Editor’s note: Toluca Lake resident and artist Paige Peter wrote the following narrative on January 8, a day after the destructive Eaton and Palisades wildfires ignited in L.A. County. The Eaton Fire burned over 14,000 acres, damaged or destroyed more than 16,000 structures and upended the lives of countless residents across Altadena and Pasadena, including many of Peter’s friends. Here, she shares her deep connection to the landscape and trails of Altadena, where for many years she found recreation, comfort and community.
Since 2020, I have been drawn to Echo Mountain. What began as an occasional trek turned into a deeply rooted daily routine. The trails leading to Echo Mountain, Inspiration Point, Mount Lowe and even San Gabriel Peak became my sanctuary. They were more than paths through the wilderness — they were a lifeline.
Initially, I used these hikes to train for backpacking adventures, preparing for the Grand Canyon’s North Rim, the Appalachian Trail through the Great Smoky Mountains and eventually Mount Kilimanjaro. But the mountain offered me more than just physical endurance — it became a place of healing. As I climbed, I worked through the pain of a marriage that had ended, finding solace in the steady rhythm of my footsteps and the quiet strength of the towering peaks. Each sunrise felt like a reminder that life continues, offering hope and renewal even after loss. Over time, the mountain became a daily ritual, grounding me in both body and spirit.
Every morning, I would wake at 3 a.m., drive to the trailhead and start my ascent with a headlamp illuminating the dark path. By the time I reached Echo Mountain, the world would begin to wake. The sunrises were breathtaking, painting Santiago Peak and the surrounding vistas in hues of gold and pink.
The mountain has given me even more than healing, fitness or awe-inspiring views — it has given me community. I’ve met countless hikers, learned their names and exchanged greetings that feel like threads weaving us together. I’ve connected with the oak trees, spring flowers, birds, deer, squirrels, rabbits, frogs, lizards, snakes and even the occasional bear! This routine has been my way of life.
But everything changed on Tuesday, January 7.
That morning, I arrived at the trailhead as usual, but fierce winds greeted me. The gusts were so strong they hurled sand, rocks and branches into my face. Trees bent under the pressure, roaring in the wind. For the first time in years, I turned back. I texted my friend Robert, an origami artist with a studio near the trailhead, to check if he was hiking. His reply was immediate: “No, it’s too windy. It’s dangerous out there.”
That evening, the winds turned ominous. Fires broke out in Eaton Canyon and the Palisades, and by the time I returned from work, I learned the flames were spreading. I texted Robert again, concerned for him and his wife. By 2:15 a.m., I received the devastating news: they had lost everything — their home, studio and years of work.
The following morning, I couldn’t stay away. My neighbor Denise, my steadfast sidekick, joined me as we drove into Altadena to rendezvous with a close hiker friend, John. The scene was apocalyptic. Smoke and dust obscured the roads, and embers floated through the air. We tried to navigate the chaos, but it was too dangerous. Embers swirled around the car, forcing us to retreat into the Food 4 Less parking lot on Lake Avenue. There, we found others who had evacuated — some sitting in their cars with pets, others stepping out to assess the situation. Emergency workers were present, and everyone calmly inquired about where to go next. We felt a sense of relief to be out of immediate danger, believing the fire would never reach that far down the hill. (But it later did.)
Arriving back home in Toluca Lake, I reached out to as many hiking friends as I could find in my phone, unsure if their homes were in the fire’s path. Most were fortunate to be farther away from the flames. However, I later learned through a mutual friend that one hiker I knew had lost his home. He was always friendly on the trail, and we often laughed about his unruly dog, who was full of energy and personality. While I didn’t have his contact information to check in directly, hearing about his loss was deeply saddening. It was a reminder of how far-reaching the fire’s impact had been, touching not only the landscape but the lives of those connected to it.
In the days that followed, I learned the extent of the devastation. The Echo Mountain trail and surrounding areas were charred. The Angeles National Forest was closed, and the National Guard moved in to protect what remained.
Robert and his wife, despite losing everything, have shown remarkable resilience. Their determination to rebuild and their love for Altadena inspire me. But I realized that while I didn’t lose a physical home, I lost something just as profound — a deep connection to the trails that had become my spiritual home.
These mountains weren’t just a backdrop to my life; they were a part of me. They were where I trained, found solace and built a community. Despite the loss, I feel immense gratitude for the experiences, the friendships and the connection I’ve had with this special place.
The journey ahead will be about rebuilding — not just for those who lost their homes, but for all of us who found a home on these trails.