Unprecedented—a word that’s tossed around so much these days, it’s practically lost its meaning. Those on the left seem to wield it like a verbal Swiss Army knife, attaching it to almost any topic. Why? Because they can. Few challenge the hyperbole, whether it’s dishonesty, laziness, or a cocktail of both leading to these exaggerated claims.
Long before the firestorms of 2025 roared through the canyons, fueled by relentless Santa Ana winds and leaving more than 10,000 homes, businesses, schools, and hospitals in ashes, I’ve taken time on this program to unravel the truth about wildfires in the West. I’ve lived through them. I’ve seen them.
The Yellowstone fires of 1988 were my baptism by fire—literally. I was in the park on what they called Black Saturday. Roads were closing faster than you could plot an escape. It was a desperate search for an exit I’ll never forget.
Covering fires became part of my early career in Montana, Wyoming, and Idaho. That first year, some two million acres burned around Yellowstone National Park. Since then, I’ve watched as every fire from Texas to Canada is labeled “the biggest ever” or, you guessed it, “unprecedented.”
But let’s get something straight: Santa Ana winds have been barreling through the San Gabriel Mountains for millennia. The Native Americans knew this, which is why they wintered near the beach. Fossil fuels and SUVs had nothing to do with the catastrophic firestorms thousands of years ago. Fires so numerous, many have been lost to time.
Remember the Santiago Canyon fire in 1889? How about the Bel Air fires of 1961 and 1969, or the Laguna fires in 1970 and 1993? In just the past 25 years, Los Angeles has seen at least 16 massive wildfires. That’s the way the place is built. Add man-made debris and environmentalists blocking sound forest management, and you’ve got a recipe for disaster. But “unprecedented?” Not even close.
The real unprecedented factor might just be the abject failure of leadership. Santa Ana winds and wildfires are as predictable as the sunrise in California. And yet, the state’s policies and infrastructure seem woefully unprepared year after year. Case in point: the longest Santa Ana winds lasted 14 days in November 1957. The strongest? December 2011, with sustained winds of 97 mph and a recorded gust of 167 mph.
Los Angeles is a desert by the sea, plagued by earthquakes, droughts, floods, mudslides, and, of course, fires. And here we are again, with ordinary Americans footing the bill to rebuild a city that sits at the mercy of nature. It’s like rebuilding New Orleans below sea level and hoping hurricanes take a rain check.
Want historical context? A fire in Maine in 1825 burned three million acres. Another in 1910 in Montana and Idaho also scorched three million acres. On October 8, 1871, three massive fires ravaged the Great Lakes region, including the Peshtigo fire in Wisconsin, which killed at least 2,000 people. Michigan wasn’t spared either; the Great Michigan Fire torched 2.5 million acres that same day. Poor management, debris, and negligence were the common threads then, just as they are now.
California’s fires are fueled by decades of mismanagement. Logging, once at six million board feet annually, now hovers around one million. Dead trees, underbrush, and outdated policies have turned the state into a tinderbox. Anti-logging organizations, failed water management, and a refusal to build proper fire infrastructure exacerbate the problem. Even insurance companies’ policies pile onto the chaos.
The solution? Real leadership. Firebreaks, riparian areas, and functioning hydrants could make these disasters less severe. It’s time for Californians to demand accountability. Toss out the activists and anti-timber lobbyists. Bring in people who actually know what they’re doing. Only then will we see a reduction in the frequency and severity of these massive fires.
Will California step up? Or will we continue to watch the same flames engulf the same neighborhoods year after year? Maybe, just maybe, real leadership—now that would be unprecedented.