FIRST PERSON A FIREFIGHTER’S STORY : Flames Were Like Insatiable Animal

It had been a long night on Orange County Engine Company 46 protecting homes at the Anaheim Hills fire as part of Strike Team 1404-Alpha. By mid-morning Wednesday, it was declared under control. We slept wherever we could--on the street, on the hose beds, and awaited our next assignment. A few minutes after noon, Chief Kevin Brame--our strike team leader--came by and said, “Load up. . . . We’re going to Laguna Beach!”

Within moments, our strike team was racing down the Santa Ana Freeway with another team following close behind. From the radio, I could hear that many other strike teams, including air tankers and helicopters, were ordered by the incident commander.

A large plume of smoke could be seen for miles. As we approached the command post on Laguna Canyon Road, the wind was pushing the fire through light, medium, and heavy fuels. (Typically, light fuels are grasses, medium fuels are thick brush, and heavy fuels are trees.) Because of the strong winds, the smoke was “tumbling” across the rugged terrain in advance of the fire. This meant that all the brush and trees were being preheated and primed for ignition. Embers carried by the wind were creating spot fires hundreds of feet ahead of the fire front. These conditions, along with high temperatures and low humidity, resulted in rapid fire spread.

My initial gut feeling was that this would become a major emergency. Our strike team checked in at the command post and received orders to evacuate El Morro Elementary School. As we arrived, buses were already lining up to take the children away. Orange pumpkins lined the grassy island near the front of the school, symbolizing festive times in anticipation of Halloween.

*

Many of the children alternated their attention between the threatening plume of smoke and our army of firefighters. I wondered for a moment what they were thinking and knew this would be something they would never forget. One after another, bus after bus, the children left; each waving to us through the windows. They could only imagine what would happen after they left. Then there was silence as the last school bus pulled away. . . . The school was deserted. . . . There was nothing but pumpkins in the grass and thick clouds of smoke looming in the sky.

With the school safely evacuated, Chief Brame ordered us to redeploy to Emerald Bay where the threat to homes was imminent. Our strike team--made up of engine companies assembled from Stanton, Dana Point, El Toro, Placentia and Yorba Linda--hurried toward the threatened community with lights flashing and sirens wailing. I thought about what Engine 30’s Capt. Bob Miller had told me earlier at the school; “You know Rocco, I think this is going to be the big one. . . . I really do.” The closer we got, the more I began to believe him. Billowing smoke rolled and churned out toward the ocean.

As we approached Emerald Bay, two helicopters hovered above Coast Highway with disaster sirens and a public address ordering the immediate evacuation of all residents. The sirens sounded a long wail that reminded me of old war films. Thick smoke and fire could be seen sweeping across many homes. Conflagration! The fire, jumping from home to home, resembled nothing less than an animal coming down to take its fill. . . . Goose bumps swept over my body.

As one of the first strike teams to enter the Emerald Bay front gate, we witnessed carloads of people fleeing with panic in their eyes. Although they were fleeing to safety and we were rushing into extreme danger, I wouldn’t have traded places with anyone else in the world no matter how safe or how comfortable I would have been. I believe every firefighter entering those gates to hell would agree that it would be one of the greatest challenges of our careers.

*

Some people stayed to brave the danger and apply water to their roofs with garden hoses. Although understandable and sometimes commendable, this can be detrimental to our operations as firefighters for several reasons:

* Sprinkler systems and garden hoses tap into one of our most precious resources: the water supply. The less water we have as firefighters, the less chance we have of combatting a growing fire.

* People who stay behind to help protect their homes and fight the fire are not equipped or trained to deal with the very real danger and are typically “blinded” by their high emotions.

* People who stay behind pose a potential rescue problem for firefighters; especially if they get hurt falling from a slippery roof or get trapped by worsening fire conditions.

I couldn’t blame those desperate folks who stood on their roofs with garden hoses to save their homes. . . . I would probably do the same thing given similar circumstances. All I could do was silently wish them luck.

Driving up through Emerald Bay, Chief Brame led us up to a point where we could go no farther due to extreme fire conditions. Considering the magnitude of the unfolding disaster, I was not surprised to hear his orders for us to simply “take a stand, do what you can . . . and be safe!”

At that point our strike team of five engines broke up into smaller teams. Engine 46 from Stanton and Engine 30 from Dana Point turned right into a street and traveled several hundred yards only to be faced with a firestorm. On a hill to our left were several homes fully ablaze. One in particular was a huge multistory home with fire roaring everywhere. Flames were lapping into a neighboring home and embers were flying through the air, landing on homes to our right. Gusts of hot, smoky wind and popping noises filled the air. “We gotta get outta here!” said Capt. Brian Goetting as conditions continued to deteriorate. The cab of our engine began to fill with smoke and embers were sneaking in through the small openings in the windows. “I can’t believe this!” I said to my partner Robert (Rat) Alvarado as he shook his head in disbelief.

*

At the wheel was our engineer, affectionately nicknamed The Bear. He attempted an immediate U-turn at a bend in the road as large, glowing brands began pelting the windows and landing all around us. Visibility was worsening as our engine began its retreat. Engine 30 was now attempting the same U-turn in the same place and experienced “gantlet” conditions. A parked Chevrolet Suburban impeded our ability to quickly turn around. For the crew aboard Engine 30, there were some very tense moments. “Man, that was the scariest thing I’ve ever seen!” said Firefighter Ken Duncan.

While our engines were busy escaping from the firestorm, Chief Brame had safely rescued a 92-year-old invalid from inside a residence. We set up for a major defensive operation to protect several multistory homes from the advancing fire. “OK, listen up!” yelled Capt. Miller. “We’re gonna make a stand here and see if we can save that house! When I say we get outta here . . . we get outta here! Does everybody understand?” We all understood.

Engineer Bob Dowis hooked up to a hydrant and supplied the deck gun operated by Capt. Goetting. The goal was to spray water onto this large house that sat on a steep hill to our left. The house was stucco with a tile roof and stood a good chance of surviving. As the deck gun flowed, it was obvious that our water system could not meet our demands. With a pumper connected to every hydrant within the community and countless sprinkler systems and garden hoses left on, the system was simply overwhelmed. It was frustrating not having the available water where it was truly needed.

Fanned by gusty winds, several wood shake roofs to our right began to burn furiously. We pulled hoses in an attempt to stop the fire, but our weak streams were quickly broken up by the wind and were ineffective. As the fires progressed, they rapidly built up in a snowball fashion and grew bigger. Again, we were in immediate danger. The area in which we had made our earlier U-turn was now a swirling mass of roaring fire. The Chevrolet Suburban was nothing but a ball of fire. Loud popping and booming noises could be heard from all over the place and the smoke was making us cough. The scene was very surreal and hard to believe. “Back out. . . . We’re outta here. . . . We have no water, the hydrant’s dead!” yelled Capt. Miller. The thought of losing all of these homes without being able to do anything about it was very frustrating. I wanted to fight, as did everyone else.

Capt. Goetting told me to make sure all the homes we were leaving behind were clear, assuring that nobody was left inside. I grabbed a fireman’s ax out of the engine and began to chop away at the thick oak doors to one of the homes immediately threatened. Due to the construction features of these custom homes, simply breaking out glass windows was not possible; the doors were the only way in. These were not cheap doors. . . . I mean they were built tough! Double, and sometimes triple deadbolts that sunk deep into the door jambs made it virtually impossible to kick the doors in. With the ax sending splinters flying, I made my way into three or four homes with the first one already on fire. As firefighters, we always assume that someone is in the house unless proven otherwise. The protection of human life is our supreme priority. . . . We don’t leave anyone behind.

*

Inside the homes, things were chaotic. . . . Drawers were open, countertops were cluttered, and clothes lay loosely scattered around closets. There obviously was very little time to grab unreplaceable items and get out. For a moment, I couldn’t help but wonder what was going through the people’s minds as the fire approached. I really don’t want to peek into the tragedies of others. . . . It becomes so personal, but you’re forced to. The difference between the commercial fires during the L.A. riots and these was that these burning buildings were people’s homes. Everything was very personal. Pictures were on the wall, dishes were in the sink, notes were on the refrigerator. Once I finished checking the homes, they were left prey to the advancing firestorm.

Firestorms are very dynamic and can rapidly grow, change direction, and spread over natural barriers, creating new conflagrations. As the engines were retreating, we found an elderly man in his late 60s standing in front of his home with tears rolling down his cheeks. His home was four or five houses down from the advancing fire and it didn’t look hopeful. “I can’t lose my home. . . . It’s all I have,” he said in a quavering voice. “Are you gonna save it? Do you think it’s gonna burn?” He pleaded for good news, but he asked at a time when the whole world looked like it was going to burn down. His house was covered by a wood-shake roof and I knew it was a goner without water. I put my arm around his shoulders. “We’re going to do everything we can to save your home, sir, but we are having a very difficult time right now. You really need to get out of here . . . and pray. I promise we will do everything we can. I promise.”

I ran over to Engine 30 and spoke to Capt. Miller. “Bob, this guy over here needs to get out. . . . He’s really breaking my heart. Can’t we do something?” Capt. Miller assisted the man to safety and we all regrouped at the street’s entrance. A water tender had been summoned from the El Toro Marine Corps base with 1,200 gallons of water. Everyone said, “Let’s go save that guy’s house!” Seeing the elderly man with tears in his eyes had really made that house personal to all of us. . . . It would become a very personal battle to save it.

With a water tender available to us, we now advanced back down the street toward our earlier location. Fire had consumed two or three of the homes I had cleared moments earlier. Burning brands and embers were already raining down on the elderly man’s wood shake roof as fire from a neighboring house scorched the outside walls. We began spraying the house with water, but it was really touch and go. . . . A large recreational vehicle was sitting outside a fully blazing house and flames were beginning to ravage and devour it. Tires were exploding and we feared that a propane tank was inside and would explode.

“Water! Water!” we were yelling for more water from the water tender so our lines could be charged and ready for action. As the insatiable appetite of the fire grew, so did our need for more water. Nothing else in the world existed to us except this one street, this one block of homes. Firefighter Ken Duncan worked a line on his own, placing himself between the fire and the man’s house. Ken was a big factor in keeping the fire from destroying the house.

*

As the fire in neighboring homes began to die down, Chief Brame again ordered us to immediately redeploy to the downtown area where fire was jumping street after street. While responding into the downtown area, smoke billowed in the sky. Although a lot of hard work and punishing conditions awaited us, I felt damn good about my promise to the elderly man.

Redeploying to the Mystic Hills area, Engine 46 set up to protect an educational center with a wood-shake roof near the base of a canyon lined with thick vegetation and homes. We watched fire consume house after house as it made its way down toward us. Many palm trees blew up and spewed thousands of embers like gigantic Roman candles. These embers and brands would be carried by the wind to a hundred different locations, starting fires everywhere they went. it was a familiar site throughout the night for all firefighters.

After awhile, exhaustion began to set in, dulling our senses. For the rest of the night, all we did was travel to new locations where fire was stripping the city of its homes. Throughout the night, we would hear new figures on how many homes and structures were lost. It was simply unbelievable.

As a firefighter/paramedic, I frequently deal with the tragedies of others. You learn to cope by not getting personally involved and concentrate on the tasks at hand. Being part of the solution to a problem is what a firefighter’s job is all about. Being able to fight fire with water, or extricate people trapped in car accidents, or start an IV and push life-saving medications results in a sense of personal reward. The satisfaction of being physically and mentally challenged as part of a team makes this my career by choice. I remember reading that astronauts could see the smoke from the fires in space and I thought I wouldn’t trade places with them for a second.

Every block of firefighters had similar stories of homes saved and homes lost. Battles were waged; some were won and some were lost. The street names are different, but the stories are the same. I will never forget our campaign as Strike Team 1404-Alpha. Thank God nobody was killed.