From Fort Dodge to Los Angeles: A journalist’s perspective on the devastating 2025 wildfires
Former Dodger shares his perspective
Editor’ s Note: Jay Christensen, a Fort Dodge native and 1978 graduate of Fort Dodge Senior High, spent 20 years at the Los Angeles Times, with previous stops in Colorado Springs and Sacramento. Follow him on Instagram: @jaychristensenphoto.
Living in California since 1986, I’ve experienced my share of natural extremes: the teeth-rattling Northridge earthquake of 1994, which claimed 57 lives; temperatures surpassing 120 degrees in Death Valley; the frigid minus-38 degrees during the start of the 2017 Iditarod in Fairbanks, Alaska; the devastating tornado that struck Fort Dodge in 1977; and the fiery eruptions of Kilauea, including the 2018 disaster that displaced thousands on the Big Island.
These events have shown me the power and unpredictability of Mother Nature across the globe. But nothing compares to the devastation wrought by the 2025 wildfires in Los Angeles County.
The fierce winds that descended on L.A. County on Jan. 7 marked the beginning of a wildfire disaster that will likely be remembered not only for its staggering financial toll, but also, the tragic and still-undetermined loss of life.
The unpredictability of those winds became personal on Friday, Jan. 10, when smoke from the Palisades Fire began blotting out the sun. Living in Sherman Oaks, equidistant between the Eaton and Palisades fires, I suddenly found myself just three miles from an Evacuation Warning Zone. Flames raced toward the San Fernando Valley, with Evacuation Orders issued west of the 405 Freeway.
The line of fire approached within five miles of my neighborhood. Embers — capable of traveling great distances — threatened to ignite spot fires. Thankfully, a heroic aerial assault from water-dropping helicopters sourced from the nearby Encino Reservoir stopped the flames from spreading further.
This relief was bittersweet, as earlier in the week the ferocious Santa Ana winds had grounded all fixed-wing and rotary aircraft, leaving firefighters overwhelmed and vulnerable — eerily reminiscent of the 2018 Camp Fire and the 2023 Lahaina blaze.
In Altadena, my former Los Angeles Times colleague — a high-profile sports columnist — faced unimaginable loss. While his house still stands, smoke damage will likely render it a total loss. Another friend, a physical therapist, narrowly escaped disaster. On the evening of Jan. 7, she smelled smoke while starting a propane grill to cook dinner after the loss of power to her house. Turning around, she saw flames fast approaching. She fled with her mother to a hotel.
Returning the next morning, she discovered her home intact but remains displaced, bouncing between Airbnbs while awaiting clearance to return. Each day, she checks with the National Guard, stationed at roadblocks, to ensure no flare-ups threaten her neighborhood.
At the peak of the disaster, 170,000 people were displaced. While that number has since dropped to 100,000, the displacement’s impact is far-reaching. My neighbors sought refuge in San Francisco, while others fled to Phoenix, San Diego, Palm Springs, Santa Barbara or even Las Vegas. With accommodations in north L.A. County scarce, many faced long and costly relocations. Businesses shuttered, streets were eerily empty, and L.A.’s famously congested freeways were devoid of cars.
The air, though improving, remains laden with particulates, forcing residents to wear masks — a haunting reminder of the early days of the COVID-19 pandemic.
On Jan. 8, I ventured into Altadena to document the aftermath. There, I met a woman standing in shock as homes in her neighborhood burned. She told me her neighbor’s home was lost at 1 a.m. Her own house had been spared, thanks in part to a sprinkler running on her roof to counter flying embers. Her composure in the face of such devastation was remarkable, but her haunted eyes revealed the emotional toll.
The sheer scale of these fires is staggering. It’s hard to grasp the scope of destruction, let alone the long road to recovery. While we in Sherman Oaks faced a relatively minor inconvenience — three days without power — others lost everything: their homes, their memories, and, tragically, some lost their loved ones. Mother Nature’s power was absolute, and for those first few days, the fires dictated the course of events.
L.A. is no stranger to wildfires, but this time felt different. The relentless winds, unforgiving flames and widespread displacement left an indelible mark on our community. These fires underscore the fragility of our existence in the face of nature’s fury.
As I reflect on this disaster, I am reminded of the resilience of those affected and the bravery of the firefighters who risked their lives to protect others.
For Fort Dodge residents, wildfires might seem a distant threat. But disasters like this remind us all of the unpredictable forces of nature and the importance of preparation, resilience and community.
As we begin to rebuild and heal, let us not forget those who bore the brunt of this tragedy, and may we find ways to support and stand with them in the days ahead.