How Coastal fire ravaged an O.C. neighborhood in hours
Andreas Frank watched from the second story of his ridge-top Laguna Niguel home as the hillside below began to smolder.
It was May 11, and his partner, Kamal Al-Faqih, was in the backyard grilling ribs in preparation for their nephew’s high school graduation party.
Frank banged on the window and pointed toward the smoke in nearby Aliso Woods Canyon. Six minutes later — at 2:49 p.m. — the flames had grown, jumping to an adjacent ridge on the rolling hillside.
Frank called 911. After that, it took less than 10 minutes for the inferno to double in size.
“At first it was just burning in the canyon,” Frank said, “but when the winds started, it just took off.”
The couple decided to leave before the flames got closer to their home on Coronado Pointe. They grabbed photographs and
DVDs with sentimental value and headed for safety while they could still make it out.
By the time the fire was fully contained six days later, 20 homes, many with sweeping views of the Pacific Ocean, had burned to the ground, and 11 others were badly damaged.
Images of the multimillion-dollar houses in flames transfixed Southern California.
The flames were fast and intense, wind-whipped and fueled by drought-dry vegetation. They raced through the rugged canyon terrain and flew up hillsides, their heat causing electric car batteries and propane tanks in apartment-size garages to explode.
Firefighters had to make decisions on the fly because the fire was moving so quickly. One described it as akin to a “fog of war”; it wasn’t even clear how long they’d been battling the blaze.
The fire was first reported to the Orange County Fire Authority on May 11 at 2:43 p.m. A man at the South Orange County Wastewater Authority’s Coastal Treatment Plant called in a small blaze — just 50 feet by 50 feet — that was burning in Aliso Woods Canyon.
The man told the OCFA dispatcher that a “power pole started the canyon on fire.” He said there was a downed power line, according to a redacted recording of the 911 call that was reviewed by The Times.
Fifteen minutes later, Laguna Beach Fire Battalion Chief Crissy Teichmann radioed the OCFA to report that she had arrived at the scene near the treatment plant. The blaze had grown to half an acre and was burning in medium brush.
She said they were going to have trouble getting hand crews out to the fire, as the area has limited road access and rugged terrain. Teichmann requested air support, according to archived radio calls reviewed by The Times.
Three minutes later, she radioed that the city’s police department was evacuating the Ranch, an upscale resort and golf course in Laguna Beach.
Just before 3:45 p.m., the OCFA posted on Twitter that a 3-acre vegetation fire, dubbed the Coastal fire, was burning in the canyon.
The initial attack centered around stopping the fire in the flat part of the canyon, where the winds and topography were not as extreme. Crews battled the flames on the ground, while helicopters dropped water.
But it wasn’t enough to stop the fire. It jumped Aliso Creek and began to burn on the hillside closer to Laguna Niguel homes.
Fixed-wing aircraft dropped retardant on vegetation backing up to the homes to keep the fire away. Firefighters stood ready to defend the neighborhood.
Sean Doran, a spokesman for the OCFA, described the first, tense efforts this way: “Despite the air tankers and helicopters aggressively hitting the spot fires on the hill, the steep slope, strong sustained winds, dry vegetation on the canyon walls and extreme thermal heat created a relentless ember cast.”
The fire “jumped over not just the retardant lines,” Doran said, “but also the neighborhood’s defensible space and the predeployed OCFA hose lines and firefighters.” It was time to evacuate. A helicopter hovered above the neighborhood making announcements over a public address system that the fire was approaching. Deputies went door to door to homes near Pacific Island Drive and Coronado Pointe, warning residents to leave.
The ocean breeze that cools the subdivision during warm summer days was fanning the flames. The fire was making a rapid climb toward homes at the top of the ridge, fed by vegetation left bonedry by California’s yearslong drought.
“Once the fire hit the base of the hill below the homes, it was like an arrow that just shot to the top,” said OCFA Chief Brian Fennessy.
Residents stuffed as many belongings as they could into their cars and fled as the flames licked their backyards. Some left with just the clothing on their backs, overwhelmed by the swirling ash and heat that threatened to overtake their tony neighborhood.
At 4:41 p.m., a man called 911 to report that he was watching the flames charge toward his home from a camera on his Vista Court property.
“The fire is literally at our back door,” he told the dispatcher.
Around the same time, authorities requested that an additional strike team respond to Coronado Pointe and Pacific Island Drive. Fire alarms started blaring at three houses on Coronado Pointe.
The county sent out a mass notification to people’s phones in the evacuation area at 4:55 p.m.
Crews radioed to report that the first homes in the neighborhood had caught fire.
Twenty miles away, at the OCFA headquarters in Irvine, Safety Officer Sean Colgan pointed his truck toward Laguna Niguel. As he drove, he could hear the chaos crackle over the radio: “We’ve got another structure. I need more engines. I need help. I need air support.”
When he arrived in the neighborhood at 5:30 p.m., ash rained down, and thick, gray smoke hung like a low cloud. At least a dozen homes were on fire.
Crews scrambled through the neighborhood, trying to prevent flames from jumping from one stately structure to the next.
“When I drove in, it was like watching something out of Universal Studios,” Colgan said. “I mean, just smoke, fire, debris, facades falling in front. It was utter chaos.”
Homes on both sides of Coronado Pointe were engulfed. The flames illuminated them from the inside, casting a bright, orange glow. The smoke was so thick that firefighters could barely see, Colgan said.
Coastal winds of 30 mph cast embers across the neighborhood, blowing them into attic vents and burying them deep into roofing material, where they smoldered and caught fire. Smoke poured out of vents and chimneys.
Fire trucks lined the street, with hoses spewing water in all directions.
Firefighters positioned themselves anywhere they could to try to get the upper hand. Some stood in doorways, shooting water through blown-out windows as flames raged inside.
Others dragged heavy hoses into threatened houses and shot water out of second-story windows to get a better angle on a fire next door.
“We were having to pull people away, because we had buildings collapsing toward the firefighters,” Colgan said.
While some firefighters focused on homes that were fully engulfed, others sprayed down adjacent properties to prevent embers from igniting there.
Helicopters charged overhead to drop water. Aircraft dusted the neighborhood with pink fire retardant.
“Everybody’s screaming for more water and more lines,” Colgan recalled. “They’re doing everything they can, using every tactic they can think of.”
When one strategy didn’t work, the crews would brainstorm and try something else. Decisions were made swiftly, as firefighters desperately tried to triage amid the spreading flames, Colgan said.
Duke Juarez, a safety officer with the OCFA, said his eyes burned from embers flying through the air.
Juarez’s main task is to keep firefighters safe. But he also entered burning homes to make sure no one was left inside. If he could, he said, he grabbed some personal items on his way out.
Around 6:30 p.m., Juarez watched as smoke poured from the roof of Lynn Morey’s five-bedroom rental. The inside of the house was thick with smoke, and the heat on the second floor told Juarez that the attic was burning.
“Once I went upstairs, it was like an oven,” he said.
Soon the entire home was engulfed — a façade and some stone work in front the only remnants of the oncegrand property.
On his way out, Juarez grabbed a silver frame with a photograph from Morey’s wedding and an Apple desktop computer.
The photo was snapped in 2017, as Morey and her husband, Keith, stood on a hillside overlooking the ocean and exchanged vows.
“On my way out, I was thinking, ‘What can I grab really quick?’ and I saw the picture,” Juarez said. “Then I looked over one of my shoulders and saw an office with a computer.”
The homes burned until the early morning, casting the neighborhood in an angry glow. Some who’d gotten to safety watched on the news as flames consumed their houses.
Morey stayed nearby, watching at a distance from a hillside, wondering for hours if her home was still standing. She had been out running errands when the fire reached her neighborhood and was unable to get inside to grab any belongings.
The next day, she returned to her devastated street and saw what was left of her home. The interior was completely destroyed. The second story and roof were gone. The charred remnants of her car sat inside the garage. The shutters that framed her windows, once white, were blackened from the relentless flames.
A firefighter handed her the wedding photograph. She clutched it — a memory of one of her happiest days — as she took in the destruction in front of her.
It was May 12, her late sister’s birthday. Morey said she saw the photograph as a sign that her sister, who had lived in the home with Morey, was still looking out for her.
“I think she brought this as a gift,” Morey said, looking at the memento.
After two decades on the job, Juarez said, it never gets easier watching people lose not only their belongings but the memories they made inside their homes.
He said he wishes firefighters could have done more.
The morning after the blaze tore through, firefighters sprayed down the stillsmoldering contents of homes up and down the street. Residents walked tentatively through the neighborhood to see whether their homes had survived the night.
Many cried. Some stood solemnly, vowing to rebuild.
Investigators are working to piece together the fire’s origins. Southern California Edison issued an initial report to state regulators saying there was “circuit activity occurring close in time to the reported time of the fire.”
Residents in May filed a lawsuit in Orange County Superior Court claiming that the fire was sparked by the utility’s “negligently operated, repaired and maintained electrical equipment” and its failure to clear brush around the equipment.
The graduation party for Frank’s nephew had to be rescheduled, but his home was spared. And on this day, he couldn’t help but feel a little guilty.
“It’s horrible. It just seems so random when you look at which houses survived and which didn’t,” he said. “I’ve never seen such destruction before.”
‘When I drove in, it was like watching something out of Universal Studios. I mean, just smoke, fire, debris, facades falling in front. It was utter chaos.’
— Sean Colgan, Orange County Fire Authority safety officer