He stayed behind to help firefighters find their way around his 25-acre avocado grove and his system of hydrants. But at 4 a.m. Friday, firefighters told him they would have to leave. Some of the plastic pipes had melted and the water had stopped. Miller packed his cat and pet snake into the car, prepared to go.
But just before the crew left, he reached his ranch manager, who was able to explain to firefighters how to jerry-rig the system. Water flowed, and his house was saved.
"This is home," he said. "It's safer now than it's ever been. When I moved here 14, 15 years ago, we had 50 years of fuel here. Now we have no fuel."
Others were not so lucky.
Mike Stoltz, 50, a real estate broker, had taken a good look Tuesday morning at the soaring wooden ceilings and glass windows of his home on El Cielito Road before evacuating.
"I had the sense that as I left the grand old house, it might be the last time I saw it," he said.
His premonition proved correct. He sneaked back to the area a day later. At first he felt hopeful. Neighboring houses looked good. But then he reached his long driveway and started up it. His garage was smoldering. He was studying it when his friend, who had continued to walk toward the house, turned back.
"I heard him say, 'I'm so very sorry,' " recalled Stoltz. "I thought. 'What does that mean?' "
Where his home of 15 years had stood, all Stoltz saw was a wide-open view of the ocean.
By Saturday, he and his partner, Arnie Kassoy -- who had lived in the house for 30 years -- and their two sons had had some time to adjust. "I never really appreciated this house," Stoltz said. "I always complained about being so far from the ocean. I'm a beach guy. . . . It hit me -- the loss. It was like a member of the family. A pet. It was so tragic."
E-mails from friends fill his inbox. A cafe in Santa Barbara served him for free Saturday. At Old Navy, where he bought clothes, the store gave him a 10% discount. His cable company told him not to worry about the lost equipment.
"The outpouring of humanity has been so overwhelming and stunning," he said.
Fred Hendrix, 55, a machinist who lives on Williams Way near Mission Canyon, has made periodic visits to his house since the fire started. On his eerily still street, Hendrix was an odd sight, carrying on as he might have on any typical weekend. He was preparing pots to plant blackberries and boysenberries.
Hendrix grew up in the white house with baby-blue trim and an amazing view of Santa Barbara, and has seen many wildfires in the mountains. But, he said, "this is the nastiest fire I've ever seen."
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ann.simmons@latimes.com
esmeralda.bermudez @latimes.com
Times staff writers Louis Sahagun in Santa Barbara and Jessica Garrison and Carla Hall in Los Angeles contributed to this report.
