LA Fires

Extreme sadness and sympathy

I was born and raised in the Los Angeles area. From the late 1980s, I lived mainly on the Westside, in Venice, Santa Monica, Brentwood, back to Santa Monica, and then back to Brentwood before my wife and I moved from California in 2011 due to work. In the late 1980s, while in college, I picked up mountain biking, first to cross-train for water polo but then as my main sport until the late 1990s, when I switched to triathlon and trail running.¹

Through the 1990s, I spent countless hours in the Santa Monica Mountains on Backbone Trail above the Palisades, Rustic Canyon, Sullivan Ridge and Canyon, Westridge, and, of course, on dirt Mulholland (starting years before it was closed to through traffic). One of my favorite rides was a six-hour go that began with a road ride from Brentwood, near San Vicente, to climb Mountaingate on my way to dirt Mulholland onward to Backbone above the Palisades. That ride usually included dropping down from the trails to visit the Ralph’s in downtown Palisades to refill my camelback before ascending back to dirt via Capri/Amalfi and continuing onward to the former whoop-de-doos above Kenter. I passed The Hub up on the trails countless times (biking and running). Other favorite rides included Sullivan Ridge with Rustic on the return, including passing through the ruins of a never rebuilt burned-out community and the pre-war Nazi sympathizer camp (apparently called) Murphy Ranch And, of course, Sullivan Canyon and Westridge, with the old radar station for the Nike missile sites that previously sat around the region.

In the late 1990s, my one- to six-hour mountain bike journeys turned into trail runs. I spent countless hours with friends and solo running above the Palisades, usually driving up Palisades Drive (where a close friend lived) to a trailhead I can’t remember the name of or further down Sunset at Los Leones or countless other trailheads up the coast and inland. (Malibu Creek was also a great run, especially since the MASH site was still clean and the jeep and ambulance weren’t yet vandalized. I doubt they are even still there.)

Before the turn of the century, I spent countless hours running Westridge, Sullivan Ridge, and Sullivan Canyon, often to Mulholland and connecting the ridges by the canyonside trails or running to, and fun sections like the so-called (for reasons I could never fathom) Farmer’s Ridge off Mulholland north of the Sullivan fire road. My girlfriend, now wife, often hiked Temescal, as many did.

We got married at a place in Malibu, which is likely ashes now. We got dogs. First, there was Luna (the real Mountainrunner) from the Carson animal shelter. Then we got Teddy from a rescue group at the Palisades farmer’s market, which happened on a streets that are now surrounded not by shops and restaurants but ashes. While Luna was taken to the shelter as part of a litter, Teddy was found in a trash can, just a few weeks old and with a stump for a front left leg. We got him whilst he was still bandaged from the operation to remove the stump a vet volunteered to perform.

Luna with a young Teddy in 2004.

Luna was my running partner. She was great for six to twelve mile runs in the Santa Monicas, mostly Westridge over to farmer’s ridge (sort of a rabbit run of a trail… an old Nash or something laid off the said there) or up Sullivan Canyon. The most I took her was 14 miles, including near the Will Rogers estate, which burned down. Teddy was good for six miles, tops, with his “rear-wheel drive.” He wasn’t a fan of descents but he was a monster on the steep climbs, like the steep arse paths up from Sullivan Canyon to Westridge.

Running with Luna, overlooking Sullivan Canyon and the trail ascending the back end of the Canyon to Sullivan Ridge. We ascended a trail that connected directly with Mulholland. The Palisades and Backbone Trail are the mountains in the distance.

On Sullivan Ridge looking looking west. More precisely, looking at a deer on the trail (between the short tree adjacent to the trail and the tree riding from the far side.

Luna and I encountered a mountain lion twice in Sullivan Canyon. Once, during a just-before-dawn start, this big dog jumped onto the trail and disappeared to the side behind brush. We stopped, and Luna leaned against me (while I carried a leash, she was off-leash almost all the time and responded to audibles like up, down, left, right, thirsty, snack, and wait). My mind’s eye replayed the scene: that tail was long and curled, not like a dog’s tail. The dog didn’t make a sound when they hit the ground. That dog was low to the ground, unlike a dog… oh. Then we heard rustling behind us and to our right. I didn’t know if that was the prey that now felt confident to move, or the cat. I debated bailing on the run, but we were 1 mile into a planned 8 miler, so we continued. The other time was descending the so-called telephone trail from the Sullivan Ridge (I can’t remember if we went up to Mulholland via Westridge or the Canyon) into Sullivan Canyon. Barreling down the zig-zagging trail, the cat was resting in the shade at one of the zags. He, the local female, as I recall, lived near Malibu Lake, decided to bail and we didn’t break stride.²

Then we had kids. We took them to the Palisades to see friends, to eat, to visit the farmer’s market, to go to the trails. We took them to Sullivan canyon because they loved the swing (for a while, there were two swings, one a proper swing with seat and the other with only a loop for a foot) and they could run with the dogs.

The Son (5yrs at the time) running with Luna in Sullivan Canyon.

Ascending the Telephone Pole Trail from Sullivan Canyon to Sullivan Ridge (so named because, you guessed it, a telephone pole was at the path start at the top). The Son is ahead with his camelback and the Daughter is charging up. Teddy was with us on these runs, too.

We returned to the Los Angeles area after Christmas to see family. My wife and son flew back to Boston on Sunday 5 January. Our daughter and I stayed and had lunch in K-Town (Yupdduk, a repeat visit for us). Staying in Santa Monica, we stopped in Beverly Hills and saw the Witch’s House. We got onto Sunset for a drive to the coast and PCH (Pacific Coast Highway). As we drove through Brentwood, I pointed out various landmarks, like the middle school (that was previously a polo field) she and her brother might’ve gone to had we not moved, the road up to the Westridge Trailhead and to Bayliss (for Sullivan Canyon), the way to the Will Rogers Estate (which still had a polo field, as far as I knew), and then through the Palisades town center where I pointed out a bunch of stuff she was too young to remember (or they happened before she was born). We passed Temescal and Pali High, where she might’ve gone to high school, before getting down to PCH. We would’ve turned right for more sightseeing, but it was near dusk. I was on an 8a flight out of LAX Tuesday morning. Due to the weather, the flight took off inland rather than over Dockweiler Beach. Sitting on the plane’s left side, I looked out over the city west of the 405 and the mountains. I could make out some of the fire roads I used to run and ride on. I didn’t know the view and the lives of so many I knew—and didn’t know—were about to be forever changed in just a few hours.

I wasn’t going to post anything, but then an IG reel appeared in my feed showing a plane dropping retardant in Sullivan Canyon. The ridge road is unmistakable, particularly where the paved portion meets the driveway to Camp Josepho and the unpaved fire road and adjacent ridgeline single-track meet. The picture above of Luna looking at a deer is on the single-track 1.5-2mi to the right of this still.

We never lived in the Palisades or Malibu, but those areas were a part of my and my family’s lives for decades. Our hearts go out to the people we knew and lost touch with and those we never knew who lived there. And to those who, like us, have special memories of these lands. And, of course, to those who fight these fires—and the other fires still raging and those contained—and to those helping secure these areas, from the police to utility crews.

This isn’t a great way to start the year. Let’s hope we began with the worst of it. To quote another Substacker, we’re all in this together.

1. My last mountain bike was a custom build I bought (around 1996?) from a bike shop owner I rode with. He took pity on me as he rode behind me on a long stretch of washboard as I bounced around on my rigid, not even a front shock, bike. The aluminum frame, a Dagger (a boutique builder in OC), had Englund air shocks in a RockShox fork and a rear air shock, making the ride very customizable, even mid-ride. All in all, it came in at 22.9 lbs. I later bartered it as I gave up MTB for trail running.

2. Sullivan Canyon has major fuel lines, including natural gas and aviation fuel. After major storms, The Gas Company sends inspectors to ensure the lines are ok. I spoke with an inspector once and asked if he ever saw the Cat. Yup, all the time. He’s usually in a tree looking down. I was sure the Cat probably saw me more than I saw him, but I probably underestimated how often.