Angry Poodle
Thursday, May 14, 2009
SMOKE GETS IN YER EYES: What do you say to someone insane enough to march directly into towering walls of flame without a second thought, even as their fire hoses melt? I’d start with “thank you,” and repeat it roughly 4,500 times, one for each of the firefighters who risked life and limb to pull Santa Barbara’s heat-crackled fat out of the third frontcountry inferno to strike the South Coast in 10 months. Without such heedless heroism, we’d have lost so much more than we actually did. For good reason, people are standing in line to kiss the firefighters’ boots. As the smoke clears, the soot flakes crumble, and that noxious black powder blows away, other responses will emerge. It’s a matter of time before gratitude and relief give way to rage and finger-pointing. Some are already demanding why the firefighters didn’t just squash the Jesusita Fire immediately.
Angry Poodle
There will be plenty of opportunity for second-guessing, some of it actually useful. What about all those cranky old men who defied evacuation orders to stay and protect their homes? At first blush, it appears many made a significant difference, putting out a multitude of spot fires and helping out-of-town firefighters connect with swimming pools and other vital neighborhood resources. The ultimate record, however, may be more mixed.
At least one such holdout living off Las Canoas Road reportedly threatened to pull a gun on firefighters. No less than four Sheriff’s squad cars were dispatched to the scene before a strike crew of Ventura County firefighters could do their jobs and save his neighbors’ homes. A battalion chief from Los Angeles City Fire was injured (most likely smoke inhalation) while saving a couple of stragglers off Holly Road, who waited until there was no more water pressure in the hoses before driving away. The chief — convinced they’d be incinerated by the fastest-moving fire he’d ever fought — left the shelter he’d sought in a nearby house, blocked the road, dragged the couple out of the car, gave them oxygen, and slammed them inside the house where he’d been staying. What’s the punch line? As long as people insist on building multimillion-dollar homes where wildfires breed, why not train these lunatics in the rudiments of fire protection as well as fire prevention? That’s what they do in Australia. Santa Barbara itself has a long tradition of volunteer fire departments. I know some firefighters bristle at the lack of professionalism exhibited by some amateur outfits. The answer, I’m guessing, lies in more and better training.
In the coulda-woulda-shoulda department, I expect we’ll be discussing what difference it would have made if Santa Maria Airport could have been made available to the air tankers within the first 24 hours. Because the U.S. Forest Service hadn’t renewed its Santa Maria contract — since fire season doesn’t officially start until May 15 — the initial three CalFire air tankers had to fly more than twice the distance to Porterville to get refueled and loaded up with fire retardant. The added distance also required those tankers to refuel once every two trips as opposed once every five. Had Santa Maria been open, it’s likely that those three planes could have made two to three times the number of drops. Rep. Lois Capps worked the phones, and helped get the emergency orders needed to open the Santa Maria Airport, which since then has set new national records on quantity of fire retardant pumped in one given day — 158,000 gallons last Friday. Could the Little Baby Jesus Fire have been bottled up the first day with more drops? Who knows.
In hindsight, Santa Maria would have allowed more and quicker drops, and that undeniably helps. But those in the biz also insist that air tankers don’t put out fires. Instead, air tankers give fire crews the cover they need to put them out. Given the steepness and inaccessibility of the terrain where the fire started — and the conspicuous lack of escape routes — no commanders in their right mind would have allowed firefighters on the ground that first day. Besides, they note, Jesusita spread fewer than 100 acres in that time.
Regardless, the Forest Service contract department needs to figure out that fire season is a 365-day-a-year reality out here, and renew its contracts accordingly. I also was distressed to learn that more than half the Forest Service’s fleet of 40 air tankers was grounded last month after a plane crash near Chico left three firefighters dead. Given that no less than 2,000 wildfires tore up the state last summer, 40 planes doesn’t seem nearly enough, let alone 19. Given these numbers, I’m grateful we managed to snag three. (The bulk of the aerial equipment, including the humongous DC-10, was provided by CalFire.) But after inhaling the smoke of four major infernos since July 4, 2007, I’d much rather feel prepared than grateful.
It may be time to resurrect discussions about controlled burning, to reduce the buildup of combustible fuels in both the back- and frontcountry. Prehistoric records suggest that wildfires used to scour the backcountry once every 13 years or so, clearing out the underbrush without destroying the canopy of trees. The county’s Fish and Game Commission was hoping to get this issue in front of the county supes sometime after the Zaca Fire smoked 250,000 acres of backcountry two summers ago and before the Gap Fire incinerated 10,000 acres of Goleta’s frontcountry last July. But for reasons unclear, that discussion never materialized. It may be controlled burnings are too risky, given wind conditions, fuel loads, and population concentration. If so, maybe we need to get our hands on the enormous Masticator Machines now leased by the Forest Service, which can chew up old 20-feet high chaparral and spit out wood chips 300 feet away. I heard the Masticator just cut some new fire lines by Mt. Pinos 500 feet wide.
Like I said, I’d rather be prepared than grateful. We clearly need to wean ourselves from the heroism of strangers, especially if we insist on building where we obviously shouldn’t. But in the meantime, I’ll be looking for some firefighters’ boots to kiss. I’ll be the guy saying “thank you” 4,500 times in a row.