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Rain doesn't tamp down brush fires

Nor does the proximity of a president, who is 3 miles from a flareup that causes an evacuation of 40 homes.

By S.I. ROSENBAUM, JUSTIN GEORGE and BEN MONTGOMERY
Published May 10, 2006

But even as they spoke, another fire flared out of dry woodland less than 3 miles away.

Forty homes were evacuated along the west side of Del Webb Boulevard. Residents on the east side watched nervously as firefighters dragged hoses into the smoke.

Bush, learning of the second blaze, spoke to reporters of the need to control fires as the state suffers tinderbox weather.

"Obviously, people need to be real careful," he said. "These are dangerous conditions."

Rain brought hope for relief early Tuesday. But it wasn't enough.

Across the state, fires have threatened homes and closed roads.

A 6,500-acre blaze in Brevard County has shut down parts of Interstate 95 for weeks, and officials were tracking 50 active wildfires throughout Florida.

In the past month, Hillsborough County firefighters have faced about two or three brush fires each day, Fire Rescue spokesman Ray Yeakley said.

He called it the worst brush-fire season in eight years.

"Firefighters are getting tired of it," Yeakley said. "It's exhausting."

On Monday, they wrestled a blaze too fast and hungry to control. The fire raced through 400 acres of brush and trees, leaping Interstate 75 and stranding commuters for more than six hours.

Martha Houts' niece and nephew weren't evacuated, but their homes were in the fire's path.

Monday, she worried for them.

"It's been so dry," said Houts, 66. "Anything could happen."

Tuesday, she woke to the sound of rain and thunder.

National Weather Service forecaster Ernie Jillson said the area picked up about ¾ inch of rain. It was a pleasant surprise, he said.

"It's certainly going to go a long way to wetting the fuels," Jillson predicted Tuesday morning.

Houts assumed the same thing.

"Oh," she remembers thinking. "This is a blessing, to put out the fire from yesterday."

Rain would hold back a blaze, she thought.

"I never once thought it would happen today," she said. "Here. To us."

Near 8:30 a.m., she was drinking coffee in her home on Del Webb Boulevard when she heard a loud, crackling "boom."

Other residents heard it, too. Next door, Janet O'Dell, 63, looked out her window and saw what had happened: A transformer on a pole had exploded in the woods out back.

There was a white ball of flame, she said.

She called 911.

n n n

By 9:30 a.m. Tuesday, Secret Service agents had secured the Kings Point clubhouse in Sun City Center, a community of 16,000 senior citizens, where the president was due to speak about Medicare.

About the same time, Hillsborough firefighters arrived at Del Webb Boulevard.

They walked through Martha Houts' yard on their way to look at the sparking transformer.

They passed her again on their way back to their truck. Houts remembers that one of them told her the fire was under control. It was going out by itself, he said.

At noon, a TECO worker came out to look at the burning pole. He, too, left without doing anything, residents said.

Through the afternoon, neighbors watched as smoke occasionally rose out of the woods.

At 11 a.m. Tuesday, Jack Lowell, 71, knew the fire was going to grow.

He could tell by the hawk. It circled above the smoke, watching for small animals escaping the flames.

Lowell pulled a lawn chair to the edge of the shade in his garage to watch through a pair of binoculars.

The smoke grew thicker.

"Then," said neighbor John Rose, 77, "it erupted."

n n n

By 1 p.m. firefighters were back on Del Webb Boulevard, fighting flames that shot 20 feet high and spewed ash into the sky above the rooftops.

Some of the firefighters had been called away from Fire Station 28, on Sun City Center Boulevard, where they had been waiting for Bush.

The president was making an unannounced stop there to learn about Monday's fire.

He arrived at the station just as phones were ringing in 40 households on Del Webb: a reverse-911 call ordering evacuation.

All but two residents packed their belongings and left their homes. Some lingered on the street, commiserating with neighbors.

"Save my house!" John Rose shouted to the firefighters. A neighbor handed him a cold beer.

By 2:30 p.m., a firefighter on a John Deere bulldozer began plowing a path through the woods to the south; the fire had swollen to 6 acres.

The wind shifted and pushed the flames toward a thick cluster of short palms, which ignited quickly. The firefighters turned their backs and shielded their faces.

n n n

By 4 p.m., firefighters had the blaze mostly under control. But the flames had gotten close enough that they'd had to wet down some roofs. Residents were allowed back to their homes by 5:35.

"Nobody was injured and no homes were damaged," Yeakley said. "Nobody was hurt, and that's what it's all about."

But firefighters still have weeks to go until the summer rains begin.

Until then, Yeakley said, anything can set off a blaze - a downed power line, a cigarette butt, even the sun shining on a piece of glass in a dry field.

"I would not let your guard down as far as wild fires go," Ernie Jillson, the forecaster, said Tuesday morning.

"We're not expecting a whole lot of rain."

-- Staff researcher Carolyn Edds and staff writer Abbie VanSickle contributed to this report, which includes information from the Associated Press.

[Last modified May 10, 2006, 06:11:52]