Overview and Background
On the morning of 8 November 2018, the people of Paradise, California, were going about their daily routines when, with little-to-no warning, a massive wildfire descended on their town, engulfing it entirely. By the time the Camp Fire, named for its origins near Camp Creek Road, was contained on 25 November, 18,800 structures had been destroyed. 84 people perished in the flames. In recent months, conspiracy theories have proliferated with the help of certain politicians. In the interest of providing a clear, accurate, and truthful explanation as to what happened to Paradise, we shall be examining a Butte County report titled “The Camp Fire Public Report“, which was released on 16 June 2020.
Paradise is located in an area that, like most of California, is experiencing the effects of human-driven climate change. Hidden among the trees was how the residents of Paradise preferred to live, tucked away in one of the most outrageously beautiful parts of the state. Unfortunately, those trees were distressed. Decades of drought and steadily-declining rainfall had left many trees more susceptible to disease than they otherwise may have been. Coupled with forest mismanagement and a “suppress every fire” mentality, the area in and around Paradise was primed for a fiery disaster. All that was needed was a spark.
Pre-Fire Imagery 
Post-Fire Imagery
Paradise is in a mountainous, jagged section of the Sierra Nevada foothills, with most roads being small, winding, and slow-going. With only two main routes out of town, and with most roads being low-capacity, the ability to rapidly evacuate Paradise, with over 25,000 citizens, was even lesser than the average city. When the Jarbo Winds began to howl on the night of 7 November 2018, the countdown to disaster began.
The Fire Begins
The first technical sign of trouble was an “interruption” recorded by one of Pacific Gas & Electric (henceforth PG&E)’s Grid Control Centers in Vacaville, registered at 6:15 a.m. The system indicated trouble on the 115kV Caribou-Palermo transmission line, near the Feather River Canyon area. The winds that morning were a steady 30 MPH, at times gusting to over 50 MPH, putting tremendous strain on the hardware and infrastructure supporting the Caribou-Palermo line. The line itself had been constructed not by PG&E, but by the now-defunct Great Western Power Company, sometime between 1919 and 1921. PG&E had acquired the line when they had purchased the Great Western Power Company in 1930. It had been converted in the 1960s from a 165kV line to 115kV. Sometime at or shortly before 6:15, a cast iron C-hook attached to Tower 27/222, stressed by years of wear, snapped, dropping the string of insulators they had been holding aloft. The insulators swung downward into the metal tower itself, arcing and sending sparks and bits of molten metal (from the tower and the insulator) showering downward.
Five minutes later, at 6:20 a.m., a PG&E Hydro Division employee was driving east on Highway 70 when he observed what he first thought to be the sun rising behind the ridgeline. He then realized it was, in fact, a fire underneath Tower 27/222. As cellular service is unavailable in Feather Creek Canyon, he used his PG&E radio to contact the Rock Creek Powerhouse to report the fire. Emergency operators at Cal Fire’s Emergency Communications Center (ECC) in Oroville was notified at 6:25:19 a.m. Another five minutes later, at 6:30 a.m., a California Department of Transportation (CalTrans) employee arrived at the CalTrans Pulga Station and, upon seeing a fire under the PG&E transmission lines nearby, snapped what is thought to be the first photograph of the Camp Fire.
At 6:29:55 a.m., CalFire’s Jarbo Gap/Concow station received their initial notification, and by 6:35, two engines led by Captain Matt McKenzie were en-route via Highway 70. At 6:44 a.m., Captain McKenzie made a fateful radio call, detailing what he could see and predict based on the fire’s early behavior,
It’s gonna be very difficult access, Camp Creek Road is nearly inaccessible. It is on the West Side of the river, underneath the transmission lines, kind of about a 35 mile an hour sustained wind on it… This has got potential for a major incident.
Captain Matt mckenzie, calfire
Much has been written by far more talented and skilled writers about the actual events that took place in Paradise that fateful day. This article is more about the causes of the fire than the actual fire itself. For a thorough look at the events in Paradise during the fire, be sure to check out PBS Frontline’s “Fire in Paradise“.
Run to Failure | PG&E’s Responsibility
Attaching to a metal “Transposition Arm” on Tower 27/222, a cast iron C-hook held an insulator string aloft, which was connected to its twin on the opposite side of the tower by a jumper conductor cable. While the exact date of the attachment hardware is unknown (the records were lost by PG&E), the FBI determined that the C-hook responsible for causing the Camp Fire was approximately 97 years old. One would expect that, if PG&E were to continue using the lines, extensive maintenance or at the very least inspections would have taken place. Alas, this was not the case. In addition to the worn C-hooks, the hanger holes on the transposition arm were also worn from almost 100 years of stress.
Broken c-hook responsible for igniting Camp Fire, Tower 27/222 
Worn c-hook and hanger hole on Tower 27/222 
Worn c-hook and hanger hole on Tower 27/222 
Worn hanger hole on Tower 27/222 where insulator string broke off and fell
According to a former PG&E troubleman, the Caribou-Palermo line was considered a Class-B Circuit. Under the 1987 policies established by PG&E’s “Routine Patrolling and Inspection of Transmission Lines”, Class-B Circuits are to be inspected by ground once per year, and by air twice per year. The handbook also established that C-hooks and hanger holes were to be regularly inspected, and provided materials to demonstrate worn equipment. Further, the handbook stipulated that five percent of annual inspections must also result in a climb of the towers on a given line for a close inspection.
In 1995, the previous policy was replaced with the so-called ES Guideline, which stipulated that the Caribou-Palermo line should be reduced to one ground inspection and one aerial inspection every 24 months. Then, in 2005, this was reduced again to one inspection every five years, and one patrol per year in non-inspection years (patrols being more of a cursory look, inspections taking longer). What is clear is that these inspections, closer examinations of the transmission towers with a helicopter coming so close one could step off onto the tower, seldom, if ever, took place. Thus, the guidelines and regulations PG&E claimed to be enforcing were nothing but theater.
Inspections were to be conducted, as of the 1987 policies, by what’s known in the industry as a troubleman. At that time, all PG&E troublemen and supervisors would meet periodically for training sessions, where they would share best practices and other information for the creation of a training manual, which was used to instruct new troublemen. Then, in 1995, the new guidelines dropped the training requirement; however, PG&E kept a program running for instructing new employees. Finally, in 2005, it was decided that troublemen would receive all their training on-the-job from more experienced supervisors. Formal training was abolished.
In 1997, PG&E filed a “Transmission Owner Maintenance Practice (TOMP)” with the California Independent System Operator Corporation (CA ISO). The TOMP stipulated that the term “troubleman” would be replaced by the term “inspector”. “Inspector” was defined as “a PG&E-employed inspector commonly referred to as a troubleman.” In 2002, the TOMP was updated once more, with “inspector” being replaced with QCR, or “Qualified Company Representative.” The definition of QCR was “a person, who by reason of training and work experience is able to complete an accurate assessment of the electric transmission facilities that he/she is asked to inspect.” The exact training required, however, was never stipulated. In terms of equipment, a phrase became common as it was passed around PG&E offices.
Run to failure.
There is no single cause of the tragedy that is the Camp Fire. The evidence makes it clear that a combination of geographic factors, climate change, and criminal negligence and incompetence came together in the most horrifying way possible, laying waste to a peaceful community. In the future, it may become increasingly common for utilities such as power and water to be government-run, and the Camp Fire will likely be a key piece of evidence in proving the inability of private companies to fulfil their duties safely. For the people of Paradise, who lost not only their homes and neighbors, but their very sense of stability and safety, the twin curses of climate change and late-stage capitalism have become more than rhetorical. To close, a quote from a personal friend of mine and lifelong resident of Paradise.
It wasn’t just my memories that were gutted. It was my best friends I grew up with, the girl next door, the buddy I invited to every birthday. Those friends I had fights with and then immediately apologize to, were gone. The people who knew where to find me and would stop by anytime or honk driving by to prove they were thinking of me, gone. Housing was so tight, and seeing this beautiful home become a burned out hellscape turned my friend’s stomachs. They no longer felt safe. They left. I do not get to see them; I do not get to yell at them over the fence, I do not get to watch those babies grow. I can’t get them back, not like before.
My community was taken, my home was taken, my things were taken, my memories were taken, and my friends were taken, and also my safe place. I didn’t have just a safe place home; I had a safe town. That kind of loss seeps into your mind and seeps into your future, I do not smile like I once did, and my humor is darker. My Paradise family is all over the United States and the Christmas card updates are all I have now from them. I feel as I must start my life again, start over at 30, but without that safe space and warmth from a family that I once knew. And anger has replaced that warmth.
B. H., paradise resident
