John Pepin, Michigan Department of Natural Resources

“He spent all night staring down at the lights of L.A., wondering if he could ever go home,” — Bob Seger

Los Angeles County parks literature describes Eaton Canyon as a “charming 190-acre nature preserve located at the base of the beautiful San Gabriel Mountains,” featuring hiking trails, picnic spots and a seasonal stream.

In the rainy times, a rounded gouge sliced between the rock walls there becomes an enticing oasis with the cooling waters of the stream tumbling over a 40-foot waterfall into a waist-deep plunge pool worth the hike.

A dry and dusty dirt road drops into the canyon from its west side and then across a white-railed concrete bridge over the creek. The road then switch backs its way up to Henninger Flats – an elevated bench nestled in the pine trees with a ranger station and a machine dispensing ice-cold pop.

However, this past week, in horrific and nightmarish scenes broadcast on the national news, Eaton Canyon only resembled a devilish hellscape with fist-sized embers tumbling across streets or being flung far across the canyon and into surrounding neighborhoods.

Sparks rained down like those from an open blast furnace.

Walls of fire swiftly swallowed, consumed and spit out the dry sagebrush along the hillsides, enlarging the blaze as it raced forward consuming anything in its path, including houses, businesses and vehicles.

Thousands of people were forced to leave their homes with little time to spare.

Acrid, choking smoke obscured the view of almost everything, as it was pushed, pulled and twisted into tornadic gusts by extreme Santa Ana winds racing over the scene at nearly 100 miles an hour.

For millions watching their video screens across the nation, these destructive and deadly scenes were shocking and unimaginable.

I was among them, glued helplessly to my Los Angeles news livestream from a great distance away. I couldn’t sleep much. I could barely eat. I wanted to be out there. I wanted to help somehow.

It was like watching my hometown burn.

During the decade or so I lived in California, Eaton Canyon was one of the places I visited often and enjoyed most.

I was first introduced to the canyon by a birdwatcher friend of mine. With binoculars hanging down from our necks, we walked the trail through the creek wash up to the white-railed bridge.

Along the way, we encountered an interesting assortment of trees, plants and shrubs, including chapparal yucca, century plants and coast live oak.

Many of the birds were new to a Michigan boy. Some of the species I recall from those early trips included the clown-faced acorn woodpeckers, large band-tailed pigeons, jet black phainopeplas and ubiquitous Anna’s hummingbirds.

The Pasadena Audubon Society, which I became a member of and eventually led countless bird hikes for, held its monthly meetings at Eaton Canyon’s nature center, which included an auditorium, live wildlife displays and picnic tables outside.

At one point, the nature center’s director and I put up wood duck houses in an upland area off one of the side canyons to attract western screech owls.

We captured and banded the owls occupying the nest boxes during daylight hours when the birds would be sleeping like little vampires on beds of wood chips.

In the evenings, I enjoyed hiking the dirt road up to Henninger Flats.

Great horned owls would perch on the crossbars of gigantic electric wire towers situated close to the road.

From the flats we could look out at the lights of the crowded communities in the valley below. It was a beautiful place to be.

More than 30 years ago, a couple months before I moved back home to Michigan, a scene reminiscent of this week befell Eaton Canyon.

A 35-year-old homeless Chinese immigrant woke up cold and shivering before dawn in a hillside campground. The man, who spoke no English, had been living somewhere in South America two months previous.

Amid another fierce attack of the Santa Ana winds, the man started a morning campfire, which got away from his control and raced through Eaton Canyon, burning the nature center to the ground.

That fire ultimately blackened 5,000 acres and damaged or destroyed over 100 structures. More than 500 residents were evacuated.

At least 40 animals died in the fire, including those in the displays at the nature center.

The Altadena Fire back then was one of 13 blazes burning a total of 116,000 acres from Ventura County to the Mexican border.

This week’s Eaton Fire has killed at least 16 people and damaged or destroyed 7,000 structures, making it the most destructive Los Angeles fire and the second-most destructive blaze in California’s history.

The monstrous fire has charred more than 114,000 acres and again destroyed the nature center at Eaton Canyon, which was rebuilt after the 1993 fire.

The last time I visited Eaton Canyon was on a trip from Michigan to California in 2018.

It was the same trip that my wife and I were married in Pasadena, and we brought her bridesmaid daughters to hike at Eaton Canyon.

We walked the trail up the wash from the nature center. We were fortunate enough to spot a California kingsnake crossing the trail in front of us. The girls were fascinated with the different types of plants, snapping numerous pictures on their cellphones.

I was taking pictures too. I got a great picture of a scrub jay sitting atop the back of a deer. The acorn woodpeckers I’d first encountered decades previous were still living among the oak trees there.

I took a picture of our girls leaning on the white rails of the bridge over the wash as they were looking upstream into the canyon’s narrower reaches, where the waterfall splashes.

On a morning side trip one day, I went to another wash area a few miles west of Eaton Canyon where I had studied, photographed and mapped cactus wren nesting locations when I was in graduate school at California State University, Northridge.

I wanted to return to see if I could find some cactus wrens.

Recent fires had burned this part of Big Tujunga Canyon, burning some of the cactus wren nests and much of the alluvial scrub vegetation growing there. I couldn’t find any wrens, but I did see a dead rat burnt black amid the ashes.

We took the girls to Malibu, which is one of the most beautiful places I have ever seen. They took their first-ever toe-dips into the Pacific Ocean there.

We also took a trip up to the top of Mount Wilson, which is situated above Eaton Canyon. Walking around the 5,700-foot summit, the ground was powdered pinkish red from drops of fire retardant by repurposed, firefighting passenger planes.

This week’s Eaton Fire again threatened Mount Wilson, a place that is home to important telescopes at the installation’s observatory and numerous communications towers serving communities in the Los Angeles basin.

The best thing that my latest trip to Eaton Canyon and the fire of 1993 have reminded me is that nature will respond and revive itself, even after destructive fires.

I have no doubt that Eaton Canyon will eventually return to its former grandeur.

I have faith that the county will again rebuild the nature center. From my own experience I know the facility is an enriching place, which opens doors to endless knowledge and discovery.

Fires are part of the natural landscape of California, like in the jack pine barrens of Michigan, where fire helps force open jack pine seed cones to grow more trees.

However, the incredible devastation raged upon Los Angeles County recently will take untold numbers of years to fully recover from.

I have one friend, whose home was situated around the rim of Eaton Canyon, that I have tried to reach, so far unsuccessfully.

I remain unsettled, with the Eaton Fire and the others still burning across Los Angeles almost constantly on my mind.

There have been several times when I’ve been so close to dropping everything to head out there, but it’s unclear exactly how I might help.

My heart is broken for Los Angeles. It’s a city I love and miss like a second hometown.

Looking through pictures of our last trip out there, I see Eaton Canyon in its dry dirt, low creek flow, September days.

I think about those screech owls from a long time ago. I wonder if their relatives burned up in the Eaton Fire. If the nest boxes we put up years ago were still there, I’m sure they were destroyed.

One day, I’ll set my boots down within those canyon walls again to walk the wash upstream to the waterfall. I’ll hike the Mount Wilson Toll Road up to Henninger Flats to listen for the horned owls hooting.

With my senses taking in all they can from the canyon, my heart and spirit will reconcile my simple, but precious memories with the loss and the rebirth of this incredible little place along the foothills.

Viva Los Angeles!

EDITOR’S NOTE: Outdoors North is a weekly column produced by the Michigan Department of Natural Resources on a wide range of topics important to those who enjoy and appreciate Michigan’s world-class natural resources of the Upper Peninsula.