When the fires reached the outskirts of Topanga State Park, I remember the sky turning an eerie shade of orange, the air thick with smoke and the distant roar of flames creeping closer. I had been hiking the Backbone Trail earlier that day, completely unaware that the winds would shift so suddenly, bringing the fire toward the canyon. By the time I got back to my car, ash was falling like snow, and rangers were urging visitors to evacuate immediately. The road out was packed with others fleeing the area, headlights cutting through the smoky haze. The heat was intense, even from miles away, and I could feel it on my skin as I gripped the steering wheel, desperate to get to safety.

Days later, when the evacuation orders lifted, I returned to see what remained of the park I had loved for years. The once-lush hillsides were blackened, trails I knew by heart had been reduced to dust and embers, and the scent of charred wood lingered in the air. But amidst the devastation, I saw signs of resilience—fire crews had saved parts of the oak groves, and already, tiny green shoots were pushing through the scorched earth. It was heartbreaking to witness, but also a reminder of nature’s ability to heal. Topanga would recover, slowly but surely, just as the community around it would.

Fictional Account | Topanga State Park