On Thursday I drove the 400 miles from Los Angeles to San Francisco. Yesterday I drove back.
I was traveling to help my daughter move apartments. Of course, COVID was on both of our minds. So we did everything we could to plan for safety: Tests, pre-quarantined, masks with filters, social distancing protocol, hand sanitizer and washing, etc, etc.
But 20 minutes into the car ride, I realized COVID might not be my biggest worry.
As I left Pasadena, I was leaving a wildfire so close to my house that I could see the flames as I biked past it every day. “At least I’ll be getting out of the smoke and the heat!” I thought.
But here is the thing I don’t think most people realize — EVERY MILE of the 400 miles I drove was filled with smoke. On the way up to San Francisco it was awful and terrifying. On my way back, it was worse. There were zero miles where I didn’t drive through smoke.
It wasn’t just that I could see smoke in the distance. For most of the ride, the smoke was as thick as fog. Not only could I not see the mountains in the distance — for the most part it was difficult to see the trees. The sun — when it could be seen through the smoke — was an other-worldly brownish red. The landscape often looked like a scene from Mad Max.
The earth was scorched. Literally. Most of it was brown from the heat — except for wide swaths that were black. The earth was brown and black, the sky was brown and grey. There were very few other colors. For 400 miles. I could barely drive 5 miles before seeing yet another blackened patch. Often these black patches were small enough — the size of 2, 3, sometimes 10 football fields — that I doubt they even got counted in the actual wildfire count. But they were everywhere. And sometimes the blackened parts went on for miles.
Entire orchards had been wiped out — the fires had swept through so quickly that trees were still standing like blackened skeletons.
But what really got me was the cows. You know how usually when you drive past cows they are happily munching grass? Maybe they are clustered around a water area, or lying on the ground?
These cows — which I could see through the smoke in the 100 degree heat just north of Bakersfield — they were not happy cows. They were standing on the highest pieces of land they could find — a ridge, a rise, sometimes they stood on a rock. And their heads were stretched up to the sky — as if they were gasping for breath. The image of those cows, standing on rocks, with their heads stretched up to the sky looking for air, will forever haunt me.
Sometimes I’d see herds of cows that weren’t quite in as much obvious distress — but these other herds were usually moving — marching over hill and dale as fast as they could. Searching, wandering, looking for a relief from the smoke. For a breath of fresh air.
All I could think was “There is no air. Not for 400 miles. Who is going to tell those cows?”
I don’t know how to explain this to everyone — but it seems to me that smoke is covering the entire state of California. If the smoke gets worse — there is no place to evacuate to. Can you imagine trying to get your family out of harm’s way and having to drive over 400 miles to do so? And then multiply that by 35 million people? It is almost unfathomable.
At least for today, I am safe. My daughter is safe. We moved her entire apartment, just the two of us. We lifted heavy objects, we dismantled and rebuilt furniture, we loaded the car and made several trips. We spackled and painted so her old apartment looked new again. We laughed together and cried together. Sometimes we laughed so hard that we cried. Like when I had a panic attack at the top of a very steep San Francisco hill — so steep it had its own set of warning signs. I couldn’t go down it. I couldn’t go over the crest because I couldn’t see the road. I just couldn’t do it. But other than that, we did everything. Shannon is always such a joy to see. It was wonderful. The smoke shifted into the a background to the joy.
But it wasn’t long before the drive home reminded me about the apocalypse here in California.
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For those of you who don’t know how the risk of wildfires is calculated — it’s heat plus dryness plus chance of sparks. The hotter and drier a place is — the greater a chance a spark will cause a fire long enough to need outside assistance to put out. Once a fire is spreading so fast it cannot be easily put out, it achieves wildfire status. The wind speed and direction then help determine how destructive it can be.
Sparks are both natural and man-made. Lightening is a really big spark and caused many of the current fires. Volcanos are the only other natural way wildfires start. 85% of fires are caused by humans — human caused sparks come from trucks, cars and trailers on the road, sparks from other equipment, from matches and cigarettes, campfires not properly attended or extinguished, from electrical equipment, from fireworks and from arson.
The reason this is important to understand is — wildfires are more apt to start in populated areas because there are more sparks. We humans create the sparks that start the fires. Heat and long-term drought ensure those sparks will turn into blazes.
It’s also the reason things that there is an almost 100% chance things will get worse in California—not better—at least for the short term. The weather forecast for most of California remains hot and dry. The number of sparks will probably not be reduced. Firefighters have been fighting the fire near me for a week and it is only 40% contained. It is under control — but they don’t expected it to be fully extinguished for another week. How many more fires will start in that week?
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The wildfires in California is not an isolated incident — it’s a systemic failure of our planet to adapt fast enough to our ecosystem. There are also concurrent hurricanes in the Gulf of Mexico, straight-line winds called a Derecho in the midwest, tornado warnings in the Northeast.
The climate apocalypse will affect all of us. The story I am telling today is just one more alarm bell.
We should all be responding to the alarm.
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Here is a recording of our call from Thursday August 20, 2020:
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All photos by author, Lisa Hickey.
Lisa, as always, your testimony is striking. It seems you are always at the center of the universe when people need to see, hear, and understand the truth of a difficult situation. You have a gift for authenticity, a voice that opens our minds and our hearts. The image you describe of the cows on the plain gasping for air is unforgettable. It takes a moment like this to understand just how much we have compromised our planet for selfishness and easy exploitation. Take care of yourself and your family. Find a place to breathe easier, if only for a… Read more »
Thanks Ken. Yes, I’ve had a lot of practice being at the center of those difficult truths. I am grateful I have a community like The Good Men Project where I can discuss them freely. And we’ll keep fighting for change. It’s what we do. Appreciate all your support.
Unfortunately, I know this all too well, being in Northern California. We got a short break from the smoke yesterday when we went to the Coast, smoky going and coming. I read that the smoke from California traveled as far as Chicago. I’m glad you point out that this is systemic and part of a Dominator culture that is coming to an end as humans continue to live out of balance with nature. We will live and learn or keep on doing what we’ve been doing and die from one of the ways nature deals with a species that attempts… Read more »
Thanks Jed. It has always been important for me to have people figure out both the individual point of view as well as the systemic nature of things. You can’t solve a systems problem without a systems solution. In this particular case, I really felt an urgency to bear witness to what is going on. People need to understand how bad it is. We can’t flinch from these difficult truths.