We pass along a note from Craig Heberer, a friend of Russ Snow’s who is organizing a helping hand for Russ:
With input from Dave Itano, Ben Meyer, Russ’ wife Cindy, and myself…Glenn Itano has developed a webpage to provide information on how you can help brother Russ Snow get his ranch back up and running after he suffered a heavy loss from the devastating Witch Creek Fire.
One of the great benefits we get from running the Humboldt Fishin’ Lumberjack Charters every year is the time spent with friends and the tight bonds that have formed. Please do what you can to help out one of our own during this time of crisis and recovery. Russ is one of many small farmers in the area trying to keep a tradition alive. We support US businesses at the consumer end, we also need to support them on the producer end. I thank you in advance for whatever level of support you can provide. We will be back up at Russ’ ranch tomorrow to continue with the rebuilding process. Anyone who is in the immediate area is welcome to join the work party.
Please pass this email and weblink on to any friends and associates who would like to contribute to the effort.
Regards,
CraigHere’s the link to the webpage:
http://www.pomoxis.com/hflj/snowy/
Scroll down the page on that website and you will see photos of the damage to Russ’ property.
The email below was written by one of Russ’ neighbors and printed in the Los Angeles Times;
E-mail: Life and death on Highland Valley Road
Los Angeles Times Staff Writer
October 27, 2007This e-mail was sent to Times reporters following a story last week about the survival and deaths of residents on Highland Valley Road in Escondido. The Times verified that the author was one of the many victims of the Witch fire.
Dear Times Writers,
Thank you for your article about the fire deaths earlier this week. I am relatively new to the area, and although it is a close community, I cannot recall ever meeting the people mentioned in the story. I will, however, confirm that neither I, nor my neighbor John Snow received reverse 911 calls. For me, it was a false sense of security. The news went off air at midnight (as if the fires were going to stop moving) and we were left with our cell phones to contact those “upstream” to find out what was happening. (((I started to write the following description as a factual recollection, but realize now as I re-read that it becomes a “bit” flowery…Please excuse my lack of objectivity.))))
I live on the leeward (west) side of Starvation Mountain, so, that night, I would drive my car to the “saddle” at the top of my driveway every half hour or so and try to see if there were any flames…and I never did, at least not from that spot. I also set an egg timer for 30 minutes and would doze off to nap.
At Midnight, I became concerned as the smoke high overhead began to shift. I sprayed fire retardant “barricade” onto the decks and pergola of my “fireproof” design home at midnight and tried to quiet the pets as the winds howled outside.
I also went out with the chainsaw at about 1 AM and trimmed a few remaining trees from proximity to North side of the house. I rent a room to a retired (23 year old) U.S. marine who did 3 tours in Iraq, but he was out of town on business. Because I was by myself, the ordeal was even more nerve wracking. I had called him earlier in the evening and left a voice mail about whether I should take anything of his, should I need to evacuate. He didn’t call back until the following day…..
After trimming the trees, I made a decision to disconnect the horse trailer from the back of my truck because there would be no time to load my 4 llamas and I did not relish the thought of having to turn or back up, the trailer on the winding road below, should it become necessary to evacuate. The llamas would hopefully “cush” and wait out any possible fire in the middle of the pasture. At 3 AM I made another visit to the top of the drive, and although no fire or severe smoke could be detected, the winds were howling at what I would estimate was a near consistent 65 MPH. Although concerned, the Cedar fire had passed dangerously close to the southeast, and I hoped, based on what the last newscasts had said, that this fire would pass to the north, close to the Wild Animal Park, or burn out in the sod farms on the Valley floor.
In fact, the news had mentioned evacuations of the valley below, but nothing on the mountain nor upper or lower Highland Valley. I noted the flashing lights of what I presumed was a police car at the intersection below of Highland Valley Road and Bandy Canyon, which were easily seen, and not obscured by smoke.
I had watched the flashing lights for hours as the cars full of people had streamed by as they evacuated Ramona. I decided that I had done all I could and laid back for a 30 minute nap as the egg time counted down. At 3:15, I was awakened by a cell phone call from my neighbor Russ, who was about a half mile east of me at his father’s house. His question was straight forward… “Do you have embers?…We have embers here!”
As I sat forward and gazed out the window, I couldn’t see much through the thick smoke, except the swirling embers of various sizes moving in every direction possible. I had to suspend disbelief and remember that I had a concrete roof, because surely the roof was on fire! I gathered 2 of my 3 cats into a carrier. The third was semi feral, and when she ran off, I decided I just didn’t have time to catch her.
I put on my respirator and formulated my plan. When I went outside to stuff the carrier into the passenger side door of my Dodge Dakota, I realized momentarily that I thought my hair would catch fire. There were embers everywhere. My respirator (not a dust mask!) didn’t really allow me to gauge the degree of smoke, but I am sure it is one of the things that saved my life that night. When I went back to the house to get the dogs, they would have nothing of it! I forcefully dragged a 90 pound greyhound and a 120 pound Irish Wolfhound to the rear of the truck and threw them into the back as I slammed the tailgate and closed the window.
I started the engine and looked up as I saw the sky above one of my neighbor’s house glow red. I pulled out of my drive and headed toward her house and saw the hillside below her house completely engulfed, with flames shooting 30 feet ahead of their bases. I drove to her house and honked frantically, unsure if she and her boyfriend were asleep or had left. I made the hard decision not to exit the truck to knock on the door because I knew that going outside would surely be my end. My life was a known.
I did not know where my neighbors Chris and Annie were, and I hoped that they had left without my knowledge, but realized that I might have to live with the knowledge that my action, or lack thereof may have resulted in their deaths.
I made a quick 3 point turn on the narrow drive and sped down the 15% grade, dodging the avocado boughs and 2×4 supports that littered the driveway. The larger branches danced almost casually as the embers skittered around them.
When I got to the level area that was the next neighbors’ (Art and Lisa) drive, I was relived to see them loading their dogs into their car. We briefly discussed the merits of which direction to take because as we looked around, it was apparent that we were surrounded by fire.
The news pictures of “lines” of fire did not apply. There was fire everywhere, in every direction. Thick smoke obscured some of our ability to see, but it was clear that we needed to move…Now!
As I performed yet one more 3 point turn, I spotted Russ, the neighbor that had called me, at the end of the driveway. Russ had grown up in the valley, and on the mountain, and if anyone knew how to get us out of there, it was him! I pulled in behind his pickup as the embers, flames, and smoke swirled everywhere. My little world of existence was the 10 feet between the glow of his tail lights and my truck.
As we moved carefully, but hastily onto and down Highland Valley Road, the image was surreal. We were in hell. Fire surrounded us, and in the areas where we couldn’t see flames, because of the thick smoke, we knew it was there by the heat that pierced the shroud of vaporized grasses and trees that moments before had been dry brush. We crept along and I looked in my rear view mirror and could no longer see Art and Lisa.
I tried to focus and think about myself and my pets, but was distracted by the worries that they may have become disoriented and gone off the road.
I followed Russ as the pace became slower and slower as the smoke grew thicker and thicker. I was sure the heat from the nearby burning trees was going to shatter my windows and burn me alive. I started to think about the one thing I had left behind…my handgun. I was not prepared to burn alive and began to think of it as a certainty. I panicked as Russ came to a near complete stop as he surveyed the road ahead of him…”What’s he doing?” I thought to myself.
I didn’t know if he needed me to back up, so I stopped and placed my hand on the gearshift as a preparation to shift into reverse, just as he again moved forward. The caravan moved slowly down the steep, winding grade. We watched as smoke and flames licked up over the guardrail to our left, and smothered the hillside to our right. A date palm that had always born scars of fires past was fully engulfed as we passed. I again began to panic. When would we be out of the flames? Why weren’t we in the clear?
Those 3 miles, were the longest of my life. When we finally punched through into clear air, we didn’t stop. Russ took us to a safe distance, where his father(John) and step mother(Nancy) had pulled off just ahead of us. Art and Lisa arrived shortly thereafter. We all hugged and cried but realized we needed to get out of there. We got into our respective vehicles and moved on down the valley.
I found out the next day that Annie and Chris had left their house at midnight….
I drove on to my mother’s house in Point Loma and I noticed that my heart didn’t slow down for several hours. I have never been that scared in my life, and hope to never be so scared again. When the firefighters moved on, and the smoke cleared, I found that my house was gone. Somehow, in perspective to the events during our evacuation, the loss of my house and almost everything I own didn’t seem to matter so much.
It was really the perfect storm…maybe nothing could have been done..but….Good neighbors are better than the government and the broadcast news stations, especially when you live in the “sticks.”
The city of San Diego’s poor financial state has made them drag their feet or downright refuse to repair a road that washed out in the rains a few years ago (Ysabelle creek road), which probably severely hampered the response times of “first responders” from the 78 Highway on the north side of the San Pasqual Valley…We have been trying to get this road repaired, and I will not go into the details here. Thanks for a good story, even with the tragic ending.My llamas came through unharmed……Let me know if you would like more information or others to whom you might want to speak, and again, sorry for the “less than literary’ presentation. Andy– Andrew Klotz, DVMVeterinary Consulting and Genuine California Hass Avocado Farmer