Blowing in the wind

A Lansing native recounts evacuating during the LA wildfires

Posted

(Rich Tupica has been a contributing City Pulse writer since 2009, including his still-going local music column, “Turn It Down.” Now living in Crescenta Valley in central Los Angeles County, he details his experience with the 2025 Los Angeles wildfires.)

Growing up in the cornfields of Greater Lansing, I’ve lived through a few natural disasters. At 43, I’ve had a few close calls with tornadoes. Like thousands of others, I lost power for a solid week due to the overwhelming 2013 Mid-Michigan ice storm. I’ve sweated my way through plenty of extreme heat spells. The list goes on. Michigan weather is moody and changes on a dime. You get used to it.

However, a lot of that was left behind after moving to California a few years back with my partner, Nicole. One of my final Michigan memories was leaving my trusty snow shovel out by the road with a “FREE” sign on it. Moments later, we started our journey to Los Angeles, where scooping mountains of snow would no longer be an issue.

In fact, most of the time, the weather in Los Angeles is oddly nonchanging. The shifting of the seasons is such a mild change that you might not even notice “fall” turning into “winter.” Back in Michigan, this was never an issue. 

But, thanks to LA, we’d soon be introduced to a new set of wild weather conditions. Small earthquakes rattle our windows. Mudslides occur up in the canyons occasionally, and — of course — wildfires happen all the time. Thousands of wildfires scorch California each year. Most are controlled and contained. Others, spanning the last few decades, have caused devastation and death.

On Tuesday, Jan. 7, the worst wildfire to ever spread across Los Angeles County started, and we were here for it. In the days leading up to the onset of the historic blaze, text message alerts buzzed on Angelenos’ phones, warning of high winds and the chance of fires. The strong Santa Ana winds are one of the few weather fluctuations out here, notorious for quickly spreading fires. Add to that the drought. The last real rain we experienced was back in May 2024. It’s been eight months since any measurable amount of precipitation was recorded. The vast terrain of hills and city streets was as dry as ever — a worryingly perfect landscape for a fire to travel quickly.

Early Tuesday, the winds slowly and steadily increased. While our daily lunchtime walk was normal, albeit tremendously breezy, it wasn’t until the evening that things got progressively worrisome.

After hearing a news reporter recommend it, we downloaded “Watch Duty,” an app that meticulously maps and sends breaking wildfire alerts. Over the next few days, hours would be spent fretfully checking this resource. It’s strange how suddenly a free app on your iPhone has the power to tell you if your house is about to burn down or not.

By 6:15 p.m., it happened. A fire notice in our area popped up on the app. What’s now known as the Eaton Fire would go on to burn approximately 14,117 acres, kill at least 17 people and destroy thousands of structures. The Pasadena and Altadena areas would soon be repeatedly described as looking “apocalyptic” and “like a warzone.” This is a few miles from our doorstep.

But on this first day, you try to remain optimistic. You hope it avoids people and neighborhoods. You hope the winds die down enough so firefighters can do their job.

Sadly, that first night, that didn’t happen. The winds prevented aircraft from dropping water in hard-to-reach canyons. The other central fire zone, the “Palisades Fire,” which burned over the Pacific Coast, was also propelled by strong high-pressure winds that clocked in at 50 to 80 miles per hour. Abandoned cars blocking emergency personnel from reaching fires were bulldozed out of the way by city officials. News reports lit up every channel in LA. It was apparent this wasn’t going to be just another fire.

And then, 45 minutes into the Eaton Fire, the power goes out in our neighborhood. Being a rookie, my phone was only half charged. Huge mistake. I didn’t even own a flashlight! Luckily, my booklight was fully charged. I regretted not taking those first emergency alerts seriously. I should have been better prepared.

As daytime turned into nighttime, the Santa Ana winds shook tree branches and garage doors so ferociously that it created a constant, percussive clatter. With fading smartphone batteries and no TV to block out the ominous clanking outside, we only checked the Watch Duty app occasionally. We needed to save our batteries. I considered going to my car to charge up a bit, but the winds were too strong. Crossing paths with a falling tree branch was possible, and — back during the 2013 ice storm in Michigan — a neighbor of mine was killed after he stepped on a downed powerline in his backyard. I never forgot that sad event. So, I decided I’d stay indoors until the winds died down.

By midnight, the fire is only bigger, and the winds are not slowing. But we’re exhausted. An out-of-control fire is a short drive away, and now you have to … sleep? Never have I rested so lightly. And  in what seemed like five minutes later, Nicole woke me up at 3:30 a.m. because the fire had significantly increased and was moving in our direction. Other smaller fires were also cropping up in nearby areas. Feeling uneasy is an understatement, so we decided to evacuate.

If LA traffic wasn’t so congested, we could have held out longer, but we knew the longer we waited, the higher chance of getting caught in a bottlenecked traffic jam was possible. It was still early, so we decided to get a jump on getting out of the affected areas.

At this moment, I filled my first “go bag,” which is, in short, what you NEED to take with you because when you return, your home and everything in it might be gone. With only three hours of sleep at best, this task is challenging. Still, I grabbed a duffel bag and moved through the house, trying to prioritize a lifetime of possessions in a matter of minutes. The photo albums from the closet came first and then came the fireproof box with birth certificates and other vital documents. My laptop and my work hard drives were also packed up.

But then came the more complex decisions. My bookshelf, crammed with dog-eared novels and marked-up notebooks, was impossible to touch. My favorite leather jacket? Replaceable. The record collection I’d spent years curating? It was painful, but it had to stay. Just then, we get an evacuation warning push notification. The bag grew heavier as the moments shrank shorter. Some things you can replace. Some things you cannot. The line between the two had never been more apparent in that moment. Not to mention, our safety was also a mounting concern. And that concern grew further when I raced to our car to load our go-bags in the trunk. From our street, you could see the fires burning in the distance. I knew it was time to go. And we felt terrible for the people who were close to the fire.

At this point, we didn’t even know where we were going. We needed to charge our phones and look at maps. We needed to check the fire app and be sure we would not drive into a fire. So, at first, we simply drove away from the black cloud. We drove toward the small portion of the sky that was still untouched by smoke. That led us to an IHOP breakfast joint near the Los Feliz neighborhood. And, bizarrely, it was open. A historic fire was breaking out across LA and IHOP employees were there, being polite and working. I was never so appreciative that they showed up for work that day, though it’s unfortunate they were expected to do so. Over breakfast, Nicole and I decided to drive an hour south to Long Beach. No fires were in that area, and one hour is the max I could safely drive on little sleep in heavy traffic.

We evacuated to our hotel with a black haze and red sun looming overhead. That was our first evacuation. It was ill-planned, but somehow, it worked out well. Though, with your last thoughts being the flames across the way from your house, the uneasy feeling doesn’t go away. It ebbs and flows. You try your best to block out negative thoughts while preparing for the worst.

Over the next few days, we remained glued to our hotel TV. News reports were not good. The fires were not quickly contained. As I type this, the Eaton Fire is only 33 percent contained. Images of blazing hills and ashes where houses used to be are on a loop on every news channel. The Watch Duty app sends constant updates: Some of it is good news, most is terrible. The Kenneth Fire breaks out. The Hollywood Hills lit up but was luckily promptly extinguished and didn’t spread far.

The brave emergency workers, some of whom had traveled far away to help, were dealing with a Whac-A-Mole situation. As of now, it’s unclear if this was caused by flying embers or arson. As of now, 24 people have perished. More than 100,000 are displaced. Over 12,000 homes and businesses are now rubble. So, while we had to deal with a profoundly stressful week, it goes without saying: We are lucky. I am as lucky as I have ever felt about anything. As I type this, our house remains untouched by the Eaton Fire.

We got word that our power was finally back on Friday night after being off since Tuesday. The Eaton Fire was 15 percent contained. With those shreds of good news, we decided to head home. On our porch, a light dusting of ash covered the steps, carried to our door by the Santa Ana winds.

Comments

No comments on this item Please log in to comment by clicking here

v


Connect with us