CLEARLAKE OAKS, Calif. — Trent Reid huddled over the bar with a Heineken Monday afternoon, listening to the chatter on a police scanner. Just a few miles down the road, fire crews scrambled to stop the flames from jumping a two-lane highway and threatening homes — including his own.
Forced to evacuate the day before, the 26-year-old spent the night in the back of his pickup truck watching the massive wildfire, the biggest in the state this year, light up the night sky.
“You can’t ever underestimate Mother Nature,” said Reid, waiting it out at the Moose Lodge near Clear Lake. “It can turn for the worst at any time.”
And then it did. Just after 4 p.m., the so-called Rocky fire jumped Highway 20, a ribbon of asphalt firefighters had hoped would halt the fire’s path northward.
The shift in fortune only reinforced the Rocky fire’s erratic behavior. It has defied most models and computer simulations, according to Suzi Brady, spokeswoman for the California Department of Forestry and Fire Protection.
“The fire is burning in a path that hasn’t burned in a long, long time and the vegetation is extremely dry,” she said.
Earlier Monday, a lull in the summer heat had helped firefighters and hand crews scrapping firebreaks and setting backfires to gain ground on an explosive wildfire that has burned more than 62,000 acres and threatens thousands of homes in the rugged California wilderness north of Napa.
Cooler temperatures replaced the triple-digit heat, winds calmed and moisture hung in the air, aiding firefighters who had more than doubled the containment of the fire from 5 percent to 12 percent.
The blaze already has consumed 50 structures, including 24 homes, and 3,100 firefighters have responded to the scene. Feeding on brush and vegetation parched by four years of drought, the wildfire at one point Saturday devoured 20,000 acres in just five hours. Even seasoned fire officials appeared bewildered.
When it broke out Wednesday near the shore of Clear Lake, about 110 miles northwest of Sacramento, the Rocky fire appeared no different than the other blazes being battled across the state.
Its explosive spread is seen as an alarming preview of what could happen in a drought-plagued region. In April, an aerial survey by the U.S. Forest Service estimated that about 5 million trees had died in the Sierra and Sequoia National Forests, compared to 300,000 that were counted in the same area last year, according to agency spokesman John Heil.
Currently, more than 9,000 firefighters are dispatched across the state to battle 21 wildfires. The onslaught of wildfires prompted Gov. Jerry Brown to declare a state of emergency last week.
Federal and local officials on Monday continued to investigate the death of U.S. Forest Service Fire Capt. David Ruhl, 38, who died while fighting a wildfire in Modoc County. Ruhl, a father of two from South Dakota, went missing Thursday while driving alone to scout the fire, which was burning just south of the Oregon border.
The cause of the Rocky fire remains under investigation, but thousands of lightning strikes have ignited hundreds of wildfires — many quickly extinguished — since last week, fire officials said. More storms, and more lightning, are forecast in Northern California through the weekend.
The Rocky fire’s unprecedented growth caught crews off guard. The usual methods of containment — dropping fire retardant, plowing the earth to create break lines, setting backfires to eliminate tinder vegetation in its path — have failed to contain the flames that threaten about 6,300 structures in Colusa, Lake and Yolo counties.
Although no deaths have been reported, residents accustomed to evacuating during wildfires find this experience particularly fearsome.
“The way it moved,” said Kristin Ardell, 40, of Spring Valley. “It was completely different.”
Vicki Estrella, who has lived in the area for 22 years, said that when she and her husband headed to a Red Cross shelter at Middletown High School, the smell of smoke was thick and she could see flames in the distance.
On Monday she sat in the driver’s seat of her SUV working on a crossword puzzle. She was waiting to hear from her husband, who had gone back to their house to check on their llamas, chickens and cats. She was particularly concerned about the llamas — the oldest one, Cuzco, likes to knock over the water trough so he can roll in the mud. He would need water soon.
Those who gathered at the Moose Lodge — transformed from a venue for bingo and karaoke into an impromptu evacuee camp — looked for ways to keep their minds off the threat to their homes. Some kept a nervous eye on the nearby roadblock that prevented them from returning to their houses. Inside on the counter, a spiral notebook kept tabs on donations that rolled in throughout the day: $100 cash, 50 pounds of dog food, stacks of bottled water.
Many had spent the night in their vehicles parked out front. A few set up tents; others had camping trailers.
Some had gathered in the same place three years ago, seeking refuge from a different wildfire.
Outside the Moose Lodge, Chris and Cheryl Christian found a shady spot under a tree in the parking lot and watched the sky.
The couple evacuated Sunday night, having packed their bags once news of the Rocky fire hit.
“You see that big clump of smoke?” asked Chris Christian, 72, a retired wastewater plant operator. “That looks about where our home is.”
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