Wildfire season used to occur in California. The weather has changed to wildfire now. There was a time, not so long ago, when people in areas like the foothills above Los Angeles or Sonoma County could practically mark the danger on a calendar. It would be dry and tense when August came. The winds of September would rattle windows. The hillsides would typically be washed by rain by late November, bringing a tenuous sense of security back. I feel like that rhythm is out of date now.
In January, fires are starting today. During March, they burn. Under skies that once promised respite, they smolder as they creep across hillsides in December. People may not have been as shocked by the change as they should have been because it has been gradual and even courteous in its arrival. However, the statistics and the smoke rising over suburban cul-de-sacs reveal the harsh reality: California’s wildfire season now lasts almost the whole year.
| Category | Information |
|---|---|
| State | California |
| Lead Fire Agency | California Department of Forestry and Fire Protection (CAL FIRE) |
| Climate Research Partner | Scripps Institution of Oceanography |
| Peak Fire Months (Historically) | Late Summer to Early Fall |
| Current Trend | Wildfire risk nearly year-round |
| Official Website | https://www.fire.ca.gov |
| Climate Research Source | https://scripps.ucsd.edu |
Early winter driving along Interstate 5 reveals rolling brown hills that resemble late August rather than January. Grass remains brittle. The creeks are getting thinner. When firefighters would have rotated off duty, they stay on duty. The tone of the California Department of Forestry and Fire Protection has changed slightly but significantly, increasingly characterizing the threat as persistent rather than seasonal.
The heat persisting into the fall is partly to blame for this change. A portion of it is due to rain coming later or not at all. The behavior of fires is changing due to extended drought and warming temperatures, according to research from the Scripps Institution of Oceanography. The summer is hotter. Plants dry out earlier in the year. When wind compresses into hot gusts after descending from mountain passes, even small wind events have the power to make headlines.
A resident’s emotional adjustment to this new permanence is still unknown. One gets the impression that the word “unprecedented” wears people out. After so many devastating seasons—from wind-driven disasters in Southern California to wine country infernos—shock has given way to a more muted, resigned vigilance. Insurance firms, on the other hand, have not quit. As a result, they have been pulling back, recalculating risk in ways that homeowners find extremely intimate, and canceling policies in high-risk areas.
Signs are visible in some neighborhoods. wood shingles to metal roofs. In place of ornamental shrubs, use native, drought-resistant landscaping instead. installed fire-resistant vents along the eaves. As one strolls through sections of Santa Rosa or the hills above Malibu, houses appear to be discreetly fortified, as though they are getting ready for an unplanned siege. Compared to official press conferences, that silent retrofitting says more.
Fire was always going to happen in California because of its Mediterranean climate. Plant growth was stimulated by wet winters. Summers that were dry made that growth tinder. The gap between those two states has, however, expanded. The rainy season has become less consistent, occasionally shorter, and occasionally arrives in sudden, powerful storms that promote the rapid growth of vegetation, which eventually dries out due to the unrelenting heat. It’s a cycle that appears to be intensifying.
Additionally, more people are now residing in areas that are prone to fire, which is an uncomfortable fact. Due to the relative affordability and the views, subdivisions are pushing farther into forested canyons and foothills. Observing construction cranes ascending close to slopes covered in chaparral makes one question if progress has surpassed prudence. Better firefighting technology and mitigation strategies appear to be able to keep up with climate trends, according to investors and homebuyers. Maybe they are correct. Additionally, they might be underestimating a system that becomes less predictable every year.
Even firefighters have changed their speech patterns. They once prepared for the surge season. Previously deemed safe months are now covered by staffing models. Equipment remains in action for longer. It becomes more chronic and less seasonal. Technology advancements like satellite detection, quicker aerial response, and predictive modeling, however, are subtly enhancing the state’s capacity for prompt action. Before they become catastrophes, small fires are frequently put out. It’s not often newsworthy, but it’s important.
Megafires are still a problem, though. In recent years, entire communities have been forced to evacuate, with tens of thousands doing so under scary-frequent red-flag warnings. As I stand in an evacuation center and observe families holding onto their pets and phone chargers, the abstract concept of “climate risk” takes on tangible form. Smoke is odorous. Windshields get ash, and schools close. Pauses in life.
Additionally, a more general cultural change is taking place. Winter was once thought of by Californians as a time of green hillsides and rainstorms. Winter is increasingly associated with dry lightning, offshore winds, and anxious looks at brush on the hillside. Apps for weather are examined for wind and humidity levels rather than rain predictions. That small shift in behavior speaks volumes.
One could easily present this as a tale of doom. The data on structures lost and acres burned are undoubtedly alarming. Real-time adaptation is also taking place, though. There are power lines being buried by utilities. Councils to prevent fires are being formed by communities. In the cool morning hours, homeowners are methodically digging back brush and clearing defensible space.
The question of whether these efforts will be sufficient remains. Climate models predict more warming in the ensuing decades, which could make drought conditions worse. However, predicting the behavior of fires decades in the future is like trying to predict the exact trajectory of smoke in a changing wind.
The idea of a contained wildfire season is dwindling, and that much is clear. In its place is a landscape where the calendar no longer provides the same level of comfort and where vigilance is maintained from January to December.
