French maverick, oystermen stay put in ritzy fire-threatened peninsula

Bare feet planted in the sand, 79-year-old Benoit Bartherotte oversaw bulldozers knocking down pine trees in southwest France, with a wildfire blazing just kilometres away and the temperature nearing 40C.

"When it's urgent, you need to take action," said the straight-talking businessman, wearing dark sunglasses over a reddened face and white beard.

Bartherotte is one of the last people to have stayed behind on the swanky Cap Ferret peninsula, where celebrities summer in villas worth millions and he has been going on holiday since he was a child.

Authorities ordered residents to leave last week, as the fire moved dangerously close to the narrow strip of land wedged between the Atlantic Ocean and the Arcachon Bay.

Bartherotte, a figure known as the peninsula's "Robinson" who has for years battled to protect its point from sea erosion, unilaterally decided to set up a massive firebreak to protect it -- even if local authorities did not approve.

"They made us lose two days with their small-minded bureaucratic nonsense, ordering the work site to be shut down," he said.

But he said he activated his network, "right up until (First Lady) Brigitte Macron", to get the permits.

- 'My boat is ready' -

A group of volunteers set back to work on Wednesday morning to protect the village of Cap Ferret on the southern-most tip of the peninsula.

The volunteers hoped to have razed a strip 800 metres long and 80 metres wide to guard the village within three days.

Four logging machines knocked down pines and ripped up roots, all funded by his association set up to protect the tip of the peninsula's beaches.

"All we want is to save our homes," said Quentin, an osteopath with gold-streaked hair volunteering in a t-shirt and camouflage trousers.

The man in his forties, who did not wish to give his second name, said firefighters were advising the team.

"I got my family to safety on the other side of the bay and came to lend a hand," he said, as he unloaded equipment in the suffocating.

"My boat is ready. I can leave in a matter of five minutes," he added.

But along the long strip on seaside land, others have remained too -- fishermen, oyster farmers and retirees.

Unlike the film stars or wealthy residents from the nearby city of Bordeaux with a second home by the sea, they call themselves the "real locals".

- 'Neither rich nor privileged' -

Bart Bosredon, 44, busied himself at low tide turning over shells trapped in the mesh of submerged oyster beds.

"If we don't take care of them, our entire production will be ruined. We don't have the luxury of being able to leave," she said.

He glanced depressed at the hut where he usually sells them by the dozen to holidaymakers each summer.

"Between the tourist season being cut short, the pollution from the smoke and the fire retardant from the water bombers, I don't know who we're going to sell them to anyway," he said.

"We're in deep shit."

Among others who accepted to speak to AFP, many said they did not want to leave.

"We're neither rich nor privileged, and we're in the process of losing everything," a second oyster farmer said, speaking on condition of anonymity.

Another resident, who did not want to get into trouble with the authorities, said it was like being at war.

"There are residents and collaborators -- those being overzealous and denouncing us," the person said.

Inside his stall at the high-brow Cap Ferret market, florist James Garcia threw roses into a bin.

"I stayed because I thought people would come back after several days," he said.

But as the days go by, "I believe it less and less," he said, however adding it was likely much worse for those who had lost a home.

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C.H. ROBINSON WORLDWIDE