Last week, I was frolicking in the wee hours with actress Maggie Gyllenhaal, (Secretary) and her brother, Academy Award-nominated actor Jake Gyllenhaal (Broke Back Mountain). No, not like that! You do have a filthy mind. Hanging with these hotties took on a more serious tinge when the lodge they were staying at in my town caught fire. I’m a firefighter in Inverness, and spent the night battling the blaze while they were evacuated to safety. A brief account of the night follows:
This Fire Fought Back
When the sh*t hits the fan, it usually does so in the dead dark of night. True to form, as hurricane force winds ripped through West Marin, disaster came knocking once again in the wee hours. The piercing tone my fire pager yanked me from a deep sleep, and I knew right away this call was serious. Most times the dispatch simply issues a generic response for “Inverness Fire.” Grabbing a flashlight to slice through the black veil of the power outage, I heard the litany squawking forth from my pager, “Engine 380, Engine 1584, Chief 300...” The adrenaline rush kicked in as the list kept growing while I pulled on some shoes and headed for the door. The rush spiked with the chilling end of the initial dispatch, “... possible structure fire, 30 Callender Way.”
Mike Meszaros and I were out of the station and underway in Engine 380 immediately. Over the radio, we heard Jim Fox announce he was on scene and Woodacre’s dispatch echoed his stark transmission for all incoming units to hear, “Structure fire confirmed, 30 Callender Way.” On a scale of one-to-ten, my adrenaline level high-jumped to twenty.
Everyone on the Inverness Fire Department is familiar with that address. Over the years, we’d been there several times for minor things, and Margaret had always been gracious and wonderful, putting the needs of her friends and guests before her own. Based on our knowledge of the building and surroundings, we knew we had to move fast. 380 was the first engine in, so we went on scene dry, meaning we didn’t stop to drop a line at a hydrant. Our rig carries 500 gallons of water for initial attack, and we knew follow-on units would take a hydrant to supply us with more if needed. And it would be needed.
Mike pulled into the restaurant’s driveway, jumped out of the truck and began to set up for pumping while I donned an air tank. Jim’s brother, Tom Fox, pulled an attack line off of the engine and headed to the back of the building. Over the radio, I could hear Jim coordinating incoming units from Marin County Fire and Inverness. Following the hose line Tom laid out, I found him at the back corner of the structure putting water on fire. Through the thick smoke ,I could barely see the outline of the tree-smashed water heater engulfed in flames.
The propane line feeding the heater was leaking just above its shut off valve, and the jetting gas fed the blaze. Tom pushed some of the flaming gas back with a heavy blast of water, and directed me to reach in and shut the valve. Reaching into the inferno with a gloved hand, I snapped the valve shut. The volume of flames seemed to drop in half, and we continued to fight the fire that was rampaging under the building. Things were looking good, and it seemed we might knock this fire down and out. Until a blast from those hurricane force winds sent the scorching conflagration deeper under the building.
By this time, more units were on scene, and the sweet smell of burning cedar shingles mingled with black smoke and searing flame. Brian Cassel was steadily working another attack line off of 380, dousing the driveway side of the building with a torrent of water. Between Marin County and Inverness units, we had the front and side of the building covered with attack lines, deluging the fire with thousands of gallons of water. It seemed that every time we beat the flames back, winds would whip the fire into a frenzy and breathe life into the blaze somewhere else. We were fighting fire, and this fire was fighting back.
With the help from Skywalker and Bolinas Fire, we surrounded
Manka's with hoses. I was reallocated to the back of the building to help Ken Fox work attack lines from Engine 381. We were trying to keep the fire from totally engulfing the entire structure. But that howling wind was our greatest foe. Gusts slammed into the front side of the building, causing the wind and building to join forces and function as a giant bellows, sending bright orange-red flames upward, licking the black night sky.
Several of us had rotated through that back position: Cathy Davis, Mike Connelly, Tom Levy, Jeff McBeth, Ken, and myself. And it was between one of these rotations, when for a brief few seconds no one was standing there next to the back fence, a giant oak came smashing to the ground exactly where we had be stationed to fight. This 30-plus inch diameter beast would have surely crushed any firefighter unlucky enough to have been caught in that ill-fated spot.
Several hours into the battle, Jeff, Tom, Cathy, and I were positioned in the extreme back corner. The building was totally ablaze, and the call had come down to focus on water conservation. Manka’s, jewel that she was, was lost, and the best we could do now was to make sure this angry fire didn’t get a chance to spread and burn down any more of our beloved Inverness.
The chaos and fog of fighting fire clarified in the minds of most of us. When that wicked wind sent flames soaring from windows and eaves, we doused them back with blasts of water. During this stage of the battle, still shrouded in the darkness of night, I had the chance to reflect on the magnitude of what was happening. Up until then, I was so focused on the task at hand, I hadn’t been able to think beyond the fight. But standing in the back yard, spraying water, working to prevent the fire from spreading, and with the collapse of this grand old dame inevitable, I had time to think about this great loss, this end of an era.
There was the wonderful anniversary dinner my wife Annalisa and I had enjoyed, oysters and antelope, topped with a bottle of vintage red wine. And the surprise at the end of this superlative meal, when we learned that her dad had called the restaurant during dinner and given them his credit card to pay the bill. There were the local’s nights spent with friends. I can still taste the blue cheese smothering a mile-high hamburger. And even though we didn’t get there as often as we would have liked, it was always special to know there was such a fantastic place just around the corner from our house.
Sunrise brought with it a welcome drop in wind. Slowly, gradually, as day pushed night aside, we could see the whole of what happened. Manka’s had collapsed to her knees, the top floor tumbling into ground, fire still sending plumes of smoke into the blue sky.
We had fought a good fight, but in the end, Mother Nature had more to say about the finale than we did. Firefighters from Inverness Fire, Marin County Fire, Skywalker Ranch, and Bolinas Fire worked their asses off trying to save her. They’re all heroes in my book. And so are the people of Inverness. This event is bigger than the just physical and emotional loss of losing a magical place. We all shoulder this part of Manka’s history.
