On PCH, a Frantic Morass of Bentleys and Pickups : Gridlock: Firetrucks are stymied as Malibu millionaires and Topanga ranchers stall the highway.

When the brush fire that consumed Topanga and Malibu canyons finds its place in history, it will be marked by a single, powerful image: total gridlock, and the desperate measures people took to break it.

A woman pulled away in a taxicab as flames consumed her Malibu home. A Coast Guard cutter anchored off Malibu Beach, ready to rescue evacuees.

Meanwhile, fire equipment became stuck in the morass on Pacific Coast Highway: “You people have screwed it up for yourself,” a frustrated California Highway Patrol officer said as gridlock choked PCH at Topanga Canyon.

And for every Bentley, it seemed, there were three pickup trucks towing livestock trailers. The rugged canyon area from Topanga to Calabasas and west to Malibu is millionaire country, where moguls erect huge, white Spanish manses on bluff tops. And it is ranch country, still very much a throwback to the days of the Wild West.

Tuesday was an object lesson in just how wild--and how badly gridlocked--those canyons can become in an instant.

As two lanes of frantic motorists jammed Pacific Coast Highway on Tuesday afternoon, headed south and tried to stay in front of the fire, the flames seemed to chase them. Tongues of fire raced down the hillside and jumped the highway, threatening evacuees and homes on both sides of the road.

Houses and at least one car burst into flames as firefighters ran hoses along the center of the highway next to the line of stalled vehicles and were finally able to move the evacuees.

Malibu resident Dorothy Meier, a sociology professor at Cal State Northridge, called a cab to rescue her as flames threatened her house. She loaded two cats and two dogs into the taxi and, as the driver pulled away, looked back to see her home catch fire.

Meier had made it through five previous fires unscathed.

Fire authorities called for the evacuation of Malibu about 4:30 p.m.

Many residents wore towels around their faces to protect them from the smoke as they walked and ran, carrying paintings, boxes, knapsacks and suitcases stuffed with whatever could be grabbed on a moment’s notice.

The smoke was so thick that burning homes cast only a pale orange glow as they were consumed.

Across PCH, a young blond man sat on a rock on the beach, surveyed the hellish scene around, dropped his head into his hands and began to weep.

Farther south along PCH near Topanga Canyon Road, the highway became so jammed with motorists trying to reach their homes to the north that fire engines from throughout Southern California were unable to move to the fire lines.

In some stretches, northbound motorists took over the two southbound lanes of the highway and tried to drive north on the center divider as well as the shoulder.

Firetrucks from Santa Fe Springs, Vernon, Lynwood, Burbank, Monterey Park, El Segundo, Yorba Linda and Orange County were stranded in the resulting gridlock, unable to get to the fire lines.

A CHP officer, trying desperately but without success to move the traffic, said: “We’re trying to get people out, but everybody is driving so crazy.”

Shortly afterward, the CHP closed all northbound traffic except for emergency vehicles.

People leaped from their cars and walked, ran and rode bicycles. Some even skated on Rollerblades.

A line of about 200 vehicles carrying evacuees backed up Topanga Canyon Road at dusk.

As always, animals became a priority for some home and ranch owners.

Sitting in the gridlock on PCH was Diane Sherman, 45, who had been housesitting for a friend in Topanga Village, about five miles up the canyon. While smoke billowed and flames encroached from the ridges overhead, Sherman loaded up cages with her friend’s exotic Australian birds. Sherman and a friend managed to jam 30 birds into a dozen cages, shoved the cages into two cars and headed toward the ocean.

But it was not long until the birds noisily registered their protests while their rescuers sat in gridlock.

“I certainly hope my friends appreciate what I’ve done,” Sherman said over the incessant chirping.

Meanwhile at Topanga Village, 200 other residents had loaded up cars and anxiously eyed the smoke and flames on the mountaintop.

Among those waiting and watching was Linda Menary, 48, who, upon hearing that animals were threatened, hauled a horse trailer from Chatsworth into the canyon to help in the evacuation. She had managed to get four horses and two goats into a trailer.

Menary, who had been evacuated from Chatsworth during last week’s wildfires, helped to patch up a horse that had been hit by a firetruck.

“I think it was a flesh wound,” she said. “We doctored him up.”

Lauren Dow, wife of actor Tony Dow, had her car packed in Topanga. “I took the photographs, jewelry, my important papers, my dog and my rabbit.” The animals peered out from the car.

At Calabasas High School, the football field had been turned into a makeshift corral. Two horses were hitched to the goal post, awaiting trailers.

Coral Browning, who rushed from her job at A & M Records in Hollywood, was not sure whether she had a home to return to, or where he three dogs were. The rumor mill told her they were safe.

“I heard there were guys on my roof and they were watering it down,” she said. “They said someone packed up my three dogs and threw them in the trunk.”

Like many evacuees, Browning watched last week’s fires and figured that the fates had passed her by this time. “I was praying so hard for those poor people. Now I don’t even know if my own house is there or not,” she said.