A Birthday to Forget - Part 1

I have lived in Santa Cruz, California, for over twenty-five years - long enough to consider myself a local. I've lived near the beach in Aptos and Live Oak, and I've resided in the mountains above Boulder Creek and in downtown Ben Lomond. I've hiked up in the redwoods and down on the beach cliffs, kayaked through the Elkhorn Slough, along Steamers Lane and across Loch Lomond, and I've even raced in the local outrigger competition at the Santa Cruz Wharf (much to the dismay of my teammates). I love Santa Cruz for it's diversity of biomes and people... and its ability to be somehow central to so much of California while being far away from all of it at the same time.

But in all the time I've resided here, I've never seen a fire like the one that burst forth on August 16th, 2020, and proceeded to engulf the vast majority of the mountains along the western end of our city. It roared angrily through forests that have not burned like this in the written histories of man, and it made damned sure that we knew it meant business. Within a very short time, it was clear that every mountain community was under threat of total destruction. Having lived over eight years in those communities... I deeply empathized with them and their plight. As the evacuation orders were handed down, though, I quietly breathed a sigh of relief that I had wisely moved down out of those places and into the city proper. I knew those years upon years of drought couldn't be good for dense forest lands, and the cautionary tale of Paradise California had rung loudly in my ears as a warning klaxon, screaming at me ne'er to return to the redwood forests that my wife and I so passionately loved. What a bullet we had dodged!

Forty-eight hours later... the bullet struck after all... and my wife and I were packing up our treasures and our necessities... or both in the case of our beloved cat... as we hurried to comply with our own evacuation orders. Even as I tried to reason with the illogical idea that Santa Cruz would or even could burn to the ground (of course it couldn't... right??)... I could not help but be haunted by the final transmitted image from a weather station just a few short miles away... before it melted.

Like something out of a horror movie... and it was headed our way. Even though I could just about walk to the center of downtown from my doorstep... it seems that an evacuation plan has to draw a line somewhere... and we had wound up just barely on the wrong side of that line. But the time of debating whether or not Santa Cruz could actually end up resembling that hellscape image had come to a close... it was now time to flee.

Several of the local evacuation centers were already full, but luckily I had a generous offer from a friend for us to stay with them, even despite the risks of COVID. On the evening of August 20th, we drove our heavily packed car up over Highway 17 (just east of the fires), through the thick fog of smoke and ash, and with brief views of orange glows to the west, as we slipped over the mountain pass into San Jose and points beyond.

To be continued...