I thought I was ready for fire. I was wrong

I was not ready for this.

When I moved to Los Angeles five years ago, I was instantly smitten with the desert landscape of southern California. The arc of the swaying palm trees. The slow-rolling surf off Malibu’s coastline. The nighttime sparkle of Sunset Boulevard and Hollywood’s glitterati.

But all that beauty comes with a price. A devastating price.

As a native Bostonian, I am well-acquainted with punishing weather. I was in high school when the blizzard of ‘78 stranded cars up and down Route 128. In the early 1990s, I remember staking our delicate dogwood trees before Hurricane Bob roared into town. But nothing prepared me for the LA fires.

Propelled by wind gusts of nearly 100 mph, the first flames ignited on Tuesday morning in the tony enclave of the Pacific Palisades. Within hours, a landscape once known for its broad avenues and million-dollar homes looked apocalyptic. From my home in North Hollywood, the fires were located 20 miles to the south. I watched the flash of flame and smoke on my television screen, still safely in the distance.

Four hours later another fire appeared 10 miles north, this time in the horse country of the San Fernando Valley. By nightfall, a third burst of flames quickly engulfed the towns of Altadena and Pasadena. Clouds of black soot and ash began to softly swirl in the air above my apartment complex. With fires burning to my north, south, and east, that evening offered a fitful night’s sleep.

On Wednesday morning, the news channels hummed with updates. Reporters wandered the streets wearing ski googles and respirators. Homeowners wept while the flames continued to dance. And then word arrived a new blaze had sparked just before sunrise near the Sepulveda Basin, close to the intersection of the 101 and 405 highways, directly to my west. My home was now boxed in, with flames in every direction. It was time to pack.

My wife and I laid open a few suitcases on the bed and quickly scanned our small unit. It was surprisingly easy to decide what we take. Our passports, tax returns and will were the first to make the cut. Laptops, phones, chargers, and a handful of clothes topped the pile. A quick zip and we wheeled the luggage toward the door, so we’d be ready if the time came.

I thought I was prepared, calm even. I had followed the protocols given by county officials. I had plenty of water and gas. When the evacuation call came, we were good to go.

And then my best friend called.

She was in Newton, doom-scrolling headlines of LA’s multi-armed inferno. We swapped geographic tidbits regarding the fires’ locations and I assured her of our preparations. And then, without warning, I felt tears gather in my eyes. My pulse quickened. A bead of sweat emerged on my brow.

Turns out I wasn’t calm after all.

I have skidded on highways coated with ice. I learned to swim in the ocean where riptides can easily pull the unaware out to sea. Storm gusts have tossed tree branches large enough to smash my home’s windows into shards. But the fear of fire? That is on an entirely different level.

There is something primal about the allure of flame. The warmth of campfires, the soft hues of candlelight, even the celebratory exuberance of bonfires seduce us into thinking we can control its ferocious appetite, blinded by its beauty and golden glow. And so I too waited, convinced the fire was not coming for me.

Just after sunset on Wednesday, another spark caught in the Hollywood Hills. The fire had crept closer, now just on the other side of the canyon. We could wait no longer.

Rolling the luggage into the hallway, we quickly descended toward the garage. A friend met us at the gate and we pointed our cars south, toward San Diego. Los Angeles, famous for its log-jammed freeways, was instead a frantic speedway. Cars darted in and out of lanes. An acrid stench wormed its way in through the dashboard vents. Plumes of smoke hovered in every direction.

I woke Thursday morning safe and far removed from the flames that continue to burn so much of my adopted home. I am one of the fortunate ones, surrounded by so many who've lost so much.

Fires are capricious lovers. Like California, they harbor so much beauty. But at a deadly cost.

No one was ready for this.

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