Where a Boat Ranks

by Jonathan Lewis

Last night I had to make a quick decision. My phone was shrieking the horrendous but recognizable tone of an emergency event, and the message from San Bernardino County was “evacuate immediately.” The Bridge Fire had “exploded” and the GO order without the usual WARNING message that precedes it was slapping us in the face.

The sky had been full of smoke and ash all afternoon and the sun was obscured by the thickening blanket of a fire-manufactured cloud cover. We’d checked the progress of the blaze closest to our home (there were and are two other large infernos currently burning) so we interpreted the available information and surmised that our day turning to night was the result of wind-blown debris and not the actual firestorm encroaching on our mountain village. We checked and double-checked data from CalFire and other reputable sources. No worries, just close your windows and stay inside because of the poor air quality. Well, if only that were true.

With so little time to react, we had to prioritize our efforts. Betsy started packing a few essentials like passports, insurance information and gathering some boat gear (sails, battens, a coconut coir brick for the composting toilet) and I went out to open the gate and hitch our beloved Townsend Tern to the truck. I have a small classic motorcycle collection and an old Porsche 911 but there was no doubt in either of our minds which item was most precious in the hierarchy, after each other of course. We couldn’t drive off and leave the boat behind.

We turned down the road to Highway 2 and joined the slow moving serpent of vehicles,making our way through the darkness and snowlike ash. A phalanx of police cars, fire trucks and heavy equipment rushed by in the opposite lane, piercing the night with flashing lights and sirens. Our initial thought was to go a nearby high desert town and park in the local supermarket lot for the night, safe from any of the flammable material that had been fueling the ferocity of the fire. However, the sheriff’s department was blocking that route so we were forced to flee the high country and go south through the Cajon Pass and enter the Inland Empire, the doorstep to the San Gabriel and San Bernardino Mountain ranges.

We were stressed, exhausted and smelled of smoke. Much of the ash was blown from the truck and boat by the airflow resulting from highway travel speeds. Betsy found an evacuation shelter online and we soon settled in a large parking lot next to a National Guard truck and a building populated by Red Cross volunteers and evacuees.

We checked in, got some water, and unlike everyone else, returned to our craft to attempt to get some shuteye. As the fire raged thousands of feet above us, our little trailersailer once again provided us with comfort and shelter from a storm.

We all know boats aren’t just things. We subscribe to this magazine because we know that boats aren’t possessions. In fact, they possess us.

Stay safe out there. •SCA•