The Fog Of War
Something is different this morning. Gone are the blue skies directly overhead. The smell of smoke is heavy in the air. Ash gently rains down, coating the car, the sidewalk -- everything -- in a black and grey grit. The phone rings around 7:30 a.m. with news that my dad has received a "reverse 911" call, ordering him to evacuate his house north of Escondido. He's become one of 340,000 households that have been told to flee, making it the largest evacuation in California's history.
New fires up near Fallbrook and Valley Center -- the ones coating my house in ash and blocking the sun in a Mordor-like sepia haze -- are now dangerously close to where my dad lives. The Valley Center "Poomacha" blaze is especially troubling. It's growing rapidly and moving fast.
My dad gathers up some important belongings and heads over to my house to watch the fire's next move.
But just where is it heading? Looking at the map, his house looks directly downwind from the Poomacha fire. Bad news, that. But getting an accurate read on the fire's direction is tough. News reports are vague or incomplete or conflicting. It's the fog of war.
Finally, by the late afternoon, we figure out that while the Poomacha fire has grown to cover 23,000 acres, it's mostly threatening Palomar Mountain and not where my dad lives. Now, at 9:00 p.m., the winds have died and the moon has reappeared.
Maybe the worst is over.
The somber and smelly sunrise from my house this morning.
The view looking east from the top of Tamarack.
Ash coats everything.
The moon, cast sepia, was still a welcome sight tonight.
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