Fire Stalled, Then Flares Anew : Sea Breeze Sends Malibu Blaze to Fernwood : Inferno: Flames that destroyed hundreds of homes had been thought blocked by firefighters. Residents flee new advance.

The rampaging Malibu fire, thought at one point to be blocked in a dramatic pre-dawn stand by heavily equipped firefighters, once again burst out of control Wednesday afternoon, raging eastward through the canyon community of Fernwood and toward the upscale Los Angeles residential area of Palisades Highlands.

Ironically, the new fire front was being pushed by breezes from the sea that arose only after a slackening of the hot, dry Santa Ana winds that had fanned the flames for 24 hours, driving the destructive blaze in the opposite direction.

“Be advised, we now have a major fire coming into the city from the Fernwood area,” Deputy City Fire Chief Don Anthony told another top fire official by radio about 3:30 p.m. “We can’t stop it with air drops.”

Anthony barked orders to fire crews awaiting assignments.

“Get your company and get ‘em going,” he said to one fire commander. “You’re gone!”

A firefighter watching the flames leap Topanga Canyon Boulevard radioed back:

“I don’t think we’re going to stop it, chief. It’s really going.”

Within an hour, firefighters were preparing to make a stand in front of expensive homes in the Palisades Highlands as the flames, hurling smoke and embers skyward in an ominous brown pall that could be seen for miles, advanced steadily eastward through rugged chaparral.

Residents grabbed what they could and fled, squeezing down narrow canyon lanes past fire trucks grinding uphill to save their homes.

The fire’s advance, which slowed as evening wore on, was a bitter disappointment for fire officials, who had drawn a chemical line in the brush on the west flank of Topanga Canyon 10 hours earlier and vowed not to let the flames cross it.

For a while, the blaze that had charred more than 35,000 acres, destroyed 200 homes and injured at least 150 people in Malibu’s elite oceanfront enclave and the rugged canyon lands above it appeared headed for containment.

Firefighters said the strip of chemical fire retardant they had painted with aerial tankers and helicopters along the western flank of Topanga Canyon--supported by an army of firefighters on the ground who beat back every flaming assault--seemed to be holding.

But then, shortly after noon, the sea breezes sprang up. About 3 p.m., Anthony got word that the fire was starting to move east toward Fernwood and the Palisades Highlands.

“ ‘That’s what we feared,” he said somberly, dispatching 15 strike teams of firefighters to protect the Palisades Highlands against the rapidly advancing flames.

The flames churned through Fernwood about 5 p.m. With fire crews manning hoses at almost every home and helicopters swooping overhead with water drops, Fernwood’s houses--which range from stucco-roofed bungalows to homemade shacks--were spared, at least for the time being.

But the trees burned, the undergrowth burned, the power poles burned and the residents fled for their lives through smoke that often cut visibility to a few feet.

Joined during the afternoon by the evacuees from Palisades Highlands, they became part of the mounting throng of refugees from the hellish, two-day fire.

For those--rich and poor, famous and unknown--who lost their homes and almost everything in them during the firestorm, Wednesday was a grim day of taking stock, often at long range.

Because the fire still burned out of control, most of those who had fled were not yet permitted to return to what remained of their homes.

Lodged in hotels, community centers and the homes of friends and relatives, they could only wait, fret and hope for the best.

Gov. Pete Wilson announced Wednesday that rewards totaling $125,000 are being offered for the arrest and conviction of arsonists who started the Malibu fire.

But Wilson declined to provide reporters the information he said shows the blaze was caused by arson. Witnesses have said a pickup truck, perhaps containing two men, was seen near the flash point at Mulholland Highway and Old Topanga Canyon Road shortly before the fire broke out.

“I think I can’t really tell you (what arson investigators found), I think, without compromising the investigation,” Wilson said. “But there is evidence and I can’t tell you at what stage the investigation is.”

The Dawn Attack

The early morning stand by firefighters at Topanga Canyon Boulevard--on the east fringe of densely populated Sunset Mesa and Pacific Palisades--was not so much a high-stakes gamble as a sheer moment of high drama, pitting man and his technology against the implacable forces of destruction.

Fire officials had little other choice but to exploit the highway as a natural fire break. Not only were there scores of costly homes at risk if the fire crossed the boulevard, but firefighters had spent nearly all of Tuesday learning that they could not stop the eastward moving flames in the open chaparral.

The crucial showdown began before dawn, as firefighters sought to corral the blaze at two key points. The first was at Old Malibu Road, a narrow dirt causeway of small bungalows and heavy, dry foliage, jutting north from Pacific Coast Highway. The second was at Topanga Canyon Boulevard, which also bisects PCH less than half a mile to the east.

Both stands were successful, at least for a while.

At Old Malibu Road, about 40 firefighters, armed with a dozen pumper trucks and four-wheel-drive brush vehicles, took on an advancing wall of flames in the 4 a.m. darkness. By then, the fire had been slowed by slackening winds and by daring overnight aerial drops of fire retardant in Tuna Canyon.

Still, the task seemed daunting. Old-growth pine trees, eucalyptus and palms threw a potentially disastrous canopy over several of the dozen or so homes and small businesses clustered at the juncture of Old Malibu Road and PCH.

Working just ahead of the flames, fire crews blanketed buildings and vegetation with white, fire-retardant foam, creating what appeared to be a snowy winter landscape. Thick foam lay across roofs, windowsills and outdoor barbecues, a soothing contrast to the hail storm of glowing orange embers that fell from the heavens.

“I never thought it would be down here when we arrived,” firefighter Tommy Radin, dispatched from Northern California a week ago, said of the steadily moving blaze. But this time, there would be no hasty retreat. This time, there were none of the maddening shortages of water or water pressure that had hampered firefighters throughout much of Tuesday.

Every structure near Old Malibu Road was saved, including the Topanga Canyon Cantina and the Something Fishy sushi restaurant.

“They have good hydrants here--a lot of pressure,” Los Angeles County firefighter Ruben Torres said as he manned the pump panel of an engine feeding 250 gallons a minute to two other fire trucks in the parched, narrow canyon.

Although thankful for the water, firefighters remained acutely aware of the fire’s destructive potential. An exhausted but prescient Los Angeles County Fire Capt. Richard Tucker, who had battled the blaze across many hours and hillsides, said simply: “This fire’s going to stop when it wants to stop.”

Indeed, the fire skirted to the north of the Old Malibu Road structures and continued its inexorable march eastward. By sunrise, fire officials had begun their second important stand, using half a dozen C-130 fixed-wing aircraft to lay a swatch of fire retardant--3,000 gallons at a time--on Topanga Canyon Boulevard.

The tactic took on the inevitable flavor of a wartime bombing mission. The C-130s were supported by water-dropping fire helicopters. In addition, fire trucks lined the boulevard for 11 miles, creating a blockade that held the fire in check for much of the day.

However, fickle afternoon winds brought new problems. About 3 p.m., the fire jumped the boulevard in the Fernwood area near Tuna Canyon and Topanga State Park.

“We had a 180-degree wind shift, which changed things dramatically,” said Los Angeles County Fire Inspector Mario Defina. “We don’t know if those were fire-generated winds or a shift in the wind direction itself,” he said, noting that winds had been swirling erratically all afternoon in the region’s narrow canyons.

What began as a small “spot fire” on the east side of the boulevard quickly grew to a new finger of flames traveling northeast toward the Glenview-Sylvia Park area. There were no immediate reports of structures being threatened, Defina said, but the outbreak was a bitter blow to fire officials and an ominous turn for residents lying ahead of the flames.

After describing the fire as 40% contained, authorities were forced to revise that estimate to 10%. About 5,000 firefighters were still battling the blaze as nightfall fell again, and wary homeowners were re-examining painful questions about whether to evacuate.

“(We’re) scared to death,” said Carol Kleinman, who, along with her husband Bert, had thought the danger had passed on Wednesday morning. “All of a sudden, it’s not OK anymore.”

The couple had packed their car with belongings, including “pictures we didn’t even know we had,” and were preparing to flee their home on Edgar Street in Pacific Palisades, Bert said.

“It’s a very big leap from thinking you might do it, to planning what to load up in the car to actually confronting (the fact that) you might lose your house,” observed the radio producer, who handles the “Top 40” show for disc jockey Casey Kasem. “It’s frightening to realize how many things are in the hands of something we cannot control.”

Refugees From the Flames

As the fire roared toward Palisades Highlands, residents--many who had been evacuated Tuesday night--packed once again to flee the approaching flames. Dozens of sheriff’s deputies were dispatched to the area to make certain residents left their homes.

One resident was Karen Berman, 37, who was hastily packing all the valuables she had taken with her the night before. As she assembled the family valuables--pictures, papers and the children’s favorite stuffed animals--the fire appeared on a nearby ridge and ashes were raining down on the house.

“I’m prepared to let this house go up,” she said. “I’m not going to jeopardize my life to save this house.”

Berman said her husband, Joel, had not been allowed to drive to the house and he was trying to make his way on foot. A short time later, he arrived.

“I came home to unpack because they said we were in the clear,” she said. “And then it jumped the canyon.”

As many fled their homes Wednesday, others returned for a first look at the devastation the fire had wrought the night before.

In Las Flores Canyon, computer services executive Wayne Hays walked through the neighborhood where a number of homes--including his own--had been destroyed.

“The degree of devastation is almost unbelievable,” he said. “There’s just nothing. This house has been our life. We raised our children here. I get this sinking feeling. What are we going to have to do to put our lives back together?”

Just then, he saw a yellow and white cat that had been partially burned. Hays wrapped the cat in a blanket and raced away, intent on finding a veterinarian to treat the injured animal.

Actor Charles Bronson spent part of Wednesday morning driving up and down Malibu Road, thanking firefighters who were guarding against flare-ups. The night before, both of Bronson’s Malibu homes had been spared from the flames.

At the oceanfront home of makeup artist Bron Roy Lance, firefighter Edward Dick was relaxing Wednesday morning in a directors chair normally reserved for the stars. Other firefighters were nearby.

“Whatever you guys need. Breakfast, lunch, I’ll fix it,” Lance said. “I’m your best friend. You guys have earned it.”

And at a shelter Wednesday, housekeeper Aurora Rodriguez told of her harrowing night Tuesday when she was ordered by police to evacuate from Malibu Colony, but her employer had not returned.

It was so hot in the house she had to splash her face with water to stay cool. And when she tried to flag people down to take her out of danger, no one stopped until another housekeeper saw her on the side of the road.

“It as a nightmare,” Rodriguez said.

In mountain hamlets such as Monte Nido, Cold Canyon and West Saddle Peak, where the region’s natural beauty unites folk of wildly different backgrounds, neighbors banded together to face the flames, helping to save all but a few homes.

Dozens of residents refused to leave their property, dousing their roofs with water, calmly clearing thick brush and quickly helping anyone in need haul out whatever they could--horses, photographs, furniture.

Cold Canyon resident Don Wallace, a deputy to County Supervisor Ed Edelman and a former firefighter, said he ran into his wood-frame house Tuesday morning to find a diminutive woman in his living room, stuffing family slides into a pillowcase.

“I said, ‘Hi,’ and she said, ‘Hi, I’m a neighbor,’ ” Wallace recounted. “And that was it.”

With each new gust of wind, flames were whipped in unexpected directions. Residents of Monte Nido waited anxiously through the night as fire crept down steep hillsides toward the hodgepodge villages that cling to canyon walls and crowd valleys.

But it was hard to cheer changes in the fire’s direction, said longtime Monte Nido resident Don Wood, because it was always threatening someone’s house. If not his, then a neighbor’s. If not someone he knew, then a friend of a friend.

Just below the summit of Saddle Peak, Michael Leigh arrived home from a business meeting to find fire licking at his doorstep. Windows popped from the intense heat and his porch was alight. He grabbed a hose and battled the flames until a fire truck doused his home.

Earlier in the morning, a neighbor had grabbed Leigh’s dogs and put them in a kennel. That same neighbor’s home burned to the ground. Leigh offered him a room until a new house could be built.

Not All Is Lost

Elsewhere on Wednesday, the efforts of weary firefighters drew praise from grateful homeowners who were spared from the fire’s devastation.

Firefighters appeared to prevail in saving about five luxury homes threatened by flames in Malibu Colony Ranch Estates. One was a 10,000-square-foot mansion, with a for sale sign out front, that is used as a Showcase Home for celebrity designers. As the flames whipped westward from Puerco Canyon to Sage Canyon, firefighters formed a defensive line, bulldozers built dirt barriers and C-130 transport planes dumped retardant.

Allen Darbonne, a 57-year-old psychologist, took turns all night with his wife, sleeping in shifts and hosing down their home in that community.

Just after sunrise he saw the flames crest the hill, but by 9 a.m. he was able to breath a sigh of relief.

“It looks like we’re going to be OK,” he said.

Los Angeles City Fire Chief Donald O. Manning lauded crews for “incredible bravery” in saving threatened structures. He noted one instance in which two strike teams--made up of five engine companies apiece--became boxed in a rugged canyon.

“A landslide came and blocked them from leaving,” Manning said. “We literally had to . . . get the (planes) back up . . . and get in and protect them.” With water running low, Manning said, “they continued to fight the fires to save the houses that were there. We had people who were trapped and helicopters came down in 40 m.p.h. winds in the fire to pull those people out.”

At one location on PCH, where firefighting efforts helped save a string of beachfront homes, homeowner Greg Amato erected a large plywood sign for firefighters: “Thank You. God Bless You.”

Amato, who had refused to evacuate, conceded that the brush with destruction had been harrowing. “It’s a little scary,” he said, alluding to the smoke, “when you can’t breathe.”

Laurence Cohen, a movie publicist, was picking through the remains of his Las Flores Canyon home Wednesday. He had ridden a bicycle up the canyon to learn the fate of the house, which was destroyed.

“Just yesterday morning I was taping a radio show about the homeless, and I said, ‘Yeah, there are a lot of winos and druggies on the street, but a lot of us are one incident away from being homeless,’ ” Cohen said. “I don’t consider myself homeless. I’m in between addresses.”

Cohen was digging through the rubble when he found the twisted, charred pipes that used to be his prized Yamaha 750 Seiko motorcycle. “Every boy’s dream,” he said.

The only recognizable items in the debris were a set of four saki cups with Japanese erotic sketches on them.

“Oddly enough, this is better than anything I went through in the last 24 hours of uncertainty,” he said. “The reality was this is all just a lot of stuff.”

As smoke rose from the rubble, actress Kay Lenz, Cohen’s client and friend, said: “I can’t even believe it’s real. It’s like someone’s going to shout, ‘Cut! Everybody back to first position.’ ”