Fire

In the past several days—beginning around 3:30 a.m. on Sunday August 16, with a lightning strike—fires have been sprouting and spreading, fast, in Monterey County. That first was, and still is (full containment predicted by August 30), the River Fire, about 10 miles from us (though we are not at all threatened), a few miles south of Salinas. We saw the plume of smoke while driving back and forth, and back and forth again, to Best Buy, trying to restore our wifi by purchase of a new cable-modem/router. After the wifi was (a miracle!) reestablished, we drove out to River Road to find a geocache for International Geocaching Day 2020 (and a souvenir). Here's what we saw out there:

Shortly after our visit, the road the cache was located on was closed, and several canyon neighborhoods were evacuated. Here are a few more photos of that fire, from later that evening (courtesy of Scott Davis):

Since then, when it was a few hundred acres, the River Fire has grown to over 4,000 and continues to spread south, with containment at only 7 percent (down from 10). It's destroyed a couple dozen houses. Here it is a little earlier this evening, as seen from Spreckels:

Some friends of ours, Peter Kwiek and Robin Cohen, live near enough to the River Fire that they decided to evacuate. A while ago he posted this on FB: "Holy Shit! And we’re totally okay. I’ll be really sad if we lose our house with all our Warholian collections and our nest egg but we’re safe and employed. No matter what happens, we will continue to be amongst the luckiest folks on the face of the Earth. . . . For me honestly it does not seem terrifying. It weighs on me, yeah, but it’s not terrifying. I don’t really know if I know what terrifying is. I suppose if I feared I might be assaulted or gaslighted, that would be terrifying." I admire his attitude—and seriously hope they get to go back home. 

But as if that wasn't enough, this afternoon a fire was reported up Carmel Valley, in the rugged Cachagua area, and that one, too is spreading rapidly. More structures have been destroyed, already. Firefighting forces are spread thin, and the smoke is so thick that aircraft can't do their work. 1,700 acres as of an hour ago, 0% contained. Carmel Valley Road, closed. (Photo by Kate Cimini)

And then, this evening as of 8:30, a new fire: the Dolan, down the Big Sur coast above Esalen. It, too, is moving rapidly: "extreme fire behavior"—right toward Esalen, which is undertaking structure protection. A sheriff's deputy friend just posted photos and videos of them warning residents to evacuate. Highway 1 is closed there, as is Nacimiento-Ferguson Road over the range. Here's a photo of the Dolan Fire, by Mike Gilson:

And here's another one, from three hours after the fire's start, by David Halterman, from just south of Lime Creek:

Meanwhile, I just now heard that our nephew and his family—whose son will be celebrating (somehow) his tenth birthday tomorrow—has had to evacuate a fire that's been growing up in Santa Cruz County. They live in an idyllic place overlooking the ocean, set off on its own—and I trust it will be fine, because most of the surrounding land is grassland, so not a lot of fuel. But who knows. Everything is so dry now. I'm just glad to know they're out of there and safe.

This afternoon on our walk, I took a photo of the waters of the bay, glowing copper-colored from the sun trying to shine through the heavy pall of smoke hanging in the sky.

We do live in fire country. But the planet is heating up, and that changes everything. The past few days, one fire after another, firefighting resources stretched thin, such dry conditions, friends and family needing to evacuate—it's so unsettling. And it's only August. Fire season hasn't even gotten going.

But really, that's just me, living in town, where fire danger is low. When I read the comments of people, most of them strangers to me, but still, part of my community, talking about being packed and ready to go, or waiting to be able to transport horses, or worrying about an elder's safety with all the smoke . . . I don't really know what to say. I can't imagine living through such a thing.

Well actually, I already did—when I was seven. The Bel-Air Fire in L.A., 1961. I wrote about that here. But I was just a kid. Not the same. Not at all.

Later: Here is an eloquent description of what it's like to live in fire country nowadays, by a poet and a friend of mine, Rae Gouirand: "It is really hard to explain to anyone who hasn't lived through the new version of wildfire season in California just how much it affects a person to see the entire world shot through with a vomity-colored haze, ash raining down 24 hours a day like some kind of nightmare snowglobe, the light traveling wrong routes (is there an eclipse? has the sun come loose?), the way it moves into your head and tightens your skull around your temples. Literally everything looks wrong--the world reads wrong. It makes a person feel like there's something going on with their brain. You can't get away from it. You get up to move to another room in your house so you'll stop looking out this particular window, and that spot in the hall where there's always a sunbeam this time of afternoon is a neon red stripe. It's like a highlighter takes over directing one's attention. It pushes, it demands. The fire is more than 30 miles away but the signal reaches you and continues sounding. You begin to understand how and why we evolved these senses we have."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Meanwhile, back in the age of Covid-19—current figures: 6,662 confirmed cases—1,506 increase since the 15th!!! what?!?!? that's crazy . . . I must have something wrong. I'll just post current numbers:
Confirmed cases: 6,662.
Hospitalizations: 400
Deaths: 46 (that would be up 5 since I last posted, which does make sense)

As if we didn't already have enough to worry about. 2020: the year that doesn't stop giving.

Stay safe. Dammit.