Idyllwild Ca

On a map it looked easy--all downhill. We would ride the Palm Springs Aerial Tramway up Mt. San Jacinto to the mountain station at 8,516 feet. Then hike across the mountain to the charming town of Idyllwild, elevation 5,280 feet, to feast and lull in rented-cabin comfort before driving down the next day. Cake. Now that the ibuprofen has kicked in, I realize it was an easy hike relative to the sights we witnessed.

Regarding evacuation plans for a catastrophic fire, residents of the isolated, mile-high community of Idyllwild have always offered a confident answer: We're prepared. But only weeks away from the peak of fire season, local factions are struggling to resolve what many describe as a communication breakdown over how best to coordinate disparate evacuation plans that have been drafted by at least 12 mountain camps that cater to thousands of youths, several town organizations and fire authorities.

I never feel as though I'm really in the mountains until I can smell them. So my trip to Idyllwild, perched a mile high in the San Jacinto range, didn't feel like vacation until the scent of pine surrounded our convertible somewhere along Highway 74. My friend Scott, who entered fatherhood less than six months ago, was along for the ride. Last month his benevolent wife granted him a weekend pass for a getaway of hiking, horseback riding and a generous dose of R&R.

Capt. Mark Loutzenhiser was in the middle of building an addition to the aging, 800-square-foot cabin he shared with his wife and five children -- nothing lavish, just enough space so his kids wouldn't have to sleep in the living room. But when Loutzenhiser, 43, a longtime firefighter with the U.S. Forest Service, died on Oct. 26 along with four crew members while fighting an arson wildfire near Palm Springs, this small mountain hamlet of 3,000 pulled together to finish the job.

Next time you're sinking hopelessly in L.A. funk -- crawling glacier-like down the 405 or breathing hot, worn-out air while waiting for a bus -- think of a mountain village with no stoplights. Think of cellos and jazz and wildflowers. Think of silence. Idyllwild, a few hours' drive from Los Angeles or Orange County, is something of an artists colony, with 15 galleries and dozens of resident artists, musicians and writers -- all of whom are outnumbered by the squirrels.

Although his behavior in other respects could be described as incendiary, Chuck Stroud has no desire to burn down the woods around Idyllwild. This stretch of the San Jacinto Mountains, desiccated by a record six-year drought, is at constant risk of conflagration. So as Stroud and his dog, Belle, take their morning stroll through Idyllwild Park, he stubs out his Marlboros on the sole of an Ugg boot and palms the butts, saving them for the ashtray of his battered economy car.

When local officials announced plans to boost this mountain town's drought-depleted water supply by tapping a well containing high concentrations of naturally occurring uranium, residents flew into a rage, circulating petitions in protest and packing water district board meetings. Tempers got even hotter when residents discovered that millions of gallons from the well had already been flowing into the system--for more than a decade.

Regarding evacuation plans for a catastrophic fire, residents of the isolated, mile-high community of Idyllwild have always offered a confident answer: We're prepared. But only weeks away from the peak of fire season, local factions are struggling to resolve what many describe as a communication breakdown over how best to coordinate disparate evacuation plans that have been drafted by at least 12 mountain camps that cater to thousands of youths, several town organizations and fire authorities.

Few things jangle the nerves more quickly in this quiet mountain town than the blare of fire engines. Noses immediately sniff the air, eyes watch the woods, and ears perk up for news of "The Big One." For Annamarie Padula, it means running to the deck and scanning the horizon. "You hear the engines and you go looking for the flames," she said.

Judging by the paucity of double bylines, poetry is a lonely art. But this week in Idyllwild, poets are emerging from their customary solitude to share the shoptalk that has been knocking about in their heads in search of a sympathetic listener. Writing workshops abound, and programs like the Los Angeles Poetry Festival bring practitioners together.

A day after an explosion of heat and flames killed four local firefighters and critically injured another, relatives and neighbors in the mountain town of Idyllwild responded to their loss with strong emotions, flags at half-staff and a growing army of volunteers turning out to help the affected families. "With 120 nonprofits in a town of 3,400 people, we're all but run by volunteers," said Becky Clark, publisher and editor of the Idyllwild Town Crier, a weekly newspaper.

Few things jangle the nerves more quickly in this quiet mountain town than the blare of fire engines. Noses immediately sniff the air, eyes watch the woods, and ears perk up for news of "The Big One." For Annamarie Padula, it means running to the deck and scanning the horizon. "You hear the engines and you go looking for the flames," she said.

Eight Hemet residents, including two children, were rescued Monday after they spent a frigid night in a snowdrift when they became stranded in their cars near the mountain town of Idyllwild, officials said. The motorists were found early Monday morning by the Riverside Mountain Rescue Unit, a volunteer search and rescue team, after an 11-hour search, said Riverside County Sheriff's Sgt. David Pike.

Judging by the paucity of double bylines, poetry is a lonely art. But this week in Idyllwild, poets are emerging from their customary solitude to share the shoptalk that has been knocking about in their heads in search of a sympathetic listener. Writing workshops abound, and programs like the Los Angeles Poetry Festival bring practitioners together.

Fierce winds damaged more than a dozen homes in this mountain community, leaving three uninhabitable, and also left behind a trail of fallen trees and power poles, authorities said Friday. Between 400 and 500 homes and businesses remained without power Friday as authorities cleaned up debris from hundreds of trees toppled by winds of 60 to 70 mph. Utility officials hoped to have power restored to most customers today.

Although his behavior in other respects could be described as incendiary, Chuck Stroud has no desire to burn down the woods around Idyllwild. This stretch of the San Jacinto Mountains, desiccated by a record six-year drought, is at constant risk of conflagration. So as Stroud and his dog, Belle, take their morning stroll through Idyllwild Park, he stubs out his Marlboros on the sole of an Ugg boot and palms the butts, saving them for the ashtray of his battered economy car.

A day after an explosion of heat and flames killed four local firefighters and critically injured another, relatives and neighbors in the mountain town of Idyllwild responded to their loss with strong emotions, flags at half-staff and a growing army of volunteers turning out to help the affected families. "With 120 nonprofits in a town of 3,400 people, we're all but run by volunteers," said Becky Clark, publisher and editor of the Idyllwild Town Crier, a weekly newspaper.

Fierce winds damaged more than a dozen homes in this mountain community, leaving three uninhabitable, and also left behind a trail of fallen trees and power poles, authorities said Friday. Between 400 and 500 homes and businesses remained without power Friday as authorities cleaned up debris from hundreds of trees toppled by winds of 60 to 70 mph. Utility officials hoped to have power restored to most customers today.

Next time you're sinking hopelessly in L.A. funk -- crawling glacier-like down the 405 or breathing hot, worn-out air while waiting for a bus -- think of a mountain village with no stoplights. Think of cellos and jazz and wildflowers. Think of silence. Idyllwild, a few hours' drive from Los Angeles or Orange County, is something of an artists colony, with 15 galleries and dozens of resident artists, musicians and writers -- all of whom are outnumbered by the squirrels.

It's the kind of fork in the road that lets you know you're not on just any old So. Cal. trail. The Devils Slide, out of Idyllwild, switchbacks upward for two miles before hitting a multiple-direction point amid the giant pines and cedars. Will it be north to Canada, or south to Mexico along the Pacific Crest Trail? Or east, deeper into the San Jacinto Mountains?