WRR@LARGE

by Angie Brenner

November 1, 2007

Thirty or so Julian residents ambled into the Town Hall on Main Street Tuesday night to hear and be heard. There were almost as many CDF (California Department of Forestry) and local firefighter volunteers in attendance. I waited for applause, for the love-fest to begin. None of our homes were burned (mostly due to the diminishing forces of wind); and if the town had been threatened, the presence of seventy or more fire trucks in the area were ready. But the mood was somber.

Julian/Cuyamaca Volunteer Fire District Chief, Kevin Dubler, introduced the CDF officers present and took on the topic that apparently was brewing in the community: Mandatory Evacuation. "We'd expected that this fire would be similar to the Cedar Fire fours years ago, that onshore winds from the coast would turn east," he said, coughing out the smoke still trapped deep into his lungs.

"But everything about this fire was different. It burned downhill against the wind and blew through areas already burned."

I heard some of the fire terms such as blow over and laying down (when fire runs like a locomotive a foot or more on the ground slicing fence posts and melting brass tools in its wake); and leaf-freeze, when heat sucks out moisture so fast that tree leaves are frozen black in motion.

A hand waves in the air. "Those of us with defendable property and equipment should be able to stay," said the man sitting in front of me. "It’s a free country."

"In this fire and wind there was no such thing as a defendable property," says Chief Dubler. "When people tell me they are staying, I ask them for their name and address so that when we get their 911 call, we can ignore it." Dubler coughed again.

No one was fooled by his tough exterior. When he gets a call, we know that these volunteers, our neighbors who give up weekends and risk their lives to help our community, will come to our rescue.

For additional emphasis, one CDF captain adds his thoughts. "Two people on Highland Valley Road in Ramona are dead because they thought they could defend their house." The group is silent.

A few days ago, I wrote about how we all need to rethink how we live in the back country (or the city for that matter). How we must learn to use generators and fire hoses and do a better job at clearing property and having supplies and water on hand to live independently for a week or more. While all this is true, my resolve to 'stay and defend' has weakened after listening to the fire fighters' stories.

With over a half million people evacuated across San Diego County, there are many things that can go wrong, and communication is at the top of the list. Staying behind and risking my life and possibly that of the firemen who attempt to save me, or milling around the roads when trucks and equipment need to get through, should not be in the equation.

"We can’t pick and choose who is allowed to stay and who should leave," says Dubler. "Evacuation means everyone."

This is his party line of course, but we all know and admire those who stayed in their homes and have equipment and skills to defend them. Fortunately, this time they weren’t put to the test.

Yesterday, I'd heard the talk and criticism toward those who left, 'the wimps' as someone suggested. Then, I remembered Steve Rucker, the fireman who lost his life in 2003 on Orchard Lane at the house next door to artist James Hubbell. Certainly no wimp. He was experienced and had the latest fire fighting equipment on his truck. In a fiery instant he was gone. On Monday October 29th, thirty of his brothers gathered at the rebuilt house where each year Marabeth and Larry Lis create a memorial shrine to Steve, a place to go to grieve and to honor the man (like many others) who gave his life to save a home.

Nothing that I own would be worth losing a life, mine or someone else's.