In the thick of it

DON LEACH

I had just dropped my film off to a motorcycle courier and then

caught a ride through North Laguna in the bed of a city pickup truck.

I remember the group sitting and holding on, watching the smoky

sky as the driver sped down Coast Highway. We dropped into town, and

to our surprise, heavy black smoke and flames were coming down the

hill behind City Hall. “It’s still going,” someone yelled.

There was nothing to talk about. I remember hearing some guys

cursing and swearing as they jumped out of the vehicle as it came to

a stop at Chevron. Everyone went their own direction, leaping out of

the truck. It was at this point I thought of how I could help

somewhere first, and then take pictures second.

I had already seen the devastation in Emerald Bay, and now the

fire was running over the Mystic Hills area and above the high

school.

“What’s going to stop this -- ‘the ocean’?” I thought.

I chose to go to Skyline Drive area above the high school.

At this point, I was under the smoke walking quickly up St. Anne’s

toward Park Avenue. The wind wasn’t letting up as I paced upward. I

passed a person holding a laundry basket stacked with stuff to his

chin as he ran past.

“Get out of here!” he shrieked. “What are you doing?”

One couple walked past me and never looked up, holding scarves

over their mouths, clutching each other as they hurried past. I

continued up Skyline watching the smoke go overhead. It was flying

overhead with no intentions of stopping. The fire was still moving.

It wasn’t letting up. It felt like a storm approaching. I walked

higher up Skyline to the more exposed area and the scope of things

became clear.

There was no help in sight and the hard wind was pulling the fire

down behind the homes. I met up with two guys who were looking at the

approaching flames.

We walked between two homes where a large portion of brush was

going up. The wind was pulling down the flames onto the backs of

homes, lighting trees, bushes and plants.

The sky turned darker as if night was about to fall. I ran back to

the street between the two homes. Right then, a burst of hot wind

forced me to cover up. The burst carried with it a cloud of hot

embers that rained down upon the street and a rooftop in front of me.

I ducked. It was a hail storm of burning material, finger sized

embers, still red from burning in the sky. I went behind a

cinderblock wall on the side of a home for immediate safety.

While crouched I noticed a garden hose placed between two

trashcans the owner had probably placed there in attempt to save

their home before fleeing. The handle was tied down to keep water

shooting out. It was ineffective, pathetic and futile, the hose

shooting on the ground. Whoever did this was making one last effort.

I felt I had to do something.

As if it was my responsibility now, since seeing the contraption.

I grabbed the hose despite the heat and smoke and shot the embers

sizzling and smoking on this rooftop. They scattered like leaves. I

stretched the hose as far as it would go and sprayed. I tried to

water the bigger pieces. More embers landed as I put them out, wiping

out my efforts.

For a moment, I thought I could actually save the home. I thought

how excited I would be to tell the homeowner later. My hope faded as

the corner of roof began to show flames shooting up. The fire storm

was approaching. The wind was like the sea, the fire like waves. The

hot air and dense smoke was thickening.

A home across the street behind me was now engulfed as I looked

over my shoulder, its roof well involved and flames coming out the

front windows. Well, this is what it must feel like to be a real

firefighter, I remember thinking. But forget that idea, I dropped the

hose as my cameras were banged all over the place and the smoke was

getting un-breathable.

I slid off the roof. it was now getting dark and dangerous. This

is when I actually ran. Down the street, a guy on a bike appeared

from nowhere behind me. A black Mercedes sped past up the hill

honking, driving right into the dragon’s mouth of smoke and flames.

It must have been a desperate homeowner. We watched to see how far

they would go. The car was forced to make a hasty U-turn as black

smoke and a flames from a home fully engulfed home forced them back.

The neighborhood was now becoming a loss as more homes began to go

up. The situation was obvious; the neighborhood would burn. Anything

made of wood or plastic was on fire.

Live plants were burning. Embers bounced from the ground and blew

through the air. It was getting too hot. An ember burned through my

nylon camera fanny pack. Gale-force bursts of wind brought thousands

of burning embers to the ground like hail around me. I remember

covering my face and running toward Park Street.

Right then, O.C. Fire Truck No. 3, all the way from Sunset Beach

drove up, the engineer screaming to me if I knew where a fire hydrant

was. Conditions were desperate and dangerous as the three-man engine

drove right through black, moving smoke into a situation so bad it

made me run. This was the first fire attack on the street. They drove

through the thickest blackest smoke and disappeared up Skyline.

At least four homes were out of control on the right side. They

backed into a driveway between two homes not in flames. But that

would change. Soon enough, the brush and small trees began to flame

up, blowing horizontally across the front yard and street next to

them. I had to get a shot of this I thought; the ultimate firefight.

As they got into position, I managed five frames before being

forced to run again. I went toward Park Avenue again and waited for a

clearing. On return, the crew moved the engine down the street. They

had been overrun. There was nothing they could do.