While the Station Fire has now burned almost 160,000 acres and continues to burn in fairly inaccessible areas of the Angeles National Forest, I took time out this past Saturday to drive through the burn areas in which I’d spent three days shooting a week earlier. I first drove up the Angeles Crest Highway through the area where it all began over a week ago. I drove past the parking lot where Al Simmons’ nearly lost his truck when flames blew over a turnout in which we’d all taken refuge. I also made my way to the top of the now famous Mt. Wilson which is home to an historic observatory as well as transmitters for almost every government and broadcast outlet. Fire had been threatening this area for days and it appeared to have faired well with no apparent threat at this stage of the game.
With a monstrous header visible to the east, an inaccessible firing operation near Cogswell Reservoir, I cut back down the Crest and turned north onto the Forest Highway, deep into the Forest. Mind you, since I had been on scene a week earlier, the “Forest” had now been reduced to a black and ashy landscape reminiscent of the lunar surface. As far as the eye could see, this once luscious and tree-blanketed wilderness, was now a smoldering, charred wasteland with the only creatures poking up from the ground being burned snags and melted street signs. The fire had actually burned so hot in many areas the guardrails lay on the side of the road, twisted and without the hundreds of wooden posts that once supported them. Road signs were now blank diamonds, rectangles and squares. The roads not longer had lines to mark the center or edges. Nothing was left. For miles.
Continued…
Since the highway is shut down, and will be indefinitely, I quickly came upon what had been the “Hidden Springs Cafe” which now just a leaning storefront and chimney. Only metal remained, and oddly enough a few cases of beer and soda, still stacked for display. An obvious propane leak and downed lines made for a quick visit here so after a few quick shots I continued north.
Up the road I found the Monte Cristo Fire Station, a Forestry station consisting of an engine house, crew quarters and Captain’s quarters. There was also a helispot up the hill a ways. I’d heard of this station because fellow photographer Jeff Zimmerman had come here a week ago after hearing it was threatened by fire and likely to be lost. Once here, he found the station’s crew working feverishly to save the engine house and Captain’s quarters, which they did. In doing so, however, they sacrificed their own sleeping quarters. The only recognizable things remaining was the shower stall, pot-bellied stove and a sink. According to Jeff, he had to ultimately shelter in place with the crew until the flames churned through the area.
Since I’d come this far, I made my way to Mt. Gleason Road which led to LA County Fire Camp 16, an incarceration camp staffed by LA County Fire personnel and dozens of inmates trained in wildland firefighting. This was the assigned station of Captain Tedmund Hall and Specialist Arnaldo Quinones who lost their lives a week earlier. They perished when the vehicle they were driving went 800 over the side while they tried to find an escape route for their crew, trapped at the camp.
I managed to maintain a professional, “I’m here to document this” demeanor, and it was all I could do to hold on to my emotions when I pulled up the gate of Camp 16. I had no idea that they’d lost the camp. It was completely destroyed, with only walls and few odd structures still standing. The camp sits atop a mountain in the middle of what had been wilderness with a 360 degree view of the forest. It was silent. Absolutely silent. I introduced myself to a couple of CHP officers assigned to the MAIT team which is used to investigate major collisions, usually involving fatalities. In this case, they were indeed here investigating a fatal crash. Their faces were smudged with dirt and soot and I could tell they’d been to crash site. I asked them how far the vehicle had gone over the side and one of the officers said it was just down the road about 400 feet. The point was marked only with hoselines which had been draped over the side and used as ropes for the crew to try and rescue their fallen bosses. The officer said aside from the two fatalities, the only remarkable injuries from the whole incident were burns to the hands and feet of members of the inmate fire crew as they attempted the rescue.
A survey crew from CalFire was also at the camp mapping not only the crash site but the camp itself. One investigator told me it was for the investigation but also so they could learn from the burnover of the camp. they wanted to learn from this incident to better design fire camps in the future to not only reduce the likelihood of such destruction but to provide better avenues of escape in case the worst did happen.
Walking through the camp I was immediately reminded of Alcatraz. A gutted mass of tan concrete structures with an occasional boiler or metal shelf standing amidst the ash. Again, only metal remained. Doorknobs lay on the ground beneath where there’d once been a wooden door. Charred meat was beginning to rot in the now wall-less cold storage rooms. While walking around in silence, I came upon a wooden cross standing in a small clearing between buildings. It had been erected in some time ago in memory of former Crew Supervisor William Brady. There is stood, white on one side and charred black on the other. Only about four feet tall, it stood vigil over what had been, and will likely be again, a proud fire camp.
I found where the hoselines still draped over the side of the dirt road which ran just downhill from the camp. I couldn’t tell if they’d been used by crew members to lower themselves down the hill or to extinguish flames on their way. Perhaps both. Little pink flags marked the apparent path of the fallen firefighters’ vehicle as it left the road and went down the hillside, out of view. I ultimately found a dirt road which provided a distant view across the canyon below or the vehicle, now resting on its roof. Out of respect for the fallen and all involved I won’t go into detail. I spent some time with the silence looking across that canyon with thoughts like “This could happen any of us”, “what they must have gone through” and “these guys died trying to save their crew”.
Barely making it back up the soft dirt road I paused for a final minute before heading back down the mountain. The destruction was massive, and the fire still burns. The forest will grow back. It will return to a beautiful, plush forest. But the things that happened here, the people and property lost, the sacrifice and the efforts of the heroic – all evident on this day, are images I’ll not soon forget.
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