×
×
homepage logo

Lynette Chun’s story of the Lahaina wildfire, Aug. 8, 2023

By Staff | Oct 19, 2023

Surging gusts of ferocious howling wind rattled window jalousies as if to shatter them to smithereens, pulsed with a vengeance shaking nearby trees, clattered through the bathroom air vents, screeched like banshees under any doorway opening, then deathly silence. Electricity was out. The ceiling fan and refrigerator slept for once, their voices stilled at 3 a.m. on Aug. 8, 2023, a scant 12 hours more before the town of Lahaina would be obliterated, unknown then by sleeping inhabitants, some of whom would lose everything to an insatiable fire fed by a raging wind.

I stayed awake, unable to sleep. I looked for edibles that I could prep for breakfast, lunch, dinner that didn’t need heating up or cooking. I’d be working the P.M. shift at The Plantation Inn, a Bed and Breakfast. I decided to leave the refrigerator closed, so food wouldn’t spoil, and by the time I returned, the electricity should be back on. It always worked that way. I packed my flashlight, knowing it’d be dark in the office, and started a bit earlier to walk to the Inn and avoid the wind. That didn’t bode too well as fierce gusts spontaneously whipped into a frenzy. I’d hunker down next to a stone wall to avoid being whooshed into the street and an oncoming car.

Once at work, I saw the wind damage to roof shingles flung onto the sidewalk, littering the courtyard and polluting the pool. Entire sheets of aluminum roofing were peeled back and tossed into the street. I worried that one of these sheet metal slicers could decapitate me. Portions of fences around the property were blown out with gaping holes revealing more fallen debris. Tree branches were knocked down. Trees themselves uprooted.

Leaves, garbage, dirt, anything loose, were continually swept up into the air and hurled every which way. The harsh wind continued at will throughout the afternoon. Since there was no electricity, none of us had any kind of communication. Computers dead, phone lines dead, cell phones dead. No one knew about a fire that started early in the morning, but presumably put out, since there was no news all day.

However, by early afternoon, my colleagues and I could smell smoke from a fire somewhere up on Lahainaluna Road. Through a window I could see the plume of white smoke. Fires have happened before, but never like this. It moved with supersonic speed, powered by the wind, energized by the dry brush and wooden structures it devoured like a manic creature starved for eons, fed by exploding gas tanks, always the wind, moving the flames forward, consuming everything in its path, the wind striking a ball of flames into a building across the street from where we were standing. In-house guests were packed and ready to evacuate somewhere. There was no police or evacuation notice. Finally at 4 p.m., when black smoke darkened the sky and live embers and ash were falling onto the Inn, one of the guests had received an Emergency Alert on his phone telling him to evacuate now! At the same time I, too, received that Emergency Alert on my otherwise dead phone. Other than that communique, there was nothing — no siren, no loudspeaker, no police, nothing. The Inn was still waiting for guests to check in. One couple arrived.

My Manager had an elderly couple with her in her truck, and there was a young couple in their own car in the rear parking lot. By now the air was thick with smoke, ash, and flying embers. I ran out to my Manager’s truck, but then she asked about the lady in the orange shirt. I turned to the couple sitting in the rear and told her they’re here. “No,” she said, “the ones who just checked in.” She told me to go back inside to look for them. Reluctantly, I ran into the courtyard, saw the woman in orange standing in the doorway to the Lahainaluna Road building. I yelled and waved at her to come out NOW. We were waiting for her! The acrid smoke was gritty in the throat, hard to breathe, complicating my asthma. Hot embers were raining down fast. The woman turned and ran back into the building. I ran toward the steps, but I wasn’t about to enter the building. With extreme urgency I yelled at the top of my lungs, “COME NOW! WE ARE WAITING FOR YOU! HURRY UP!” She had disappeared. I waited, then ran back out to my Manager’s truck and in my crazy lady frantic tone cried out, “SHE’S NOT COMING. WE HAVE TO GO!”

At that point my Manager told me to get in the second car with the young couple and direct them to the Lahaina Civic Center, which was open as an emergency shelter. My Manager said she would wait for the couple left in the building to make sure everyone gets out. I showed the young couple the way out from the back lane to Lahainaluna Road, the main artery. It was clogged with cars. The smoky air hung like dense fog, then turned black. The young guy was not an aggressive driver, so we sat there for at least five minutes, with other cars going around him and cutting in. One of those cars belonged to my Manager, and I told the driver, “Hey, that’s my Manager’s truck. Follow her and don’t let anyone cut in.” We were one block from Front Street. To get to the Lahaina Civic Center, we needed to get onto Lahainaluna Road, go one block, turn right on Front Street, but I was hoping my Manager would turn Left on Front Street and head south, out of town. Auwe! She turned right, but saw fire and congestion up ahead, so made an immediate U-turn to head south on Front Street. I was relieved. It was about 4:15 p.m. by now; I lost track of time. Cars moved bumper to bumper along Front Street to get out of town. I saw one of our housekeepers walking on Front Street. First she went to the Manager’s truck, but they were full, so I motioned for her to come in the car where we had room. The housekeeper had been waiting for a bus that never arrived.

I never looked back. I took no photos. Each person in the car was quietly pensive. I think it was at this time that there was an explosion behind us with a fireball enveloping Front Street and one of its buildings. Someone took that photo that went viral, and I think our car was only a block away on the escape route.

I passed two friends’ homes. They didn’t see me in the car. They were outdoors laughing, chatting, drinking wine, enjoying a breezy summer day, oblivious to a raging fire that would eventually consume their homes. They lived quite a distance from the center of town, and at least a 45-minute walk from the Inn on Lahainaluna Road to their homes. My friends lived close to Puamana, a gated community at one end of Front Street. I lived at the opposite end of town, almost a two-hour walk from where I lived. I was told later that my apartment complex also burned down. It shouldn’t have, because I lived at least 15 minutes’ walk from the Inn. Who could think the fire would travel the distance to opposite ends of town? The Plantation Inn was in the heart of Lahaina, a haven in the middle of town, walking distance to everything.

My Manager drove up to the Bypass, where police cars had blocked the entrance into Lahaina. We pulled over and parked alongside other cars. We stayed there for several hours, until the young man in my car saw fire that had jumped the Bypass. He was scared and wanted to leave the area. He went out to talk to my Manager. His wife opened the driver’s door of our car and the wind was so forceful that it slammed the door backwards into the front fender. The husband tried to ease the door closed while fighting the intense wind. My view of the fire was blocked by another car, but you couldn’t miss seeing the mile high black smoke. I did not leave the safety of the car. No one spoke. None of us had eaten. I offered my one bag of nuts for us to munch on. Forget about a bathroom break! I would’ve been blown away. Never mind being invisible to do private business in view of a slew of cars!

After nearly four hours on the Bypass and the concern about the spreading fire, my Manager decided to travel further south. Twenty minutes later we pulled into the Scenic Lookout Point to discuss options. The people in my Manager’s truck wanted to go to the Airport. There was still no cell or internet connection and I had no idea that the Lahaina fire was only one of three major fires on Maui that fateful August day. We continued following my Manager’s truck for another half hour as she pulled into the parking lot of the 24-hour Kahului Safeway supermarket. We got out to confer. The passengers in her truck wanted to go to the Kahului Airport. The young couple in whose car I was riding asked to stay at my Manager’s home. She politely declined. I gave the couple $20 and thanked them. I said I’d see them back at The Plantation Inn. This was Tuesday. They weren’t scheduled to depart until Friday. The housekeeper riding with us phoned her Mom, who lived in Kahului. So there I was, stranded in the middle of a deserted parking lot after 9 p.m. at night, wondering what to do, where to go, or who to call. I called the first name that came to mind, the phone answered and without hesitation, I was told to stay put and I’d be picked up in 30 minutes. I was exhausted, vacuous, in need of a bathroom, and unaware that Lahaina no longer existed.

By 10 p.m., I arrived at my friend’s home. In total we were five mangy fire survivors on Aug. 8, 2023 — one father from the Kula fire, three men from Lahaina fire, and me. I had no idea I smelled of fire, soot and smoke until I took a shower and washed my hair. It dawned on me I had no other clothes except for my work uniform, no underwear, no toothbrush, toothpaste, comb or hair brush. Just a few creature comfort details I take for granted.

I became homeless and jobless immediately. Everything gone. The Plantation Inn burned to the ground. My apartment complex burned to the ground. Lahaina burned to the ground.

Everything of my life disappeared in an instant. But I’m here! I’m alive! It engendered no joy, just a pervasive numbness, creeping anxiety and solitude for inner reflection. I haven’t cried. The shock is too much. I can’t even fathom the idea that I survived all this. Had I not been at work I may have perished. My empathy is with others displaced by natural disaster, refugees, war torn immigrants, those with NOTHING. How does one start over? Where to begin? It’s a humbling experience.

It was past midnight. By now, calls and text messages from around the world were pinging my cell phone. Not until the next day, Aug. 9, 2023, would I become aware of the extent of the fire and that there was NO LAHAINA, or know the horrific stories of those who had to jump into the ocean and stay there for hours, or of those who tried to escape, but whose cars were trapped by falling trees, then couldn’t run fast enough and were consumed.

What people don’t realize is that the combined effect of searing heat and gale force winds incinerated everything it touched. Those who died in the fire were essentially cremated on the spot, and the turbulent winds swept the ashes into the air, deposited them into the ocean, their final resting place.

Could the fire have been predicted? Probably. Three years prior, Lahaina prepared for Hurricane Lane, but a fire scorched part of the neighborhood, jumping over valleys. Downtown Lahaina was spared, but lost power for three days. Hurricane Lane dissipated as a tropical storm.

The Lahaina Wildfire of Aug. 8, 2023 was different, very different. I am convinced that a voracious wind fueled a ravenous fire that demolished a vibrant town. Lahaina will always be Lahaina. Remnants of the past will be restored, but a new Lahaina will also emerge. It will always be the ancestral home of the Hawaiian Kingdom. Moku’ula is still there. It was one man’s dream to restore it to its glory and commemorate the past. Maybe it will happen. The new Lahaina could move inland to cope with natural coastline erosion, tear down seawalls, reclaim its sandy beaches, restore cultural heritage features, mindful that ancestral Hawaiians lived sustainably in sync with their environment. There are diverse voices. Perhaps I will be one of the many to restore and renew. I can only hope. Those of you who have given tirelessly of time, funds, and energy sustain me and give me hope. Thank you and Aloha from the bottom of my heart. I am extremely grateful.

Two months have passed. Disaster recovery from Day One is a laborious, tedious process of becoming a number patiently waiting my turn among thousands to register with Federal Emergency Management Agency (FEMA) and Red Cross to seek assistance for basic needs, food, shelter, clothing, shoes, toiletries, bedding. Resilience is the key.

As I ruminate, it’s the loving care of friends, family and strangers who have reached out in innumerable ways that have sustained me through the lonely process of regaining spirit, emotional wholeness, and physical well-being. My eternal gratefulness to the constancy of friends picking me up, driving me to where I needed to be, every day, long lines of “lost” people, taking a number, waiting in line for hours to get processed (took me four times with FEMA to input information that would even provide an identification number), to prove my identity, or that I once lived where I lived to even qualify for assistance. I couldn’t get a new post office box because I didn’t have proof of residence beyond my driver’s license.

The safety of my friend’s home came to an abrupt end overnight after ten days of their graciousness and generosity when their landlady became uncomfortable with their two extra guests. I was up until 11 p.m. packing my belongings, turning to Red Cross early the next day to be housed somewhere else. On arrival at the assigned hotel it still took two hours to wait my turn to first be registered with Red Cross before I could finally get a room in the hotel.

Somewhere in the midst I came down with Covid. The aftereffects of debilitating back spasms made me wish for another magic wand, but this time not to clean my apartment. That wish already came true. This one was to eradicate pain, coughing, and suffering. ß

People underestimate the toll on the psyche. Everything becomes a momentous task that mocks the brain. I can’t concentrate. My task has always been to define Who Am I? Now it changed to Why Am I Here? Is it Worth it? Do I Matter? Who Cares? Should I Disappear?

The Actor’s task is to “make something out of nothing.” Use my imagination. That needs to be my new mantra. Advice from a friend, “Don’t look backward or fix anything, keep moving forward, embrace the new, with what makes me happy as my internal guide.” Good advice.

I’m still looking for a home while I am housed in a respite hotel that provides temporary security, meals, and serves as a hub for requisite information for Red Cross and FEMA. There is a Donation Center to access material needs. FEMA is an Emergency organization. Red Cross is here longer term. Volunteers from those two main agencies plus local organizations under park tents provide meals, massage, acupuncture, to relieve stress, National Guard and U.S. Public Health Service take care of medical needs and mental health crisis counseling, Army Corps of Engineers assess hazardous elements in the Burn Zone, Environmental Protection Agency is tasked with heavy cleanup of toxic debris. So many contributed their time and goodwill to assist Lahaina and its residents. Hotels have provided rooms and shelter for the displaced, along with any pets, and made it possible to regain some sense of normal routine.

This entire time has not been a vacation for me at all. I wish I could say I enjoyed the beach and sunset. The journey has been arduous. Perhaps when the instability and insecurity lets up, I can do that. I’m very conflicted. I tease myself into thinking I need to live with abandon now, because tomorrow may never come, the same way I casually toss out “Food before Friends.” In spite of all the help, cheerfulness of others, and compassion, lodged within me lies a pervasive sadness and deep uneasiness. A simple object in a thrift store can trigger a pang of memory of what once was, flashback in time and space. Memory can be a blessing or curse. As long as it takes, recovery is a minute at a time. And that’s okay. I’m a survivor.

I come from a line of strong women. My Mother, first-born and orphaned at thirteen, had four siblings, the youngest five months’ old, thrust into her care. My Aunt on my Father’s side, who dealt with crippling Polio before the vaccine, bought her own car and learned to drive. If they can overcome life- changing adversity, so can I. I have role models. It’s an attitude shift. I CAN DO IT.