Well, what a nervous 24 hours it's been. The Bear Fire, as it's come to be known, was started by lightning several weeks ago in the mountains south of Quincy, CA. Two or three strikes started fires that all eventually grew together, and the winds of yesterday and last night fanned them from 40,000 acres to 145,000 acres in the space of twelve hours. Along the way they covered over 25 miles, destroyed over 2000 structures, and took at least three lives. Once again, I'm fortunate my home is still intact, and I'm still among the land of the living.
Last night seemed like it would never end. The updates on the satellite map showed the fire moving this way, but because they came at irregular intervals, I was never sure how far or where they were going. So I was up every hour or so, peering through windows or walking around outside, looking for an orange glow that I hoped wouldn't be there. And until about 7AM today, the night was still black as coal, with the exception of gray ash that swirled and danced in the beam of my flashlight. About a half hour after sunup, the sky was still very dark, but it was a dark orange. Fire orange, not sun shining through the smoke orange. Yet there was less ash in the air, no sounds of exploding tanks like I heard the afternoon and evening before, and nothing but that orange glow to suggest there was fire nearby.
Sometime during the night, the Sheriff's fancy reporting page stopped working, and I really didn't know where the fire was. And I started to doubt my decision not to leave because it was all on the line now. I knew I should eat something, but the knots in my stomach had me wondering if I'd be able to keep it down. Then I got dressed in the Nomex pants and shirt I'd snagged at the uniform shop earlier in the year, laced on my boots, donned an N95 mask, put on my hat, and walked out the door. Pulled out the iPhone, opened the Home app, and hit the button for the sprinkler system on the roof. It sputtered and choked to life, a fine mist of water drops swirling in the light breeze, making puddles on the concrete and wetting down the walls. I let it run for a few minutes to get a better feel for the time needed for a good soaking, then shut it off, comforted that it worked like it has been, and was ready to go if the time came today.
I had two very large wood piles I wanted to get tarped, hopefully well enough to keep sparks and embers out of them so they'd keep me warm come winter. That help keep my mind off the fire, and the wind slacking off helped, too. The tarp that blew off the firetruck was almost big enough to cover the big stack, and three smaller tarps were enough to finish it and cover the pile of odd pieces that make such great campfire wood.
That done, I laid five hundred-foot hoses, one at each corner of the house, and the last down where the tractor and other implements were parked. I also rolled up the hose on the firetruck, as it wasn't putting out enough pressure to get the job done. My neighbor and former owner had threatened all summer to tutor me in it's use, but neither of us got around tuit, and my book learnin' wasn't good enough. Never mind, would'a could'a should'a ain't no way to get things done.
By then my appetite had returned so I fixed some lunch and shot a few text messages off to the neighbors to see how they were doin'. One was about to take a ride to see what he could, and promised to report back. Another gal's husband had cut short his trip (he drives a truck for Walmart) and would be back by evening. I texted him asking for a bunch of bananas if he was going to be stopping at a grocery on his way up. Nobody knew much about where the fire had been, and even less about where it was going, and none of us had even seen a fireman or deputy sheriff. None of us had heard any aircraft overhead, either, and neither of these things brought us any comfort. We're on our own here.
In the mean time, the Sheriff had seen fit to put us in an Evacuation Warning Zone, adding to the tension. Then the report came back from the driver, who had seen a handful of deputies at a local campground store. They told him it wasn't just a warning, but an evacuation. So much confusion at times like this. Didn't matter, as none of us planned on leaving anyway.
The night before the wind was blowing hard enough to rattle the steel porch roof and shake the sliding glass doors, and I could hear things bouncing off the glass. There was a layer of ash on everything, not like snow, but more like dust. And leaves. Dark, crispy, burnt leaves, scattered everywhere. Got a broom and five gallon bucket and started sweeping them up, ended up with half a pale. Normally I'd just toss them down the hill, but because I didn't want 'em coming back at the house on fire, they went into the garbage can instead.
All during the day the smoke took turns really packing it in and almost lifting, but as the sun headed down so did the smoke. The weatherman this evening said that was normal, and that most of the smoke wasn't from the Bear Fire at all, but from other fires to the south. Our smoke had already blown into someone else's neighborhood.
So that's how my day went, and tonight will be another string of half hour or hour naps, with quick peeks out the window and at the computer screen to keep an eye on the fire, which ended the day a couple miles east of here. Tonight's satellite picture shows the hottest red part surrounded by older orange, a hopeful sign that the calm wind wasn't helping the fire to spread. It also shows the even older yellowish gray outline of what the fire started out as just yesterday afternoon. Not sure what the next few hours will bring, let alone tomorrow, but I'm hoping for brighter days.
