‘Again?’: From blizzards to fires, mountain folk adapt to a life of chaos
The San Bernardino Mountains are under siege once again.
A year and a half after a blizzard buried neighborhoods up to the eaves in snow, the Line fire is raging on the mountainside, torching thousands of acres and forcing communities to evacuate.
The flames brought a veil of smoke and a hint of chaos to Running Springs on Tuesday. Ash and angst, looming skies of orange and gray.
Folks in Running Springs have been here before: the burning eyes, scratchy throats, time eking by as they anxiously awaited their fate. As firefighters battled flames a few miles away, some were defying evacuation orders and staying put.
After a heat wave struck Southern California, fires erupt across the Southland, burning hundreds of thousands of acres while threatening homes.
The town’s roads were empty, save for a handful of fire trucks, a couple on a motorcycle and a white pickup truck emblazoned with an American flag and eagle blasting Bruce Springsteen’s “I’m on Fire” through its rolled-down windows. Its neighborhoods — of matchlight pines and piney cabins — were eerie and quiet.
But in the Village Market convenience store, life was bustling.
Kevin Pefley had been running the place single-handedly the past four days, supplying provisions to those who stayed behind. Damaged electrical lines killed the power in some areas, so the shop was running on a diesel-fueled generator supplied by members of the community.
“We’re mountain people. We stick together,” he said.
Village Market was the only place open in town, and Pefley had a constant flow of customers stocking up on the essentials — water, meat and protein bars — and the nonessentials for coping — candy, booze and scratch-offs.
His phone chirped every few minutes as locals called for updates on the fire or just to see whether he’s open.
“Hey, what did I tell you,” he said to a husky, hirsute man walking in shirtless. He returned a minute later wearing a jean jacket vest, unbuttoned.
Close enough.
“We’re open 365 days a year,” he said, noting that he kept the place open throughout the 2023 blizzard, known locally as Snowmageddon. “People need food and need to know what’s going on. I’m a communicator.”
“And I’m the court jester,” customer Scott Richardson chimed in.
Richardson has lived in Running Springs for 35 years and has no plans to leave. Half of his house burned down in 2007. He never considered moving; he just rebuilt it.
“During the blizzard I got snowed in. Now there’s fire. It’s always something,” Richardson said. Living here “ain’t for the weak.”
Down Highway 18 across from Rim of the World High School, evacuees crowded onto overlooks to catch a glimpse of the mountain flank and see which way the fire was heading. Onlookers watched silently, angling for a better view like villagers watching a huffing dragon approach their castle walls.
“Again?” asked Sarah Arthur, who moved to Lake Arrowhead during the pandemic. “Every few years, there’s a new natural disaster to contend with.”
Arthur was heading down the mountain to stay with her sister. But not every mountain resident has that option.
Kevin Cordes has lived in Running Springs for seven years, working as a lift mechanic at Snow Valley Mountain Resort. He runs with a big crew: his girlfriend, their children, three dogs, two chickens, a lizard and tortoise.
As of Tuesday, they hadn’t evacuated. But if the winds picked up and pushed the fire into the town, he planned to take the family to Las Vegas, where he has five complimentary nights at a hotel saved up. The chickens, lizard and tortoise, though, would have to stay with a friend in San Bernardino.
“I haven’t left yet because I’m not sure when we’ll be able to come back,” Cordes said. “I can handle a few days, but I can’t afford to pay for a place beyond that.”
For many, the decision to stay hinged on anxiety over whether they’d ever see their homes again. Caltrans was blocking access to the town. People could leave, but they couldn’t come back in.
Others seemed resistant to climb down the mountain and reenter the cities and society below. One man, who declined to provide his name, said he won’t leave town because he’s a “Class A criminal.”
“Enough said,” he said with a sly grin.
Over the weekend as police urged people to either skip town or stay in their homes, Cordes found himself sneaking around, hiding in bushes so he could pop from overlook to overlook, keeping tabs on the fire.
After his power went out, Tony Rodriguez, 47, rode his electric scooter over to LuluBelle’s Coffee House and Bakery to charge his phone before stopping at Village Market for water, chorizo and a Reese’s Fast Break bar.
Rodriguez, a chef at PineCrest Christian Conference Center, has lived in the mountains his entire life.
His car was packed for a quick escape just in case, but he said social media helped him know where the fire was heading and when would be the right time to run. But for now, he was staying put.
“Break-ins happen. People see the evacuations and try to take advantage of no one being home,” he said. “So for those of us still here, we keep an eye on things.”
Firefighter John Clingingsmith was monitoring the fire from the main drag in Running Springs, making himself available to anyone who had questions or needed help.
Clingingsmith was fueled by adrenaline, he said. That and the satisfaction of helping people in their time of need.
“I got bit by the bug,” Clingingsmith said, looking to the sky as a smoke column rose vertically a few miles away from Running Springs. He’s a second-generation firefighter, and he’s been doing it for 32 years.
The community showed its appreciation for the front-line workers. On Highway 18, a hand-painted sign said, “Thank U 2 Firefighters.” At a traffic stop into Running Springs, a resident dropped off a cooler for the Caltrans workers filled with iced tea, Gatorade and bottled water.
As the smoke piled in, Lake Arrowhead resident Doug Roath tooled around town on his bicycle. Given the relatively low winds, he said he was comfortable sticking around for now. But if things picked up, he’d head down the mountain with his two cats, Buddy and Sissy, tucked in his backpack.
“I dealt with flash floods in Forest Falls. During Snowmageddon, I got trapped in my trailer,” he said. “It’s apocalyptic up here, but you get used to it.”
Roath said he’ll stick with mountain life to the bitter end. If the town burns down, he’ll help rebuild it. He’d rather live among the disasters of the hills than the crime and chaos of the city.
“I’d rather dodge boulders than bullets,” he said. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna go grab a margarita.”
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