En Fuego
We broke camp this morning, wonderfully
refreshed after a weekend of soaking in hot mineral
springs. My back, injured
just a week ago, felt almost like new. After
leisurely loading our vehicles, we ventured back
out onto the dry expanse of Laguna Salada and
headed back toward the border.
Not long after ascending back through "Dead Car
Canyon" and mounting the Rumorosa plateau, we
caught sight of a plume of smoke on the far
horizon. It rose directly in front of us, in the
direction of our destination. As we got closer to
the border, it became evident this was no ordinary
plume of smoke, unless you'd call the explosion
from Mount St. Helens a "plume." We tuned in San
Diego news on the AM radio as soon as we could, but
by that time we already knew disaster was
afoot.
We got across the border at Tecate with but the
shortest of waits, but we'd barely traveled a mile
before the CHP and Border Patrol stopped us,
redirecting traffic to the east. Smoke and flames
blocked our only avenue home, westbound Highway 94.
We debated our options: remain in the U.S. and head
east on the 94, hoping to wait out the closure of
the westbound Interstate 8; or go back across the
border and cross over to Tijuana. We chose the
latter.
Picking our way through Tecate, we found the
expensive toll road that led to Tijuana's Otay Mesa
border crossing. Before long, black clouds
descended upon us as we entered the domain of the
fire. The sun faded from a bright yellow to a
burnished orange and finally to a deep blood red.
Our road took us within a mile or two of the U.S.
border, through a mountain range that straddled the
demarcation. Fire knows no political boundaries,
however. Down the mountainside the flames bounded,
right for our road. At one point, the fire had
jumped the road, and we found ourselves surrounded
by the inferno. We had at least some inkling of
what some of our fellow San Diegans were
experiencing as we outran the fire and made for the
border.
Two hours later, we finally recrossed the border
and returned once again to the U.S. We could see
flames crowning the nearby hills as we continued
northward. Arriving home at last, our nostrils were
filled with the fume of the inferno. It'll be days
before we get rid of the smell, and probably as
long before we see the sun again.
©2003 Michael
Strickland ALL RIGHTS
RESERVED
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