a few days looked like a gorilla or how Aiyana said Grandma needed air or learning why all of our ears are so big or how my dad was an awful student or Uncle Gary was the mischievous but clever one or how Auntie Lisa was babied by her brothers or how Uncle Tony was the good child or how Auntie Lisa’s doll house got burned or just all the little funny stories that kept me laughing for days.37) Panicking when I opened the screen door too hard because it would take down the Avalon sign.38) Asking you where each of the signs on you little beam by the conversation pit were from.39) Or getting excited because I could actually put ice cubes in my water bottle because the ones at our house didn’t fit.40) GETTING TO SEE YOU AND ALL OUR FAMILY.41) Spinning aroud in the bar chairs and while doing so accidentally stripping the wood off the sides.42) The Turkey Fest. Eating all the good food, hanging out with family and just having the time of my Life.
Just some little quotes to maybe give you some hope.
Lots of Love,,
Mariah
-
Gary Colbert
Gary A. Colbert | Cressman Road
9-9-2020
In the 1980s my parents bought an empty plot of land near Shaver Lake. With their own hands, with a lot of blood, sweat and tears and with some help from a community, they built something really magical. It became our family compound. A place for all of us to relax, to celebrate and, especially for the grandchildren, great-grandchildren and many dogs, a place to play and roam free. For my parents it was their home. Overnight on Monday the Creek Fire took their home but not the product of their labor.
That labor started with the construction of the little building, a combination utility closet and bathroom, and our tent trailer from earlier camping days. If memory serves me, next came septic, power and the well. The well did not go well. But with the help of a water witch, two sticks, and a LOT of drilling they eventually struck liquid gold.
The foundation and frame were largely done by a contractor, a nice old guy and his sons. My parents participated in all of it and we, mostly my brothers and sister, helped on weekends. My most vivid memories of the construction phase:
• I was up there when the a-frames were lifted for the roof but I honestly don’t remember how I contributed • Climbing scaffolding.• Tacking Tyvek everywhere• Using the nail gun to put up the siding• More climbing scaffolding• Trying to get the pinewood ceiling planks just right• My brothers and I spending a very hungover Sunday trying to fix a leak in a water pipe
But what I remember most about those years is that we didn’t wait until it was done to start using it. Once there were three plywood walls, a roof and a piece of plastic, we started to consider it a cabin. Although “rustic” (plywood floors, not entirely closed space) we still used it. It was wonderful and exciting to see it grow.
When my parents retired they expanded the cabin into a house and moved there permanently. Over the years more infrastructure developed. The ill-fated carport became a full-on garage with doors on each side, one out onto Trudy Way and the other onto Warren Boulevard. My mom built a rock garden and deer feedery(?). They added a cable car. Earlier this Summer my dad and nephew, Noah, built a water fountain. It was all organic and constantly improving.
My parents didn’t just build their own physical structure, they built a community. They built a volunteer fire department. They built a network of friends that was always looking out for each other. Jerry and I joke that my parents have a larger social network than we do. It’s not actually a joke. They have a whole other family in the people of Pine Ridge and Upper Cressman Road. I don’t know most of them personally but I know the love, comfort and security they brought my parents over the last few years.
Whatever happens to Pinewood Lane the memories and experiences there will last for a long time. Mom cooking sausage bread and everything else on Easter brunch. Their ridiculously packed refrigerator and freezers. My nephews, nieces, grand nephews and nieces, and our cousins’ kids will remember their time there, long after we’re gone. Climbing the rocks, riding in the quad, “bear hunting“ in the back of Old Ugly, my dad’s Chevrolet pickup, and mountain popcorn will stay with them for the rest of their lives. It didn’t just touch our family. It also touched our friends and friends of our friends that got to experience it. I’ll remember both the quiet times and the celebrations. And I can’t begin to fathom all the wonderful memories my parents have of their time there just alone drinking out of their tin cups.
What I want them to know more than anything is how much their labors added to all our lives more than any structure ever could. They poured their hearts into Avalon and it was all worth it. And I love them for it.
-
Victoria Bell
Victoria Bell | Huntington Lake, Alder Springs
3-23-21
It was Aunt El’s birthday. She was driving up from San Diego to Grandma Ellen’s cabin on Dowville East, the cabin that had been home to us for the last two months. “Us” is my husband, Nick, myself, and my two boys, James and Luke, our sweet mountain toddlers-in-training. Nick was on leave from the Marine Corps, and we were in a period of transition where we were living in various homes and locations – so the cabin became a haven of stability for us.
It was September 4, 2020; the boys and I had spent all day inside the cabin, a rarity, as we practically lived in those mountains or in the dirt any time we weren’t eating or sleeping. That day, we had a job to do: make birthday posters and a Speculoos cake for Aunt El – we couldn’t wait until she arrived. A delicious birthday dinner of chicken tacos was preceded by our two naked toddlers running around and jumping on the couches after bath time, with the Huntington mountain scape in the background. It was heaven, as every day of the two months spent up there was to us.
My mother-in-law, Deborah, then informed us that there was a small fire in Big Creek, the way my father-in-law intended to drive home. After warnings to avoid the route, he drove down anyway. Words like “Minor” and “Harmless” eased our worries and allowed us to sleep soundly that night, but upon waking, something was obviously wrong. Smoke. Smoke everywhere. Deborah went to work trying to gather information while Ellyn and I tried to appear as if nothing was unusual – for the boys, of course – but despite our best efforts, we vacillated between worry and denial. Finally, Ellyn, Deborah, and James, my three-year-old, were tired of waiting and reading infrequent updates on the status of the fire, decided to walk toward Mushroom Rock in an attempt to, “scope out the situation,” as my San Diego sheriff sister-in-law stated. I stayed home with my sleeping one-year-old as the smoke increased by the minute.
Ten minutes later: sirens. A loud speaker. It was time to pack. Before the law enforcement even arrived, I was literally running through the cabin, up and down the stairs, packing everything I could. Car seats. Ugh, why didn’t I put those in Aunt El’s truck as soon as she arrived? Nick had been gone for three days at that point on a work trip, and the responsible me would have put car seats in a vehicle to allow for immediate evacuation.
Evacuation. A word I never thought I would use in my life. We were evacuating the cabin – our solace, our happiness, our everything for the last two months.
So I ran. And packed. In retrospect, I should have thrown the clothes that were in the dirty laundry basket into a bag – advice I read several months later, but something that I will never forget. As I packed, the police arrived to tell me what I already knew: we had to leave. Evacuate. There was that word again. But my son, my mother and sister-in-law were still walking! I was fearful, but calm. I had to control what I could – packing. Food, clothes, whatever I could fit. Finally, the hikers returned, and we were all packing together, half anxiously, and half angrily. If this was nothing, we were losing precious days in Huntington. If this was something, where do we go from here?
We were one of the last cabins to drive down Dowville, toward 168; a familiar drive. Never did we ever think that the landscape we drove past a hundred times last summer would look so very different when we returned. Line Creek. Beautiful Line Creek. It still brings tears to our eyes six months later.
Our plan was to stay with Deborah and her husband, Allyn, my in-laws, to “Wait out the fire.” They lived in Alder Springs, not too far away, so we assumed we’d be back in the cabin in two days’ time. That night, Ellyn and I ate dinner on the balcony as we watched the ridge light up like a string of orange Christmas lights. It was surreal, and exciting in a way, as if we were experiencing something big, but of course we feared for the survival of the cabin and for the entirety of Huntington Lake.
The next morning, the sky in Auberry was heavy. The smoke penetrated every aspect of life – the sky, the trees, the house. The sun was a brilliant red, and James noted the “Fireball” in the sky. Oh, sweet boy, it is a fireball indeed. Later that morning, again we heard the dreaded word: Evacuate. Evacuate your in-law’s home, the home your father- in-law took 30 years to build by hand; the home where your husband spent his childhood and formative years, the home that made him the man he is today. Evacuate this home. To where? We were nomads before the cabin, and now we were lost.
The fire became very real that day. The denial was gone. The realization of the gravity of this fire set in, and we knew we had to make other plans. Like Ellyn and I felt the night before, we were experiencing something big. Big and terrible.
So, we left. Deborah packed up her emergency box of sentimental family items as she so responsibly had on an “In case of emergency” list. Allyn, my father-in-law stayed. He stayed until the bitter end, which tragically, was an ash-covered foundation that was once a home. It was gone. 30 years of labor and of course, love, was wiped out. Allyn left in time, thank the Lord, but reluctantly. He, they, left behind everything, and it was gone.
Six months feels like a long time, but the night the Creek Fire started feels like yesterday. My husband, Nick, and I talk about our life at the cabin almost every day. When we’re not talking about it, Nick is thinking about it. He grew up at the cabin in Huntington Lake, the family cabin owned by Grandma Ellen, the incredible matriarch of her line. Nick’s memories extend further than the farthest tree, and his soul lives in those creeks. Mine does too now. We were married at Mushroom Rock, we honeymooned at the cabin, and our oldest son took some of his first steps up the dirt driveway.
The cabin survived, but Nick’s family home burned. Line Creek is a moonscape, but Home Creek remains intact at first glance. For every tragedy, an aspect of the forest also remains untouched. The fingers of the Creek Fire extended far and wide, but they didn’t reach everything. This is the hope we hold onto. We pray that the creeks are unchanged, and that as we explore deeper into the Sierra mountains, we will find more life than death.
Our hope is for the boys to learn to swim near the docks of Dowville, skip rocks by the dams, and catch fish in the same creeks that Nick grew up fishing. We have hope.
Our hearts are in Huntington, now and forever.
-
Jan Russell Hobbs
Jan Russell Hobbs | Huntington Lake
3-16-21
It was the morning of Saturday, September 5th, 2020. Our thoughts for the day ahead were full of beach time, sitting on the porch, and enjoying the company of good friends. As I went down the stairs, I could smell smoke. My friend said she watched fire engines go by for hours in the early morning. We walked next door to the Lakeshore Resort to get what information we could. There was a huddle of people there who told us there was a fire in Big Creek. The comment was, “I guess no tourists today, 168 is closed.”
Of course we were concerned, but walked back to the cabin to start breakfast. My thoughts were on the celebration we had just the night before. My daughter, Lee Anne Hobbs, had planned a party for the 100th birthday of the original cabin located on Lot 7, Lower Deer Creek Tract. My grandparents, Ben and Estella Brophy, started building it in 1918. Having finished construction in September, 1920, they were able to spend a few nights there before my mom and aunt had to head back to school.
Stepping out on the porch, we could hear a voice on a loud speaker but it was too muffled to understand what he was saying. Suddenly, my cell phone rang. Our guest was on a walk down by the lake and was told we all needed to evacuate. We were stunned. The cabin had stood all these years with only minor mishaps.
There were seven of us and we all knew we couldn’t wait this out. I called my sister, DeeDee Hall, and together we made a list of what we needed to save. We could build a new cabin but never replace the items to which so many memories were attached.
The buck head hanging above the fireplace was the first on the list. Indian relics, family pictures and stories, and of course my grandparents’ tin drinking cups. We filled both cars with our own belongings and years of family memories, closed up the cabin, and headed down the mountain.
The traffic wasn’t too chaotic yet, but the sky was. Looking in the direction of Big Creek, you could see humongous swells of dark gray smoke. It looked like a bomb was dropped.
Shaver was not yet evacuated and the many lake-goers stood at the edge of the water looking up at the large plumes of smoke. We stopped at the Vista Point at the top of the four-lane so we could take some pictures. We had never seen anything like it. There were huge swelling clouds, some snow white and some almost black against the blue sky. We made our trip home with a great deal of apprehension as we passed one fire vehicle after another headed up the mountain.
By Sunday the fire had spread to the Shaver Lake area. All we could do was watch the news on the television and the internet. We didn’t get much sleep for those few days. The winds shifted and the fire was moving toward Huntington Lake. Cell towers and some local television satellite dishes were damaged in the fire so communication was minimal.
By Monday the fire had burned into the Dowville area, burning five cabins in the Western section. It then shifted down toward the lake burning many cabins in the Huckleberry tract. By Tuesday, September 8th the fire shifted again. The first responders were trying desperately to save the cabins. Back burns and fire lines somewhere around Bear Creek and Deer Creek stopped the further spread toward Lakeshore.
It is now almost Spring and our thoughts are again, “it’s almost cabin time.” We now have five generations who have enjoyed its magic and never again will we take it for granted.
We are so thankful for the dedication and perseverance of the First Responders. Our mountain community will come together and help those who need to rebuild their dreams.
-
Rosemary Zettler
Rosemary Zettler | Meadow Ridge, near Shaver Lake
3-18-21
We built our first cabin in 1972 in Sierra Cedars. Having fallen in love with the area we built a larger resident-like cabin on Littlefield Road in Meadow Ridge in 1980. Even though most of our family lives in Southern California, we often drive up to “our place in the mountains”. Our grandson, David, and his wife, Connie, and four of their friends were at our place the weekend the Creek Fire broke out. They could see smoke beginning to build in the distance and local authorities informed them of the real danger and the need to evacuate. There was a huge risk that our beloved cabin would burn. The question quickly became what irreplaceable treasures would they have time to stuff into their cars??
The lamps in the master bedroom had bases made from Montana cedar and had been carved by an engineer on the Milwaukee Railroad eighty-six years before? The kerosine lamp above the fireplace his grandmother had filled with fuel each evening at the ranch in Montana where she grew up ninety years ago? And from the same ranch, over the fireplace hung a singletree, the bracket that attaches a horse harness to a wagon.
Bearitone, the massive bear carved from the trunk of a tree that overlooked the deck was impossible to move as was the Birdseye Maple dresser, a treasured possession of his great, great grandmother. But what about the wash board his other great, great grandmother had used while living on what was called “Soap Suds Row” where the enlisted men’s wives scrubbed the clothing of officers and their families at Fort Keogh, Montana a hundred and twenty years ago. Above the front steps hung a big brass bell. It was presented to his grandfather when he opened Flying Tiger Air Freight service in Saigon, Vietnam and was made from cartridge casings picked up on the battlefield during the Vietnam war? Above the kitchen counter was an enlargement of the tourist-attracting post card of his great grandfather pulling in the first fish caught in the newly completed Boulder Dam in 1932.
Two very special quilts would need to be included, one made by his grandmother from the fabric she had used in all the quilts she had made for her four kids, their spouses and eleven grandkids. The other one was even more special, the block pattern was called Autumn Pines and each of the seventy-two block in this king-sized quilt had been sewn together by either friends or family members who had, at one time or another, stayed at the cabin.
The list went on and on and through it all, to hide waves of emotion, David, at times retired to the bathroom to blot his tears. The three cars finally pulled out, and tugging at his heart was the question. Would he ever see the cabin again?
Yes, we were deeply blessed. The fire circled the area and the cabin still stands. It waits to welcome his return.
-
Mark Martinez
Mark Martinez | Fresno Fire Department
3-12-21
My name is Mark Martinez. I am a Fire Captain with the Fresno Fire Department – entering my 28th year. Although our duty to serve and do our best work does not differ from incident to incident – the Creek Fire meant so much more to many of us. The US Forest Service, Cal Fire, Shaver Lake/Pine Ridge/Huntington Lake/Bald Mountain/Auberry Volunteer Fire Departments, Fresno Fire, Clovis, North Central and Kings County Fire – just to name a few – all had members fighting fire and doing all they could to help protect/preserve our treasures – Shaver Lake, Huntington Lake, Bass Lake and the surrounding mountain communities. Personally speaking, getting up the hill ASAP to help do what I could and do my part meant so much. For what my family and I love most about living in Fresno (camping, fishing, hiking, motorcycle riding, mountain biking, boating, skiing, dining, cabin renting) and the lives and property of our mountain neighbors was entirely threatened! Although – sadly and disappointedly – there is considerable property loss and a devastatingly huge burn scar, I am thankful there were no lives lost. I feel honored to be one of hundreds of firefighters on the Creek Fire (assigned Fresno Fire Brush 3 – Task Force 5054) to have played a small part is saving/preserving what we could. #MountainStrong
-
Peter Arroyo
Peter Arroyo | Cressman Road
2-10-21
The Creek Fire started at 5:30 in the evening on September 4th at Camp Sierra.
The morning of September 5th was already blistering its way into the oppressive heat that was to be all consuming for the Labor Day weekend. My wife, Ari, and I started out in our routine of coffee and news. We heard about the fire on the news but no one thought that it would come down to Cressman Road. We each knew there were things we wanted to accomplish so by 9:00 am we both went at it. I prepared myself with all the safety gear to collect 16” rounds of oak, cedar, ponderosa and sugar pine. These old trees had been ravaged by the drought and the secondary punch -beetles. It was time to turn them into a source of heat for the winter months soon approaching. At 10:00 am I looked up at the sky to see ominous clouds in the distance that were signaling that something was wrong, terribly wrong. I even mentioned it to Ari, as we went about our business. As the day progressed, we kept hearing rumblings about the fire. We kept on as usual but as the news feeds started spreading, we knew this was getting very serious, but still, we were not too worried.
The following morning, Sunday, September 6th, our mountain life was interrupted when evacuation orders were issued for most of the mountain as the fire was headed our way. Instinctively, Ari and I turned to evacuation mode and prepared the cats and mother-in-law, not necessarily in that order, to leave the mountain, our home. A place we so love and which we knew would shelter us as we grew older. We got our five cats in carriers and put them in the car with my mother-in-law to go to the temporary evacuation site. There was confusion as to where she was to go and she ended up going in circles, finally ending up waiting for news at Clovis Community College. Realizing later that day that she could not come home, we directed her to a hotel, and to drop off our cats at Elaine’s Pet Resort in Fresno. In taking in our precious fur babies at the last minute, Elaine’s showed us a kindness we were not prepared to receive and gave us strength to go back in and do what we so dutifully trained for. And so, Ari and I stayed behind as firefighters and engineer.
On Monday September 7, 2020, we were stapling posters at the entrance to each home indicating whether a resident had evacuated to aid the sheriff’s department. One never knows how much land is around until you are forced to make that loop, we call Pine Ridge that intertwines with Cressman Road, Upper and Lower Cressman Road and Glenwood. These roads all lead to people’s homes, places of neighborly affection, endearment and friendship.
As the few remaining in the neighborhood, Ari, took time to walk and video the surroundings with the thought of possibly losing everything, as her voice cracked on video stating what we all felt inside, but did not want to say out loud. I held it all inside, as I knew this was not a moment for weakness. That would come much later during dinner a few days into the fight. We waived goodbye to Joe and Curt and were the last to leave. On the way out of Cressman Road it was eerie – so desolate and barren of neighbors, of life.
The fire took out our community that night and no one was allowed up or down the mountain until Wednesday morning, September 9th. The ride up Highway 168 on the four lane Wednesday morning opened our eyes to the devastation of what a raging fire can do. Our local neighborhood store, Cressman’s, was now a skeletal depiction of the memories that made it the place to go. The landscape was barren of what was once a mighty sight of trees, mountain landscapes and clouds. What once stood as a staple of nature was replaced with smoke and smaller fires still unable to let go of the mountain. Evidence that fire is stronger than one can imagine. My story intertwines with Ari’s detailed version as we were inseparable then and still are. So as the story line follows in chapters so must this one.
This is the preface to the beginning of an amazing journey we took as first responders with the training that we thought we would never use. We never thought our neighborhood and surrounding communities would be victims of such devastation as that caused by the Creek Fire, so read on to Ari’s story and delve into the strength, resiliency and hope within ourselves, within our neighbors and of complete strangers who came together to rebuild and hold us up until we could do it on our own.
-
Ari Arroyo
Ari Arroyo | Cressman Road
2-1-21
The Creek Fire
By: Ari Arroyo
Engineer & Firefighter, Pine Ridge Volunteer Fire Dept.
Secretary/Treasurer, Pine Ridge Property Owners Association
The Creek Fire was the largest single fire in the history of the state of California and burned 379,895 acres. I am a firefighter and engineer and my husband, Peter, is a firefighter with the Pine Ridge Volunteer Fire Department. We were here from the beginning and will forever be affected by what happened, what we saw, what we did, and the people we met.
The Creek Fire started in Friday, September 4, 2020. No one thought it would make it down to Cressman Road but still, we had to evacuate on Monday, September 7th. Before departing our fire department went to every home in the community to make sure they had left or were in the process of leaving. It was eerie leaving with nobody left in the community just the evacuation signs at every property entrance. We put two of our fire engines and a patrol at what we hoped was a safe spot in case the fire did come in and then all we could do was leave. The fire came down into the town of Shaver Lake on Monday the 7th and then the most dreaded news of all came, that the fire had taken out Cressman’s General Store. It then jumped the highway and entered Cressman Road and the Pine Ridge community. It was so hot and violent that the firefighters who had been protecting Cressman’s Store had to leave almost immediately. It is estimated that the fire came into the Cressman Road / Pine Ridge community with 50 to 60 mile winds and 100 to 200 foot high flames and that it made it all the way through our community in only 30 to 40 minutes.
On Tuesday, the 8th no one was allowed up to Cressman Road, nor were they allowed to come down from the town of Shaver Lake above because it was still too hot. On Wednesday morning, the 9th, they allowed the fire departments into Cressman Road and the other surrounding areas that had been devastated by the fire. That morning those still available from the Pine Ridge Volunteer Fire Department caravanned up from Fresno. Although we knew what had happened and what we should expect to see, we were shocked and horrified at how the fire had decimated our mountain. We entered Cressman Road and started to see what had happened to our very special little community which we took such pride in. Almost all the trees were burned and smoldering or still on fire, stumps were shooting up flames everywhere and the ground was black, hot and smoking. The ground was strewn with branches and trees blocking our way so it was a very slow go moving down the road. And then we started seeing the houses that had burned. There were large houses and small cabins and all had been reduced to a pile of ash only a foot or two tall. There are really no words to express how we felt seeing the devastation. We lost 66 of the 88 homes in our community.
And then the real work began. . .
There were not many firefighters left who were able to come up because most of their homes had burned down. A few of those who lost their homes came up when they could and our chief, James Parr, although he lost his home he was up here all the time with us. We would come up the mountain every morning and stay here until late at night, putting out fires, cutting line and protecting homes that had not burned. One of the strangest feelings was when we would simply drive by a small fire or a burning stump and not put it out because there were too many bigger flames that had to be dealt with. Our first day up we were protecting one of the homes that had survived, trying to put out the flames near the home and I called out for assistance on the radio. I called out a few times and eventually someone responded and came to help. Later that day my chief told me to be careful that I didn’t sound frantic when I called out on the radio. Later that day I was up at my house and there were two other engines at the bottom of my driveway and I called out on the radio asking, “Can you please send up another engine, there are 25 to 30 foot flames on the hillside beside my driveway”. I have never spoken so calmly and it was funny because one of the outside firefighters heard my radio call and said, “How can she sound so calm, the flames are at her house”.
The days were long and exhausting but at the end of every day we always felt proud of what we had been doing. When we left the mountain at the end of the day we were exhausted, dirty, smelled like smoke and hungry. After our second day back on the mountain we stopped by a restaurant in Fresno to get dinner. It was about 10:45 at night and when I went up to the hostess she said we’d have to wait 30 to 45 minutes for a table. While we were fighting the fire I was strong and resilient but then I was done for the day and when she said that to me I almost broke into tears. Looking back at that moment it’s actually rather humorous.
I took pictures and videos whenever I could and every morning I would get up at the crack of dawn, write an email to the Pine Ridge property owners and attach a video and/or pictures. Peter and I would then have breakfast and return to the mountain to fight the fire. We were not alone though. Strike teams came in from across the state as well as a few from other states. Frequently one of the outside fire companies would say to me, “Thank you for helping us”. And every time someone said that I would reply that we were not helping them, they were helping us and that they needed to know that they were not just fighting fires, they were giving hope!
I was one of the lucky few who did not lose their home in the fire. Why was my home saved? The fire blew in hard and about an eighth of a mile before it got to my house the fire took a deep breath and blew just a little bit south and wrapped behind and around my house and a few other houses near mine.
Because my home had survived and there were a few other homes nearby that had survived as well, the fire companies often stayed on my property on their down time and overnight. Often you would find from three to six fire engines (including mine) by my house. It was quite a sight. One day I walked out my front door and noticed that the driveway around my fire engine was all wet. I walked down to talk to the other firefighters and asked if anyone knew why. A handsome, young firefighter came up to me, stood tall, puffed up his chest and said, “We washed your rig for you ma’am”. It was like something out of a movie and I was delighted.
A few times we made dinner for the firefighters who were staying on our property overnight and then at about 5:15 the next morning I would get up and make them all fresh coffee to start their day. One night there were twelve firefighters eating at our table and in my kitchen and I asked if they would do something for my community. I took a video of them all and at the end they all raised their glasses and said “We’re here for you Pine Ridge”. It was wonderful, but the funniest part was that after I took the video a few of them asked if they could do a retake because they thought they could do better. What great people!
One day in late October when the outside fire companies had left and Peter had gone back to work, I was standing on my deck and looked out to see that there was only my lone fire engine and no other people or vehicles and everything was quiet. It was a strange feeling and I did not know what to do with myself. I felt totally lost at that moment. But time went by and we still had the occasional flare up or burning tree and sometimes the outside fire companies would come back or call to make sure everything was okay. I realized then that the world would go on and although our beautiful forest would be forever changed, there would be regrowth and rebuilding and we would find a way to come back stronger than ever.
There are so many stories to tell, so many people to thank, so many people to help, so many memories that will live with us forever.
