‘This is not how we’re supposed to live’: Residents flee as Dixie fires erupt

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Quincy, CA – There was a knock on the door at 3 in the afternoon, as smoke was filling the sky. When Plumas County Deputy Sheriff Kristina Bowen heard screaming, she knew she had to move fast.

Ms. Bowen, 40, said remembering the scramble to evacuate her mobile home as the Dixie Fire, the largest now blazing in California, engulfed the surrounding woods.

In what has become bleak weather in this part of Northern California, at least 16,500 people were recently forced to flee their homes in the form of other huge balloons from wildfires. The evacuations raised tensions in an area still recovering from the Camp Fire, which killed 85 people in 2018, the deadliest wildfire in California history.

President Biden met virtually Friday with the governors of seven Western states, where devastating wildfires have intensified in recent years as climate change has led to a hotter and drier one. They discussed how the federal government can assist states in prevention, preparedness, and emergency response efforts.

More than 80 major fires broke out across the country on Friday, burning nearly 1.7 million acres in 13 states. The two largest, the Dixie Fire, which has spread to nearly 241,000 acres, and the Bootleg Fire in southern Oregon, were described by fire officials as burning earlier and more intensely than usual at this time of year due to dry conditions and record heat across the area. .

In a chilling echo of the Camp Fire, which devastated the town of Paradise and started with equipment from the Pacific Gas and Electric Company, the utility giant told regulators this month that its equipment may also have started in Dixie Fire, in the same mountain valley where the 2018 fire started.

The cause of the Dixie fire is still under investigation. PG&E spokeswoman Lynsey Paulo declined to answer questions, instead referring to a report submitted to organizers and a court filing in response to a court order requesting information about the fire.

The accident report, filed by the company on July 18, described how an employee noticed blown valves in the terrain off Interstate 70 and “a fire on the ground near the base of the tree,” which was reported by his supervisor, who then called 911 in a court filing on July 28, the company said it was “continuing to investigate the role of its equipment” in the Dixie Fire, which on Friday was 23 percent contained.

As firefighters struggle to contain the blaze, Quincy, located on the edge of an evacuation zone, this week transformed from a sleepy logging town of about 2,000 residents to a frenetic staging area.

At night, fire crews set up tents and sleep in the town park. At dawn, they pile into trucks and bulldozers and head into the surrounding mountains.

In one of the largest emergency mobilizations underway in the United States, at least 6,079 personnel were called up to fight the Dixie Fire. They encounter an array of unpleasant conditions during 24-hour shifts, including hiking more than 15 miles across rugged mountainous terrain to get to places where the engines can’t advance.

Black Hawk helicopters hover overhead and carry National Guard soldiers with water to drop over the flames, giving parts of the area the feel of a war zone. Getting to Quincy from Chico involves passing through many abandoned Gold Rush-era roadblocks and outposts such as Twain and Belden, which were somehow rescued by firefighters.

severe weather

updated

July 30, 2021, 9:35 PM ET

Charred trees still stand alongside much of Interstate 70, as well as call signs nearby like burning cars in front of intact but empty homes. Some forested hillsides were still burning on Friday. Several signs on the road expressed gratitude to the firefighters deployed against the Dixie Fire.

“I’m so happy to be alive,” said Marva Stewart, 75, a retired sales employee who spent the past week and a half in a temporary shelter at Springs of Hope Church in Quincy. “But it is frustrating, I have no idea when this will end. This is not how we are supposed to live in this country.”

One afternoon this week, some in the parochial church scrolled social media feeds on their phones for updates about the Dixie Fire, which began July 13 and has taken up more space than New York City.

Balthazar Garcia tried several times to call his sister, but Quincy’s flooded mobile phone networks meant he couldn’t call. “This has been very difficult for me,” Mr. Garcia, 76, a former quarry worker, said in Spanish. “I am alone here, and it is difficult even to know what is going on. At least they give us meals.”

Other evacuees spent time in the parking lot for a semblance of privacy or took shelter in their cars, raising the air conditioners as smoke turned the sky an unusual shade of orange. Every now and then they would run the wipers to clean up the ash that had accumulated on the windshield.

“I can’t stand it anymore,” said Tracy Ketcham, 66, a retired housewife, as she sat in her car outside the church. She said she was looking for some peace and quiet when she left Orange County in Southern California for the rural enclave of Greenville nine years ago.

“I am studying the Bible – now I can’t help but feel that this is the end of days,” said Mrs. Ketcham. She said the lack of privacy at the shelter, along with reports of PG&E involvement and a lack of reliable information about how long this disaster could last, made her feel an end.

“It’s probably all a sign that we should go home regardless of the risks,” said Ms Ketcham, who lives alone. “All the wait, the kids are crying, the damned heat here in town. It must be better than it is here.”

As if referring to the drought conditions that fuel wildfires across much of the West, temperatures have hovered around 100 degrees this week in the areas around the Dixie fires. The fire has grown so large that in Sacramento, the state capital three hours’ drive from Quincy, smoke from the Dixie Fire has raised concerns this week about deteriorating air quality. Authorities urged Sacramento residents with respiratory problems or heart disease to limit outdoor exposure.

“It feels like we’ve been sucked into something we can’t control,” said Scott Ludwig, who left the caravan park with Ms Bowen and their two children.

Mr Ludwig, a former carnival worker who now takes disability payments, said he wanted answers from PG&E. “It is insulting that we still have to pay the electricity bill for a company that does not learn from its mistakes.”

He snuffed out a cigarette as he stood near the entrance to the shelter, staring at the thousands of logs piled nearby—a reminder of how much Quincy relied on the now smoldering trees.

“We have no idea if we will have to evacuate again,” Mr. Ludwig said. “Look around, there is so much to burn. If fire reaches this place, we are nothing but roast ducks.”

Annie Carney contributed to the report.

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