Shortly after my wife and I bought our all-wood Victorian home in Malibu in 2000, our next-door neighbor had a garage sale, and I watched as a truck pulled up in front of my house with a surfboard on top. I’d recently learned to surf since moving from New York and went to ask the owner about conditions. Soon, Tim was offering to show me all of the town’s secret surf spots.
Before he drove off, he said something I’ve never forgotten. “You know you’re going to have to fight a wildfire one day to save this house.”
I’d only lived around big cities. Didn’t you just dial 911 when a wildfire came? He explained that firefighters would likely be overwhelmed by the size and ferocity of these fast-moving, wind-driven wildfire events. He and his father had saved their nearby family home themselves in a previous fire.
True to his word, Tim took me surfing to spots where you needed a key just to get in. Between rides on uncrowded waves, he listed the items I’d need to save my home, including a fire retardant just like what the fire departments drop from planes and helicopters. Apparently, we were to spray our own house in advance of the fire. I never imagined I’d use any of it.
Then in 2018, the Woolsey Fire burst alive in the mountains above my home. The blaze turned out to be one of the most destructive in California history, burning 100,000 acres, forcing 250,000 people to evacuate and destroying nearly 2,000 homes and structures. On my street, 17 of 19 homes burned to the ground. Because of Tim and our spraying, our Victorian was one of the few homes to survive.
Last week, Tim’s childhood home burned to the ground in the Palisades Fire. His parents had both died in the last few years, and the house was unoccupied while the children decided what to do with it. No one was close enough to get there and spray it when the flames started coming. It still held the family’s pictures, heirlooms and mementos of more than 50 years.
I know what’s next for the families who have lost their homes around Los Angeles in the last week; I’ve seen it up close. The Red Cross often leaves sifters at burned-out homes. Made of wood with a mesh screen, residents use them like old-fashioned gold diggers to sort through the rubble. The fires burn so hot that it’s rare for anything to make it through. Most people sift for a few hours and give up. It is exhausting work, going through the charred remains of your home hoping to find that one thing that hasn’t been destroyed.
Most people are unable to fathom losing everything they’ve owned. A teenage girl who’d lost the only bedroom she’d ever had in the Woolsey Fire told me the trauma made her never want to have children. Six years later, neighbors on my street still have not rebuilt.
There’s never a shortage of people who need help during a wildfire. On Thursday I received a text from my doctor, who had been ordered to evacuate the Palisades days earlier; he was desperate to know whether his home had survived. He and his wife, like most people, had evacuated with just the shirts on their backs.
I drove toward the fire zones, thinking I was prepared for what I would see: homes burned down to the chimney, a scorched moonscape that Malibuites are all too familiar with.
But the decimation I saw was beyond description. At various points as I drove along the Pacific Coast Highway, I became disoriented. I’ve driven up and down that highway nearly every day for 25 five years; now, landmarks and buildings of all kinds were gone on both sides of the road. Sections of the ocean that have always been obscured were now visible. At one point, I had to pull over to figure out where I was.
I picked up my doctor, who told me that 45 of his patients had lost their homes. “They’ve been calling me all day, stunned, just to talk.” I wondered what I would say if we found that his home was gone.
As we entered his neighborhood, the homes seemed untouched. “You’re looking good,” I said, and immediately regretted it. As I continued driving higher into the neighborhood, burned homes started to appear—at first just one here or there, but as we rose, more and more. At a certain point, every home we could see—behind us, in front, to both sides—was destroyed.
Then we reached his home. It was one of only a few on his block that had survived. It was good news, but I didn’t have the heart to tell him that he’d be living in a hazardous waste area for months and a construction zone for years. The local energy company, Southern California Edison, is preparing residents for a long wait to see their power restored. On the way out of the neighborhood, we ran into a fleet of LAPD officers making an arrest for looting, another problem he can expect in the aftermath.
Back on the Pacific Coast Highway heading home just after sunset, the road was dark and empty. Occasionally, I came upon a hotspot along the highway where crews were still battling flames and attempting to save homes.
People often ask me what homeowners can do to avoid the sorrow of losing their home from a wildfire without putting themselves in danger or relying only on luck.
The answer is quite a lot, actually. Spraying, or gelling, in advance of a fire is just one way to give your home a fighting chance to survive. (If no fire comes, the product can be power-washed off.) Removing dry brush and dead leaves and the most flammable vegetation is another critically important step. Experts I’ve interviewed say the most significant thing homeowners can do to mitigate fire risk is to reduce the amount of available fuel.
Before the Woolsey Fire, a nearby neighbor couple had a grove of highly flammable eucalyptus and pine trees on their property, some more than a hundred feet high. California had been in drought conditions regularly since 2012, and everything on their property looked like kindling. Concerned neighbors attempted to get them to trim the trees or clear their brush, but they refused. It was no surprise when their house was incinerated during the fire.
The surprise came after the fire, when the wife sent me a letter apologizing for their inaction and promising to do things differently in the future. Today, they have a new fire-hardened home.
But the risk isn’t just of losing your home. Someone in L.A.’s Glendale area told me this week that the firestorms hadn’t affected them. “Did you smell smoke?” I asked. When they said yes, I explained that when homes burn, we are inhaling the remains of refrigerators, washers, dryers, stereo systems, insulation materials, chemicals, tools and anything else that couldn’t withstand the 2,000-degree heat.
With climate change, it seems likely that California and other western states will have more fires, which means that every agency, every elected official and every homeowner needs to do better in the future. We need more water to fight fires, more reservoirs to store the water and more firefighters with the right kind of equipment to battle these massive wind-driven blazes. We need to consider expensive but critical proactive solutions like putting more power lines underground.
Communities like mine have even started a fire brigade where Malibu locals work in conjunction with L.A. County officials to assist with evacuations in order to free up firefighters. Friends of mine spent their weekends at a fire academy crawling into burning buildings and putting out cars on fire, and they have been putting their training to use in recent days.
I haven’t found the moxie to sign up yet, but they did give me an honorary T-shirt. For now, I’m going to stick to spraying and doing what I can to stay out of harm’s way.
Robert Kerbeck is the author of “Malibu Burning: The Real Story Behind L.A.’s Most Devastating Wildfire” and “Ruse: Lying the American Dream from Hollywood to Wall Street,” a memoir of his career in corporate espionage.
Robert Kerbeck has seen the devastation of California’s wildfires up close for years and has ideas for how homes can be saved from a fiery future.