One of Los Angeles' best-kept secrets is a 130-acre bushland. On a perfect weekend afternoon, I walked my dog among the crowds at Runyon Canyon Park, a tract of rolling scrub nestled in the Hollywood Hills. I would go more often if it wasn't nearly impossible to find parking on Mulholland Drive. In this outdoor-loving city, Runyon is the premier Sunday afternoon trail: a dusty, stylish destination for post-brunch hikers, families, first-date couples, and everyone else in town Travel, watch movie stars, or both. The reason this area is so popular is that it's a hilly hike from downtown—across the highway from Universal Studios and over the hill from the Hollywood Bowl. The rugged path leads downhill to intersect with Hollywood Boulevard near the Walk of Fame.
The most destructive wildfires in Los Angeles history have broken out, and Runyon Canyon has not been spared. Last week, a fire broke out in the center of the park, forcing some nearby Hollywood residents to flee. Fortunately, firefighters were able to stop the spread of the fire before it turned into another blaze. But the fire still left a 43-acre scar across the vast landscape. Precious trails have been scorched.
The damage to Runyon Canyon and other hiking trails is nothing compared to all that has been lost here in Los Angeles. My colleagues lost their homes. Entire neighborhoods were leveled and winds threatened to continue fanning the fires. At least 25 people died. Compared to the grim scale of the disaster, those destroyed trails are a quieter loss the city must face. At the heart of Los Angeles’ character is easy access to nature—wild trails, canyons, and scenery—and perfect weather for visiting almost any day of the year. Not even Hollywood The sign is at the end of the hike. Just like that, many iconic outdoor venues were destroyed.
The city burned because the city was wild. Multiple mountain ranges in various Los Angeles County communities create picturesque settings for homes — dangerously close to brush that can easily catch fire. There are plenty of easily accessible trailheads in these areas, making these peaks and canyons our backyard. On the trails, veteran REI hikers like me mingle with athleisure-clad Angelenos who look like they've climbed the mountain starting in Erewhon and wandered into cougar territory. We encountered a group of students with Bluetooth speakers, 5 a.m. trail runners, and tourists who underestimated the difficulty of the Griffith Observatory climb.
On any given morning in the secluded highlands of Pacific Palisades, you'll find hikers searching for precious legal parking spots between driveways. From there, well-worn trails pass through Temescal Canyon and Topanga Canyon to lookout points where hikers can watch the city meet the sea. Now it appears this beloved area has been devastated. The horrific Palisades Fire may have started in a spot near the popular Temescal Ridge Trail. Despite heroic life-saving firefighting efforts, the fire continued to burn deeper into Topanga State Park. Beautiful hiking country on the Pacific Palisades may remain closed to the public for several years as the area recovers.
Another major fire, the Eaton Fire, also claimed some of the most beautiful sites around Los Angeles. The fire's namesake, Eaton Canyon, contains a waterfall so photogenic that you once had to book a reservation to hike it. The fire destroyed this trail, along with many in the foothills of the San Gabriel Mountains: trails that can take you to Echo Mountain, Millard Falls or the historic Mount Wilson Observatory overlooking the city.
These outdoor activities define my life here, as they do for so many others. My wife and I have been hiking in San Gabriel most of the time during the pandemic. In 2020, a month after we got our dog Watson, the world stopped. There's not much to do except hike. We drove to the trailhead on the Angeles Crest Highway, where hikers' dirty Subaru's dodged gearheads testing hot rods on mountain curves. We parked in the now destroyed area of Altadena and got lost in the stunning foothills. We wandered among the yuccas all spring until the relentless Southern California summer sun forced us indoors.
Of course, much of Los Angeles’ natural beauty remains intact. But even before the current fires, the vast Los Angeles National Forest, home to the peaks and trails of the San Gabriel Mountains, was going through tough times. In the fall of 2020, the Bobcat Fire burned from north to south, burning more than 100,000 acres. Last fall, the Bridge Fire burned through New Mountain, with flames spreading to the mountain town of Wrightwood and ski areas. Some of the areas my wife and I have visited during the pandemic were severely damaged by previous fires, but they are still recovering.
Los Angeles County is ready to burn. Wet winters over the past two years have helped contain the fires. The current drought and high winds are proving to be the prime conditions for major fires. These conditions will inevitably return, bringing more flames to scorch the roads of Los Angeles. However, the rising incidence of wildfires and their threat to our favorite natural spaces is not just a California story. Forest fires are becoming increasingly severe around the world; nearly one-third of Americans live in places threatened by wildfires. National parks, forests and other irreplaceable places for communion with nature are under threat. Last month, a downed power line sparked a 500-acre fire that burned through a large swath of North Carolina's national forest. In November, a brush fire broke out in Prospect Park, Brooklyn.
In Los Angeles, the city is just beginning to deal with the damage from these wildfires. In addition to lives, homes and businesses, the legacy of destruction also includes natural areas. Hiking to Skull Rock in Los Angeles is like driving down the Empire State Highway. This is the studio and the Santa Monica Mountains. The open spaces around us invite Angelenos to abandon the concrete grid in favor of winding zigzag roads. With so many trails damaged and closed, the call of the mountains is no longer as loud as it once was.