Ever since I was a child, I have been aware that we lived in a fire zone. Still, I don’t recall there being as many fires in our state as there are now. In fact, we never thought about fire, rather water, when those winds arrived, usually in fall.
Cold, clear fall nights aroused our senses as the screen door clapped against its frame, alerting us that tomorrow would be a good day. The mornings broke hazy with dust and tumbleweeds scattered along the road. A spark of static electricity from touching the car door handle would shock me into gear.
I had never been to Hawaii, but I still recall thinking that our little waves, fanned as they were into perfect triangles, looked like those Surfer Magazine dream photos of the Islands.
In our youth we didn’t know they were called Santa Ana winds. We didn’t need to name them, we felt them — warm winds that blew in great possibilities. They scrubbed the face of a wave clean and held our boards high in the lip for a moment before allowing us drop in. They did not contain dread, but magic.
Our local beach in the early 1960s was Newport Pier, and Dad would take us near there, to 22nd Street, aka Blackies, in honor of the bar that fronted the surf break. Blackies was a good wave, but when the winds funneled in, it was a spectacular one. Perfect.
Something in those winds brought all the senses into play. The sight of the ruffled ocean, clean and clear all the way to Catalina. The smell of sage blowing in from the desert. The touch of the wind in your face. The whistling sounds and those made by the water droplets as they landed like hard rain behind each wave.
A coming Santa Ana was a source of great joy.
That was before the great fires. With a circular firing squad of finger pointing, there’s enough blame for most everyone — the mismanagement of the forests; vulnerable power lines hanging above what might soon be a scorched earth; the increase in the homeless population; ignorant people throwing lit cigarettes onto the street.
Here are two thoughts on improving matters:
- Make throwing a lit cigarette into the streets a jailable offense, accompanied by a $10,000 fine.
- Install fire rings in homeless encampments and clear the brush around them regularly. (While expensive, this is a thousand times cheaper than rebuilding an entire city.)
Regardless of what actions we take, Santa Ana winds will remain a fact of life for us who live in Southern California. If we take necessary precautions, perhaps we can return to a time where they are anticipated as they once were — celebrated as something that cleansed our world, bringing with them the stoke of life, not the smoke of death.
