Making a Stand Between the City and a Firestorm

All night long the flames had raced seaward down the canyons of Malibu, licking the coastal ridgelines in a steady march toward the dense, bluff-top neighborhoods of Pacific Palisades. Carbon, Las Flores, Big Rock and Tuna--one by one they were transformed into superheated swirls of orange cinders.

Finally, just before dawn Wednesday, Topanga Canyon Boulevard remained the only major barrier between the firestorm and the pricey fringes of the city. If the Malibu Feed Bin fell, so too might the palatial Getty Museum and the home-studded hills around it.

It was at Topanga Canyon and Pacific Coast Highway that hundreds of fire crews from up and down the state drew a line in the sand. With skill, bravery and a blessed shift of the wind, they managed to thwart the fire’s steady spread toward Los Angeles, at least for most of the day Wednesday.

The line was held for nearly 10 hours, but a shift in winds caused it to be breached many miles up the canyon. The fire raised a threat to dense hillside neighborhoods on the western edge of Los Angeles until firefighters beat it back.

The pitched battle by the ocean was one of the most dramatic episodes in a night of feverish efforts to slow an inferno that was controlled more by the terrain and shifting winds than by the thousands of firefighters along its flanks.

On Tuesday night and Wednesday morning, fire crews worked to save most homes and businesses along Pacific Coast Highway and Topanga Canyon Boulevard. They threw everything they had at the firestorm.

They stationed engines along miles of roadway. They doused the brush and trees with water and fire-retardant foam. They set backfires. And when the flames finally drew close to their lines, they fought with everything from hand-held hoses to helicopters.

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At 1 a.m. Wednesday, many of the troops were already at their posts.

A quarter-mile above Topanga Canyon Boulevard, the crew of Engine 63 from the Kern County Fire Department sat on a boulder eating tepid In-N-Out burgers and barbecued potato chips delivered by county workers. Their assignment was to protect the sleek Pizarro Design Center on PCH, as well as the ridge across the roadway. Just downhill at the crucial intersection was a funky commercial strip of fish restaurants and an old motel and market.

The Bakersfield team had hooked up their hoses to a hydrant outside the design center and looked over the building for possible problems. When the time came, they knew exactly what they were going to do. They would drench the glass and stucco building, string their hoses across the highway and spray 1,200 gallons a minute on the opposite hill to keep the fire from rushing down the ridge onto the structures lining PCH.

They waited patiently, hauling out their lawn chairs and catching naps atop their fire engine. They were already weary from hosing down oceanfront houses in the Big Rock area earlier in the night--a drill repeated time and again by hundreds of fire crews for miles along PCH.

Hours passed. For a time it even appeared as if the blaze might be halted at Tuna Canyon with a combination of backfires and dying winds. “I want to use up my water,” lamented Firefighter Tammy Lindley.

Shortly afterward, she got her wish. About 3 a.m., the winds moved seaward, growing stronger. Flames danced atop nearby crest lines. Below, strike teams composed of five engines each stood sentinel on PCH, each assigned to an individual structure. A San Gabriel Valley crew doused the Topanga Beach Cantina. An Orange County team took care of the Topanga Ranch Motel and Market. And so on.

Two bulldozers on flatbed trucks headed up Topanga Canyon Boulevard, already lined with fire engines for nearly 11 miles into the mountains.

In front of the feed store, two South Bay strike teams waited. In the back, some firefighters stood by a pile of pumpkins and gazed at the wildfire on the horizon. “It’s just making it’s natural progression toward more fuel,” said one with an air of resignation.

Nearby was the store’s petting zoo, empty save for a hog. “He’s not a happy camper,” noted the fireman. “He thinks he’s going to be breakfast.”

The battle began in earnest behind the market, where Los Angeles County firefighters had stretched hoses along a creek flanked by a number of aging wooden houses and highly flammable eucalyptus and palm trees.

On the hillsides, dry chaparral crackled as it was swallowed by orange flames. Tornado-like funnels of cinders spun skyward. The fire was shaped by the wind, hugging the ground or leaping 100 feet into the air as the air currents changed.

“It looks bad. My God, I don’t think we’re going to make it,” said an anguished Chuck Sexton, 62, carrying his dog Spice to his car on Old Malibu Road above the market.

Los Angeles County Firefighter Ruben Torres disagreed. “It’s going to get hot here, but it’s not going to hit these homes. We’re wetting the hell out of it,” said Torres as his truck pumped water to two other rigs and several hose lines stretched across the road.

By 4 a.m., the flame front stretched half a mile across the canyon above the road. As he doused the roof of a house, Firefighter Bobby Mundz groused residents had done little brush clearance, making his job more difficult.

“Look at that--it’s a Roman candle waiting to happen,” said Mundz, pointing to a palm tree with a thick row of dead fronds.

A few minutes later, county firefighters crawled up the sides of the steep slope, using road flares to set backfires.

The procedure is used to clear a path of vegetation, thereby eliminating an important source of fuel for the main fire. But it is also extremely risky, dependent on the goodwill of the winds. A shift in the winds could quickly envelop a firefighter in flames.

“Let it rip, buddy,” one yelled to another as he tossed a flare up the canyon.

In this case, the backfires worked as intended, pushing the fire up the hill and away from a hair salon, bait shop and the Something’s Fishy sushi parlor.

Attention then shifted to the feed store, where flames were moving perilously close to about 100 bales of wet hay, three barrels of kerosene and 50 cords of wood out back. South Bay firefighters showered water. Another backfire was lit, again successfully.

With the approach of dawn, there were two possible scenarios.

If strong seaward winds whipped through the canyons, as had been expected, the flames could easily jump past the waiting armada of firefighters.

At the same time, dawn would bring water-bearing helicopters that could help hold back the flames.

It was a race against time and the fates. In this instance, the firefighters won.

As winds blew from the ocean rather than toward it, two water choppers made four direct hits. They flew so low over the flaming brush that at times they disappeared in the hollows beyond the feed store.

“Those guys have more guts than I can believe,” exclaimed Laguna Beach Fire Capt. Tom King.

“The two choppers were right on the money,” 32-year Inglewood Fire Department veteran Mike Squires said. “I don’t know if it was a miracle or luck or what.”

The intersection had held and within a few minutes, the smoke-choked gray sky was a vivid blue as the sun rose over Santa Monica.

Then there was a twist. Behind the ranch motel, the wind gusted back toward the Pacific, kicking up the fire near houses and motel cottages. Firefighters stuck their hoses through holes in a fence, spitting out water like a wall of cannons.

On the other side of a creek, a wooden house belched flames, threatening to engulf its neighbors. A crew braced themselves on a porch only a few feet away, pouring water into the structure. They entered the building to finish the blaze off--as though it were the only fire around.

By 8 a.m., the hillsides had turned from red to black and the situation--at least for the time being--had stabilized.

Hawthorne Firefighter Mark Weiss sprawled exhausted on the ground, his head propped against the front tire of a car. It was time to relax. “We almost were overrun,” he reflected. “Instead we saved quite a bit.”

Drawing the Line

As the Calabasas/Malibu fire spread from Tuna Canyon toward Topanga Canyon road late Tuesday and early Wednesday, firefighters made a last stand in an effort to prevent the blaze from racing into heavily populated Pacific Palisades and the rest of Los Angeles. Hundreds of firefighters, using pumper trucks and 4-wheel-drive brush rigs, battled all night under the orange glow of the approaching flames. At daybreak they found they had halted the march of fire-at least temporarily.

Aerial drops: Drops by large airplanes began at dawn, creating a line of fire retardant.

Water drops: Helicopters made a series of dangerous nighttime water drops.

Firebreak: Firefighters anchored their stand around a natural fire break-Old Malibu Road-at the north end of Topanga State Beach.

Building defense: Using a line of fire engines, they worked to protect the commercial buildings on Pacific Coast Highway and the wooden bungalows nestled in thick vegetation along the unpaved Old Malibu Road.

Foam: Engines sprayed protective foam on brush and structures.

Backfires: During a lull in the Santa Ana winds, firefighters lit backfires that burned up the side of the hill nearest the advancing fire.

KEY STEPS IN THE BATTLE

A. About 11:30 a.m. Tuesday: Helicopters make water drops as fire crews try to stop spread of blaze.

B. Between 12 a.m. and 3 a.m. Wednesday: Fire continues its run to the southeast, curling back down toward Old Malibu Road.

C. From 3:30 a.m. to 5:30 a.m.: Crews make their stand along Old Malibu Road and PCH.

D. Dawn: Air strikes begin near Topanga Canyon Blvd. and Sunset Mesa.

E. 3 p.m. Wednesday: Fire breaks through about 2.5 miles inland. It is later pushed back.