Introduction
California is on fire, and without major policy change, California will continue to burn. The firestorms that began in October of 2017 became the most destructive and deadly in California history, only to be exceeded by the wildfires of 2018, which became the most devastating to date. There is without question, a wildfire epidemic in California.
To put these fires in the proper perspective, the 1991 Tunnel Fire, in the hills of Oakland and Berkeley, was previously California’s most destructive and deadly fire. The fire burned 1,520 acres, destroyed 3,280 residential units, and caused 25 fatalities. The Tubbs Fire in Napa and Sonoma counties, the most devastating wildfire of the many firestorms of 2017, burned 36,807 acres, destroyed 5,643 structures, and caused 22 deaths. In 2018, the Camp Fire in Butte County, the most destructive and deadly of the many wildfires that year, burned 153,336 acres, destroyed 18,804 buildings, and caused 88 civilian fatalities. In all, there were 8,527 wildfires burning in 2018. They burned 1,893,913 acres of land, the largest amount of burned acreage in California history.
In 1964, as a teenager, I had volunteered to fight the Hanly Fire in Sonoma County. Of significance, is the fact that this fire had burned almost the identical area as the Tubbs Fire that I witnessed 53 years later. But times have changed, and there was nothing similar about the destruction.
By experiencing the Tubbs and Nuns fires first hand, I developed quite an interest in the firestorms of 2017. The smoke had just cleared, when law firms from everywhere, converged on Santa Rosa with the anticipation that PG&E was at fault for the Tubbs Fire. They set up shop expecting to break the bank. In 2018, Cal Fire released in its report, that PG&E’s power lines were the cause of most of the 2017 fires. I physically visited several sites of the fires origins, and while the power lines had provided the spark, it was abundantly clear that trees and overgrown vegetation had provided the fuel for these firestorms.
Since the firestorms of Oct. 8, 2017, I have read every available article that was published about California’s wildfires, and the almost daily articles chronologically tracking PG&E’s fight to survive. I have read most, if not all, of the so called experts' solutions to California’s wildfires. I found many to be extremely disappointing. By spending all of my life in California, I have become quite familiar with our wonderful forests and open space. While working in real estate development, I worked with different fire agencies to incorporate fire prevention and safety into our projects. After witnessing three wildfires and their destruction first hand, I have realized, that with no realistic prevention plan in sight, the firestorms of the future will only become worse.
I have developed a solution. Over 90% of the recent firestorms were caused by electrical power lines coming in contact with combustible vegetation. My plan will prevent most, if not all of these fires. We cannot allow California to continue to burn, and if my plan is enacted, there is a bonus. This plan will provide several extremely positive social and economic benefits for the state of California and for many of the workers participating in the plan. For those not in California, my plan might also work for you.
Chapter 1
The Hanly Fire From the Eyes of a Teenage Firefighter
The year was 1964. As an odorous and toxic smoke clouded Santa Rosa’s airspace, a wildfire, propelled by warm, dry, and unrelenting 70 mile per hour “Diablo Winds”, raced into Knights Valley, down Franz Valley, and into Mark West Canyon. A few miles away, the City of Santa Rosa stood directly in its path.
It was a warm and windy early Tuesday morning on September 22. I should have been preparing for class at Santa Rosa Junior College, but along with friends, twins Jon and Clive Endress and Allan Miller, I had decided to help fight the fire that was threatening our city. We had not actually seen the flames as yet, and certainly had no idea of the fires magnitude, but I have to admit that I was more than a little frightened. I don’t know how my friends felt, but none of us showed fear, and we knew absolutely nothing about fighting fires. We threw shovels in the bed of Jon and Clive’s rusty old 37 Chevy pickup and headed to Carter’s Rincon Valley Feeds for burlap sacks. Off we went down Middle Rincon and onto Brush Creek Road. As we approached Wallace Road, we saw the first of the flames, and wildlife, mostly deer and rabbits, frantically running in all directions to escape the flames. We joined a group of volunteer firefighters that had kept the burn to the west side of Wallace Road. Backpack sprayers, shovels, and burlap sacks were the tools of choice, or I should say, probably the only tools available. Being young and fresh, we rushed to put our tools to work, but the freshness soon wore off as we worked our way down Wallace Road with a feeling of little accomplishment. The fire continued to burn, but the vegetation along the road was not high and the flames were six feet at best. With a powerful northeast wind, there seemed little danger of the fire jumping the road, but the fire was growing and accelerating rapidly up the hill to the west. We threw our tools in the truck and prepared to vacate the area just shy of Riebli Road.
Hanly Fire Volunteer Firefighters, 1964
Before departing, I gazed into the fire. There, surrounded by flames, was a doe with her two fawns. They appeared lost, and made no attempt to run. They were about to burn! I stood helpless with a sadness and heartache never experienced before. The mother was looking directly into my eyes, and I was looking directly into hers. She appeared to have tears in her eyes, and I know that I had tears in mine. Her babies were looking at me too. The mother could not speak, but her eyes said it all. Help us, please help us! But I couldn’t help, and I could not stay to watch these beautiful animals suffer such a painful death. I left a piece of my heart on the side of the road that day. That defenseless mother and her beautiful babies would never be forgotten.
Communication was poor in 1964. We had a transistor radio tuned to KSRO for updates on the fire. The situation had become extremely ugly. Fueled by rugged vegetation and tall timber, and propelled by relentless winds, the fire had raced up the hill to become an unpredictable and uncontrollable raging inferno. At unbelievable speed, the fire was headed directly towards the County Hospital and Lomitas Heights, a new upscale residential subdivision at the north end of town, and of particular interest to Jon and Clive. Their older brother had purchased a home there and was presently out of town. We headed directly to his home. Al took the truck to Thrifty’s to get batteries for the radio, but I, along with Jon and Clive, grabbed every hose and sprinkler available. We soaked everything from the landscaping to the ridge of the roof. From the roof we could see everything. A massive one hundred foot wall of flames, capable of taking out our city, was rapidly approaching. The hospital was ready to evacuate, and most of the residents of the subdivision had left. Behind the hospital and subdivision of homes, the professionals, several hundred strong, and from all available agencies, prepared for battle. The fire engines and water trucks were strategically placed, while the bulldozers and scrapers cleared the vegetation from behind the structures. It was damn frightening!
It was dusk and the day was ending, but there would be no sleep. The fire had now made contact with the line of defense. The battle was on! The fight did not seem fair, and the fact is that it wasn’t. The flames were relentless and could be detained no longer. The heat was unbearable, and in less than an hour our heroes had been forced to retreat. To stay longer would have been suicide. We remained on the roof for minutes longer to watch the first of the departure, but we could no longer tolerate the heat, and we too were forced to retreat. It appeared the massive flames would soon burn our beautiful city to the ground.
Hugh Codding, the county’s largest developer, and Mayor and City Councilman of the sixties, had recently built a home on the upper lot of Lomitas Heights. How ironic that the home of Mr. Codding, builder of hundreds of homes and all of Santa Rosa’s major shopping centers, would be the first to burn. This fire was not going to discriminate. But in a matter of seconds, and from a distance out of harm’s way, we witnessed a miracle. Instantly, before a single structure could catch fire, that powerful and tormenting northeast wind had suddenly ceased. Miraculously, the fire had been redirected away from our city by a welcome and gentle southeast breeze. I don’t know whether it was an act of God or just Mother Nature being kind, but we had truly