On January 8, 2025, I was already glued to the local news, listening to updates about the Palisades Fire (about 8 miles west of me) and the Eaton Fire (about 20 miles east of me).
And then around 6 p.m. came some terrifying news: After a full day of new fires popping up seemingly everywhere, there was yet another blaze, just 3.5 miles northeast of where I live.
I looked out the second-story window at the front of our building, and I could see the flames. The Hollywood Hills were on fire.
And then I got a screaming alert on my phone that I was in an evacuation warning zone.
This was new for me, after living in "the flats" for
nearly 14 years. I always thought if we were in danger of anything, it was of a tall skinny palm tree toppling over onto my car parked on the street.
But by then both the Palisades and Eaton fires had destroyed more of their respective city areas—nearly the entirety of Pacific Palisades and Altadena—than anyone ever thought could happen.
As it turns out, the warning on my phone was a false alarm for me—but I was, in fact, less than a mile down the hill from the real evacuation warning zone.
I took a shower (which I hadn't done in days) and washed my hair (which I hadn't done in over a week). I packed a suitcase to take along with my already-packed "go bag."
And then I got back into bed and let my cat fall back to sleep on me. I watched the news. And I waited for the official word to "go."
There were so many fire crews in the area at that point, and there were so many first responders already on high alert, that the Sunset Fire—which erupted on the western ridge of
Runyon Canyon—spread neither to the residential areas of Nichols Canyon or Laurel Canyon, nor the historic commercial district of Hollywood Boulevard.
But there were a few places that were in the crosshairs—and we might've lost, had the winds been stronger that night.
Today I went to assess the damage and get some proof of life of what was saved. I could see the charred hillside from a little father south on Fuller Avenue (above).
