Mt Wilson looking toward Mt Waterman & Twin Peaks
(click to enlarge)
Mt Baldy Ski Lift
Grapevine Cam
(link)
Showing posts with label San Gabriel Mountains. Show all posts
Showing posts with label San Gabriel Mountains. Show all posts
More Snow 12/08/2009
Good thing this storm was so cold. Not only is the snow a beautiful December sight, but the impact on the barren soil is less. However, we could see trouble if the next storm, which looks like it is picking up tropical moisture, is a warm one. It could deposit its own rain and melt the snow at the same time. By the way, the Angeles website still has the fire danger at 'EXTREME'.
John Muir On The San Gabriels
Naturalist/Preservationist (NOT Conservationist) John Muir talks about the San Gabriel Mountains, and tells the story of hit first experience in the range. He is describing a trip up Eaton Canyon to a peak above Altadena that now bears his name.
After saying so much for human culture in my last, perhaps I may now be allowed a word for wildness -- the wildness of this southland, pure and untamable as the sea.
In the mountains of San Gabriel, overlooking the lowland vines and fruit groves, Mother Nature is most ruggedly, thornily savage. Not even in the Sierra have I ever made the acquaintance of mountains more rigidly inaccessible. The slopes are exceptionally steep and insecure to the foot of the explorer, however great his strength or skill may be, but thorny chaparral constitutes their chief defense. With the exception of little park and garden spots not visible in comprehensive views, the entire surface is covered with it, from the highest peaks to the plain. It swoops into every hollow and swells over every ridge, gracefully complying with the varied topography, in shaggy, ungovernable exuberance, fairly dwarfing the utmost efforts of human culture out of sight and mind.
But in the very heart of this thorny wilderness, down in the dells, you may find gardens filled with the fairest flowers, that any child would love, and unapproachable linns lined with lilies and ferns, where the ousel builds its mossy hut and sings in chorus with the white falling water. Bears, also, and panthers, wolves, wildcats; wood rats, squirrels, foxes, snakes, and innumerable birds, all find grateful homes here, adding wildness to wildness in glorious profusion and variety.
Where the coast ranges and the Sierra Nevada come together we find a very complicated system of short ranges, the geology and topography of which is yet hidden, and many years of laborious study must be given for anything like a complete interpretation of them. The San Gabriel is one or more of these ranges, forty or fifty miles long, and half as broad, extending from the Cajon Pass on the east, to the Santa Monica and Santa Susanna ranges on the west. San Antonio, the dominating peak, rises towards the eastern extremity of the range to a height of about six thousand feet [actually 10,064ft], forming a sure landmark throughout the valley and all the way down to the coast, without, however, possessing much striking individuality. The whole range, seen from the plain, with the hot sun beating upon its southern slopes, wears a terribly forbidding aspect. There is nothing of the grandeur of snow, or glaciers, or deep forests, to excite curiosity or adventure; no trace of gardens or waterfalls. From base to summit all seems gray, barren, silent -- dead, bleached bones of mountains, overgrown with scrubby bushes, like gray moss. But all mountains are full of hidden beauty, and the next day after my arrival at Pasadena I supplied myself with bread and eagerly set out to give myself to their keeping.
On the first day of my excursion I went only as far as the mouth of Eaton Canyon, because the heat was oppressive, and a pair of new shoes were chafing my feet to such an extent that walking began to be painful. While looking for a camping ground among the boulder beds of the canyon, I came upon a strange, dark man of doubtful parentage. He kindly invited me to camp with him, and led me to his little hut. All my conjectures as to his nationality failed, and no wonder, since his father was Irish and mother Spanish, a mixture not often met even in California. He happened to be out of candles, so we sat in the dark while he gave me a sketch of his life, which was exceedingly picturesque. Then he showed me his plans for the future. He was going to settle among these canyon boulders, and make money, and marry a Spanish woman. People mine for irrigating water along the foothills as for gold. He is now driving a prospecting tunnel into a spur of the mountains back of his cabin. "My prospect is good," he said, "and if I strike a strong flow, I shall soon be worth five or ten thousand dollars. That flat out there, " he continued, referring to a small, irregular patch of gravelly detritus that had been sorted out and deposited by Eaton Creek during some flood season, "is large enough for a nice orange grove, and, after watering my own trees, I can sell water down the valley; and then the hillside back of the cabin will do for vines, and I can keep bees, for the white sage and black sage up the mountains is full of honey. You see, I've got a good thing." All this prospective affluence in the sunken, boulder-choked flood-bed of Eaton Creek! Most home-seekers would as soon think of settling on the summit of San Antonio.
Half an hour's easy rambling up the canyon brought me to the foot of "The Fall," famous throughout the valley settlements as the finest yet discovered in the range. It is a charming little thing, with a voice sweet as a songbird's, leaping some thirty-five or forty feet into a round, mirror pool. The cliff back of it and on both sides is completely covered with thick, furry mosses, and the white fall shines against the green like a silver instrument in a velvet case. Here come the Gabriel lads and lassies from the commonplace orange groves, to make love and gather ferns and dabble away their hot holidays in the cool pool. They are fortunate in finding so fresh a retreat so near their homes. It is the Yosemite of San Gabriel. The walls, though not of the true Yosemite type either in form or sculpture, rise to a height of nearly two thousand feet. Ferns are abundant on all the rocks within reach of the spray, and picturesque maples and sycamores spread a grateful shade over a rich profusion of wild flowers that grow among the boulders, from the edge of the pool a mile or more down the dell-like bottom of the valley, the whole forming a charming little poem of wildness -- the vestibule of these shaggy mountain temples.
The foot of the fall is about a thousand feet above the level of the sea, and here climbing begins. I made my way out of the valley on the west side, followed the ridge that forms the western rim of the Eaton Basin to the summit of one of the principal peaks, thence crossed the middle of the basin, forcing a way over its many subordinate ridges, and out over the eastern rim, and from first to last during three days spent in this excursion, I had to contend with the richest, most self-possessed and uncompromising chaparral I have every enjoyed since first my mountaineering began.
For a hundred feet or so the ascent was practicable only by means of bosses of the club moss that clings to the rock. Above this the ridge is weathered away to a slender knife-edge for a distance of two or three hundred yards, and thence to the summit it is a bristly mane of chaparral. Here and there small openings occur, commanding grand views of the valley and beyond to the ocean. These are favorite outlooks and resting places for bears, wolves, and wildcats. In the densest places I came upon woodrat villages whose huts were from four to eight feet high, built in the same style of architecture as those of the muskrats.
The day was nearly done. I reached the summit and I had time to make only a hasty survey of the topography of the wild basin now outspread maplike beneath, and to drink in the rare loveliness of the sunlight before hastening down in search of water. Pushing through another mile of chaparral, I emerged into one of the most beautiful parklike groves of live oak I ever saw. The ground beneath was planted only with aspidiums and brier roses. At the foot of the grove I came to the dry channel of one of the tributary streams, but, following it down a short distance, I descried a few specimens of the scarlet mimulus; and I was assured that water was near. I found about a bucketful in a granite bowl, but it was full of leaves and beetles, making a sort of brown coffee that could be rendered available only by filtering it through sand and charcoal. This I resolved to do in case the night came on before I found better. Following the channel a mile farther down to its confluence with another, larger tributary, I found a lot of boulder pools, clear as crystal, and brimming full, linked together by little glistening currents just strong enough to sing. Flowers in full bloom adorned the banks, lilies ten feet high, and luxuriant ferns arching over one another in lavish abundance, while a noble old live oak spread its rugged boughs over all, forming one of the most perfect and most secluded of Nature's gardens. Here I camped, making my bed on smooth cobblestones.
Next morning, pushing up the channel of a tributary that takes its rise on Mount San Antonio, I passed many lovely gardens watered by oozing currentlets, every one of which had lilies in them in the full pomp of bloom, and a rich growth of ferns, chiefly woodwardias and aspidiums and maidenhairs; but toward the base of the mountain the channel was dry, and the chaparral closed over from bank to bank, so that I was compelled to creep more than a mile on hands and knees.
In one spot I found an opening in the thorny sky where I could stand erect, and on the further side of the opening discovered a small pool. "Now, HERE," I said, "I must be careful in creeping, for the birds of the neighborhood come here to drink, and the rattlesnakes come here to catch them." I then began to cast my eye along the channel, perhaps instinctively feeling a snaky atmosphere, and finally discovered one rattler between my feet. But there was a bashful look in his eye, and a withdrawing, deprecating kink in his neck that showed plainly as words could tell that he would not strike, and only wished to be let alone. I therefore passed on, lifting my foot a little higher than usual, and left him to enjoy his life in this his own home.
My next camp was near the heart of the basin, at the head of a grand system of cascades from ten to two hundred feet high, one following the other in close succession and making a total descent of nearly seventeen hundred feet. The rocks above me leaned over in a threatening way and were full of seams, making the camp a very unsafe one during an earthquake.
Next day the chaparral, in ascending the eastern rim of the basin, was, if possible, denser and more stubbornly bayoneted than ever. I followed bear trails, where in some places I found tufts of their hair that had been pulled out in squeezing a way through; but there was much of a very interesting character that far overpaid all my pains. Most of the plants are identical with those of the Sierra, but there are quite a number of Mexican species. One coniferous tree was all I found. This is a spruce of a species new to me, Douglasii macrocarpa [now Pseudotsuga macrocarpa].
My last camp was down at the narrow, notched bottom of a dry channel, the only open way for the life in the neighborhood. I therefore lay between two fires, built to fence out snakes and wolves.
From the summit of the eastern rim I had a glorious view of the valley out to the ocean, which would require a whole book for its description. My bread gave out a day before reaching the settlements, but I felt all the fresher and clearer for the fast.
After saying so much for human culture in my last, perhaps I may now be allowed a word for wildness -- the wildness of this southland, pure and untamable as the sea.
In the mountains of San Gabriel, overlooking the lowland vines and fruit groves, Mother Nature is most ruggedly, thornily savage. Not even in the Sierra have I ever made the acquaintance of mountains more rigidly inaccessible. The slopes are exceptionally steep and insecure to the foot of the explorer, however great his strength or skill may be, but thorny chaparral constitutes their chief defense. With the exception of little park and garden spots not visible in comprehensive views, the entire surface is covered with it, from the highest peaks to the plain. It swoops into every hollow and swells over every ridge, gracefully complying with the varied topography, in shaggy, ungovernable exuberance, fairly dwarfing the utmost efforts of human culture out of sight and mind.
But in the very heart of this thorny wilderness, down in the dells, you may find gardens filled with the fairest flowers, that any child would love, and unapproachable linns lined with lilies and ferns, where the ousel builds its mossy hut and sings in chorus with the white falling water. Bears, also, and panthers, wolves, wildcats; wood rats, squirrels, foxes, snakes, and innumerable birds, all find grateful homes here, adding wildness to wildness in glorious profusion and variety.
Where the coast ranges and the Sierra Nevada come together we find a very complicated system of short ranges, the geology and topography of which is yet hidden, and many years of laborious study must be given for anything like a complete interpretation of them. The San Gabriel is one or more of these ranges, forty or fifty miles long, and half as broad, extending from the Cajon Pass on the east, to the Santa Monica and Santa Susanna ranges on the west. San Antonio, the dominating peak, rises towards the eastern extremity of the range to a height of about six thousand feet [actually 10,064ft], forming a sure landmark throughout the valley and all the way down to the coast, without, however, possessing much striking individuality. The whole range, seen from the plain, with the hot sun beating upon its southern slopes, wears a terribly forbidding aspect. There is nothing of the grandeur of snow, or glaciers, or deep forests, to excite curiosity or adventure; no trace of gardens or waterfalls. From base to summit all seems gray, barren, silent -- dead, bleached bones of mountains, overgrown with scrubby bushes, like gray moss. But all mountains are full of hidden beauty, and the next day after my arrival at Pasadena I supplied myself with bread and eagerly set out to give myself to their keeping.
On the first day of my excursion I went only as far as the mouth of Eaton Canyon, because the heat was oppressive, and a pair of new shoes were chafing my feet to such an extent that walking began to be painful. While looking for a camping ground among the boulder beds of the canyon, I came upon a strange, dark man of doubtful parentage. He kindly invited me to camp with him, and led me to his little hut. All my conjectures as to his nationality failed, and no wonder, since his father was Irish and mother Spanish, a mixture not often met even in California. He happened to be out of candles, so we sat in the dark while he gave me a sketch of his life, which was exceedingly picturesque. Then he showed me his plans for the future. He was going to settle among these canyon boulders, and make money, and marry a Spanish woman. People mine for irrigating water along the foothills as for gold. He is now driving a prospecting tunnel into a spur of the mountains back of his cabin. "My prospect is good," he said, "and if I strike a strong flow, I shall soon be worth five or ten thousand dollars. That flat out there, " he continued, referring to a small, irregular patch of gravelly detritus that had been sorted out and deposited by Eaton Creek during some flood season, "is large enough for a nice orange grove, and, after watering my own trees, I can sell water down the valley; and then the hillside back of the cabin will do for vines, and I can keep bees, for the white sage and black sage up the mountains is full of honey. You see, I've got a good thing." All this prospective affluence in the sunken, boulder-choked flood-bed of Eaton Creek! Most home-seekers would as soon think of settling on the summit of San Antonio.
Half an hour's easy rambling up the canyon brought me to the foot of "The Fall," famous throughout the valley settlements as the finest yet discovered in the range. It is a charming little thing, with a voice sweet as a songbird's, leaping some thirty-five or forty feet into a round, mirror pool. The cliff back of it and on both sides is completely covered with thick, furry mosses, and the white fall shines against the green like a silver instrument in a velvet case. Here come the Gabriel lads and lassies from the commonplace orange groves, to make love and gather ferns and dabble away their hot holidays in the cool pool. They are fortunate in finding so fresh a retreat so near their homes. It is the Yosemite of San Gabriel. The walls, though not of the true Yosemite type either in form or sculpture, rise to a height of nearly two thousand feet. Ferns are abundant on all the rocks within reach of the spray, and picturesque maples and sycamores spread a grateful shade over a rich profusion of wild flowers that grow among the boulders, from the edge of the pool a mile or more down the dell-like bottom of the valley, the whole forming a charming little poem of wildness -- the vestibule of these shaggy mountain temples.
The foot of the fall is about a thousand feet above the level of the sea, and here climbing begins. I made my way out of the valley on the west side, followed the ridge that forms the western rim of the Eaton Basin to the summit of one of the principal peaks, thence crossed the middle of the basin, forcing a way over its many subordinate ridges, and out over the eastern rim, and from first to last during three days spent in this excursion, I had to contend with the richest, most self-possessed and uncompromising chaparral I have every enjoyed since first my mountaineering began.
For a hundred feet or so the ascent was practicable only by means of bosses of the club moss that clings to the rock. Above this the ridge is weathered away to a slender knife-edge for a distance of two or three hundred yards, and thence to the summit it is a bristly mane of chaparral. Here and there small openings occur, commanding grand views of the valley and beyond to the ocean. These are favorite outlooks and resting places for bears, wolves, and wildcats. In the densest places I came upon woodrat villages whose huts were from four to eight feet high, built in the same style of architecture as those of the muskrats.
The day was nearly done. I reached the summit and I had time to make only a hasty survey of the topography of the wild basin now outspread maplike beneath, and to drink in the rare loveliness of the sunlight before hastening down in search of water. Pushing through another mile of chaparral, I emerged into one of the most beautiful parklike groves of live oak I ever saw. The ground beneath was planted only with aspidiums and brier roses. At the foot of the grove I came to the dry channel of one of the tributary streams, but, following it down a short distance, I descried a few specimens of the scarlet mimulus; and I was assured that water was near. I found about a bucketful in a granite bowl, but it was full of leaves and beetles, making a sort of brown coffee that could be rendered available only by filtering it through sand and charcoal. This I resolved to do in case the night came on before I found better. Following the channel a mile farther down to its confluence with another, larger tributary, I found a lot of boulder pools, clear as crystal, and brimming full, linked together by little glistening currents just strong enough to sing. Flowers in full bloom adorned the banks, lilies ten feet high, and luxuriant ferns arching over one another in lavish abundance, while a noble old live oak spread its rugged boughs over all, forming one of the most perfect and most secluded of Nature's gardens. Here I camped, making my bed on smooth cobblestones.
Next morning, pushing up the channel of a tributary that takes its rise on Mount San Antonio, I passed many lovely gardens watered by oozing currentlets, every one of which had lilies in them in the full pomp of bloom, and a rich growth of ferns, chiefly woodwardias and aspidiums and maidenhairs; but toward the base of the mountain the channel was dry, and the chaparral closed over from bank to bank, so that I was compelled to creep more than a mile on hands and knees.
In one spot I found an opening in the thorny sky where I could stand erect, and on the further side of the opening discovered a small pool. "Now, HERE," I said, "I must be careful in creeping, for the birds of the neighborhood come here to drink, and the rattlesnakes come here to catch them." I then began to cast my eye along the channel, perhaps instinctively feeling a snaky atmosphere, and finally discovered one rattler between my feet. But there was a bashful look in his eye, and a withdrawing, deprecating kink in his neck that showed plainly as words could tell that he would not strike, and only wished to be let alone. I therefore passed on, lifting my foot a little higher than usual, and left him to enjoy his life in this his own home.
My next camp was near the heart of the basin, at the head of a grand system of cascades from ten to two hundred feet high, one following the other in close succession and making a total descent of nearly seventeen hundred feet. The rocks above me leaned over in a threatening way and were full of seams, making the camp a very unsafe one during an earthquake.
Next day the chaparral, in ascending the eastern rim of the basin, was, if possible, denser and more stubbornly bayoneted than ever. I followed bear trails, where in some places I found tufts of their hair that had been pulled out in squeezing a way through; but there was much of a very interesting character that far overpaid all my pains. Most of the plants are identical with those of the Sierra, but there are quite a number of Mexican species. One coniferous tree was all I found. This is a spruce of a species new to me, Douglasii macrocarpa [now Pseudotsuga macrocarpa].
My last camp was down at the narrow, notched bottom of a dry channel, the only open way for the life in the neighborhood. I therefore lay between two fires, built to fence out snakes and wolves.
From the summit of the eastern rim I had a glorious view of the valley out to the ocean, which would require a whole book for its description. My bread gave out a day before reaching the settlements, but I felt all the fresher and clearer for the fast.
Where There's Smoke, There's Fire. Where There's Smoke & Mirrors, There's Jody
On Saturday, November 14th, Paul Pringle wrote an article in the LA Times about the recently released internal review of the Station Fire. The review blames steep terrain for the expanse of the fire because it was too steep to allow firefighters in to cut lines. Paul's article quotes Los Angeles County Supervisor Mike Antonovich as calling the findings a "whitewash". I will show how this whole thing nothing short of a cover-up.
The man in charge of the investigation, Forest Service Deputy Chief James Hubbard, said "The review looked at the fire through the commanders' eyes. Whether some other action could have changed things, we really didn't look at that." How ridiculous is that? Wasn't the whole idea to find out if some other action could have changed things? And the investigation team only interviewed a few select employees. Forest Supervisor Jody Noiron still has a gag order on the Angeles National Forest, and I guarantee the only people the team spoke with are those that Jody allowed to speak with them. I'm sure those that did speak had something to lose by telling the real story. They may have been partially to blame themselves, or Jody, as she so often does, may have threatened them with termination if they diverted from her script.
The review is available from the Angeles National Forest website here:
http://www.fs.fed.us/news/2009/releases/11/station-report-11-13-2009.pdf
In case sombody gets the idea to move or remove it, I have put it up on File Den here:
http://www.fileden.com/files/2009/9/24/2583863/station-report-11-13- 2009.pdf
Fighting fire is inherently a risky business. Firefighters accept the risks, and are disappointed when they are not allowed to do their job. No firefighter wants to get hurt, and they calculate the risks as situations arise. They know their abilities and their limits. The last thing they need is a paranoid supervisor with a crippling fear of being personally sued.
The area that they say was too steep to penetrate is in the Arroyo Seco drainage, just below the point of origin and where the fire crossed the Angeles Crest Highway. This area is no steeper than other areas that were protected in subsequent days and weeks. Mount Wilson ridge is some of the steepest terrain in the whole range, yet there were firefighters from other forests and other agencies crawling all over the mountain top, while the fire was burning below them and lighting backfires of their own. Bulldozers AND hand crews cut fire breaks along ridgelines above Altadena, Pasadena, Sierra Madre, Arcadia, Monrovia... all as steep as, and some steeper than, the "impossible" ridges they mentioned.
So the steep excuse just doesn't wash.
These photos are designed to make you think that nothing could have been done. In fact, that's what the review tells us. The review states: "As the photographs indicate, topographical conditions in this area are extremely difficult, if not impossible, to traverse without a high degree of exposure to hazard. In addition to the hazards of rolling rocks and unstable footing, firefighters attempting to access points below the Highway would be in an upslope position with respect to fire below them and in brush conditions with extremely limited or no visibility. In these conditions, safety zones and escape routes could not be established." But this is a ruse. First of all, wildland firefighters are trained to deal with rolling rocks and unstable footing - THAT'S WHAT THEY DO! Ask any of the men and women on the crews if they are afraid to or incapable of walking a ridgeline, see what they say. Second, most of the photos conveniently leave out out the trails, roads and existing fire breaks around the area where the fire crossed the highway into the Arroyo Seco. I will show and tell you what it really looks like, and supply some historical information that will make you question the characterization of "impossible to access".
This first Google Earth image comes from the review. It shows the fire perimeters in the first three days, the point of origin, and where the fire crossed the highway. One can see the fire roads and CCC Ridge, but it is zoomed out too much to tell the whole truth...
Here is the crucial area as I captured it (click to enlarge)...
You can see Dark Canyon Road that goes right into the Arroyo Seco from the Angeles Crest Highway and passes below the spot where the fire jumped the highway. In all fairness, Dark Canyon Road has not been maintained in a very long time. But that brings at least two questions to mind. 1) Why hasn't the road been maintained? This is not an ecologically sensitive area. 2) Why couldn't crews have hiked down the road bed from the end of CCC Ridge to catch the fire as it came down the "impossible" ridge? Hikers use this route all the time. There are employees currently working on the Angeles that used to drive pickup trucks down Dark Canyon Road so it is not that long abandoned. 3) How about taking a bulldozer down the old road? They cut right through rock and vegetation where there was no prior road, it should have been no problem to run one down Dark Canyon road. It would have a) extended the firebreak on CCC Ridge, b) provided quick access into the Arroyo Seco from the north and c) finally cleared a vital road that had gone neglected. Notice Dark Canyon. This has been recorded as an escape route of the infamous bandit Tiburchio Vasquez, and was utilized by his gang and him on horseback the day he was finally captured. How impossible could Dark Canyon be for well-trained firefighters when a herd of galloping horses managed to negotiate it? Also notice the long, gentle ridge that forms the canyon's north wall - easily hiked.
Now let's look at the area of which the review has images labeled "no access" (click to enlarge)...
The reviewers placed one of those yellow Google Earth push-pins on a ridgeline and labeled it "no access". This very same ridge has a trail along the top that is used by Edison to maintain the high-tension power lines and do fire clearance around the two towers at the end of the ridge. No access? Edison accesses it all the time. And how did the towers get there? It probably would not have been safe to cut a line along the last couple hundred feet where the ridge meets the stream, but they could have gotten most of it. This may not have been necessary or a good use time, considering that the next ridge to the north, CCC Ridge, already has a firebreak on it and there were no structures between, but the point is that they are clearly trying to deceive us. On the other hand, it may have kept the fire out of Dark Canyon. Even before the Station Fire, I knew the last time this area had burned was the Woodwardia Fire in '58 or '59, and that Dark Canyon has a lot of decadent growth that could lead the fire right into Big Tujunga. If I knew that, shouldn't have someone in the Forest Service have known this? Keep in mind that the review repeatedly mentions how dangerous it is for firefighters to have the fire approach them from below. Well, when firefighters were on the highway, the fire was moving downhill away from them. However, it probably doesn't do much good to chase a fire, better to be on the other side of it so that they can have the fire meet with a fuel/fire break, or a backfire. The Forest Service says, and offers visual "proof", that there was no way to get at the downhill side of the fire, but you can see that that is just not true.
Remember that this flank of the fire didn't really get going until it got into the bottom of the Arroyo Seco where it headed up stream to Red Box Saddle and branched off into Bear Canyon, creating two fronts on their way to Mount Wilson. It should have been a priority to stop it before that happened. This is not hindsight on my part, I wrote on the Altadena Blog on day three that this was a possibility. Again, if I knew that... Wind was not a factor and there are no less than three trails from three directions to access the canyon bottom. The fire would have been above the fire fighters, slowly backing down the hill above them while they cut lines. I'm not suggesting without a doubt that the hand crews alone would have stopped the fire here, even though the "CCC Boys" did it in the 1920's Brown Mountain Fire, but another of the Forest Service's ridiculous excuses is that the helicopters would not have been effective without hand crews on the ground, and you can see by the aerial shots that hiking in is no problem. Also, there were several retreat options.
This is a photo of the area just downstream from the above photo (see Twin Canyon for reference - click to enlarge)...
You can see that the access road from JPL ends at the canyon DIRECTLY BELOW the ranger station for which the fire was named. This used to be a stage coach line from Devil's Gate to Oakwilde. Granted, one can't drive all the way now, because of the debris dam, but one can drive to below where the fire crossed the road. Also below is a picnic area and a popular hiking trail. At the bottom of the Brown and Twin Canyons, where the fire crossed the road, there is a broad gravely wash with nothing but a few shrubby willows and a perennial stream.
There are lightweight gas-powered water pumps available that could have been used to supply hoses brought in on "Tahoe packs" (click inset). This illustrates just how close the Station Fire was to the ranger station when it started, and just how much infrastructure there is in the area where the fire crossed into the Arroyo Seco; infrastructure that they know about and are hiding in the review.
Here's another that shows the proximity of Brown Mountain Fire Road to the area where the fire crossed the road and got into the Arroyo Seco and tributaries (click to enlarge)...
Note the trail down and the gentle ridge where a bulldozer and hand crews could have cut a fire break all the way into the canyon. There is a safety zone in the gravely wash and a helipad above for rescue or supply purposes. It seems safe to say the if it is called a fire road, it's intention was to be used to fight fires.
I could go on, but I hope you have gotten the point that this fire could have been fought with hand crews and helicopters on the second day. So even if we were to buy the assertion that the helicopters would not have done any good without crews on the ground, we see that it was possible to get crews below the fire to cut lines. But, of course, we know that the helicopter comment is absurd. The benefit of water-dropping helicopters is that they can douse fires where crews cannot hike and, in fact, we watched them do so on the third day, when the fire had gotten into more remote areas and when the smoke was much thicker than on day two.
This review was a smokescreen (pun intended) and only attempted to answer one question - what happened on the second day? - and attempted to dismiss the internal memo ordering a refusal of cooperation with other agencies. Still on my mind are...
The man in charge of the investigation, Forest Service Deputy Chief James Hubbard, said "The review looked at the fire through the commanders' eyes. Whether some other action could have changed things, we really didn't look at that." How ridiculous is that? Wasn't the whole idea to find out if some other action could have changed things? And the investigation team only interviewed a few select employees. Forest Supervisor Jody Noiron still has a gag order on the Angeles National Forest, and I guarantee the only people the team spoke with are those that Jody allowed to speak with them. I'm sure those that did speak had something to lose by telling the real story. They may have been partially to blame themselves, or Jody, as she so often does, may have threatened them with termination if they diverted from her script.
The review is available from the Angeles National Forest website here:
http://www.fs.fed.us/news/2009/releases/11/station-report-11-13-2009.pdf
In case sombody gets the idea to move or remove it, I have put it up on File Den here:
http://www.fileden.com/files/2009/9/24/2583863/station-report-11-13- 2009.pdf
Safety Über Alles
Jody Noiron uses safety as an excuse for everything. Whenever she doesn't want to make a decision, or doesn't want the consequences of making a decision, or just doesn't want to be bothered, she shuts down the forest and forest operations, citing safety as the reason. And nobody wants to argue with people's safety. She also does this to make it look like she is doing something when she is really doing nothing. And in the case of the Station Fire, Jody used firefighter safety to make it sound like she did something when she actually did nothing.Fighting fire is inherently a risky business. Firefighters accept the risks, and are disappointed when they are not allowed to do their job. No firefighter wants to get hurt, and they calculate the risks as situations arise. They know their abilities and their limits. The last thing they need is a paranoid supervisor with a crippling fear of being personally sued.
Steep Terrain
The review states that topography made it "impossible" to fight the Station Fire on it's second and third day (IMPOSSIBLE, mind you. This word is used several times). The front country of the San Gabriels is the third steepest mountain range in North America, next to the Eastern Sierra Nevada and the Grand Tetons. This geological fact is not likely to change in the near future. So is the Forest Service suggesting that we abandon fire suppression on the Angeles National Forest? Is it impossible to fight a fire here? Do they not fight fires in the Inyo National Forest because it is too steep there?The area that they say was too steep to penetrate is in the Arroyo Seco drainage, just below the point of origin and where the fire crossed the Angeles Crest Highway. This area is no steeper than other areas that were protected in subsequent days and weeks. Mount Wilson ridge is some of the steepest terrain in the whole range, yet there were firefighters from other forests and other agencies crawling all over the mountain top, while the fire was burning below them and lighting backfires of their own. Bulldozers AND hand crews cut fire breaks along ridgelines above Altadena, Pasadena, Sierra Madre, Arcadia, Monrovia... all as steep as, and some steeper than, the "impossible" ridges they mentioned.
So the steep excuse just doesn't wash.
The Cover Up
The review has several photos of fire in steep terrain with scary captions...
"Terrain below the Angeles Crest Highway is extremely rugged and steep."
"Active fire below the Angeles Crest Highway coupled with the topography make accessibility by ground crews impossible."
"Angeles National Forest has long history of firefighter fatalities, especially those that occurred when fire came from below the firefighters."
"Firefighters attempting to access points below the Highway would be in an upslope position with respect to fire below them—safety zones and escape routes could not be established."
"Fire above and below Angeles Crest Highway on August 27 after spot fire occurred."
These photos are designed to make you think that nothing could have been done. In fact, that's what the review tells us. The review states: "As the photographs indicate, topographical conditions in this area are extremely difficult, if not impossible, to traverse without a high degree of exposure to hazard. In addition to the hazards of rolling rocks and unstable footing, firefighters attempting to access points below the Highway would be in an upslope position with respect to fire below them and in brush conditions with extremely limited or no visibility. In these conditions, safety zones and escape routes could not be established." But this is a ruse. First of all, wildland firefighters are trained to deal with rolling rocks and unstable footing - THAT'S WHAT THEY DO! Ask any of the men and women on the crews if they are afraid to or incapable of walking a ridgeline, see what they say. Second, most of the photos conveniently leave out out the trails, roads and existing fire breaks around the area where the fire crossed the highway into the Arroyo Seco. I will show and tell you what it really looks like, and supply some historical information that will make you question the characterization of "impossible to access".
This first Google Earth image comes from the review. It shows the fire perimeters in the first three days, the point of origin, and where the fire crossed the highway. One can see the fire roads and CCC Ridge, but it is zoomed out too much to tell the whole truth...
Here is the crucial area as I captured it (click to enlarge)...
Now let's look at the area of which the review has images labeled "no access" (click to enlarge)...
Remember that this flank of the fire didn't really get going until it got into the bottom of the Arroyo Seco where it headed up stream to Red Box Saddle and branched off into Bear Canyon, creating two fronts on their way to Mount Wilson. It should have been a priority to stop it before that happened. This is not hindsight on my part, I wrote on the Altadena Blog on day three that this was a possibility. Again, if I knew that... Wind was not a factor and there are no less than three trails from three directions to access the canyon bottom. The fire would have been above the fire fighters, slowly backing down the hill above them while they cut lines. I'm not suggesting without a doubt that the hand crews alone would have stopped the fire here, even though the "CCC Boys" did it in the 1920's Brown Mountain Fire, but another of the Forest Service's ridiculous excuses is that the helicopters would not have been effective without hand crews on the ground, and you can see by the aerial shots that hiking in is no problem. Also, there were several retreat options.
This is a photo of the area just downstream from the above photo (see Twin Canyon for reference - click to enlarge)...
You can see that the access road from JPL ends at the canyon DIRECTLY BELOW the ranger station for which the fire was named. This used to be a stage coach line from Devil's Gate to Oakwilde. Granted, one can't drive all the way now, because of the debris dam, but one can drive to below where the fire crossed the road. Also below is a picnic area and a popular hiking trail. At the bottom of the Brown and Twin Canyons, where the fire crossed the road, there is a broad gravely wash with nothing but a few shrubby willows and a perennial stream.
There are lightweight gas-powered water pumps available that could have been used to supply hoses brought in on "Tahoe packs" (click inset). This illustrates just how close the Station Fire was to the ranger station when it started, and just how much infrastructure there is in the area where the fire crossed into the Arroyo Seco; infrastructure that they know about and are hiding in the review.Here's another that shows the proximity of Brown Mountain Fire Road to the area where the fire crossed the road and got into the Arroyo Seco and tributaries (click to enlarge)...
I could go on, but I hope you have gotten the point that this fire could have been fought with hand crews and helicopters on the second day. So even if we were to buy the assertion that the helicopters would not have done any good without crews on the ground, we see that it was possible to get crews below the fire to cut lines. But, of course, we know that the helicopter comment is absurd. The benefit of water-dropping helicopters is that they can douse fires where crews cannot hike and, in fact, we watched them do so on the third day, when the fire had gotten into more remote areas and when the smoke was much thicker than on day two.
This review was a smokescreen (pun intended) and only attempted to answer one question - what happened on the second day? - and attempted to dismiss the internal memo ordering a refusal of cooperation with other agencies. Still on my mind are...
- When the fire was still very small, on the first day, and had not made a run for the Arroyo Seco or Mt. Lukens, why were helicopters not ordered immediately? They were already in the air for the Morris Fire across town.
- Why doesn't Forest Service allow helicopters to fly at night? LA County is happy to do it, and I personally witnessed them put out a small fire with a helicopter at Midnight.
- Why was there no defense of Big Tujunga? This canyon is a broad, gravely flood plain and there were no winds. Lines should have been cut and back fires should have been lit to protect structures, yet by most accounts there was absolutely no action taken.
- Why were firefighters ordered to abandon Chilao, even though they insisted to supervisors that they could defend it? This decision cost CalTrans a large maintenance facility with employee housing.
- Who ordered Mount Wilson back fires by helicopter pellet drop? The Station Fire had no intention of burning up the steep back side of the ridge and if the Angeles had any experienced personnel left, they would have known this. The fires that smoldered in inaccessible areas for weeks around the observatory were caused by incendiary devices.
- Who ordered firefighters not to defend Big Santa Anita Canyon if the fire had entered it? This FACT was recently reaffirmed by ANF Engine 17.
- Why was the containment kept at 98% for so long? Was it because the emergency closure order expired at 100%? Did this give Jody enough time to come up with her current closure order that again cites safety as the reason and is very loosely based on any actual authority she may have?
- Why does the Angeles National Forest have such a hard time retaining firefighters? Why do all of the ANF employees hate Supervisor Noiron?
Geology Of The San Gabriel Mountains
In 2007, Adams' Pack Station hosted a Geology Walk conducted by Dave Douglass, Dean of Sciences at Pasadena City College. He spoke in plain English for us newbies and it was very interesting. I put a microphone on him and this was the result...
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