California National Park Road Trips
For Wheelchair-Users and Slow Walkers

Author’s Backstory

A Healing Journey to Redwoods, Volcanoes and Waterfalls

A Firestorm Like No Other

I woke up early that Labor Day Saturday. Not because I had big plans, but because of the awful stench of smoke that was wafting through my window. Smoke is never a good thing when you live in the forest, and I’ve always been wary about it. Turns out I had good reason to be on guard. A fire had started the night before in Big Creek and it destroyed most of the town. It was still burning the next morning, and then the winds picked up.

I could hear the air tankers overhead for part of the morning. Then they stopped. That’s when I knew we were in trouble. The smoke got thicker and I knew air support was grounded due to zero visibility. That’s when we made the decision to leave. But not before we had one last meal at our Alder Springs home. We sat down at the Ponderosa Pine bar that Charles had crafted and ate in silence.

Then we proceeded to evacuate, in an orderly if not somber manner. I knew when I locked the door that it would be the last time I would see my house. I felt it in my bones. Even though the fire was on the other side of the ridge I knew it was bad. I’m a mountain girl and I grew up in Alder Springs. I remember my dad always reminding me, “Enjoy every day you have here, cause it can all be gone in a heartbeat.” I said a silent farewell to my home and took one last look at the forest with the Minarets in the distance, before I hopped in the truck and drove away with Charles.

The next day the official evacuation order was issued for our area. The fire was still burning up the ridge. On Tuesday September 8 it destroyed Cressman’s Store, crossed Pine Ridge, then burned down the hill. Alder Springs was completely destroyed at about 1:30 PM, but it would be several days before our loss was officially confirmed. We were on pins and needles during that time in limbo. Civilians were not allowed into the burned areas because it was still dangerous, so we just waited.

Finally, several days later my neighbor — a retired sheriff — walked down and took photos for us. The other shoe dropped. There was almost nothing left to our small community. I was told that the fire burned downhill at 50 to 60 mph. I couldn’t even imagine that. But it was a relief to be out of limbo. Finally the healing could begin.

We filed a claim with our insurance company, but homeowners were still prohibited from entering the evacuation zone. Since I had a book to write on California national park road trips, and there was nothing I could do about the house, Charles and I hit the road for a research trip.

On the Road Again

People cope with loss in a variety of ways, but Charles and I threw ourselves into our work. And we did what we do best as a team — research, write and photograph sites for travel books for slow walkers and wheelchair-users. And along the way we gained some closure, resolution and some much needed mental healing.

Our fist stop on our post-fire research trip was Lassen Volcanic National Park. Unfortunately the Creek Fire was not the only fire burning in CA, and the North Complex Fire blew a good deal of smoke into Lassen during our visit. This ultimately triggered PTSD in both of us, as we flashed back to the same menacing smell that surrounded us during our evacuation. For me this resulted in fitful sleep and vivid dreams. I’d even wake up to see the walls of our former bedroom, instead of the inside of our tent. Those first few days were pretty intense.

Then on the third day the smoke cleared and we enjoyed the natural beauty of the park. We took solace in the rebirth that Lassen experienced after the devastating 1921 volcanic eruption, and realized that recovery was indeed possible. On a subsequent hike we struck up a conversation with another hiker. Turns out she lost her home to a wildfire back in 2000. She said that planting trees helped her heal, and her new home is once again surrounded by the forest. That was a ray of hope for us, and we both realized that moving ahead was indeed a possibility.

That evening we talked about our future around the campfire. We both realized that the forest would regenerate, but we didn’t want to wait 20 years for greenery. We decided that we would not rebuild in Alder Springs. I looked at Charles and said, “Where do you want to build?” And two seconds later, we both said “Northeastern Washington.” And so it was decided. We at least had the beginnings of a plan to move forward.

At Prairie Creek Redwoods we continued to talk about the future. The quail that wandered through our campsite reminded us of the coveys that lived in Alder Springs. We we serenaded each night by a chorus of frogs, which also brought back old home memories. Then one day we saw a chimney tree on our hike. It was burned and hollowed out ,yet it remained standing strong. Just like us — Mountain Strong. We eventually realized that this was the first time we had ever gotten to actually choose where we would live, and that was an empowering and even energizing moment. We had regained control of our lives.

We continued on to Burney Falls, where we camped next to a group of neighbors who visited with us. This is where I grieved the loss of our mountain community — the Heavenly Half Marathon, Saturday waffles at the Senior Center, and even dump runs. Our camping neighbors helped me work through my loss, with their sense of camaraderie and community. I realized that my mountain community wasn’t gone, but it would just likely take another form in the future.

Our last stop was Jedediah Smith Redwoods, but we had to drive through yet another fire to get there, so that triggered more bad memories. After we arrived, a sense of calm swept over us as we pulled up to our peaceful campsite. Not only was it the largest and most secluded site in the campground, but it also included a fairy circle of redwoods. Then we had some rain — glorious rain — that helped slow the dreadful fires. Our walks though the redwoods were healing, and we continued to talk about our future plans at night. And on the last morning I woke up to the inside of our beautiful green and white Coleman tent, instead of that recurring illusion of the walls of our former bedroom. The healing had begun. We were finally ready to move on.

Revisiting the Aftermath

Moving on required attention to numerous details, including insurance matters. To that end we had to meet our insurance adjustor at the site of our former home. It was a task that neither of us looked forward to, but the positive energy and good vibes from all our friends really helped us through that one.

We hadn’t been back to our property since the fire, so we decided that our first look should be alone, not with the insurance adjustor. It was quite a shock, to say the least. The once verdant forest looked like the scene of a nuclear holocaust. Amazingly enough Charles’ wood splitter survived unscathed, and it was later rehomed with another mountain family. Our plastic water tanks also survived — I didn’t even know how that was possible. The fire burned so hot and fast that it disintegrated our ten cords of firewood. There wasn’t even an ash pile left.

I sat down on a step, and an enormous feeling of calm overcame me. I could feel the positive energy from my friends surrounding me. Some firefighters from Arizona stopped to visit, and asked about my life on the mountain. I will always remember their kindness and compassion.

The next day we met with the adjustor and walked through what was left of our house. We wore N95 masks — not because of COVID-19, but due to the ash and smoke that blanketed the area. After the adjustor left we sifted through the rubble. Charles found our “lucky horseshoe”, and I searched in vain for my dad’s dog tags. Not much survived, but I did find an ugly old figurine and our fish shaped chopstick holders. We still use the chopstick holders today, even though they are a little worse for the wear.

The next week two mountain neighbors helped us harvest our 150-year old alder trees for milling. The bark was burned but the wood itself survived. We had a vision. They would become a mantle for our new fireplace, and a coffee table to adorn our great room. Charles cut up some Ponderosa rounds for table tops for our deck, and threw some cedar lengths in the truck. The latter would eventually be turned on the lathe and crafted into lamps. We brought a piece or two of Alder Springs to our new home. And we will always have our memories of good old Schubert Road.

A few days later, I discovered that looters had taken my sifting screen along with my post hole digger. There was a lot of looting after the fire, which just basically added insult to injury. A friend’s home that survived the fire was vandalized and looted twice. Unfortunately disasters like this also bring out the sickly underbelly of humanity.

Then we left Alder Springs for the last time. It was the end of one chapter and the beginning of another.

A New Beginning

Amazingly enough, once we decided on our path forward, things really started to fall into place. Keep in mind that we were doing all of this in the middle of a pandemic. In any case, we hit the road to Washington and began looking for property near Newport.

The first property we looked at was on the side of a mountain, and that was something we definitely didn’t want. Charles found the second property we looked at, and I told our Realtor that we could go by ourselves, so as not to waste her time. After all, it’s not like we needed her to unlock the door. This property was suppose to be on the corner, but the only “For Sale” sign we found was on a lot located well off the corner. So I sent our Realtor a photo and asked if this was the right lot. After a lot of back and fort with photos and parcel maps we found the right lot, and it didn’t have a “For Sale” sign on it.

We both immediately loved the energy of the property. It was a square, level, treed lot, and it was on the corner of a tertiary road and a short dead end lane. Absolutely perfect. We made an offer, which was accepted the next day. It’s a gorgeous lot, and the ironic thing is, that if there had been a “For Sale” sign on it, it probably would of been snapped up long before we ever saw it. I like to think fate played a part in us locating this ideal parcel.

We also found the perfect rental house quickly in a tight rental market. I met the owner online and had a few phone calls with her and her husband, before we signed the lease, sight unseen. The home wasn’t even finished when we signed the papers. And as luck would have it my new landlord also referred us to a draftsman, who would later draw up the plans for our new home.

And on April Fools Day, we got our building permit. Then we began clearing the lot. Turns out, our next door neighbor also has a mill. He wandered by one day after we had taken out a few larger tamaracks (larch). He quickly chimed it and told us that tamarack was a beautiful wood; and then added that he’d be happy to mill the trees for us. So Charles combined the newly milled tamarack with the alder we brought along, and made some furniture and windowsills for our new home. Mixing the old and new into our life in Newport.

We are moving forward, but will always remember the past. And part of that past is under our new home. A cast iron skillet, some pulverized granite and several pieces of Ponderosa bark — all of which were found in Alder Springs post-fire — were buried in the ground beneath our house. Since we had a stem wall foundation, it’s the closest thing to a cornerstone we could imagine. We did this on May Day — Beltane — because, that’s when they had finished setting the forms. We had planned to do it the day before, but it rained cats and dogs. Again, there are no coincidences on this journey.

And in keeping with my traditional Irish superstition, Charles and I recited this blessing after the items were entombed.

“May this home be a place of happiness, laughter and health; of safety and contentment, generosity and hope. A home of creativity and kindness, of day dreams and memories, and studying and tradition. May those that live here and those who visit know only blessings, peace and love.”

Today we are active in the community and have made many new friends in our new home. Onward and upward with team Candy and Charles, as we continue to remain Mountain Strong.
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