Los Angeles is a topographical wonderland. The mountains can be seen in the distance. Hillsides and canyons are a refuge for hikers and dog walkers. The beaches and cliffs on the coast beckon. Into this nature we have intertwined our neighborhoods and streets, not to mention the highways, turning it into a mix of the wild and the urban. We are the only megacity in the world that has pumas roaming the streets; Only Mumbai and its leopards compare. Here, cougars mostly hide during the day but come out at night, caught on doorbell camera video slithering through backyards and jumping fences.
We have probed and electrified the nature of Los Angeles. But we have not domesticated it. How could we? To live here, we do not make a pact with nature but rather come to an uncomfortable confrontation with it. We know there will be earthquakes (the ground is riddled with faults) but we modernize and tell ourselves that they are high risk, low probability events. That allows us to sleep at night, perhaps with a false sense of security in the roofs above our heads.
And we know there will be wildfires, but we think they will be contained relatively quickly and will occur in the hills and in areas with poorly managed brush – the places that landowners didn't clear or send voracious goats to chew.
We were wrong.
A confluence of extraordinarily bad events: there has been no significant rain since Can (that drizzle on his car window on Christmas Eve didn't count) and a vicious hurricane-like wind storm, turned a fire that may have started in a backyard in Pacific Palisades Tuesday morning into an unthinkable inferno that raged stretches of the coast. community in a matter of minutes. Then a fire broke out in Altadena, destroying neighborhoods. A day later, the Palisades Fire had destroyed thousands of acres, with 0% containment.
By the end of the week, six fires had burned across Los Angeles County, destroying not only the Palisades and much of Altadena, but also areas in Malibu, the San Fernando Valley, Los Angeles, near the county line. Ventura, and Hollywood Hills. People lost their homes and we all lost the historic Will Rogers Ranch, part of the Will Rogers State Historical Park in Palisades. The fire was for everything. Black smoke rose toward the historic Mount Wilson Observatory to the east, and flames reached the grounds of the legendary Getty Villa, home to priceless antiquities. Both have survived until now, and the Getty Villa was no doubt aided by the clearing of brush and fire-resistant construction.
What happened last week has upended all our assumptions about our truce with the savagery of Los Angeles. We were wrong when we thought that our infrastructure was enough to save us from this hell.
I have lived here more than 30 years and I have escaped the fire. But like other Angelenos, I always knew this could happen. There have been so many fires in the time I've been here that sometimes I think Los Angeles will be destroyed sooner by fire than by the big earthquake we're supposed to prepare for.
I live next to a forest of tall eucalyptus trees, which are very flammable. Its beauty outside my windows is a big part of why I chose to live here—my “treehouse,” a friend called it. Every time the trees sway vigorously in the dry wind, I worry desperately and scan them for any sign of fire.
The wildfires that have ravaged the hillsides where I live have never reached my neighborhood. But I heard the police driving through those streets at 3 in the morning asking people to evacuate.
I was writing this article on Thursday afternoon when I received an emergency alert for an evacuation warning in my area. Scared, I started packing my bags. How do you choose the most precious things to pack in a couple of travel bags? Before I could add more than a few things, my phone rang again. The evacuation warning was a false alarm. I was relieved, but perhaps my panic was more appropriate, and the relief was a return to the denial that makes it possible to live our daily lives in this dangerous place.
Angelenos are upset about the faulty emergency alert system, but that is the least of the problems this conflagration has revealed. Overwhelmed by massive demand, especially with planes dropping water on the ground in some spots due to high winds, fire hydrants in the Palisades' more mountainous elevations ran dry. A lack of pressure to move water was to blame, city officials said. Should the city renew the hydrant system, which seems to work well when only a few structures are on fire? Or was it simply a once-in-a-generation fire that consumed more than the city's water system?
There are other questions. People have criticized Mayor Karen Bass for being out of the country when the fire started Tuesday and for cutting the Fire Department's budget, although the city's administrative officer says the budget ultimately increased overall and nothing affected capacity. fire extinguishing.
Obviously, Bass would not have been able to stop the fire. (She's no Moses.) But what she must do now is keep her promise to help people rebuild aggressively. “Red tape, red tape, everything has to go,” he said Friday. That's something that will help us all. To live in this desert, we need all the help we can get.
